Her Way Bac

Author's note: the author does not condone rape or any other form of abuse or sexual assault depicted in their work, in much the same way mystery writers do not condone murder. If rape is a trigger or makes you otherwise uncomfortable, please look elsewhere; there are plenty of amazing works on this site that will meet your needs.

This can be read as a continuation of "Her Favorite Band" or as a piece of its own; they (and the characters involved) are written ambiguously for a reason.

-

It was late, the traffic of the city practically unrecognizable in its sparseness from when she first left. That wouldn't bother her so much if she were taking the bus, but with her phone and wallet both lost over the course of the evening, the rare sight of another person put her on edge even more than she already was.

She didn't have any choice in the matter. But, thankfully, her motel was within walking distance--if a

long

walk.

It didn't take her long to wish she had her headphones, even if only to have the comfort of a little more noise. Neither did it take her long to wish she'd put on a coat, the chilly autumn breeze amplified in much the same way as the sound of her every step by the monoliths of concrete and glass that stretched into infinity around her.

Shivers chased up and down her skin. The echoes of her footsteps began to fade into the background with the distant hum of the highway, and she kept her head down, hoping to avoid attention by avoiding doling out her own.

A wolf whistle is what yanked her out of her sullen introspection. It was sharp, cloying, and it made revulsion bubble in the pit of her stomach.

She did her best to ignore it. Did her best not to glance in his direction--because it undoubtedly came from a

he--

and move on with her life.

When the sneakers appeared just ahead of her on the sidewalk, she had to look up, if only to see where to get around him.

He was tall, wearing a sweatshirt that hid his face entirely in the shadow cast from the nearby streetlight. Even so, she could feel his eyes on her body, brushing it up and down, poking at every inch of skin exposed to the air.

And he just stood there. Watching.

She made to sidestep him. He moved with her. She tried again, a stone sinking in her chest, and he blocked her again.

She cleared her throat, preparing herself mentally to don the furious mask of a crazy woman--and cut herself off when she heard the scuff of another pair of shoes to her left.

Thank fuck, someone's here to help.

"Where you goin' this late at night, sweet thing?" the new person said, his own leer clear as day in his tone.

And she froze.

More footsteps. More

men.

"You gonna answer him?" a new voice asked, before spitting on the sidewalk and adding a muttered, "Bitch."

Do something,

she thought.

Move. Fight.

Anything.

Her eyes returned to the ground as tears burned at her eyes and a half dozen more sneakers appeared at the edge of her vision, surrounding her.

"Hey," the first man said. "Can you hear us, bitch?"

Fucking scream, you idiot,

she thought.

He waved a gloved hand in front of her as the tears began to fall.

"Damn," he muttered. Then, louder, "Stay this quiet and we'll all get along fine."

They didn't even wait for a confirmation. For a sign that she'd heard them, that she understood.

They just descended on her.

She was steered into a nearby alley and shoved to the ground. Her palms scraped against the asphalt, bringing another kind of tear to her eye as she felt her skirt rip under her knees as the men gathered 'round. And though she tried to propel her mind elsewhere, to dissolve into the numb cold of the wind and the grit under her fingers, the moment she felt the warmth of a pair of jean-clad legs straddling her behind the knees, she could think of nothing but the sensations that followed.

Her skirt flipped up. Her panties torn off. A zipper drawn. A hand grabbing her waist while another pair entirely grabbed her cheeks and stuffed her underwear into her mouth.

And the hot pressure of a cock swirling at her entrance, weeping precum dripping onto her clit as he withdrew just far enough to line up before ramming himself in to her core.

Of course, the first sound her throat would let her make was a grunt muffled in the cloth of her panties. Of course, the first motion she was allowed by her body was the shove of her palms against the ground, a useless flail to escape immediately thwarted by the force of the next thrust as the man seemed to drop his entire body weight onto her through his dick.

Her tears made her blind to detail, but not to the flashes of phone cameras as the gathered men muttered muffled appreciation as the assault began in earnest, pants tenting as a rhythm was found. Each

clap

of skin against skin was accompanied by the burn of a slap as his pelvis hit her ass, and followed by a vacuum of frigid air as he pulled all the way out before hammering himself back in.

Her body jolted. Her knees skid inexorably deeper into the alley, the threads of her skirt tearing a little more with each inch, as he pounded again and again and again. Before long, the stinging in her hands became drops of blood, and the strength in her arms failed, subjecting her cheek to the battering instead.

And not long after, he thrust in deep a final time, grinding himself into her ass as he released jets of cum into the cunt that was just starting to lubricate itself to lessen the pain.

As soon as the last spurt was inside her, he pulled out, slapped her ass, and tagged the next in line for his turn.

The second man shoved himself in with even less ceremony than the first, her pussy squelching around his length with the combination of cum and her own meager wetness. But he had different plans for her torture, or perhaps, simply a different taste.

He held himself inside her for a moment, angling himself to rub against her insides in a few different ways before choosing one that just barely kissed her cervix and g-spot both. Braced his hands on her hips, planted one of his feet by her elbow.

And he started thrusting faster than anyone she'd ever been with before.

He fucked her with the frantic, shallow motion of a rabbit, a dog, a beast, a man who thought of her cum-filled pussy as nothing more than an upgrade from his own hand. He curled further and further around her as he went on, hooking one arm around her middle to keep her from fully smashing her face in on the asphalt, grabbing at her chest with something that was less like a hand and more like a talon, his nails biting into her skin. He panted heavily, breath clouding right behind her ear, each one fueling six more ruts into her depths.

Eventually, the skin of her ass didn't even separate from the sweat-slicked hide of his stomach when he pulled back, not more than an inch leaving her before he dove back in. His teeth dug into her shoulder blade through the thin fabric of her shirt, tongue painting hot circles of moisture into the cloth.

And finally, after what felt like hours of friction slowly building up and up into a dreadful peak, he broke before she did.

He grunted, heaved, and slammed himself in so hard that she fell flat. Another few spurts into her pussy, and he ground deeper, making her jolt when he knocked right up against her cervix to finish off.

He stayed there after finishing, breathing heavily into the air below her ear before the next in the circle said something about holding up the line, and his sweaty, hot presence unstuck itself from her with a quiet round of jeers.

She could feel the ache in her cunt. Feel the want left in his wake, even if she was still crying. Feel the

need

in her very being, even as she wanted nothing more than for this to end so she could go to sleep and never see the lights of this city again.

The third man rolled her onto her back, gathering her wrists in his hand and pressing them to her chest as he lifted one of her thighs with the other.

"Atta girl," he growled as she whimpered into the panties in her mouth, tears flowing over her temples and into her hair. Releasing her leg, he pawed at the massive bulge in his pants, fumbling with the waistline before exposing his length to bounce off of her stomach.

Her heart went cold at the same moment she felt another pulse of need in her cunt.

He's never going to fit.

He stroked himself once, twice.

And then, instead of thrusting in like the others, he brought his thumb to her clit.

"You gettin' this?" he said to one of the ones stroking their own cock as they watched, his thumb beginning to rub quick little circles over her nub.

Pleasure laced up her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting it with everything she still had. The onlooker didn't say a word, but her newest rapist began working her harder, faster, more expertly, until her hips began to shudder on the brink and her mind began to spiral into a feverish haze of

no, no, no,

and

please, please, please.

And just as she felt the cliff underfoot, he entered her.

The wails of her orgasm hardly made it past the panties in her mouth, the tears streaming down her face stinging the scrapes on her cheeks as his cock plunged into her depths and stayed there, letting her milk him as her body shook. And just as the bliss began to fade, he began to move, rocking back and forth, his hand now gone from her wrists to close on her throat.

Stars filled her vision, the edges tickling black as she convulsed. When he released her, she came again, gasping and choking on a thread of the panties as they sucked further into her.

Within moments, they were yanked out, and as her eyes fluttered, his hand found her neck again, cutting off any noise she would have made as he grunted for someone to fill her up so she wouldn't make trouble.

She felt a ripping, then, as her skirt was split from the tears put there by the asphalt. A ball of it was shoved into her mouth when she next gasped for air, and the taste of sweat and semen and dirt soaked onto her tongue.

She started to lose time. Her orgasm rolled on and on, uninterrupted--or a cascade too close together to differentiate? Her skirt was torn again and again as she inhaled makeshift gags and was saved from choking with each successive climactic crash, leaving her with hardly enough to deem clothing. Eventually, as the moon swam into vision between the rooftops overhead, the hand at her throat closed for a final time as he growled, slamming into her and emptying himself among the two loads already foaming around his length.

The rest came in quick succession--literally and figuratively. Every single one that was jerking himself off on the sidelines saved his cum for her pussy, some just barely managing to slip the head past her folds before bursting.

Four, five, six, seven,

each one accompanied by the flash of a phone camera as they commemorated her ravishment.

How long she lay there on the pavement after they left, she didn't know. All she did was stare at the strip of sky overhead and quietly thank her past self for getting her tubes tied so young.

But eventually, a familiar shape darkened the alleyway with a chuckle, and another cock slipped inside her used, bruised cunt.

He thrust slowly, savoring her. She slipped in and out of consciousness, only waking fully when she felt him rubbing at her sore and swollen clit, his dick pulsing inside her, and he ripped another orgasm from her before pulling out and shoving something stiff and oddly shaped inside of her.

His footsteps faded. A few moments later, the thing inside her vibrated, yanking her out of her catatonic state with a painful jolt, and she found the strength to reach down and tug it out.

Her hand came away wet with cum and her own juices.

As did her phone.

Beneath the blurring of the liquid all over its screen, she could barely make out the text with her room number at the motel sent by an unknown number.