Junior Year Abroad Pt 06

This is Part 6 of the

Survivor Revival Challenge

,

organized by Tara Cox. This is the story of Jim & Marybeth, and eventually others, of course. You can expect daily installments.

Warning:

This installment of our ongoing story is in non-consent!

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Denis plays on Marybeth's weaknesses. Trouble ensues.

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Marybeth was in a strange mood as she walked home from the subway station closest to her host family's home. She was returning home after a full thirty-six hours of decadent sex with Jim, in a luxury hotel room. Or was the right word debauched? She was dealing with the morals of that, as well as the growing recognition that she liked showing off her body. She kept remembering the look in the eyes of the room service waiter, and especially in the eyes of the pretty French maid, who gave the turn-down service.

As she got closer to the building that housed her host family's apartment, however, her thoughts turned to Denis, the eighteen-year-old boy who was consistently trying to learn female anatomy by sneaking peeks at whatever little body parts he could glean from her selection of clothing. If she followed Jim's instructions, and she knew that she would, Christmas was going to come early for Denis.

There was nobody home when she got there. What luck! She quickly changed out of her rumpled weekend clothes, the same ones she had worn Friday night for her date with Jim, not expecting to spend the night in a hotel. She went to the bathroom in her underwear to brush her teeth, wash her face again, and put on her make-up for the day. She also gave her hair a much-needed brushing.

Returning to her bedroom, she selected a new, fresh outfit to wear. She chose boring white panties, a short skirt, a boring white bra, a boat-necked T shirt, and her most seductive perfume. She went to her computer and began to tackle her backlog of schoolwork. Half an hour later she heard Denis entering the apartment.

Denis went straight to her room and knocked on her door. "Come in," she said, loudly enough for Denis to hear. He came in, smiling.

"Welcome back, Marybeth. Did you have fun Friday and Saturday?" he asked. It was a banal enough question, but he put some meaning into his tone of voice. She figured he suspected why she didn't return home Friday night. If he did, then no doubt he assumed correctly, that she was having sex with Jim.

"Yes, quite a bit, and thank you for asking," she replied.

Denis smiled. Marybeth was sitting at her desk, and Denis came up behind her, the perfect spot to "accidentally" look down her blouse, which Marybeth had made sure billowed out from her body.

"Listen, Denis. It's Saturday night. I find this bra I'm wearing uncomfortable. Do you think I can get away with going without a bra for this evening? I know your mother is very observant, and she might get the wrong idea?" Marybeth asked, using her best imitation of naiveté. Since she usually was naïve in any event, it wasn't hard for her to do.

"She probably won't even notice. Go ahead," Denis replied, and he prepared to leave the room so that Marybeth could change.

"Okay, good. Turn around, please," Marybeth said.

Denis smiled. This girl was too much! Didn't she realize the two side walls of the room, as well as the door to the room, had mirrors on them? His sister loved to look at herself, and also it made the room seem bigger than it was. The bedrooms in the apartment were tiny.

Marybeth turned her back to the window, presumably out of modesty, but had she faced the window, it would have been the only direction where Denis might not have been able to watch her change out of her bra, via the three mirrors, plus the full length mirror affixed to the back of her bedroom door. Denis' back was to her, so she removed her blouse, revealing her bra.

Denis was beside himself. This gorgeous, innocent, American girl was standing behind him in only a bra, and he was watching it all via the mirrors. He had a frontal view of her and two side views. He had carefully chosen his position on where to stand so as not to block any of the images of this sexpot incarnate.

"Now remember, Denis. Don't turn around until I say it's okay, you got it?" Marybeth said, trying to suppress a smile. She was enjoying her little tease.

"Of course, Marybeth. Consider me a stone statue," Denis said. Denis was enjoying Marybeth's tease even more than Marybeth was, all the more so because Denis didn't even realize that it was a tease!

Marybeth giggled. "You're more like a Rodin sculpture, you know. You could be one of the Bourgeois de Calais, from his famous gates, you know?"

Marybeth removed her bra. She got a rush. She was exposing her boobs to Denis, and he was eating it up, via the three mirrors. She hammed it up a bit, bouncing her boobs, as if testing them. She gave each boob a little caress, and each nipple a little tweak, just to show off a bit for Denis. Finally, she put on her T shirt again, this time braless. Her freshly erect nipples poked at the T shirt.

While Marybeth was bouncing her boobs and playing with her nipples behind the back of Denis, he was using the mirrors to perfectly angle his iPhone camera to capture the delectable sight of her naked boobs. He took ten pictures, having turned off the clicking sound the iPhone makes when taking pictures, to make sure he got a good one. He'd choose the best one later.

"Thanks for being a good sport and not turning around, Denis," Marybeth said.

"Of course," he said. If she only knew!

"I should reward good behavior like that, you know?" she said.

"I like rewards as much as the next guy. What did you have in mind?" he asked. Denis could not believe this!

"I don't know. Would you like to see my boobs, just for a second? Or maybe you'd like a kiss?" she said. Ooh, wasn't she the little coquette, Marybeth thought to herself.

"Both would be great," Denis said, not believing his luck!

"You're greedy," Marybeth said, and then she giggled. "Okay, let's kiss first."

Denis had kissed girls before, but only two, and both episodes didn't end well. He was unsure of himself as a result, and Marybeth sensed that. So, Marybeth took charge.

"Just relax, Denis, and close your eyes," she said. She took his head gently in her two hands, and she touched her lips to his. Then she kissed him. He kissed back. It wasn't great, so she kissed him again. Still, it was pretty lame.

"I've got an idea. Play with my boobs while we kiss; how's that?" she suggested. "Be gentle with my boobs, though, please."

Denis muttered an embarrassed, "Okay," and they tried a third time. Denis gave exquisite caresses to Marybeth's boobs through her T shirt, and damn if his kisses didn't get better!

"Much better!" Marybeth said. "Try slipping your hands under my T shirt so that you can caress my boobs directly, and I can feel the warmth of your hand."

Denis thought he had died and gone to heaven, and soon his hands were having a party with Marybeth's boobs, even as his kissing improved dramatically. He almost went into shock when Marybeth took off her T shirt to give him total access to her boobs, and then she opened her mouth and basically taught Denis, a young French man, how to French kiss. She could see the huge tent in Denis' pants, and had yet another private smile.

Denis had fantasized about American girls for years. They seemed so sexy, so easy, so relaxed about sex; not like the uptight teenage French girls he knew. He had heard rumors about girls getting laid in the crypt of the church, but of course he had never believed the rumors. American girls didn't have to resort to crypts: they fucked in plain sight on the beaches of Florida and California, in swimming pools while drunk or stoned at wild parties, on hayrides in Indiana, or out in the fields of high corn of Nebraska. He had seen it all on porn. Now he was kissing one of these oversexed American bimbos, and she was topless for him, and letting him play with her boobs.

Denis went for Marybeth's nipples, and he did something to them that made Marybeth moan right through their kiss. He wondered how far he could go with her? He had already gone farther with her than with either of the French girls he had dated. God, he loved American girls!

"I'm home!" came the call of his mother, and instantly Denis and Marybeth stopped kissing, and Marybeth pulled her T shirt back on. She checked her hair, gave it a quick brush, and Denis went to greet his mother. Marybeth re-applied her lipstick and she followed a few minutes later. She felt she had done her good turn for the week, if not the month. She figured the latent hostility Denis seemed always to have had for her would now be gone. Boys are so easy!

Marybeth was already a day ahead of Jim's schedule. Denis' Mom certainly noticed Marybeth was braless, but she felt it wasn't her place to say anything. After all, Marybeth was twenty-years-old, well over the age of consent, be it 16, or even 18. Plus, she was Marybeth's host mother, not her actual mother. The girl could do as she liked, and dress as she liked, as long as she was pious under her own roof, and Marybeth certainly was.

The next day Marybeth went braless again. It was Sunday, and Denis was impressed that Marybeth had the balls to go to mass braless. This time she wore her Sunday best, a white blouse that buttoned, and a nice, A-line black skirt. It was the type of blouse where one could see the bra straps through the blouse, and since there weren't any, the close observer would know she was braless.

If that same close observer were to check out the front and the sides, said observer could verify that yes, indeed, Marybeth had boobs, and quite nice ones, at that. He could also verify that she had areolas and nipples, if he looked closely. As it turns out, there were a lot of close observers that day at church, since all of Denis' friends decided suddenly they just had to go to mass, to their parents' surprise and delight.

The parents of Denis' friends had assumed that their sons suddenly deciding to go to church, and one specific church at that, had something to do with a girl. They didn't realize that they were both correct and were wrong, at the same time. They had assumed their son had a crush on a girl who went to church, not lust for an American sexpot their son hadn't even yet met!

Ah, the power of social networking. The boys all went, of course, to check out the American sexpot who was staying with Denis' family. They had all seen the short video of Marybeth bouncing her boobs that Denis had posted on his private Facebook page, while at the same time suggesting they come to the Eglise St. Médard that very Sunday.

Marybeth realized that she was under the microscope by a plethora of boys, all almost exactly Denis' age. They were all checking her out, and in particular her boobs, right through her blouse. Any girl would have noticed that kind of attention. Subtlety was not the strong point of these boys.

Marybeth figured, correctly, that Denis had gotten the word out. She knew she should be angry, but in fact it turned her on to have all these young hormone-fueled boys lusting after her body. She sat, facing straight ahead, and made sure her blouse billowed out whenever she had to kneel.

Marybeth decided to unbutton the top button of her blouse. Give the guys a better chance to look down her blouse, right? She did it while kneeling. Denis saw her doing it, but nobody else did, and certainly not the host mother, Madame Brémaud! The next time she knelt, she undid a second button, and she figured Denis didn't see her do it that time. Neither, of course, did Madame Brémaud.

When the service was over, Denis said to his mother that Marybeth had agreed to hang out with him for a bit, and to meet some of his friends. This was news to Marybeth, and quite frankly it made her a little nervous. She felt, however, that she could trust Denis, so she just meekly followed him and the boys for a 'stroll in the park.'

The cluster of boys led her to a small glade where they were sheltered from prying eyes. The boys sort of automatically surrounded Marybeth. Her anxiety was increasing. There was Denis as well as seven of his closest friends surrounding her. The boys could see the fear in Marybeth's eyes, and for a few of them, it turned them on. Nothing aroused these boys more than a vulnerable woman with fear in her eyes.

As it turned out, three of the boys seized the role of ringleaders. They were natural leaders, it seemed. One of them, the alpha male Roger, said to Marybeth, "Open your blouse, woman."

Marybeth did the opposite, and she nervously clutched her blouse together. She was panicked. What she gladly gave away to Denis as a childish game was now being demanded by a gang of boys, and who knew what else they'd want? Could any of these boys be rapists, given the right circumstances? She was pretty sure Roger and a couple of the others could happily rape her, right there, right then; but not in front of Denis. It was key to keep Denis there.

She had learned in school, in the history of her own country, how a large group of likeable, good, God-fearing people, could turn into a blood-thirsty mob and lynch and mutilate an often innocent man. She had seen pictures of well-dressed white ladies, with their children, smiling and gossiping, while an innocent black man died of suffocation, hanging from a rope tied to the branch of a majestic oak tree. It was the mob mentality. It transformed people's personalities.

Could eight boys, one of them Denis, constitute such a mob? If so, she was in real danger of being raped, or even gang raped! Marybeth was not scared; no, she was terrified!

"I said, open your blouse. We want to see the goodies. Denis saw them, and now it's our turn!" Roger said. His tone of voice was nasty, threatening. There were so many boys! None of them, not even Denis, came to her aid. Marybeth looked at Denis imploringly. He avoided her eyes, pretending to be distracted by a bird flying by.

Suddenly, one boy spoke. There was a touch of humanity in one of the boys! "Look Roger, you're obviously scaring the girl. If she doesn't want to show us her tits, she doesn't have to. You don't force a girl," he said. Marybeth learned later his name was Roland.

"There's a better way," Denis said, finally shamed by Roland. He was ashamed it had been Roland, and not himself, to have been the one to speak up against Roger's implication of using force with Marybeth. "Get her turned on. Kiss her, be nice to her, and then she'll do what you want," he said.

Marybeth couldn't believe this. Is that what he thought? Who were these morons? "Go on, Roland, you start," Denis said. Did Denis realize, somehow, that Marybeth had submissive tendencies? How could he know that? Or was he just playing for time? Steering the one semi-decent man in her direction?

Roland approached Marybeth. Marybeth began to back up. Her back ran into a tree, and instantly, it seemed, Roland had Marybeth in his arms. She wasn't going anywhere. Roland began to kiss her, and unlike Denis, Roland knew how to kiss. A hush fell over the boys as Roland and the American girl kissed. Oh my, this boy can kiss! Marybeth thought, as she felt her blouse being unbuttoned, slowly, one button at a time. Oh shit, Denis' strategy is working!

Roland kept kissing her and she felt her blouse being pushed off her shoulders, then gently pulled off her arms (other boys were helping to undress her) and soon she was topless in the park, while Roland was still kissing her.

Suddenly she was passed off to Roger who, to Marybeth's surprise, also kissed well. Roger had impressed Marybeth as a scary misogynist, but he surely could kiss well! He was the oldest of the group, maybe a year or two older than Marybeth. Twenty-one or twenty-two? Maybe even twenty-three? Something like that.

Roger played with her boobs as he kissed her and then Marybeth did something amazingly stupid. In her defense, it wasn't intentional, it just popped out. She moaned with pleasure. Between the sensuous kisses and the fabulous boob caresses, she was putty in Roger's strong hands.

Marybeth forgot about the seven boys watching intently. Her world had shrunken just to Roger, and his kisses, and his marvelously talented hands, which were driving her arousal up to a feverish pitch.

Marybeth did not feel her skirt get unsnapped, nor did she notice it become unzipped. She was too lost in her boobs being exposed and caressed, and those damn wonderful kisses, which she was getting relentlessly. She noticed, however, when her skirt dropped to the ground, pooling at her feet. She was now wearing only her good Sunday shoes and her good Sunday panties. She began to panic. She had once again become aware of the boys staring at her.

Roger's arms were amazingly strong, holding her in place, as his two henchmen quickly pulled her panties down, revealing not only her bare boobs, but now her pussy and in fact her entire naked body to the eight boys. Roger's fingers quickly and unerringly went to Marybeth's snatch, and they discovered she was wet and ready.

"The slut is turned on!" Roger announced to the crowd. "Anyone mind if I take her first?"

Roland once again spoke up. "You can't unless she says it's okay. Otherwise it's rape. I won't let you!"

"Is it okay if I fuck you, Marybeth?" Roger asked, as he fingered her expertly.

Marybeth couldn't even speak. She was too terrified, and too turned on.

"You know Latin, slut? Qui tacet consentire," Roger said, and Marybeth groaned as Roger's finger found her g-spot.

"You can't fuck me," Marybeth managed to whisper. A whisper was all she could get out.

Roger pretended not to hear her refusal.

"I can't hear you, slut. Did you say I could fuck you?" Roger said, as his finger relentlessly destroyed Marybeth. His finger had found her g-spot, and she had become putty in his hands. All of her sexual submission tendencies were firing on all cylinders. She could barely think, let alone speak.

"No!" she suddenly yelled, in full voice, and it so surprised the boys that they all backed up, away from the tight little circle they had formed around their victim.

Roger continued with his finger, and to her everlasting shame, Marybeth, always quick to orgasm, had a climax which was obvious to even the densest of the eight boys. Roger just continued; not only could Marybeth not speak, but all these boys were watching her naked body gently convulse in its orgasmic release.

Marybeth's knees buckled, and her legs betrayed her, refusing to support her standing any longer. She dropped to the ground. She was lying on the ground, quivering, trying to stop shaking due to her mega orgasm. The fact that all these guys were watching her, just made it more intense!

Marybeth suddenly realized how vulnerable she was. She was naked, lying on the ground, trying to recover from her orgasm, when Roger dropped to the ground, right on top of her, his torso between her legs. He had his pants down and his hard cock out! How on earth was she going to escape from this? Was she going to be gang-raped? She hadn't prayed during mass, but she surely did pray now!

Roger's two henchmen were holding her hands above her head. Roger was smiling the smile a cat must get when he knows the mouse is his. Roger was playing with his victim, making the cat metaphor all the more apt. His hard cock was at her entrance. Marybeth screamed for help. It was a blood curdling scream, and it was loud. She screamed out "Help! Someone help me! Help, rape!" and that was all she got out before her panties were stuffed into her mouth. She realized she had screamed in English, instead of in French. Damn!

Suddenly all the boys were gone, except for Roger, trying to get his cock inside her, and Marybeth trying to scream "No!", and trying to get out from under him. Her hands were suddenly free, and that was a lifesaver, as she pushed and socked and did everything she could.