As always, thank you Gustavca for your assistance in editing this story
My name is Maggie Donovan, I'm twenty-four years old, living on my own for the first time and excited about having my own apartment in San Francisco. The last couple of months have been a challenge but very rewarding. I come from a solid middle class background, a wonderful family and a good moral Christian upbringing. I think I grew up with a confident sense of self, priding myself on knowing who and what I represented, yet here I sit in our local police station guilt ridden, remorseful and satisfied beyond words after having perhaps the best sex of my young life.
I lifted my head and gazed at the woman seated across from me. I think she said her name was Detective Morganson, Tiffany Morganson. She said they had found me wandering on the street around two o'clock this morning. My clothes were in disarray, my panties were missing and I had no purse or identification. I looked at her, thankful they had assigned a female detective to my case. Fortunately, I was unaware of the male detective in the adjoining room, watching through the other side of the two-way mirror, listening to every word I said.
"Take your time, Maggie, and tell me what happened, everything you can remember," Detective Morganson said taking my hand and holding it, giving me both comfort and encouragement.
"Alright, Detective, I'm going to try and be as truthful as I can. I want you to understand the fear and helplessness I felt," I said, tears of embarrassment starting again to trail down my cheeks.
"That's fine, Maggie, that's exact what I need from you . . . please take a deep breath and tell me what happened."
*****
"I think I remember seeing the man for the first time when I came out of the BART station. Walking down the street the two short blocks toward my apartment, I had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching me. Though I saw him from a short distance away, there seemed to be something familiar about him and for a minute, I thought I might know him, but quickly dismissed that thought as ridiculous. Why would I know him?
I stopped at that little store on the corner for a few items and when I left the store, I didn't see anyone else on the street and started down Castro the remaining block or so to my apartment. I had my earbuds in and regrettably not paying attention when he grabbed me around the waist from behind, covered my eyes with a rag and pulled me into a narrow alleyway. Before he covered my eyes, I turned my head and caught a quick glance at his clothes. I recognized him as the man I had seen earlier near the BART subway station. There were two of them, the other man looked like a homeless person and he hung back close to the street, while the first one dragged me half way down the alley and into a makeshift tent of some sort. Once inside the tent he pushed me down onto a pallet of garbage bags and flattened cardboard boxes."
"Keep watch," he shouted to the other guy as he turned around facing me, made me kneel and unzipped his pants.
"Recognizing the sound of his pants being unzipped, in that moment of realization, I began to fight as hard as I could, succeeding only in scratching him across the back of his hand deep enough to draw blood and piss him off. He pushed me hard and I fell back onto the pile of bags and cardboard banging my head on the wall as I fell. Dazed and disoriented I lay there and didn't move when he bunched my skirt up around my hips and roughly pulled my panties down, tearing one side so that they hung from one ankle.
"There wasn't much light inside the tent, but when he rubbed his face against my cheek I could tell he had a beard and an earring or post in his ear that I could feel. I remember he wore a hat, I think they call them fedoras, jeans, a work shirt, an overcoat and boots, big, cowboy boots. Does that help any, Detective?
"You're doing fine, Maggie. I have a question though . . . how did you know what type of shoes he wore?" she asked abruptly."
"The rag or scarf or whatever it was, wasn't tied really tight and there was a gap at the bottom. If I let my eyes look downward, I could see through that space. I was on my knees with my head down and I saw his dark cowboy boots. When he pushed me onto the ground and stood in front of me undoing his pants, I thought he was going to make me suck his cock." I felt the need to explain as a hot, red flush blossomed across my face.
*****
"I felt him mount me and push himself inside me. The loosely tied scarf eventually worked itself undone and I tried to focus my eyes but I couldn't see his face in the dim light. I wanted to take in whatever I could see and sense; but fighting the rising panic when he began to thrust into me I couldn't help but think, 'He's fucking me! He's going to cum inside me. Oh my god, he's going to cum in me!'
"My full senses slowly returned and I began struggling with him again, trying to get him off, but he put his huge hands around my throat, and applying a light pressure, said, 'don't fight me, I really don't want to hurt you'." The restrained pressure of his hands encircling my throat and the implied threat in his voice made me quiet and I stopped fighting him, resigned to let him do what he was going to do. I closed my eyes in a futile attempt to distance myself from what was happening, but opened them immediately when I heard a commotion to my left. When I opened my eyes, I saw that the other man was standing near us watching and stroking his exposed cock."
In a moment of panic, I began to cry and plead with the man on top of me, "Don't let him touch me . . . please."
"Shhhh, don't worry about him," he said distractedly. Groaning deep in his chest he stroked harder into my now wet pussy and I squirmed under him thinking, 'He's almost finished, he'll cum and then let me go.' He didn't.
"Open your legs, bitch" he said, and waited for me to comply. He began a long, deep thrusting and to my dismay, even in my disgust, I felt my body relinquishing its prize. I felt my pussy slowly, but undeniably begin to squeeze and release his thick cock. Though he tried I wouldn't let him kiss me on the mouth and kept turning my face away. To my confused mind that would have been the ultimate indignation, to have his hard wet tongue in my mouth and his hard, pulsing cock up my pussy.
"I felt my body reluctantly respond, my hips imperceptively raise and fell to meet his strokes and my legs opened even wider to accommodate him. I knew what was happening. I could feel the warm blush of pleasure building between my legs and gradually spread through me in widening waves. I held on to him and cried out as my orgasm engulfed me and despite my efforts not to, instinctively my mouth sought his. His mouth covered mine, his tongue searching, probing. At my surrender, he pumped into my wet, grasping pussy with the single objective of cumming. With each stroke, it seemed as if his cock became harder and thicker."
With a final deep thrust, he buried himself in me up to his balls and shouted "Maggie, yes . . . yes," as he came so hard his body literally trembled.
Maggie? My name was Maggie.
"I though you didn't know him? Isn't that what you said earlier?" The Detective asked her doubt and suspicion obvious in her voice.
"I don't know how he knew my name," I replied, feeling my credibility was now in question. I sat silent with my head down. "Don't worry Maggie . . . we'll figure out how he got your name. Go on, what happened next?"
Taking a deep breath I continued, "He collapsed down on top of me and lay there exhausted. When he recovered enough to raise himself, he crawled off me and with his cock still dripping spent cum, stuffed it inside his pants and zipped up."
"Did he leave then or say anything to you?"
"He asked me if I were okay, but I don't think I answered him. No. . . . I don't think he said anything else. He glanced in my direction once or twice when he straightened his clothes and then he just turned and without a word walked down the deserted alley leaving me on the dirty cardboard inside the tent, his thick cum already drying on my inner thighs. The other man, who had watched us, came into the tent and walked toward me. He stood over me stroking himself. When he moved closer, I scuttled away from him. I was afraid he was building up his courage to fuck me like his friend had. I screamed as loud as I could. My scream must have startled him and he took off running down the alleyway after his friend. I sat up, and broke into hysterical tears of relief, shame and guilt."
I sat there and stared into the darkness for a while. I didn't know what to do. The last thing I clearly remember is getting up and walking down the dark, dank alleyway to the street. My forgotten purse, coat and torn panties lay in a heap on the pile of crumpled garbage bags and cardboard.
*****
The interview seemed to go on forever. I understood that the Detective needed to know what had happened, but I also felt emotionally drained and under attack with her constant questions and probing. Finally, we took a break. Detective Morganson's cell phone rang almost immediately and she quickly answered the call. Whoever it was on the other end was giving her some information. She stood up turning her back to me and talked in a hushed voice with the caller.
"What possible difference does that make?" She asked in response to a question from the caller. They were arguing.
"Alright, alright," she almost shouted into the phone before slamming it down onto the table.
"Sorry about the interruption," she said. "Maggie, you said at first you thought you might have known your assailant . . . do you know what gave you that idea?"
