All of my stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.
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When the modern young woman of today looks at magazines and TV, she could be forgiven for thinking that the age of women's liberation was already upon us. And that achieving sexual equality was something we could take for granted. But this is a cautionary tale that shows that this is not exactly the case. Even now, under the surface most ordinary men treat women more like possessions, using them to show off their masculinity.
This is a true story as related to me by a now wiser and possibly less confident young woman; it's a condemnation of the male sex. This is a story of brutal rape and humiliation.
"ARE YOU FRIGGIN' READY YET?" My live in boyfriend's voice came booming up the stairs.
"Won't be long hon. Just got to find my shoes and I'll be there." I yelled back. Thinking to myself, "If I hadn't had to waste time finding your goddamned shirt, and those goofball socks that you insist on wearing, I'd have been ready ages before you."
As I walked down the stairs, he was standing at the bottom looking up towards me.
"What in the hell do yuh think ya look like? You're dressed like a two dollar ho."
Now I know I wasn't dressed like a nun, but no way was I dressed like a whore. Jesus H. Christ going to hell in a hand basket! Only six months ago, when we'd first started going out; this was how dumbass used to like me to look. So what was his current malfunction anyway?
I had on a dress made of thin cotton, cut low on the bosom, with the hemline about six inches above the knee. After all, it was summer and the temperature was sky high, so I didn't want to wear panty-hose or stockings. Besides, my legs had a nice tan and the hem wasn't so short that my thong underwear would show. So, I was dressed a happy medium, pleased that I was going to attract attention, but without seeming too slutty. Or, so I had thought.
On the way from our place to the roadhouse the fight that began on the stairs only got worse, and we were both really going at each other. To tell the truth this was not unusual lately, we had gotten to a stage in our relationship where bickering had become the normal start to an evening. But we'd usually end those same nights fucking, and swearing our undying love for each other. Better that than a two minute quickie, followed by a peck on the lips, and five hours of loud snores.
As we walked into the honkytonk his parting comment was, "If you're going to listen to that shit eating band that's up to you, I'm gonna be playing pool with the guys."
We were regulars at this roadhouse; and this going our own ways had become our usual routine. He joined his pals at the pool tables, and I sat ignored at the bar watching the band. Or, so it seemed.
As you walked into this place, to the left was a stage for the bands, with a small area kept clear for dancing. To the right was an area where all the pool tables were, and in the middle people sat drinking at the bar. I made my way around to the side where the band was already playing on stage. I hauled my sweet cheeks up on a tall bar stool and ordered a drink. And for the next half hour that's where I sat, oblivious to anything except the band. A couple of guys wanted to dance, but I wasn't in the mood after the fight with my boyfriend, so I just said, "No thanks."
The band finished playing and went off for their break, and some generic recorded music took their place. Using this slack time, I slid down from the stool and walked around to the pool table area of the roadhouse. Most of the stools lining the bar on that side were taken, but there was still one available, so I settled in and ordered another drink.
Now, there's one other thing to know about this bar, it is a haunt of two separate crowds of regulars that don't get along well. One group's from a town about ten miles north. It's an old, mostly played out mining town surrounded by hilly land now taken over by ranchers. The other group is mainly made up of people from a small farming town to the south; this is the bunch my boyfriend and I belong to.
It is not unusual to have a fight break out at sometime during the night, and when this does happen the entire establishment divides into two brawling gangs, all fighting for the sake of fighting, if you ask me.
So, I would normally have found a stool near the pool tables usually occupied by my boyfriend's crew, and if there weren't a stool open, I'd have gone and hung by where he was playing. But tonight, still being a little pissed at him, and there being no open stool near their tables, I sat at the bar alongside the tables of the opposing crowd.
This didn't present any problem at first, and as I nursed my drink I noticed the buckle on this one guy's belt. It was really bitchin', a big sculptured buckle. It had a naked girl lying on her back on top of a Harley, legs up in the air, and a naked guy fucking her. Without realizing it, every time this guy turned around, I was looking to see just how detailed this buckle was.
Then I decided I needed to pee, so I asked the bartender to hold my seat, and I went to the can. As I was walking back, I'd just reached my stool, when this belt buckle guy smashed the cue ball into the pack on a break. As the ball broke the pack it ricocheted off the table and landed on the floor at my feet. By reflex I stooped down to pick it up, and in stooping my knees parted some, not that anyone could see anything, unless they were at floor level.
As I was about to pick up the ball, a large hand wrapped itself around mine holding me still for a second. This guy with the buckle had dived onto the floor to retrieve his ball and was on his knees in between my legs. "Thut's a niiiiice li'l puss ya got there, kin ah pet it?" He said with a wicked grin on his face.
"No you can't, you disgusting perv. And let go of my hand." I snapped.
He kept a tight hold of my hand, preventing me from standing up. "Ya know yuh want me. Ya been givin' me thuh cum n' git it look all night long, staring at my dick."
"Let me go. I wouldn't fuck you, if you were the last guy alive; I was only looking at your buckle."
