Flash Forward:
"Not there! Please, not there," I beg, my hoarse throat struggling to form the words as I plead in abject terror as the cold metal tip of the cheap ballpoint pen pokes the opening to my urethra. I cannot hope to stop the inevitable defilement of this final threshold; I am bound across his desk doing the splits, each ankle secured with zip ties and cord to the opposite side of the desk. My wrists are flexi-cuffed in a reverse prayer position behind my back. I am wearing nothing except for my plain white socks and my cheer skirt, though the latter is bunched around my waist, keeping nothing private but my navel. My sneakers, bra, and top are all scattered across the floor of the dingy security office.
And as if all of this did not make me vulnerable enough already, my labia have been spread with binder clips taped to my thighs, stretching the delicate pink skin of my sex so that everything is accessible, from the dripping, slightly gape opening of my well-used vagina to the swollen red ring of my abused anus. And, notably, the tiny and yet-innocent pucker of my piss hole. It had never even occurred to me before this moment that I could be penetrated there, but I have learned many things today.
Mostly, I have learned just how responsive my body is to pain. Even after everything I have been through, my body soaked in sweat and my face soaked in tears, my pussy is also sopping wet, my clit engorged and, though exhausted, still clearly up for another orgasm. As one of Clint's hands steadies the pen against my opening, the other reaches up and pinches my clit firmly between his fingers, hard enough to elicit a whimper. That whimper becomes a wail as I feel the head of the pen slide into my opening, the metal tip warming against my body as I can still feel it enter me. The plastic behind it is rough, and though lubricated with vaseline the taper of it is still uncomfortable as it passes inside of me. I can't see it from this angle, but I feel when the tapered tip ends.
It takes a bit more pressure for Clint to get the shaft of the pen started, as its diameter is slightly wider than my urethra wants to be. For a few moments I think that he will fail, that there's no way my pisshole could possibly accommodate a standard-sized ballpoint pen, but the uncomfortable pressure eventually makes my body yield to him and the pen slides in a centimeter or so. I howl in pain, my thighs straining helplessly, but ultimately I can do nothing to prevent this unspeakable assault on my final orifice.
.....
Earlier today, I never could have imagined something like this happening. I came to the mall right before lunch with some friends from the cheer squad, just another college freshman out to socialize, grab some sushi in the food court, and maybe do a little shopping. In most ways I'm an ordinary student, a nineteen-year-old biology major with a couple thousand instagram followers and not nearly enough free time between my sorority, being on the cheer squad, and trying to maintain a 3.5 GPA to keep my scholarships. I'm pretty in the usual petite cheer squad way, with shoulder-length hair dyed a fashionable ashen blonde and big, doe-like brown eyes, and a tan that I maintain with hours in a bikini around the sorority house pool.
I'm not usually free this time on a Saturday, but the coach canceled practice at the last minute so Josie suggested going to the Rolling Hills mall. Now here we are. I pick at my black rice salmon roll, not entirely sure I like it but not wanting to look basic or uncultured in front of the older, more sophisticated girls. I'm mostly listening to the others gossip but also watching the new security guy out of the corner of my eye. He's not bad looking, for a mall cop. Too old for me by far, there's a lot of grey hair at his temples and a slight paunch that the blue uniform doesn't hide, but he wears it well despite that. I can see the muscles in his forearms as he rests his arm on his taser in a way that makes it obvious he's an ex-cop, a real one. He has a short, military-style haircut, but his short beard definitely isn't regulation - it suits him though. I glance away as he looks our way, embarrassed when Josie wiggles her eyebrows at me as if to ask if I was checking him out.
I shake my head and, luckily, conversation moves on until we're chatting idly about which football players have the cutest butts or which sororities have the most fake tits. They settle on Kappa Phi Rho, which is mine, but I honestly agree with them. I joined it specifically because it's well known to be the place to be if you want to make connections, party hard, drink harder, have the nastiest sex, and look good doing it. Honestly I'd get a boob job too, if I had the money for it.
But unlike most of my sorority sisters, I don't come from money. I was lucky to get in despite it, but it's hard explaining away why I have an iphone three generations old and haven't really bought any new clothes to speak of all semester long. Luckily I have a plan. Not a great plan, but one that's worked for me in the past. Security at this mall is super lax, and although I know that stealing is wrong and the consequences of getting caught are dire, I also know I can get away with it. Shoplifting got me gifts for our Christmas exchange, new accessories, a rabbit vibe I use almost every night, brands of makeup that I would never be able to afford on my shoestring student budget, all kinds of things.
Plus, I like the rush. I spend all week being a good girl doing my coursework, my homework, going to office hours and study groups, volunteering with my sisters, and going to every football game... It feels good to do this one tiny thing for myself, when everything else I do for someone else. The other girls finish their sushi and we start to stroll through the mall, still in our practice uniforms, getting some glances from other students (and men old enough to be our fathers) as we stroll by. We visit a couple of shops, but I don't buy anything as the others do. Occasionally, as everyone's attention is elsewhere, I'll slip something into my purse. A pair of pink silk panties from Victoria's Secret, some earrings from Kohl's, a pair of Nike shorts... I'm not saying it's the reason I have a big purse, but it's also not a coincidence.
My pièce de résistance, though, is yet to come. I've had my eye on the new Kat Von D eyeliner for a while now, the one that the other girls swear will last through even the toughest, sweatiest day at practice. My drugstore formula hasn't been holding up lately as the weather warms up, so I desperately need it... but not enough to pay $36 for one small tube. All the others bought one when we were there, but I bided my time after noticing it was right next to a foundation and lipstick I'd also had my eyes on. A while later we're walking to Abercrombie & Fitch when I pretend to look through my bag for my phone.
"Crap, guys, hold on," I exclaim, bringing the group to a sudden stop. "I think I lost my phone, I can't find it anywhere." I inject some panic in my voice, and it works. Josie puts her hand comfortingly on my shoulder.
"Just think, April, where did you see it last?" she asks soothingly.
"Well I must have had it at Sephora, I was texting Jax back about the party on Thursday... I must have left it on the shelf when I was looking at that dry shampoo! I'll be right back, meet you guys at Abercrombie?" I ask, already starting to break away from the group.
"I'll go with you and help look," Sera offers. I try not to look disappointed.
"Nah, you stay with the group," I insist. "I'll just be a minute, I'll catch up with you guys in no time. Just don't leave without me, okay?"
"We won't. You sure you'll be okay on your own?" Josie reassures me. She drove us here, always a bit of a group mom. She would be so disappointed if she knew what I was planning to do... good thing she'll never know.
