Try It You'll Lie It

"Try it. You'll like it."

Have you ever heard those terrible words? They're the harbinger of some terrible ordeal you're about to go through. Parents are the worst offenders. They assume that because they like something their kids are bound to like it. Newsflash. We're individuals, with our own independent tastes.

I'll let you know this for free. Repetition of trying something doesn't mean you like it. It means you've been subjected to a terrible ordeal repeatedly. Take camping, for instance. (And I mean take it far away from me.) When I was eight, my parents got the camping bug. They loved camping and hiking in the hills. At eight, I hated it. I'm now eighteen and can look back over those camping holidays with a mature mind. I can now articulate why camping is a bad idea, starting with carnivorous mosquitoes, passing through carnivorous wolves and bears, and finishing up with flash floods and pouring rain. Well, I guess the rain isn't too bad. It puts out the bushfires that are generally burning all around the camp site like Dante's inferno brought to earth.

"You're such a drama queen," my father told me, dragging me along on the latest camping trip. I'd offered to stay home and look after the house but he just looked at me and laughed.

So once again I was out in the wilderness, surrounded by mile upon mile of trees and animals. I will admit that there were other campers around, but as far as I was concerned they were just another breed of strange animal, with the single advantage of not being carnivorous.

The first night of my personal hell was spent wide awake, fighting mosquitoes. I knew I was in trouble when a mosquito the size of a not very small bird flew into my tent and started dive-bombing me. My father said it was just a bat, but what would he know. All in all a very restless night.

My parents slept like hibernating bears, apparently, probably because they're old and tough and the mosquitoes like soft young flesh, like mine. They awoke bright and early, ready for a fun day hiking.

I put my foot down, and I didn't put it down on the hiking trail. My parents were free to traipse through the woods and I would remember them fondly after the bears and lions were through with them, but I was staying close to the camp. I would take a gentle stroll through the woods and might even take a swim in the lake, assuming I could get guarantees that there were no carnivorous fish in the lake.

I took my gentle stroll and I have to admit it was a bit of an eye-opener. I mean, here I am, just ambling along the path when I heard a woman squeal. Wondering if something is wrong I drifted in that general direction and came across this camp site.

Now, where I was standing, the couple at the camp couldn't see me but, unfortunately, I could see them. She was on hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at him, squealing and carrying on. He was kneeling behind her and was busy pulling down her jeans and panties. The reason for this was sticking out a mile.

She started saying, "No, no, no, no, no," real fast. Even while I watched he lined up his cock and just pushed it into her. I was wondering if I should interfere, but I heard him saying, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes."

The big difference between her no, and his yes, was that while she gabbled out no quickly, he took his time saying yes, pushing his cock firmly into her each time he said yes, while she squealed. After he finished saying yes he just stopped still, his cock right up inside the poor woman. She turned and looked at him.

"Well," she said, "if you're going to be like that about it, I suppose I could say yes to a quick one."

With that he started poking her again, moving in and out like a motorised piston. It took me a moment to work out what the difference was between his actions now and his actions earlier. He seemed to be moving the same as before but he was going into her a lot faster. Then it registered. Before she'd been crouched there, while he drove in, while now, she was still crouched, but when he pushed in her bottom was bobbing up and pushing towards him, so he went in a lot faster.

Thank god I didn't go busting in to see if there was a problem. It was bad enough that I could see them screwing right in front of me. How could they do such a thing in public? OK, they were camping and probably thought they were private, but if I heard others might have as well.

I backed quietly away, although I could probably have marched off accompanied by a brass band and they wouldn't have noticed. Even walking away I could hear his cock slapping into her and her squealing while he did it to her. I just couldn't understand how any women could let a man use her like that. Disgusting was what it was.

I have to admit that men had been chasing me for a while, wanting to have sex with me. A number of them had used that line, "Try it. You'll like it," but I'd always opted not to try. After seeing that little episode the next man to use try-it on me was going to get a punch right on the end of his nose.

I wandered on, saw the lake, thought it looked awfully cold, and wandered back to our camping site. I was, quite frankly, bushed. Up half the night fighting off mosquitoes does not make for a decent night's sleep. It was warm and sunny so I dragged my sleeping bag out of my tent, laid it down next to a bush, laid down and went to sleep. I mean, I totally zonked, getting that sleep I should have got overnight.

I'm not sure what woke me. I had been really out of it and when I'm like that you just about have to tip a bucket of water on me to wake me. Something, however, had woken me up. I opened my eyes and found I was staring at the bush next to me.

It took me a moment to focus properly as my eyes were slightly sleep-blurred, but I saw what was on the bush. Someone had placed a pair of women's panties on the bush. A brief, lacy pair, with a little cat on the front. Quite a nice pair of panties. I had some just like it. I'd put them on this morning.

They couldn't be mine. They just couldn't. I slowly turned my head and looked down at myself, thinking I'd just check under my dress, just in case. I'd never been subject to sleep-stripping that I knew of, but maybe. . .

It was a real live 'oh, my, god,' moment. My dress was lifted up over my waist and I was naked from the waist down. My shirt was undone and gaping wide and my bra was missing, displaying my breasts. Not missing, I realised, broken. I could see the cups, one on either side of me. What the hell had happened?

I gave a squeal and hurriedly sat up, intending to straighten my clothes and find out what was going on. I didn't get to sit up. I gave a sort of flip and finished up still flat on my back. When I went to sit up my legs hadn't moved. Startled I looked at them. My legs were spread quite wide, which is not my normal way of sleeping, and quite embarrassing considering my pantyless state. In addition to being spread wide they seemed to have some sort of band around the ankles, fastening them to the ground.

I'm like, what the hell, and started trying to sit up again, but missed out again. This time because a large masculine hand was pressing against my breasts. My bare breasts, I might add. Naturally enough I turned to see who the hell was there.

There was this big man sitting on the ground next to me. I'm not the smallest girl around but this guy made me feel positively petite.

"Who the hell are you and what do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

"Call me Mike," he said, his voice rumbling like muted thunder. "I'm just being friendly."

His idea of being friendly apparently included him massaging my breasts. His hand was all over them, rubbing them. The feel of him touching them seemed to be sinking deep into me, heating me.

"Get your hand off me, Mike," I snapped. "You have no right to touch me like that. You have no right to touch me at all. Did you mess with my clothes? Why are my legs fastened?"

"My, questions, questions. Yes, I messed with your clothes. They were in my way. Your legs are fastened like that so that right now you can't run away and later it will be more convenient if your legs are parted like that. You want my hand off you?"

Say, what? It was starting to dawn on me that I might have a real problem. Just what did he mean by it being more convenient later? I hated to think of an answer.

"Yes, I want your hand off me," I insisted, not expecting it but it would at least let me know where I stood.

To my surprise he did move his hand off me. Not really to my surprise he didn't leave things like that. He leaned over me and started nibbling on my breasts. I was shocked at what he was doing and amazed that he could do it so gently. He didn't try and bite down on me, but his mouth moved over my breasts, gently licking them and kissing them, his teeth closing over my nipples, rasping against them. If I'd thought that his hand on my breast was bad you can imagine how I felt about his mouth. He might as well have punched me in the groin, because I could feel a pool of heat exploding into life within me.

"Stop it or I'll scream," I managed to get out, finding myself short of breath for some reason.

"You don't want to do that," he said, lifting his head away from my breasts. "Someone might hear, and then I'd have to hurry up and take you before I'm ready. You'll miss half the fun if that happens."

"I don't want you taking me at all," I pointed out. "I want you to go away and leave me alone."

"Yeah?" he asked. "You mean you don't want me touching you here?"

His hand wandered over my tummy, heading lower. Crossing my waist with the bunched up skirt it settled on my mons, lightly tugging at the little tuft I had.

"Move your hand," I pleaded, and the swine did.

His hand slid lower, not sliding onto my pussy, which was what I expected, but along the inside of my thigh. I could feel the hair on the back of his hand brushing against my mound, tickling it. I squirmed around, protesting, trying to get away from that roving hand, not that I was getting anywhere. He switched sides, his hand trailing up the inner thigh of my other leg, and I could feel that heat increasing.

He didn't actually touch me down there, if you know what I mean. His hand would go sliding down towards me, towards where that heat was burning, then it would veer off at the last moment, stroking the sensitive flesh along my thighs. I'd never realised just how sensitive to the touch my thighs were.

For god's sake, I knew he was going to touch me there sooner or later and I was damn near ready to ask him to. I kept my mouth shut, but it was a near thing. I was breathing hard, twisting back and forth as he touched me, my righteous indignation at the way he was treating me not being helped by the fact that his mouth was sucking on my breasts again.

When he finally lifted his head up from my breasts again I took the chance to get his attention and try to get him to stop.

"Will you please get your hands off me," I panted. (I had to pant. I couldn't seem to get my breath under control.)

"Are you saying you don't want my hand here?" he asked, and would you believe his hand came down and cupped my mound, squeezing me. I bucked so hard it's a wonder I didn't break my back.

"No," I wailed.

"No. So you're saying you do want it?"

"No," I wailed again.

"You can't seem to make up your mind," he chided me. "Still, if you say hands off, I suppose I'd better do as requested."

I didn't trust him. Not one little bit did I trust him, and I was right not to. He shifted his hand and his mouth came down upon me.

His frigging mouth was on my mound, kissing my lips down there. I knew in theory that people did that but I'd never really believed it. How could they do that? Quite easily, it seemed.

It rapidly got worse. His tongue forced its way into my slit. His tongue! I'd have understood if he'd tried to slip a finger into me, men do that, but his tongue? I was at a loss. He wasn't. He knew exactly what he was doing. I hadn't known a tongue could be so hot, and it was exciting the heat inside me as it moved around.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," I was wailing, frantic at what he was doing, desperate for him to stop, terrified that he might. I might as well have been silent or encouraging him. He simply took no notice of what I was saying. And he wasn't leaving my breasts alone. What is it with men and breasts? There he was, chewing on my pussy, and his hand still wandered up and fondled my breast.

I was twisting and squirming under him, not knowing what to do. This situation was totally new to me and I didn't have the faintest idea. All I knew was that he shouldn't be doing this to me, not that knowing that was of much help. It didn't stop him touching me and it certainly didn't stop the strange feelings I was having.

My god, his tongue did something, touched something inside me and I thought the whole world was going crazy. I had to jam my hands in my mouth to stop myself screaming. Then he looked up at me, gave me this truly wicked smile, bent down and did it again. My hands were tangled in his hair, trying to pull his head away from there. He just brushed my hands away and winked at me.

At least, he'd stopped touching me. He rose to his feet, moving very gracefully for such a big man. Oh, horror, he was undoing his belt.

I'm all, "Oh, please, no," watching him, as his trousers slithered down and I could see his penis. It looked enormous. It was sticking way out there. I couldn't believe a man had such a thing. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was going to try and stick me with it that made it look oversize. There again, maybe it was oversize. How the hell would I know? I'd always avoided situations where those things might come out to play.

He knelt between my legs, his erection waving about, just over my mons, so close that I could feel it brushing against my fur. I hurriedly put my hands over my mound, trying to protect myself. He laughed at me, the rotten pig.

Instead of just attacking me he reached back and pulled the ties on my feet loose. Wow, I could now move my legs. And do what with them? I sure couldn't close them with him squatted between then. I gave him a nasty look to show what I thought of this magnanimous gesture.

"You'll need them," he explained. "You'll want to wrap them around me later."

The hell I would. The only thing I need them for was to kick him, hard, and I knew just where I'd kick him, too. He took hold of my wrists and moved my hands away from between my legs. As soon as he let them go I reached down to cover myself again.

"No!" he said sharply. "Don't be silly. Put your arms by your sides."

Rebelliously I did as I was told. It wasn't as though I'd be able to fight him after all.

"Please," I said, trying one last time. "You don't have to do this."

"Well, I know that," he retorted, "but it would be silly to quit once I've gone this far."

"B-but I've never. . ." I said, my voice faltering.

"Look, I know that, too. I was playing around inside you, you know, or weren't you paying attention?"

Not paying attention? His hands and his mouth had been all over my body, touching me everywhere, and had I noticed? Why, yes, I do believe I had been paying attention.

His hand was touching me down there. I could feel him moving my lips apart. I turned my head away, not wanting to look. Then I could feel his erection pressing against me, starting to push into me. Not look, hell. How could I not look when that was happening to me? I snapped my head around, watching that thing of his as it started to push its way inside me. I could feel myself closing around it, but I could also feel it pushing forward nudging against my hymen.

I wanted to scream with shock and terror. Which was somewhat surprising as I found I was also burning with anticipation, my body expecting and wanting this. My main fear was with him popping my cherry, as it were. Girls hear some horrendous stories about that sort of thing, generally from other girls who've been popped, or claim they have.

I was rather surprised at the way he went about it. He didn't go ramming his cock against me, forcing me to give way, probably painfully. He just kept increasing the pressure. I could feel him there, leaning against me. I'm not sure if I was trying to resist or just waiting to see what happened, not that it was going to make much difference. He was coming in and I had no say over it.

I was breathing hard, burning inside, not knowing if I was going to scream or cry or what, and he was still leaning against me. Then there was this queer feeling of something giving way inside me. It wasn't painful as such, just unusual and unpleasant, and quickly forgotten as I now had other problems. Namely, a whacking great cock making itself at home.

If I'd thought the feel of my hymen breaking was queer I have to admit it was nothing to the queerness of what was going on now. There was something alive inside me, pushing its way deeper, apparently seeking the source of that heat that was burning inside me. It was the strangest feeling, his cock was moving slowly along my passage, forcing it open and stretching it, not seeming to mind when my passage closed snugly around him.

It might have been strange but the feel of him coming into me wasn't really unpleasant. If pressed I guess I'd have to admit that I was enjoying the feel of it. It just seemed right. It was big and it was hard and it was hot and it was fitting inside me very nicely, stroking my passage as it came, both exciting and comforting me.

I know. I was being raped. I should have been wailing and howling and fighting, but for the life of me I couldn't see why. Now I could understand why that woman I'd seen earlier let that man do that to her. It felt good.

Even while he was taking me I couldn't help the stray thought that crossed my mind. What would it be like to be on all fours while he came in from behind me? (Not that I wanted to find out. It was just a thought. Forget I even said anything.)

I gave a little squeak when he pressed himself fully down on top of me. He'd actually gone and done it. He'd put that huge cock inside me and made it fit. Only just, I suspected, as I was feeling very full down there. Looking at it, it had seemed big. Feeling it stuck right up my passage as far as it would go it seemed even bigger.

"This," I was told, "is where you wrap your legs around my waist."

"Why would I want to do that?" I asked.

"It changes your position slightly and lets me go in that little bit deeper. Don't you want me to go that little bit deeper?"

"I don't want you in me at all," I pointed out, being blandly ignored. He just grabbed my legs and lifted them. Despite my wishes I found myself wrapping my legs around him. Not just around his legs, but lifting them high and practically wrapping them around his waist, would you believe. The annoying thing was that he did seem to go in that little bit deeper and it felt good.

"If it's not too much trouble, I suggest you try to move with me," Mike told me, leaving me to guess at what he meant.

Then, oh, wow, he started moving his cock back and forth inside me. As soon as he started doing that I got the strangest feelings down there. I could feel him sliding back and forth, his cock rubbing against my passage, the vibrations of its movement penetrating deep inside me, stoking up that pool of heat deep inside me, making it burn hotter.

Move with him, he said, and I remembered that woman lifting her bottom to push back against the man when he pushed in. That must be what he meant. Tentatively I pushed myself up against Mike the next time he pushed in, finding he seemed to slide into me even more easily, and those strange sensations increased.

It was easy, just pushing up against him, feeling him go deep into me. I found myself loving the way it felt. I was fully aroused by what was happening, my excitement growing by leaps and bounds. If I could have had a couple of moments to consider the situation I would have been aghast. Here I was, getting raped, by a stranger, in what can only be considered a public place, and I was not only enjoying it, but I was cooperating. I must be mad. Fortunately, I didn't have time to consider it right then. All I knew was that this man was in me and pleasing me and that was all I was concerned about.