Whatever It Takes Pt. 02 - Monday

Then he said, "Honey, kiss me." In my cooperative state, I leaned over to brush his mouth with mine, when I did, he put his arms around me, holding me against his chest.

"Mack, you're next. You wanted her ass, right?"

"Absolutely. This stuck up bitch deserves to be reamed out like a colonoscopy on steroids." My mental acuity was slowly coming back. I was only a few seconds behind. When I figured out that Mack, the bartender who probably slipped me the drugged drinks, was going to have anal sex with me, I began to buck and squirm. The man under me then raised me up so that he could put his mouth and teeth on my right nipple, "Relax or will bite off your teat." With that threat, I stopped squirming. When I did, I sensed Mack on his knees behind me. Slowly, it dawned on me that they were double teaming me...Mack would soon be in my ass while the man underneath would still be in my cunt.

"Mack, do you have the lube?"

"Do I have to? This Bitch deserves to take it dry."

"NFW. Michael wants all her holes functional. No damage. Use the lube."

"OK." Then I felt liquid being spread on the entrance to my asshole. Actually it was very soothing, even when the person behind me (Mack supposedly) pulled by buttocks apart and squeezed some lubricant into my asshole itself. Then I felt a penis being run up and down from my filled cunt up to my ass.

"Ready, Bitch?" Before I could even think to reply, I felt his prick slowly push into my ass. An inch or two then out. Then back in again. Deeper this time. Finally, a forward lunge by Mack and I felt his pubic hairs on my ass. He was in me to the hilt. The lube helped as did the fact that he had a short prick. He began sawing in-and-out slowly.

"Squeeze, Bitch," he instructed me. "Like you are taking a shit."

Now I was squeezing my ass and my cunt muscles, trying to eject the two pricks. But the two continued to bore in and out, in and out. I sensed they were pleased with my squeezing and were focused on their own pleasure.

I closed my eyes when I opened them again I saw the prick of a black man coming at my face. He was kneeling by my head. His dick was so close that I could not really focus. It was a blurred spear of flesh heading for my face with a whole lot of black pubic hair at its base. I shook my head to indicate that I did not want to do what I knew he wanted, but it was no use. He gripped both sides of my head, held it in place, pushed his prick past my lips, and, when it was stopped by my clenched teeth, he gripped my left ear and twisted hard. I opened my mouth reflexively, and his prick pushed into my mouth, across my tongue, and into my throat. His pubes now brushed my noise. We held that pose briefly and then he begin to work himself back and forth in my mouth. My tongue trying to expel him but only increased his pleasure.

"Now you are air tight. Three holes, three men, three times the pleasure," I heard him say.

I closed my eyes again. The magic of drug-induced hallucinations took me back up to the ceiling where I looked down on what appeared to be a huge insect on the bed with eight arms and eight legs, some black and some white. The octopod creature moved rhythmically but traveled nowhere. The effect of human beings all trying to achieve orgasm linked to each other and held together through the simultaneous penetration of a single body, my body to be precise.

Finally, the man in my mouth whose face I never saw, started to cum. He began in my mouth, deposited some of his fluid on my tongue, and then pulled out to run ropes of cum across and around my face. When he finished, he pushed my head down and cleaned himself in my hair.

Next I felt the one in my cunt gasp and ejaculate in my vaginal channel. He left it in place as it deflated in place. He must have wanted it to stay in a warm, wet place.

Mack then climaxed. Thrusting as hard and brutally as he could, he held himself deep in my rectum and flooded me with still more cum.

Finally, the last person in this link of degradation began to climax. I heard myself yell, "Yes, yes, Oh God yes!" Then I repeated myself in a never-ending mantra thanking the gods for my pleasure. My body shook, and every nerve center in my body just went off in an explosion of lust-driven ecstasy.

After a respite, the three of them go out of bed. Then I must have passed out. I remembered almost nothing of what happened after the three-way.in that room My memories were all flashbacks in I which I was always on my hands and knees with one or two pricks in my mouth. Behind me a man was always penetrating my vagina or my ass or alternating between them. That must have continued for the better part of an hour but the specifics are lost to me.

Finally I blinked and squinted, my eyes capable of opening only half way. The lights were all on in the room, in fact it was too bright. Then I noticed the track lighting on the ceiling, looking more like theater lighting than mood enhancers for a bedroom. I closed my eyes and reached up to rub them. I felt a dry, crusty substance on my eyes, cheeks, and lips. I tried to get up, but at first I could not. I had to lay there, not knowing if he was gone or not. All I knew was that I hurt everywhere. My head ached, and everything below my waist hurt even more. The pain emanating from my crotch and ass was obviously due to being stretched and violated many times. I fell back onto the bed and tried to remember what had happened. I could feel dried and drying semen all over me.

I remembered flashbacks of Michael and I having sex, but it was all a blur - pornographic images zipping through my mind like a VCR on fast rewind. I could smell the sex still in the air and all over me. Dried sperm was on the inside of my thighs and on my neck, throat, and lips. All over my face, I felt a crust. My breasts looked red and manhandled and were marked by large dried pools of whitish man cum. I ran my hand down over my stomach to my public mound. It was swollen and ached. My pubic hair had a crusty feeling. When I looked between my legs, I was horrified to see a pool of cum spreading out on the bed sheet like the ink blot in a Rorschach test, a pool still being fed by a stream of thick fluid trickling out of me. I wondered vaguely how many men deposited how much spunk in me and on me. I realized with a start that I must look like a cheap whore. How many men had I serviced? I would never know precisely, but most likely six to eight plus Michael.

There was no one else in the room. I was disoriented and far from composed, but I knew I had to get out of there.

I had been raped, gang-raped to be precise. I was also convinced that it was my fault. If I had not had drinks with him, not gone with him, not come to this room with him, and had just said 'no!' I was scared. I knew I had to leave there and that meant seeing Michael again since he was my only source of transportation. I had brought no money, no credit cards, and no nothing. Hell, no one at the hotel knew where I was. I cried softly as I got out of the bed.

I found my miniskirt on the floor where Michael had thrown it. I found neither the thong nor the tank top. In the bathroom I splashed water on my face and washed the cum off my body. I used a towel to clean my face, stomach, pubic hair, and legs. The only bright spot was that I was on the pill and could not get pregnant. But I was so scared and so disoriented and the twin flows from my ass and crotched still flowed, slowly but interminably.

I slipped into my sandals and walked unsteadily down the hall the way we had come. My breasts dangled without support, with some bruising around the nipples. It hurt to walk.

I entered the main room. About 14 people were left in the room, some different from when we arrived. When I entered the room, most of the men stared at my breasts and smiled. One rubbed his crotch when he saw me.

"Honey, you much have had quite a party back there!" one of the women in the room called out. With my hair in disarray, naked breasts, and drugged out expression, I must h have looked like a Times Square hooker from back in the days when Times Square had hookers.

"I need to go back to the hotel! Please call me a cab." I squealed out unsteadily. My voice sounded disoriented and uncontrolled even to me.

Everyone ignored me and continued with their conversation, not even deigning to look my way. I felt helpless. If I started yelling and throwing things, I would never regain my self control. I felt drained of strength and could only think of returning to the refuge of my hotel room.

Patrick walked over to me. With something of a sneer, he said, "Pretty white lady, I hope you had a great time. Please come back any time." With a sneer, he added, "There are no cabs out here. You do have a problem. "He then stood back a step and stared at my breasts. He obviously knew that Michael and a half dozen or more men had fucked my brains out. From the look on his face and the "white lady" comment, I also got an unarticulated sense that there was a racial thing at work here. I was blonde and white on a black island as a tourist and had crossed a line by fucking a native. Race had never meant much to me, having always gone to integrated schools and the bank was an equal opportunity employer. But Michael was the first black with whom I had ever had sex - and I had to admit if it wasn't for the island atmosphere, the alcohol, and the drugs, I would not have entertained the idea for a nanosecond.

It also dawned on me that I was helpless and topless in a room of mostly men. I raised my hands to cover my breasts, and William grabbed them in his right hand. He took his left hand and began to massage my left nipple and areola very gently, then pulled on it and its counterpart on the right until they extended for the better part of an inch. Then he pinched each of them in turn, looking into my eyes as he did so. I was suddenly very frightened of this strange man whose eyes seemed to lack the slightest spark of humanity. They bored into me, cruel and unyielding, causing small goose bumps to ripple along my skin. I stood there with a stupid smile on my face, scared and too weak to care or resist as this stranger manhandled my breasts, trying for a to force me to ask (beg?) him to stop.

I heard a woman's voice. It was Camille Williams again. "Leave her along, Patrick. You know Michael is a pig. I will get the limo and get her back to the hotel."

She pulled me away from Patrick, told me to wait by the door. Then she went and picked up a camera. "Put this on," she said, handing me a thin wrap that she had plucked off a chair. She grasped my left hand and pulled me out the door into the now dark parking lot. It was hot, but I kept shivering. The camera on her shoulder glimmered in the moonlight, what appeared to be a high quality lens was attached to the camera body.

"Elaine, you really are clueless. You have no concept of the mess in which you have gotten yourself."

"Please just help me get back to the hotel...he raped me, you know."

Her voice was cold. "Michael did not do anything to you that you have not done before. The differences are that you did it with a Jamaican black man in control not some wimp of an American husband or some pussy sucking boy friend that you keep on the side."

The cold tone of voice, and the hatred it revealed, stunned me. I dropped behind her a step or two.

She reached back and grabbed my hand again. "Hurry up, Elaine. Let's get this finished. You want to go back to your hotel, don't you?"

Then I noticed the big man leaning against the limo. It was Michael, my rapist.

Eyes wide, I turned to Camille. "Have fun, Elaine. It is not over yet." She laughed, and he laughed. A shared secret united them.

When I hesitated, she pulled me. I tried to turn away, to go any where.

"Please leave me alone," I screamed as Michael came up to me. He did not say a word. I was babbling.

I did not see the blow. He hit me in the solar plexus, my natural reaction was to say forward at the waist. With that his rough ham of a hand grabbed my hair, jerked me up right. His rough flat palm whipped across my face, then slashed back. In response, my head whips back and forth. I moaned and would have collapsed if he had not held me up with my own hair. My tongue tasted blood. Tears began to run down my cheeks. I was conscious of the fact that he could have done worse with his fist instead of an open hand. He was just showing me how powerful he was. When he stopped, I could make out his face dimly through my tears, gloating over what he had done, an inhuman sadistic grin widening his face. Blood was trickling down my chin from a cut on the inside of my lip. The blood was in my mouth and made me nauseous. In my whole life I could not remember being so scared; I sensed he would kill me if I did not cooperate.

We got in the back seat, which was big enough for eight people to sit in a semicircle.

Once in the car, Michael pulled me roughly to the floor facing him between his legs. He pulled out his prick. I was looking at it real close up. I could see a little wetness at its tip; it was rock hard.

"Come here, Elaine," Michael said. "Lick this!"

The car door shut. The last thing I saw was Camille with that little wave of hers.

"Michael, please get me back to the hotel. You and your friends hurt me. I will not tell anyone." I added a prayer to a God that did not seem interested in me anymore. "Please, Almighty God, end this."

"Now you got a choice, Bitch," Michael shouted. "You give me a damn good blow job, or I'll drop you naked by the side of the road. Let's see you hitch a ride in the dark way out here. You'd probably get found by one of the rape gangs that prey on tourists and end up 'a-buck-a-fuck-whore' in one of our shanty towns. Your choice. A smart banker bitch like you ought to be able to figure it out. You fuckin know that you will do what I tell you!"

He had my face almost against his cock. I knew I had little choice. I did not know where I was or how to get back to the hotel. The Times article about the rapes of the three French tourists suddenly came back to me. I was so scared that I shook. There was no one to help me, no one at all. I started to speak, to ask Michael not to hurt me. As soon as I opened my mouth, he jerked his hips forward and shoved his cock in my face. When I turned my face away abruptly, he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked it hard. I thought he would pull it out by the roots. My eyes snapped open wide - only to focus on his penis, only six inches in front of my face.

"Stupid bitch. It will be a long ride for both of us. Unless you start sucking, I am going to beat the shit out of you." He then laughed and sat back in the seat with his hands behind his head. I knew the driver heard everything and could watch in the rear view mirror. That only added to my humiliation. All my education, the degrees, the career, the baby, Paul - none of it could help me now, here in the back of a limo, kneeling between the legs of what I now realized was a brutal near-stranger with power over me.

The soft rubbery head of his cock mashed against my lips and, knowing that I had no choice, I opened my mouth. His hips thrust forward, and he slid into my mouth, the underside gliding over my tongue. Michael was not thick but was long. Then he withdrew and left only the tip in my distended, open mouth. "Keep sucking, whore! Use that mouth for something other than talking." The sophistication had left his voice; what I was hearing was all gutter and ghetto talk.

He grunted out instructions, and I, like a puppet for a master, did what I was told. I was sick to my stomach, but I did what he wanted. Following his orders, I began to kiss all over the head of his cock. I coated the head with my spit. Then I began to lick it up and down. I closed my eyes to stop the tears and to steel myself to this humiliation.

"That's it, Elaine. Lick it all over," he said.

I began licking down the side of his cock. I moved all the way down to his black balls and then back to the tip again. "Suck it, now, Elaine. Take it into that mouth of yours. Use it for what God intended women to use it for rather than talk of 'deals' and 'compensating balances'. I saw that his prick was covered with my saliva mixed with the blood from the cut on my lip, like pink froth up and down his organ.

I stalled as long as I could then moved in closer. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and closed my lips on the distended head of his cock. I brought it deep into my mouth - his sex organ pushed at my palate, rubbed the inside of my check, flattened my tongue as I tried to suppress gagging and perspiration broke out all over my body. Incredibly, the thing was growing bigger, filling my mouth entirely, and driving against my throat. I was uncertain what to do next. Instinct told me to suck, to simulate sexual intercourse. I drew my lips back, the length of his cock, then with a hand pushed it deep in my mouth again. My head continued to go back and forth over the stiff shaft.

I tried to imagine that it was my husband, Paul. Not some stranger. Yes. Paul, the man I loved and who left me in the midst of this jungle-like society.

"Open your eyes! Look up at me, bitch!" My eyes opened and I looked up at Michael.

He was making little sounds and gurgling something that sounded like, "Good, so good, good." He put both hands on the back on my head and began to force my face down in to his crotch. Using my lips, I gobbled my way down the shaft until my nose bumped his stomach. I tried desperately to stem the tide of tears as I felt his eagerly, pulsating cock slide wetly around my mouth. Now he had a firm hold on the back of my head and was pushing it, pulling it.

"Wider," he murmured, "I want you to take all of me, every centimeter." He put one hand behind my neck, squeezing hard enough to remind me that he was in control. Michael than began to move my face down into his crotch, his dick going into my mouth and down my throat.

I fought rising panic as I felt herself choking. I allowed my facial muscles to go limp and let go of the constriction in my throat. He pushed in even deeper; I willed myself to open more. Then I realized my chin was against his testicles, his entire shaft was inside my mouth. He began moving my head up and down his prick, using and abusing my mouth like it was a cunt.

I somehow kept myself from being sick; my natural instinct was to vomit all over him as I sucked the cock deeper into my mouth. Michael reached down and jerked the wrap from my shoulders, exposing my breasts once again. He leaned forward, reached down, and began to pull on the nipples as I kept sucking on him. My nipples ached, and his tugging on them was painful. He rhythmically rotated each nipple a quarter turn between thumb and forefinger.

I tried not to think about how disgusting it was to have his cock in my mouth. He began to move my head faster and faster on his cock. He sawed it into my mouth like it was a second cunt. I gagged as he rammed it against the entrance to my throat. Then he threw his hips forward so that the knob of his cock went sliding into my throat. I gagged and struggled against the hands holding my head in place. I could not breathe; all I could think about was that tube of meat in my throat. Then he slid it backward until the head popped out of my throat and back into my mouth. I gasped for breath, drawing shaking gasps of air into my lungs. I was afraid that I was going to die.

Then he thrust forward, again the full length disappeared past my lips and down my throat. He began to fuck my throat, sliding his cock up and down as I went whiter and whiter with pain and lack of oxygen. He put both his big hands on the sides of my head as he rammed his dick up and down my throat. His balls slapped harshly against my chin. His rough pubic hair made it difficult to breathe through my nose when he rammed he dick all the way in and held my head immobile in his crotch. I moaned and whimpered around the pounding organ, as he brutally reamed out my throat.