Snowballs and other stories: The worst of rachael ross

Posted by rache on August 09, 2005 at 22:50:02:

Author's note to Snow Balls in Hell: This is a true story which I have posted for the '2nd Annual Worst Story Contest' at www.necrobabes.org/public ...The adult public forum maintained by one Sam(of Sam's Place) to whom I feel much indebted for reasons which should be obvious, but I've only expressed to my priest. I do not remember exactly when the contest happened last year, perhaps October? And I am unsure if there will indeed be a 2nd Annual, but I'm entering this now, anyway.

Author’s note to Angel of Death: This is a fictional story. I made up everything and haven’t bothered to check the factual existence of any shooting competitions to which I refer. If there are indeed such things, I hope I haven’t misrepresented them in any way. It was certainly not my intent. Among other things, that lack of fundamental research lends itself well to submission for "Worst Story" at the necrobabes public forum.

Author’s note to Makin’ Movies: This story is fictional, but based in part on real persons and places I have known. I did not receive any compensation for product placement and I would like to stress that I have not appeared in any pornographic materials called ‘Extreme Coeds’ if such a thing exists. In that event, whoever the girl in Volume 13 is, so far as you know, she probably isn’t me. Sam, I *love* leaving you messages in strange places, so here's this one: If you need/want to split these 3 stories up for any reason (archival or whatever) feel free. I lumped them together because I'm lazy and like to test reader endurance. Thanks.

PS. Since I don't think I've posted to Sam's (or anyplace on the net) in a year, or so, I would like to say one thing: I'm entering a Master's Program!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you, thank you! I knew you'd be impressed. After only four years of indentured servitude to the goddess of painful humiliation, yeah, I really am glad I didn't die before. I'll have my PhD by the time I'm 28, mark my words! Love you all. -rr

Okay, one more thing, since as some of you know, I just never know when to shut-up. I haven't been writing for personal pleasure/entertainment at all recently. Nothing, zip, zilch, nada, for the better part of a year. I've been so busy doing other stuff, it's unbelievable. Part of me has suffered for that, greatly. Anyway, so these things were written largely as presented here a long time ago...Makin Movies was, ummm...2003, probably? Angel of Death before that, and Snow Balls, that should really be one word, shouldn't it? Snowballs is from high school, honestly, 2000 maybe, I just updated it a little. None of them were finished, or are finished, but like so many things I have started, never will be. So, what I did was look for good, or at least convenient, places to close them and...presto, they're done. At least enough for a 'worst story contest' ... Best always, rache

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Snow Balls in Hell (kinda)
A true story by rache

After I died it took me a little time to get used to the fact. Especially since I didn’t really believe I was dead. I mean I still seemed to have a body; I was still corporeal, if that’s the right word. I didn’t remember any tunnels of light, or angels, or harps. Nothing like that. I just remember sitting in that nice hot bath, watching the water turn kind of pink and getting sleepy.

And I had this great dream that Paul had come home from work and found me there, and he had started yelling and trying to wake me up; then he ran to the phone, and then…he just slumped down next to the tub, sitting on the cold tiles of our bathroom floor, and he wept.

It was a great dream and I hated to wake up. I wanted to hit the snooze button, you know? Just the way you do, so you can just go back and dream a little bit more, even though you know you're going to be late for your first class. But, I had to get up. So I climbed out of that tub and walked to my room and got dressed...and then I saw Elvis.

The King.

“Hey little mama!” He said. And he looked great, like when he was young and thin and black and white and oh, so sexy.

“Hi.” I said.

“C’mon.” He gestured with his head. “Let’s go for a ride.”

And I was like, oh boy! So I followed Elvis down to his car, a big white Cadillac and got in. He pulled out easy and everyone stared, but they weren’t looking at me, of course. Elvis put on some sunglasses and turned on the radio. It was playing ‘Like A Stone’ by Audioslave and he started tapping his fingers.

“I like these ‘ol boys.’ He told me.

We listened to the radio all the way until we got to the State Line, which came a lot sooner than I remembered.

“Now leaving Life” I read the sign out loud. “We’ll miss you!” And there was a big picture of some people who looked an awful lot like my friends and family waving goodbye. “That was weird.” I looked at Elvis.

“It gets weirder.” was all he said.

The next sign said, “Welcome to Limbo.” I frowned a little. “I thought Limbo was in Texas.”

Elvis laughed. “Don’t worry cherry girl, we’re just passin’ through!” And he stepped on the gas. “Hey, as long as were in Limbo…” The King looked around like somebody might be watching us as we drove along, but I hadn’t seen another car at all. “You think you could do poor boy here a little favor?” He was sitting up a bit, working at his pants and freeing his penis. It was a big hard one too.

Well, like I was gonna turn down Elvis! Yeah right! So I was giving him head and it was smooth! Oh, you have no idea. It was like his cock was made for my mouth, I just went down and down and down…I came 3 times and I didn’t even touch myself!

Elvis was singing to me too. Singing 'Love Me Tender', and that might have had something to do with it.

Anyway, I was in for quite a shock when I saw the next sign. “Welcome to Hell” There wasn’t a word about enjoying your stay, or anything. It was just a little sign.

“You’re taking me to hell?” I yelled at Elvis. I tasted sperm and licked my lips.

“I just drive, sweet pea.”

Then I was thinking: Elvis is in hell? Well, how bad could it be? “What’s it like?” I asked him.

“Hell?” He shrugged. “It’s nice, you’ll like it.”

He drove us right into the city. Everything was made from some weird black rock that was veined with crimson, like fancy marble from Italy. Except it wasn’t chiseled or cut, it looked like it was smooth and shiny and molten, rising up in tall spindly spires, like great tongues of black flame. I thought it was pretty intense.

We pulled up to a door and Elvis waved as I got out. “Hey aren’t you coming?” I asked him.

“Me? No, I gotta get back to Heaven.” He smiled. “You have fun now, little mama!” And then he sped off, honking his horn a couple times.

“Welcome to Hell.” The door opened and a guy who looked an awful lot like the devil was standing there in a Brooks Brothers suit, sans shoes of course.

“Who are you?” I asked a little suspiciously.

“I’m the goddamn devil.” He smiled. “Can I get your bags?”

“I don’t have any bags.” I shrugged and started wondering what kind of a dream this was. I mean the bit with Elvis was cool, but now it was just getting surreal.

“Oh, well, that’s fine too.” He gestured and I walked past him slowly into the grand foyer of a large hotel. “I’ve reserved you the bridal suite.” He raised his eyebrows. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“Bridal suite?” I stared at him. “What happened to the lake of fire and pitchforks and endless torments and stuff?”

“Huh?” He looked genuinely shocked. “I’m not sure.” He said cautiously. Then he brightened. “But we do have a great brunch buffet, really, it’s good. We call it the Bruffet. Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh.” He seemed sort of sad.

“Where is everyone?” I looked around and the place seemed utterly deserted.

“Everyone?” He looked around too.

“Yeah, um…Where’s Adolf Hitler? And Jeffrey Dahlmer? And um…Judas? Isn’t Judas here? I’d love to talk to him.”

“Uh…no, there’s just us.”

“Huh?”

“You’re the first person to be damned.”

“What?” I gave him the look I reserved for idiots who told me there were aliens abducting cows.

“You’re it, yep…Number one!” He smiled. “I’m really glad you’re here too!”

“You mean to say nobody else, in all of human history, has ever been damned to hell before?”

“Uhhhhh…” Satan looked at me very apologetically. “No. I mean…Yeah. That about sums it up.”

“But what did I do? I mean, I killed myself, so what? Zillions of folks do that all the time! I lied, I cheated at monopoly, I fucked every chance I got, drank, did drugs, shoplifted, kicked a dog, strangled a cat almost to death once, ummm…I swear a lot, I eat meat on Fridays, masturbate during confession, and plot to seduce my father. Now tell me, I’m the only one in hell because of that?”

“Hmmm…That and, well, I asked for you.”

“You asked for me?”

“Yeah. God drew to an inside straight, always a bad idea, and well, I had a pair of fives.”

“I’m in hell because God lost at cards?”

“Uhhhh…yeah.”

“To a pair of fives?”

He nodded.

“Jesus Christ!” I swore.

“He folded.” Satan nodded as he remembered the hand in question, somewhat nostalgically, I thought.

“So you asked for me…” I shook my head, trying to understand. “…By name?”

“Mmm…not exactly.”

“Then what? Why did I get picked to come to hell?”

“It’s lonely down here, come on!” He spread his arms. “God forgives everyone. Hell, I can’t even get the really bad people…So I said, Lord, you gotta give me some company, man.”

“And he gave you me?”

Satan nodded. “I, um…brought you flowers.” He ran over to the front desk of the empty hotel and retrieved a huge bouquet of black roses. He ran back and held them out, smiling shyly. “I tried to get red ones, you know, with baby’s breath, but we are in hell.”

“Black roses?” I stared at them.

“And um…this too.” The devil reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He looked around a little self-consciously, but there wasn’t even tumbleweed to disturb us. I watched in shock as Lucifer knelt on floor and held out his hand, palm up with a diamond ring resting in a black velvet box. “Will you, uh, marry me?”

It was a pretty big diamond, 3 carats easy and it was gorgeous, just glittering there. But…

“I don’t know…this is pretty, um…sudden…” I looked at him, feeling my heart softening just a little.

“Not for me!” He insisted. “I’ve…well, God offered me some…choices, different girls that I might like. I watched them. I watched…you…I mean.” He blushed a little. “I fell in love with you the day I saw you having sex with your best friend’s dad.”

“You fell in love with me because I had sex with Jenny’s dad?” I stared at him. “I was only 16 then!”

“No!” he shook his head. “No, not because of that…I fell in love with you because after he was done you called his wife at work and told her all about it!”

“Oh.” I’d tried to forget that.

“Twice!” Satan giggled.

“Well, I was young…” I rolled my eyes and smiled a little. "And she hung up on me the first time."

“A girl who could do that!” He nodded seriously. “That’s the girl for me!”

“Uh, who was my…er, competition?” I wondered.

“Well, I was thinking about Marilyn Monroe, actually. Something about the way she sings happy birthday just gets me right here…” He touched his chest. “And Lizzie Borden, she was always on my list.”

“Sure…” I nodded thoughtfully. “An axe murderess with her own nursery rhyme…who wouldn’t go for that?”

“But you…” He held up the ring again. “You’re the one Rache. Please, marry me and be the Queen Bitch of Hell. Please?”

I thought about it. “I don’t…uh…I don’t even know your first name.” I gave him a weak smile. "I mean is it…Lucifer? Or uh, Satan? What do I call you afterwards, you know?”

“Afterwards.” He smiled like a little puppy, even though he was really big, actually. “Well, Lucifer is okay, sure. Satan is…I sort of use that when I’m on business.”

“Business…” I nodded slowly. “Like…?”

“Well, like when I buy a soul, or um…somebody sacrifices a goat, or uh...” He rubbed his head. “When Ozzy goes on tour!” He smiled.

“Ozzy Osbourne?” I rolled my eyes. “And he won’t even be down here…will he? When he finally dies, I mean.”

“Oh no, Moses is a big fan.” Lucifer held up his arms, like what was he gonna do? He looked up at me with his big crimson eyes, still kneeling and holding his ring. “But I’m a big fan of yours, Rachael.”

“I’ll uh…I’ll think about it.” I promised him. “I need to lie down I think. I’m a little…tired.”

“Oh, sure!” The devil nodded quickly and pushed the velvet box in my hand. “You um, you hold that okay? And I’ll…here!” He gestured. “Let’s take the elevator. Would you like something to drink? Champagne? Uh…”

“No.” I smiled. “No…just a bed.”

“Oh.” He nodded and pushed the button, rocking on his hoof’s impatiently as we waited, every now and then glancing down at me.

=-=-=

He’d tried to come into my room, but I smiled and put my hand on his stomach. “No, not until we’re married…” He grinned and I cut it off right away. “If…If we’re married.”

“But…”

I shook my head and closed the door with a sigh. He was kind of sweet, I thought, and I opened the box, looking at my ring. Well, it wasn’t really mine…yet. Did I really want to be married to Satan? I walked over to the TV, it was a big one and I turned it on.

Rosemary’s Baby…Hell Boy…Hell Raiser…Devil’s Advocate…Bedeviled…

“Yikes!” I shook my head and found the pay-per-view channel…

“Devil In Miss Jones…”

“Double Yikes!” Porn that was older than I was! We were going to have to get the Discovery Channel down here, if I was staying, A&E too!

I turned off the TV and opened the top drawer of the night stand. “Jesus.” I muttered. “They’re everywhere!” I picked up the Gideon’s Bible and thumbed through it real quick, looking for the part about “Satan, get thee behind me!” But I wasn’t in the mood for a real search. I threw it back and closed the drawer, lying down on the bed and stretching.

I guess I fell asleep...

"Rachael?"

"Hmmmm..." It was so nice and warm in that bed. I opened one eye, just enough to tell that the room was dark. A soft, warm sort of darkness. Hell wasn't so bad, I thought, so long as I could get "...room service." I whispered.

"What?" There was a little laugh. "Come on, sleepyhead, you're going to be late."

I blinked hard, focusing on Paul and then the room around us. Not room 666 at the Hilton of Hell at all. Just our bedroom. God, I hate it when I have great dreams like that.

end

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two fer one day? ynot...

The Angel of Death
Fiction by Rachael

You know what I hate? These people from out of town who come through like they own the place. With their big city cars and big city manners. They figure just because we're living in a little town, out in the middle of nowhere, they can just do whatever they want. Especially these college boys coming from Seattle on their way to Pullman. Figure they'd take a shortcut, get on a road where they could do 85 miles an hour and have a few beers on the way.

I sat behind them in my old Bronco calling in the tags, punching them into our fancy new SIDS, the State ID System that was supposed to tell me if they'd ever run over a dog in Enumclaw or some such. The county was supposed to spring for something new to wrap around it, a big Explorer would be nice, but I was still driving my old truck. I kind of liked it anyway. No wants, no warrents. Young man by the name of Travis McGillacuddy was the proud registered owner of the Taurus. Age 21 and living in Seattle. Everybody lives in Seattle. Strange kind of car for a young man to be driving, but it had room for his buddies I guess.

I checked my hat real quick in the mirror, put on my sunglasses and picked up my ticket book, tucking it in my back pocket.. Told Charlene at the dispatch I was getting out. Walking up to a strange car in the middle of nowhere is always a bad thing, but that's what I was getting paid for. I unhitched the old Ruger Blackhawk on my hip. I had a Beretta too, county issue, but I liked my Blackhawk .357 with the 6.5" barrel. (Just a single action, but it was my Daddy's gun once and I was quicker with it than a lot of folks believed. I won the Women's National Quickdraw 3 years in a row with that piece down in El Paso, Texas. Came in second last year at the Open too. Officially, 0.210 seconds in speed, and 6 rounds in 2.35 with the fan were my personal best. That was enough to redden up all the men, except that Ranger working out of Dallas. But he was Lucifer himself with a gun in his hand. They called me the Angel of Death.)

I had the four young men out of the car by the time my sister showed up. Two of them spread with their hands on the hood and two of them with their hands on the trunk. They were looking at each other, giggling like schoolgirls at a church picnic and looking at me with mischief in their hearts.

"Uh, Sheriff?" That would be the one I was starting to think of as Joker, although his college ID said he was Troy Knitson. "Is there gonna be a strip search later?"

"Only if you're lucky, Mr. Knitson." I frowned at him.

"I don't really know him." McGillacuddy was saying. "He was hitchhiking and, uh..." I gave him a frown too.

"What have you got there, Angela?" Emily pulled up onto the opposite shoulder, hit her rollers and stepped out of her own Bronco.

"Holy shit!" Another boy was saying. The young blonde and blue, Cary Hanson. "There's two of em!"

My sister looks just like me and not just because we're both deputies, wearing the same brown shirts, black trousers, and wide brim brown hats. We're twins. Honest to goodness identical ones too. Just about 5'6" tall, long blonde hair pinned up, soft blue eyes, and 120 lbs packed into uniforms probably more suited to a girl weighing 112 tops. Sheriff Miller liked the way these ones looked though, tight in the ass and hips, narrow around the waist, and about ready to pop a button or two round our 34C breasts. But we'd taken them to the tailor and had the thread replaced with 10 pound test line. Bad enough we looked the way we did fully clothed, no sense showing our underwear too. Emily and I had been in a magazine once, 'Girls of the Pac-10' and we'd had a whole page to ourselves, posed like we were anything but sisters. The magazine people offered us a bunch of pages in another issue, but that didn't seem right. The cover was enough and we'd signed a lot of autographs. Too many to be taken seriously, in my opinion.

"Well." I smiled and looked at the boys, particularly McGillacuddy. "I have here an 85 in a 55..."

"Speeding. Reckless endangerment..." Emily smiled too.

"Four cans of beer that they dumped in the ditch over yonder..."

"Open container, littering..." Emily clucked her tongue.

"Mr. Hanson, that good looking black haired gentleman there, is only 19 last June..."

"Underage, delinquency of a minor..."

"Young Mr. Conroy, our red head in the front was trying to hide a little marijuana in his trousers..."

"Possession of a controlled substance..."

"And Mr. Knitson..." I smiled at him. "Was inviting me to strip search him."

"Hmmm...Bribery you think? Or was it a proposition?

"What?" He stared at us.

"A little bribery I believe." He was pretty cute.

"I didn't..."

"Gentleman, I'm Deputy Emily." She liked to take charge, "This is a lot of trouble and as much as I'd like to say we could just write you out a little ticket and send you back off to college, fact is you fella's might just rabbit on us and forget all about those tickets. Then we'd have to put out a warrent, and then 6 months from now when you got caught we'd have to come get you, and then Judge Avery would be all upset and he's 78 already." My sister gave the boys a little apologetic smile. "And we don't need to be upsetting him, do we?"

"No, we'll pay...please..." McGillacuddy was staring at her. They all were.

"Shhh..." Emily shook her head. "So what we're going to do is put you two in my Bronco, and you two in Deputy Angela's Bronco, and we'll get Merle out here to haul your car, and we'll have a nice little sleep over at the jail!" She smiled all around. "How's that sound?"

"Ma'am, uh...Deputy Emily..." Conroy was looking like he wanted to cry. His cute freckled face was drawn and his eyes were blinking hard. "I have classes tomorrow and, I need to get to Pullman..." He stepped away from the car, lifting his arms in a plaintive gesture.

BLAM!!

I had my pistol back in it's holster before the boy even knew he was dead. He stood there for a second, swaying a little and then just crumpled with a hole through his heart. Not just his heart either, but all the way through him. I liked to use Teflon jacketed 172 grain hand loads. They were hotter than hell, but they went through most anything. A hollow point would have blown the kid back a dozen feet and made a hell of a mess. Amateurs liked them though, I guess because the kill target was bigger, but I didn't have much of a problem with that.

The other three men stared at their friend, their mouths open and their eyes not really understanding what had just happened.

"Please, gentlemen, do not take your hands off the car unless you are directed to." I said quietly. It looked like Hanson was ready to puke and McGillacuddy wanted to run, I could see it in his eyes as he looked around. Mr. Knitson seemed to be all out of funny things to say.

"Okay." Emily nodded. "So much for the possession charge, ya'll are making this easy."

We herded the boys into the Broncos, Emily taking two and I had McGillacuddy.

"You killed him! You killed him? You goddamn killed him!" The kid was saying it over and over, changing his inflection just a little, so sometimes it was a question, and sometimes it was an answer. Just like life itself. Or death, for that matter.

I ignored him and got on the radio, asking dispatch to tell Norris, our local undertaker, to pick up the body. "Oh, and tell Merle to get out there with his truck and bring that car round to the back. You heard from the Sheriff?"

Charlene was our dispatch and she answered up. "I sure did, Angela. He's gonna be spending the night in Walla Walla, so you girls got the county for another day or two."

"Kay, thanks Charlene." I double keyed the mic and smiled at McGillacuddy in the rearview mirror. "Emily, did you copy that? Looks like we're gonna have to entertain ourselves tonight."

My sister chuckled over the radio. "Sure does, deputy. Leastwise we have something to play with now."

=-=-=-=-=-=

"Those boys had no idea." I took a sip of my lemonaide and smiled at the memory.

"What happened to 'em?" Phil asked, rocking on the back two legs of his chair. He was a US Marshall from Salt Lake City and carried a gorgeous Navy Colt he'd restored himself.

"Castrated the three of them." I made a snicking sound and scissored my fingers in the air. The three men around me winced, just a little and I grinned. "A couple weeks later, Judge Avery gave them a choice: 3 years apiece in county jail, or they could do 7-10 up in the state penitentary. Hell, they coulda got that much just for littering."

"Family didn't make a fuss?" That was from Ernie Bruhill, Sheriff of Arbor Parrish in Louisiana. He was always complaining about families making a fuss over their convicted kin.

"A little." I allowed, nodding. "But Avery's been a judge nearly fifty years. The devil himself probably owes the guy a favor or two. When the word comes down from mount Olympia though, even the hotshot lawyers from Seattle know when to let it go, you know?"

"Fuckin' lawyers." Our fourth was a Fed, the range guru from Quantico, named Hal Fillmore, and he couldn't miss. I'd seen him shoot match perfect, what we called a 'Possible', just the day before. He couldn't be touched in a match...But he was slow. Real slow. I took him left-handed in the first round, but he wasn't one to begrudge that.

"Anyway, not much more about it, the boys settled into county just fine." I tipped my glass. "Judge'll probably cut 'em loose early too. Seems they lost all taste for misbehavin' when they lost their balls."

"Heh." Bruhill grunted at that.

"Well, I need to get some range time. Shootin' against that Kirkpatrick fella this afternoon." I stood up, fishing my keys out of my purse.

"I heard he's pretty quick, Angel, for an ATF puke." Hal didn't try and hide his prejudice. "Lucas just nipped him last year by a couple hundredths of a second."

"Well, this year it's my turn. Lucifer's just gonna have to go back to Dallas with nothin' but his tail 'tween his legs." The guys laughed at that, until I held up the keys to my Bronco, dangling a pair of shriveled up leathery testicles. "See ya'll later." I smiled, knowing Lucas would get the word.

end

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One more, just for the halibut

Makin' Movies
fiction by rache

"Oh!" I looked down at my coffee, stirring a little more sugar in it. "I'm not sure, Jen. I mean I've never..."

My best friend cut me off. "You're the one always saying you want to make some extra money, Rache." She pulled her long blonde hair back in a ponytail and looked at me with her soft blue eyes. "It's up to you anyway."

"What, uh, what would I have to do?" I asked.

Jenny was getting ready for work, putting on a little too much makeup though, I thought. She was pretty enough without it, but I guess being under the lights made her a little self-conscious, I don't know.

"Well, they just want to do a movie, like a couple hours is all it takes. Some guy talks to you, like an interview thing and then you undress and then have sex with some guy. That's it." She was staring in the little mirror propped up against her purse, concentrating on her eyelashes now.

"I don't know." I said again and Jen was getting tired of my indecision.

"It's up to you, Rache. I'm going and I'm pretty sure April's going. They're looking for three girls, I can find someone else, it's no big deal." She stopped talking as she did her lipstick. "Anyway, it's 600 dollars, so let me know tonight, okay? If I don't hear from you, I'll find someone else. Donna would do it, I think. She's pregnant again and needs the money."

"Another abortion?" I shook my head. "She needs to get her tubes tied, is what she needs."

Jen laughed. "Yeah, no shit." She put her red glossy lips next to my cheek, almost but not quite touching. "See ya later, huh?"

"Bye." I was still stirring my coffee.

I thought about it while I tried to do my homework. Jenny and I had lived together since we graduated the same high school almost 2 years ago. We were best friends and had been since I was 15 and brand new to Seattle. But we were pretty different from each other, so maybe it's true about opposites attracting. Where she was tall and blond and blue, with long legs and heavy large breasts; I was 6 inches shorter, with black hair, deep brown eyes and a tomboy body, to put it simply. Narrow hips, small breasts, and painfully thin. There were a lot of people, a lot of guys, who thought we went pretty well together. And while we had double teamed a guy or two, Jen was straight as an arrow. I'm bisexual, I guess, although I don't think of myself that way. I tend to tell people I'm hetero with lesbian tendencies. Jen tells them just the opposite.

She didn't really like it the one time I'd convinced her to let me go down on her. I mean she'd enjoyed it enough to cum three or four times, but that isn't the same as liking it. That had been right after graduation when we'd found our little apartment and moved in. I admit all those margaritas we'd drank to celebrate might have had something to do with what happened, because me having sex with Jen was just about the last thing either of us wanted. Sex always ruins a perfectly good friendship. But damn if tequila doesn't make me incredibly horny and Jen too, for that matter. The next day, feeling a little embarrassed, we agreed that tequila was no longer permitted on the premises, and we got busy with just being friends.

I also got busy with school, taking a fairly massive load that first year, and not much lighter this second year. It was going to take just 30 months to get my Bachelor's though and a few years after that I'd have my masters, then...my doctorate was in reach. I didn't always have such clear cut goals, but I did now.

Jen, on the other hand, is of the happy-go-lucky persuasion. She got busy with life, taking a job as an exotic dancer at a club near Sea-Tac airport. She's not a prostitute, don't go thinking that, she'll go fight club on your ass. She does her sets, serves her drinks, performs a lap dance when she has to, and does shower scenes on the weekends. But she doesn't go to any hotel rooms, or give customers head in the parking lot like some girls we know. And maybe that's why I was a little surprised when she mentioned this movie business.

Apparently some guys are doing a series of pornographic movies featuring 'Amateurs' meaning young women who haven't done porn before. They've done something like 40 or 50 of them already, and they're looking to do another one. I guess it's a popular genre, if that's the right word. The movies all feature 3 segments, 3 different girls, and they like to have variety. Hence tall blonde Jen needs small dark me so we can appeal to a broader audience, I guess. I never really considered pornographic marketing issues before. April, who already agreed to do it with Jen, is another blonde, but smaller, a bubbly Canadian girl with nothing but curves everywhere you looked.

They paid six hundred for two or three hours of filming, then that would get cut down to what they needed for the finished product. Sounded pretty easy, really. I didn't mind getting naked, I looked good enough, nor did the idea of having sex with some strange guy really bother me. It wasn't like I hadn't fucked strangers before, and hadn't been paid a dime for it. I suppose my concerns were first, that someone I knew might see the movie, or my picture on the box, or a clip on the internet, or something. You know? I mean what would that be like? Especially if it was my Dad, or one of my Dad's friends or something. Yikes!

And then there was the issue of guilt. Good old fashioned catholic girl school guilt. Would accepting money for doing that make me a model? An actress? Or just a whore? It sounds stupid, I know. Especially considering all the really bad things I've done in my short life, even reveled in, without so much as an 'Excuse me' to God. I mean, there were some days, some weeks and months even, when I could have made a pretty good case for being the anti-Christ. So...I was thinking hard, because Jen was right about one thing. I needed the money.

Mary Magdalene was a whore. Jesus loved her. I know it's a sin, but I've always believed in my heart that Jesus had sexual relations with her. I mean she knew what it was about, right? And she had a thing for Jesus, obviously, and he might have been the Son of God, but he was a man too, with all the strengths and weaknesses therein. So I'm pretty sure when Mary Magdalene slipped her hand inside his robe, stroking Jesus' cock so softly it might have been a warm breeze, he looked into her soft eyes and fucked the hell out of that slut.

Okay. So being a whore was okay.

With that settled, I wrestled with my father. I hadn't tortured him in a week, so I called him.

"Hi Rache." He sounded tired.

"Hi Daddy, how did you know it was me?"

"I have caller ID, now it warns me when you're out of money." I could hear his smile.

"Why'd you answer then?" I laughed.

"Reflexes." He made a clucking sound. "They die hard."

"Yeah, so how ya doin', Daddy? How's everything?"

"The same, I finally got that garage painted. The weather's been good, so maybe I'll get around to the pool house, I don't know."

"Well, don't strain yourself, 'kay? What did you eat tonight?"

"Uh."

"Daddy? Don't tell me it was McDonald's again."

"Well, I was working late."

"You just want me to come over, huh?" I threatened. "I will too, you know it, I'll make a tuna casserole or something. That fast crap is gonna kill you."

"Yeah, I know. How's school?"

"The same, still here."

"Uh-huh, how's Jenny?"

"The same, still here." I giggled.

"And um, what's his name? The professor?"

"Paul? uh...I don't know, we're...you know, in and out."

"Huh?" He sounded shocked and I laughed.

"Not that! Daddy! I swear! Where's your girlfriend?"

"Oh, she's around." My daddy didn't have a girlfriend.

"Uhuh okaaaaay...you gotta get out some."

"Yeah. So...what's new?" He got down to it like a good Daddy with a girl in college. "You need money? Everything...uh...okay?" Meaning was I pregnant?

"I'm fine Daddy, really. Hey though, I wanted to ask you something kinda...weird."

"Nothing you could ask would sound weird, Rache...I wake up expecting it."

"Oh! Really?" I gave him a little surprised sarcasm and then waited, counting while I smiled.

1...2...3...4...5...6...

"What did you want to ask me?"

"Well, this guy is offering me 600 dollars to do a movie, called...um..." I read the little card Jenny had gotten from one of the guys. "It's Coed Debutantes" I paused "And I was thinking about doing it."

"Is that...Ahem..." He coughed. "A uh, pornographic film?"

"It might be, I don't know, probably kind of an artsy thing, you know? But I would have to get naked for sure. I was just wondering if, uh, that would totally bum you out, or if you'd be okay with it."

"Rache if you need 600 dollars I can..."

"Well, Daddy, I kind of want to earn something myself you know? You're always on me about that Visa bill, so I thought you'd...like this, maybe."

"Rachael," He sighed. "What do you expect me to say? Honestly? No. Of course I don't want you doing that kind of thing, alright? Don't bullshit me, and don't call me up asking dumb questions. You're 19, almost 20 now, if you want to do porn, go right ahead. But I don't want to know about it, alright?"

"I was just looking for advice Daddy."

"Then my advice is no. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Daddy? I'm, uh...I'm sorry okay?"

"Okay, Rachael..." Big sigh. "I just don't want you hurting yourself. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy. I better go, huh."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, oh yeah. I'm fine."

"I love you."

"I know, Daddy. Bye."

And then we hung up. I called the club where Jenny worked, getting Doris the counter girl, and I left a message. I'd do the movie and as soon as they sent me my complimentary copy, I'd autograph it for my Daddy. Maybe ask for a few extras so I could give them as stocking stuffers to his friends at work. I hated it when he made me cry.

Paul and I had been going through a rough bit. No surprises there, really. He was fucking around, but I didn't know with who. I hadn't really tried to find out, since it could only make me feel worse knowing who she was. I'd been dating the guy since I was 16, you'd think I'd be used to it. But I wasn't. He'd fooled around on and off the whole time, nearly 4 years, and when I caught him, I broke up. Then, somehow, like magic, I'd find myself calling him, or answering the phone one day and there he'd be. Apologizing and promising.

I wondered what he'd think of me doing porn. But I wouldn't call him to find out, no way. He wanted to fuck around? So be it. I hadn't spoken to him in almost a month and it was driving me crazy. I'd been to some clubs though, acting silly, playing normal and sweet and oh so straight. Once in awhile I'd get lucky with someone and then I'd wake up feeling like I wanted to puke. Saccharine love when I just wanted someone to beat me...

"Oh Rachael, God your so hot! I love your little tits..."

"Pinch them...harder...please! I won't break..."

"Mmmm..."

"Harder...oh shit...come on...do it hard for me..."

"Like this, baby...?"

"No! Harder, bastard...fuck...do it...rip them off..."

"Hey...wait I'm not..."

"You motherfucker...Do it!"

"Psycho bitch! Get out of my car!"

"Asshole!...Faggot!" I'd shout, watching him drive off. I had a few dates like that, enough to know I hated this new century with a passion. Men in touch with their feelings, sensitive guys who thought that no really did mean no. Christ. So I'd settled for men who wanted to 'make love' to me, tender and sweet, asking me if I'd cum because a woman's orgasm was important.

But there had been a couple good ones too, here and there. Like the cop I'd been with twice. He was into sport fucking the chicks who dug the uniform, he'd told me, sitting in a booth at Taco Bell.

"What are you into?" I'd asked, cramming a nacho into my mouth.

"Sport fucking chicks who dig the uniform." He grinned at me, daring me to blush.

"Yeah?" I looked at him. He looked good, even after an 8-hour shift, still crisp and clean. "I just like the handcuffs." I sucked my straw.

"You wanna get a room?" He nodded out the door at the motel across the highway.

"What's wrong with your place?"

"My wife's there."

"Oh." Sluuuuurp! "Let's get a room then."

I didn't even know his name until two hours later. We'd met standing in line, waiting to order. He had no problem trying to rip my tits off, he even handcuffed them once, squeezing the flesh close to my chest with a little ratcheting sound until I felt the cold metal digging into me hard. They'd been pulled painfully close together, with that short chain tight between them. Looking at myself in the mirror that night had been enough to make me cum. Having his cock inside me only made it better.

On our second date, if that's what it was, I asked him to fuck me with his gun. He'd come around after his shift was over, picking me up in his big truck. He had to leave his police car at the station, which disappointed me more than it should have. I'd love to get fucked in the back of a cop car. He handcuffed me, spanked me, worked on my pussy with his fingers until I was soaked.

"Fuck me with it." I was begging, looking at the big belt laying on the little desk in that cheap motel room. All that utility, just waiting to be used. "Put your gun inside me."

But he wouldn't do it. He made me suck him off instead. And then I asked him again, to put that cold black thing in my cunt. He just laughed and called me crazy, but not so crazy he couldn't fuck me a few more times before driving me home at 3am. I guess he knew I was unsatisfied, a little frustrated. He never called me again. Or, maybe his wife found out and killed him, shot him in the balls with his own gun. Fucked him the way he wouldn't fuck me. I like to think so sometimes.

And so now, making a porn flick was just another step along that strange twisted path. I wondered if I'd be dancing in a month, humping chrome for 20 bucks in tips and all the propositions I could handle. I'd considered it, off and on. Jen liked her job, she thought of it as therapy for men, and for some of the girls too.

"You should try it, Rache." She'd tell me. "It's like a little power trip, being up there, all those guys watching, just wanting you so bad." She giggled. "It makes me feel good, sometimes."

"How about the other times?" I'd asked.

"I don't remember." Jen shrugged.

I'd been to the club a bunch of times. Met the girls, met her boss, a nice guy named Ken who looked like he'd be doing anything else but running a strip club. He wasn't fat, or balding, or greasy. He had an MBA and a wife and two kids. He didn't hit on the girls, although a couple had tried more than once to hit on him. And he was persuasive.

"Rachael, hi! Great to see you again, you want a drink? Coke?" He'd wave at Doris. "How's school?"

And we'd chat for a few minutes, sitting at the end of the counter while one of the girls danced. Every now and then he'd look at her, or at the other girls, hustling drinks in their little thongs and bustiers.

"Sammi's a great dancer." He'd say, gesturing at a little Vietnamese woman who was grinding it out to NIN's 'The Perfect Drug' with wild abandon. "She pulls down 8 bills a week minimum, and reports 6 at the most. Asian girls are hot, Rachael. Everybody wants one. You should think about moonlighting."

I'd smile at nod. "Yeah, I think about it, but with my course load I'd be sleeping instead of dancing."

"Just do yourself a favor, Rache, enjoy yourself, whatever you do." Ken would pat my hand gently and smile and wander back to his office to check some books, or behind the bar to check the stock, or into the dressing room to see if his girls were okay. He was always busy, but always relaxed too. He enjoyed his job.

I wasn't sure if I enjoyed anything. I was sitting there, looking at the phone, thinking those thoughts. I should have done some reading, or writing maybe, but I didn't. Thinking about Ken had made me lonely for some reason, the way thinking about those other people hadn't. I decided to go see Jenny dance, have a cherry coke and see the men seeing her. I wasn't sure it would make me any happier, but it was better than sitting around that empty house.

I threw on a black cotton skit, a white halter, some little white panties and some black heels. A long burgundy silky trench coat thing that weighed all of 6 ounces, and fluttered around me like angel wings, would keep me safe and warm. For 300 bucks I wore it every chance I got.

It's a long bus ride from our apartment all the way out to Sea-Tac, but I don't mind the bus all that much. There's a certain sense of belonging in that constant transition, going from one place to another. The rest of the world is shut out, except through strange greenish windows, and the whoosh of the doors when they open. People are isolated from each other, insulated by the knowledge that this closeness is temporary and forced. I like it. Many people don't, but I do. People only ride the bus when they have to; I've done it just for fun.

I got off finally, after transferring twice, just a block down from the garish sign that proclaims "Exotic Dancing!" and a smaller one, but still readable from the corner, "No Cover With Room Key!" I've never quite understood if there was some deal going on with the hotels there or not. Maybe something to keep the hookers out of the piano lounge at the Marriot; the concierge sends his guests to the club if they're looking for action.

Across the street there's a little liquor store, a tattoo parlor, and an adult bookstore. They all look terribly seedy actually, and rather out of place. I think Ken mentioned the town was trying to get rid of that particular lot, put an Olive Garden or something there. So the whole family can eat pasta and look at the businessmen wandering into the high class strip club across the street.

Ken's been under a lot of pressure too, but he has the local vice on his payroll, so he knows when he's going to get checked. The cops come in once a month, maybe twice, checking his liquor license, the girl's employment sheets, some customer ID's maybe. Once in awhile they'll put an uncle inside, an undercover cop, to see if he can get a prostitution bust. But Ken runs a pretty clean place, not 100%, but close to it. The girls who hook pretty much do it on their own time, there's no dark corners for 20 dollar blowjobs or anything. The girls are all 21, or at least have an ID that says
they are. Like mine, an Oregon State ID that's real, with a Klamath Falls library card, a Social Security Card, a gold Visa Card, and a OSU student ID that an anarchist friend hooked me up with. They really are mine, I mean its my face on both of the ID's, but the name is Brenda. I didn't have any choice in the name though, but it didn't cost me anything, so I don't complain.

Wanna know how you get a real fake ID? ...
(I just wrote this big long thing saying exactly how to do it, and then I deleted it! You're nuts if you think I'm gonna put that in a story!)
... Okay, so now you have a new birth certificate, a job history, an education, a bank account, a credit card, a SS# and a State ID, and you are now somebody else. Like Brenda…

Now, you do all that only if you really want to disappear. If you want to go into the Anarchist's Protection Program. Just don't get caught, because you have violated about 30 state and federal statutes and they are going to burn you at the stake if they find out. The government doesn't want anyone to be invisible but themselves. If all you want is a fake ID to get in a club? Find the guy on campus selling them, he shouldn't be too hard to locate. But be prepared to have it confiscated. Better buy 3 or 4 at least.

It was almost 9pm by the time I arrived at the club, dark and cool, but at least it wasn't raining. I pushed open the door and saw Rambo sitting there, the big bouncer who checks ID's, collects the cover, and walks the girls in and out if they want. Believe me, around closing time they want. Some of the customers just want one more peek, and they sit in their cars waiting…staring. It's happened to me, and I don't even dance. I just stare back usually, but most of the girls working there just want to get home safe and sound.

Rambo looks like Rambo, kind of, except older. But he's still big and muscular, with a special forces tattoo thing on his arm, short black hair and just generally looks like he'd kick the shit out of anybody and their 3 friends. I like him too, he's pretty funny, he was in Vietnam right at the end I guess, when everything was really bad. But he doesn't talk about that. He talks about how they used to give laxatives to Vietnamese people, telling them it was chocolate.

"We went to this little village once." He told me. "And they were all Viet Cong, you know, the war was about over so everybody was jumping on Ho's boat anyway. And they were always asking for stuff, food and medicine, and chocolate, man they loved that Hershey's. So one day we started passing out ExLax, cause it looks just like chocolate. The next day we're back on patrol and we come back to this village and all these people, men, women, children, everyfuckinbody is waving their arms and backing away 'No chocolate, Joe! No chocolate!' shit, we coulda won that war if they'd given us more ExLax."

I had to give Rambo a hug before he'd let me in, he does that with all the girls, but I don't mind. He doesn't try to grab any ass or anything, though I wouldn't mind that either. I told him he should let his hair grow out, since he was sporting a new buzz.

"Shit Rache, you ever seen what happens to hair in a bar fight?" He shook his head and I could sympathize. A girl named Cynthia had kicked my ass once in school by grabbing my hair and kicking me in the cunt. I don't really remember how bad that kick had hurt, but my scalp was still burning 6 years later.

I went into the large room where the customers sat, and sat down at the end of the bar. Very few people actually sat there, of course, they liked to crowd the two stages, although only one was being used tonight. Doris smiled at me, she was setting up drinks for one of the girls. Doris is older, she'd been a dancer for a long time and now she pretty much ran the place and let Ken worry about business. She kept the girls in line, watched the customers, and kept the bouncers on their toes. She'd been pretty once and still looked okay under the soft lights, but you could tell there'd been some rough miles.

"Hey Rachael."

"Hey Doris, can I get a cherry coke?" I asked. That was a regular old coke and a bowl of cherries. I'd put about six in the glass and stir it up. Like a little kid, I guess, but I liked it.

"Sure. You come to dance?" She always asked me that, like it was inevitable, which made me nervous because she'd probably forgotten more about people and human nature than I would ever even know.

"Nah, I just wanted to get out." I thanked her as she put my drink down on a napkin in front of me and slid the cherries over.

"I gave Jen your message. You sure you wanna do that?" She was wiping her hands and looking motherly at me. That was one of her jobs.

"Uh, I guess, money is money, right?"

"Yeah, it all spends the same. But it ain't all worth the same, ya know?" I just scratched my head while Doris spoke. I didn't know anything about the porn business, but it seemed like one little movie wasn't any big deal. "You got a good head, Rache, that's all I'm saying, you don't need to be using your ass."

"Ah, it's just one job, one movie, Doris, come on. You sound like I'm already...some porno queen. There's lots of girls I'm sure that just do it once or twice, get a quick fix and move on, that's all I'm doing, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Hell, you might even like it." She laughed and shook her head and then Candy was there with her tray and an order. "Three buds, a soda and lime, and a noisemaker straight up, please Doris honey." She smiled at me. "Hey pumpkin, what's doin?"

"Hi Candy, just getting some motherly love." I grinned at Doris and she wagged her tongue.

"Well, you start lookin' for sisterly love and I'll be around, huh?" Candy laughed and reached for some ashtrays.

"Incest is best!" I told her and watched as she hefted her tray and rolled her dark eyes at me.

"That's what you always say, but I'm still...waiting!" she sang the last word softly, teasing me.

Candy, whose real name was Cardinelle, looked an awful lot like me. So people had gotten to calling us sisters when I came around, which honestly wasn't as often as I'm making it sound. Maybe 4 or 5 times a month at the most. She was 24 and had a petite body, boyish in the same way mine was, with her narrow hips and small breasts, but her ass and legs were fine, and her face was so pretty. Her parents had immigrated from Venezuela, but she'd been born here in Seattle. Candy was also a lesbian and made passes at everyone. She'd slept with half the dancers, probably more than half, and one of these days I knew she'd sleep with me too. I was looking forward to it, but the teasing and waiting was still a lot of fun I think, for both of us.

That, and also it's nice to have something saved up for a rainy day, you know what I mean? If a day came when I really just needed to be with someone, not for love, or even lust really, but just intimate physical contact, I knew Candy was there with no strings whatsoever. That may not make a lot of sense to some people, but to those who understand...

Jen finally noticed me and gave me a little wave from a table on the far side of the stage. She was sitting with a couple guys, they looked like shoe salesmen from Salt Lake City. The running joke was that the worst pervs always turned out to be Mormons. As far as anyone knew there had never been a Mormon in the club, perv or otherwise, not that anyone would know, it's just a silly club thing. Any guy who is a little too touchy, or starts making propositions involving animals, jelly donuts, or vacuum cleaners is automatically labeled a Mormon, like a secret code:

"See that guy at the stage?"

"Him?"

"No, no...the one with the Texaco cap. He's a Mormon."

"Yeah?"

"Had his dick out when I brought him his beer, tried to tip me with it. I told him if he does it again Rambo's gonna introduce him to Wally."

"What an idiot. Thanks for word."

"Sure. Talk at ya later."

Wally was the side of the building. Hard cold brick and a few guys had bounced off him, some of them 2 or 3 times. But once was usually enough. You get bounced a couple times and you're not getting back in, after the first warning it's criminal trespass to walk through the door.

I think the Mormon thing was started by a dancer named Sheila, who wasn't really Sheila, but a lot of the girls don't like to use their real names and she was Australian. Some words just twisted her pretty little ears. Or maybe she was partly deaf, I don't know. But the story is that one of the other dancers had been telling Sheila the exact conversation I told you a second ago, except the other girl hadn't said 'Mormon' at all...She'd said: '...He's a moron.'

Sheila, wanting to spread the good word, told all the other girls that the guy was a Mormon, with her big green eyes and Billabong accent. No one was quite sure what the guy's religion had to do with it, but eventually everyone had a good laugh, even Sheila, although she felt a little foolish.

After that, all the pervs were called Mormons.

Jen got up a few minutes later, coming to the bar for more drinks and to say hi. She was wearing white and the black lights made her glow. "Hey Rache, what's going on?" She looked at Doris. "Another pitcher and an iced tea."

"Bud Light?"

"Yeah." Jen was drinking the tea, the guys would think they were buying her some kind of alcoholic drink. It costs ten bucks for a little glass. "So..." She looked at me. "You're gonna do it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, sure...Somebody's gotta keep an eye on you." I smiled and sucked a cherry.

"Heh, I got all the eyes I need right now." She glanced over her shoulder at her two customers. "I bet you a dollar I'm doing a lap dance in 5 minutes."

"A whole dollar?" I widened my eyes. "Now that's real confidence!" I laughed at her.

"Thanks Doris." Jen watched as Doris wrote Jenny's name on the receipt and
stuffed it in a jar. The girl's didn't get paid by the hour or anything. They got half their tips from dancing, half of whatever they made for table or lap dances, plus 10% of the drinks they sold. A good night for Jen was around 750 dollars, a bad night was maybe 300 hundred. That was the good thing about being next to the airport and all the hotels, a lot of guys came in with the company credit cards and a couple clients. Table dances were 20 bucks a pop, lap dances were 50 and for a good tip a girl like Jen could make a guy cum in his pants. I've seen it happen.

There were a few locals too, guys who lived or at least worked nearby. Some of them were good tippers, but generally they weren't. They'd stop in to feel good, because after a few times everybody got to know them and people relaxed a bit. The girl's would say hi to a guy by name and if it was payday give him some special attention because they always got generous. Some guys had been coming in for years, and they were like part of the furniture, like brothers almost, minding their own business, or maybe hoping someday, somehow they'd get lucky with one of the girls. They all had favorites, and some of the guys would bring little presents, or flowers sometimes.

It was an awful lot like walking a razorblade with those guys though, because they were right on the edge of being inside, but no one would invite them that one little step further, you know? They were always outside looking in, and the girls took advantage of it, mercilessly at times. Until once in awhile a guy would just...wake up. And realize he was wasting his time and his money. Sometimes they got pissed, made a big fuss, but usually they just disappeared. It was a part of the business I didn't totally understand or trust, part of the reason I resisted the idea of dancing
maybe. Not that I wouldn't totally use an idiot, I could give a fuck less, but just that I'd rather avoid the temptation.

Sure enough, Jen was doing a lap dance for one of the guys almost before she could sit down. She motioned to Donna who was nearby and got her to take care of the bill, the guy was putting it on his expense account probably. Then she moved the guy back, getting a little room to work with. Everyone knows what a lap dance is, although rules can vary from place to place, and according to what the dancer is willing to do. Around here the girl could get fully naked, basically do whatever she wanted around the customer, touching him if she wanted, but he couldn't touch her, except maybe to kiss a nipple or other body part if Jen offered. Hands were a no-no, though, even if she dry humped the bulge in his pants until he exploded, no hands.

One of the bouncers, in this case it was Greg, who usually hung out by the DJ booth, moved a little closer. He wouldn't do anything unless Jen needed him. The bouncers hated lap dances with a passion, because sometimes it was hard to tell when the girl was dancing, and when she was trying to signal for help. So the usual signal was a slap across the customer's face, followed quickly by the rest of his body meeting the parking lot. But that was pretty rare, mostly the customers knew the rules.

The guy must have been tipping good because I watched Jen, just wearing her
thong, straddle the guys legs facing him. She hooked her knees around the plastic chair and leaned back against the table, pulling her thong to the side and playing with her cunt while he stared down at her. Then she pushed herself back up and did a grind against him, while he moved just a little, but mostly he just sat there and smiled dumbly. She moved around, rubbing her breasts along his chest, up his face, squeezing his nose between her tits. She did everything but pull out his cock and fuck him, and it must have been a good 10 minutes or so before she was done with the guy. She dressed in front of him slowly and picked up her tray and the empty glasses, taking some money from the guy's friend for another round.

"Whew! It's warm." Jenny's body shone with perspiration. "I needed that!" She laughed and her bright blue eyes twinkled. "I need another pitcher and another tea, please."

"How much did you get?" I asked.

"Just 20 for a tip, but that's okay, they're nice enough." The assholes get much shorter dances, tip or no tip. "I got the next set. You should come over and sit down with us!" Jen smiled at me. "Keep em warm while I dance."

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm a wall flower tonight." I chuckled.

"Oh please? Come on. Rache, God you look like you could use some company." She was tugging at my arm.

"Oh, God, all right. Jenny..." I was laughing, but it wasn't entirely genuine. I didn't even work there, I wouldn't make anything. Nothing on drinks, anything resembling a tip would go to the club, no lap dances, no sex. I couldn't hook. If the guys wanted to buy me a drink though...it was 10 bucks. I was in some weird quasi-entertainer land, neither a stripper nor a customer. I'd just be...Rachael.

Jenny didn't use a fake name, and I didn't either, at least not around there. I didn't really need to, I seriously doubted anyone was going to stalk me or anything, and besides, if I needed to I could say my real name was Brenda. Making Rachael my fake name and that would confuse the hell out of anyone! I left my coat at the bar and followed Jenny as she carried her tray, Doris had put another coke on it for me, so it wouldn't look like I was out begging. Nothing worse than sitting down with a stranger and asking him to buy me a drink, in that club or any club, I hated it and I wouldn't do it.

Jenny was putting the drinks down, smiling at the two men and introducing me. "Jeff, Rich, this is my best friend, Rachael. I thought maybe she could sit with us." She was giving them her best and they nodded quickly.

"Oh yeah, sure. Hi Rachael, hi..." They were both talking. "Any friend of
Jenny's...hahaha."

"Hi, guys!" I smiled too, we were all so happy! I sat down next to Jeff, while Jen sat down next to Rich, the guy who'd gotten the lap dance, so they were between us.

"You men be nice now, because Rachael doesn't work here, okay? She's just paying me a visit because I haven't seen her in so long!" Jen's eyes were laughing as she looked at me.

"Oh, uh sure." Jeff looked at me anew. A moment before they'd been staring at me like I was a roast beef sandwich, thinking I was a dancer, now it was like I was someone different entirely, someone they might actually have a chance with. "So, what do you do, Rachael?"

"I'm a student, college. How about you guys?" Jeff and Rich were from Kansas, they worked for Boeing, which I guess has a factory there or something. Anyway, it was nice knowing where they were from, because I was going to be from someplace else, no matter what.

They were nice enough though, Jen was right about that. Late 30's the both of them, a little waistline, but not bad. Nice faces, not remarkably handsome, but they didn't hurt the eyes either. We all made small talk, me playing the innocent to Jen's lewd innuendo, but that was part of her job; keep them horny and they'd keep spending money. Jeff bought me another coke and did a little touching, but not much, just a hand on my bare thigh every now and again, or on my hand, my wrist, when he made a point. Jen and the other dancers were off limits, but not me, although I had no doubt Rambo and Greg would come running if I needed them.

Remarkably enough I did find myself relaxing and enjoying myself. Jeff and Rich were funny when they were a little drunk and they made a good team. I found myself sitting closer and closer to Jeff, leaning in to hear his deep voice over the music and looking into his eyes every now and again, trying to figure out what color they were in that soft lighting.

Jen announced she needed to go change so she could dance the next set. Candy was just finishing up hers and Jeff gave me a ten dollar bill. "Why don't you go give her a tip for us, Rachael." I smiled and nodded, going to the stage and grinning up at Candy. She moved closer so she was right in front of me, squatting down and smiling as she thrust her shaven pussy towards my face. It was sweet and pink, with a little gold ring through the hood of her clit. Her lips were hanging out a little and I licked my lips.

There was a narrow table top, like a long counter, that ran completely around the stage for customers to put their drinks and money on. I sat on a stool and turned around, so my back was to it, folded the 10 dollar bill in half height-wise, so it was long and stiff and put it between my teeth. I leaned backwards, so my head rested on the stage itself and looked up while the guys around us clapped and whistled.

Candy danced around me a moment and then turned to show her tight round ass as she lowered her pussy to my mouth. The lovely Venezuelan rubbed between her legs as she made a show of almost, but not quite, touching my mouth with her cunt, then she took the money between her fingers and stood back up slowly.

I seriously thought she was going to rub me, but she was such a tease. I think she was waiting for my tongue too, and when I sat back up we laughed at each other. Candy blew me a little kiss as I walked back to Jeff and Rich. They were all smiles, giving me a little applause and I giggled and gave them a little curtsy. I sat back down, between them this time as we waited for Jen to come out. They were both grinning and it wasn't long before I felt a hand on each of my thighs, Jeff on my right and Rich on my left.

"You looked pretty comfortable giving that girl her tip." Rich said and I nodded, laughing.

"Yeah, she's my sister."

"Really?" He asked me, and his warm gentle hand moved a little higher, slipping down towards the inside a little.

"That's what people say." I looked at him, smiling and spreading my legs a little because Jeff was doing the same thing with his hand. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd like an invitation to your next family reunion!" Rich chuckled and leaned closer, whispering in my ear. "You're the hottest girl in here."

I gave him a little look, cocking my head like 'Yeah right.' but instead I just laughed at him. "How much have you been drinking?"

"Too much!" Jeff suddenly jumped in and his mouth was next to my ear too. "How come you don't dance?" He asked me.

"Because I want to be able to leave when I feel like it."

"Do you feel like leaving?" Jeff squeezed my leg almost hard enough.

"That depends on where you want to go." I put my hand on his leg then, giving him a little sly grin.

"What about me?" Rich asked and his fingertips brushed over my panty covered slit.

"What?" I looked back and forth at them. "Are you guys Siamese twins?"

"Huh?" Jeff looked momentarily confused and it made me laugh.

"Well, no." Rich admitted, obviously figuring he was going to get left out of whatever was going to happen. He looked decidedly unhappy right then.

"That's too bad." I gave the lump in his trousers a squeeze. "I hate making
decisions."

"Uh, oh...well..." He saw a ray of hope. "So where are we going?"

I looked at Jeff and Rich looked at me, then he looked at Jeff. I laughed. "You guys, behave now, Jen's gonna dance. And tip nice, huh? She needs some new shoes."

I massaged both of their cocks through their pants while they played tiddlywinks on my pussy. It felt pretty good and I was damp by the time Jen was finishing her first song. She smiled at us and wagged her finger when she saw they'd just about pulled my skirt up around my waist in their enthusiasm. Rich gave me another 10 dollars to tip Jenny with, but I shook my head.

"Uh-uh, your turn!" I laughed at him and he chuckled, walking up to the stage and Jenny pulled her panty away from her pussy so he could slide the folded bill across her slit. Then she pulled his head close, whispering something. Jen danced away and Rich came back, still chuckling.

"What did she say?" Jeff asked.

"She said we should take Rachael someplace and, uh..." He glanced at me and decided to just say it. "And fuck her brains out."

"Oh? Did she?" I made a little face, like 'yikes!' and giggled.

"She said you if uh, resisted, we're supposed to tie you down and rape you." Rich went on, looking both nervous and excited at the same time.

"You guys ever raped a girl before?" I looked from Rich to Jeff and back again, shaking my head and laughing. These guys didn't look like they could even hurt my feelings.

Rich and Jeff looked at each other.

"Well, I'm not going to just let someone fuck my brains out, so...sorry guys." I got up, giving them both little pats on their thighs and smiling at Jenny as she watched with her legs wrapped around the pole in the center of the stage. "You guys change your mind, you might catch me before my bus gets here…otherwise…" I shrugged.

I walked back to the bar, pausing to give Candy a little hug and kiss on the cheek. She was sitting with a customer. I asked Doris for my coat and said goodnight to her, pushing 5 bucks in her tip jar. Doris split tips with the girls anyway, but I always felt bad when I saw her jar mostly empty. I gave Rambo a kiss on the cheek and he stood in the door watching me as I walked towards the corner and my bus stop, just to make sure some asshole wasn't hanging out in the parking lot.

I fished a cigarette out of my coat. I was just starting again after a few months of stopping. I only smoked maybe 3 or 4 a day and I'd had that pack almost a week, it was stale and dirty, but I enjoyed it anyway. There was a little bench, but it had been raining a bit earlier I guess, everything was wet. So I stood there, just smoking and waiting while the cars drove by. It was late, nearly 11:30, but the buses from the airport to downtown ran until 1am, and I could walk home from there.

I was still waiting about 10 minutes later when I saw Jeff and Rich walking towards me. I didn't say anything, I just looked at them.

"That wasn't very nice, just leaving like that, Rachael." Jeff said in a soft voice. They were close now, standing just a foot or so on either side of me. I hadn't really appreciated how big they were, much larger than I am.

I looked up at Jeff. "I told you, I like to leave when I feel like it." I shrugged.

"What he means is, we'd sure like you to come to our hotel room." Rich said and his voice was low as well, touched with something almost menacing. But these guys were harmless.

"Fuck off." I laughed at them.

"I wasn't asking, bitch!" Rich suddenly slapped my face, not too hard, but it stung and I blinked in surprise.

"Jeez, Rich." Jeff looked at his friend, but Rich ignored him and grabbed a fistful of my hair.

"Let's go slut, you've been asking for it all night!" He started pulling me along behind him as he started walking.

"No!" I yelled, twisting my head and grabbing at his wrist with my hands, trying to free myself. "Let me go, asshole!"

Rich twisted me around so my back was to his chest and he clamped a hand over my mouth while his other arm tightened around my waist. "Shut up! Or we'll do you right here and leave you in the gutter!"

I looked around and while there were cars passing by occasionally, there were no other people walking, no one who would be able to help me. I had the brief hope that someone might see me struggling as they drove by, that they might pull over to help me, but it didn't happen. Rich had his right arm behind me, pulling my own right arm painfully behind my back and pulled upward so it seemed we were just two lovers walking down the sidewalk. Jeff walked just behind us, ready to grab me if I struggled or tried to get away.

"We're gonna go to our hotel, baby and have some fun." Rich was telling me. "You just be a good girl and everything will be fine."

"Please, guys...Look, I just want to get home, okay?" I was trying to be reasonable. "I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression, just...just let me go, please?" I thought I'd have a better chance with Jeff, but he wasn't the one holding me.

"Shutup, slut. You know you want it. Your friend told us all about you, so don't pretend like you're all innocent." Rich laughed.

"Yeah, she said you really get off on getting raped." Jeff added, but he didn't sound like he believed it.

I turned my head to catch Jeff's eyes. "Please, I don't know what Jen told you, but she was just kidding. It's just a joke, please, you don't want to do this."

"Yeah we do, now be quiet, we're going inside." Rich gave my wrist an extra little twist and I yelped.

We walked wordlessly through the lobby and the young guy behind the desk glanced up from the little TV he must have been watching, giving me a look and a little smile. He obviously thought I was some prostitute these two guys had picked up someplace. He stared until I looked down, feeling my face burning with humiliation.

Inside the elevator Rich finally let go of my arm and I stretched it painfully, rubbing my wrist and elbow. The older man slipped his hand down to my ass, under my skirt and inside the back of my panties. I gave a little jerk as I felt his fingers curling, one of them pushing against my anus, stretching the little ring of my sphincter and going inside me to the first knuckle.

"See? You can be a good girl when you want to be." Rich chuckled and seemed to grip my ass with his hand. He guided me down the hall like that, his finger entrenched in my rectum until we got to the room and Jeff opened it with a magnetic key card. Rich walked me inside and pushed me down on one of the beds.

"Get out of your clothes, cunt." Rich commanded while Jeff had gone straight for his suitcase. "Get some ties, Jeff."

"Huh?" Jeff looked at his friend and I could see he was holding a video camera now. "Just a sec." He turned on all the lights, frowning a little. "Lighting ain't for shit, I should have brought the IC's"

"Wha-What's going on? I looked at them confused. "What are you doing?"

"It'll be okay." Rich told his friend while he removed his belt from around his pants.

"No, look, I'll...I'll give you a blowjob, okay?" I looked up from the bed with pleading eyes. "Both of you and then you can just let me go alright? I won't...I won't say anything to anyone. I swear."

Jeff grabbed a half dozen rather boring neckties, tossing them to Rich and got busy with a tripod, fixing the camera to it.

"I said get the fuck out of your clothes, I won't ask you nice again." Rich looked over his shoulder at Jeff. "We live?"

"Yeah." Jeff was pulling another camera out, this one smaller and it had a bright light attached to it that he plugged into the wall.

"Who...who are you guys?" I asked, feeling very confused.

"Shut the fuck up!" Rich grabbed me by the hair and slapped my face hard, cutting my lip so I tasted blood. He grabbed the front of my blouse, ripping it violently away and making me scream. "I told you to get out of your clothes, bitch. I guess I'll just have to help you a little."

Rich pushed me back hard, so I fell on the bed and he pulled my skirt down my legs, lifting my hips off the bed before I even had a chance to protest. He tossed it away and reached for my panties. I kicked out at him, scrambling to back away, but Rich found one of my ankles, yanking me back towards him. He slapped my face again, ignoring my flailing arms, and laughed at me, shaking his head.

"Let's see that cunt!" Rich ripped my panties away, the fabric refusing to yield for a moment and it dug painfully into my flash before coming free.

"No…no no no…" I was sobbing, saying the word over and over as Rich let me go, allowing me to huddle naked on the bed.

"Okay, ready?" Rich was looking at Jeff who gave a thumbs up.

"Sit up, bitch!" Rich had his belt now and he cracked the wide leather along my ribs, around my back. It stung, but not terribly.

I was back against the wall, huddling there and I only moved when Rich raised his belt again. I slid towards the edge of the bed slowly, to the side where Jeff was standing with his camera on the tripod. I stared down at my body, covering my breasts and pressing my thighs together.

"Look at the camera, cunt!" Rich pulled my hair again, yanking my head back so I stared into the lens a few feet away. "Good. Now what's your name? Your real name!"

"B-Brenda…" I whispered. Rich grabbed my left breast and squeezed it hard, twisting it so that I winced, my eyes flooding with tears. "Brenda!" I said louder, hoping that was what he wanted and Rich rewarded me by letting go.

"And how old are you, Brenda?" He sounded almost civil.

"I'm…twenty…uh twenty one…" I swallowed.

"You know what we're doing here?" He smiled at me.

"Wha-what?" I looked at him, shrinking back slightly. I wasn't sure what he was asking me.

"Do you know what we are doing here tonight?" Rich spoke slowly and I looked from him to Jeff and back again.

"Making a...a…movie?" I tried to keep my voice calm.

"That's right Brenda, we're making a movie. Do you know what it's called?" Rich smiled when I shook my head. "It's called Extreme Coeds #13…lucky 13, what do you think of that?"

"I-I don't know." I whispered, blinking several times as Jeff moved around with his handheld camera.

"You're a coed, right Brenda?" Rich asked and when I didn't answer fast enough he slapped me. "Where do you go to school?"

"Oregon…Oregon State…" I said softly. "Oh…please…please! Just…let me go…I'm sorry! I want to go home!" I started crying softly. "I want my daddy!"

"Sure Brenda." Rich chuckled. "We'll let you go, but first…Have you ever been raped before?"

"Wha-what? R-R-Raped?" I swallowed hard and shook my head. "No…please. You…you don't have to I can…I can do whatever you want…" I wiped my eyes, looking around. "Don't rape me…please…please…" My voice was so soft by the end I could barely hear it myself and Jeff gave me a thumbs up from behind his camera.

"Well, Brenda…it just wouldn't be too extreme if we didn't rape you, ya know?" He laughed and cracked the belt across my thigh, making me jump slightly. "Now answer the question!"

"N-No…I've never been…R-Raped." I sobbed.

"But I bet you want to be, don't you Brenda? I bet you dream of being raped." He was speaking gently, coaxing me, and Jeff was nodding slightly. "Come on, you can tell us the truth."

I wondered what the demographics were for entertainment like this and almost smiled, but I didn't. "No!...No…please…I don't…"

"Brenda." Rich sounded disappointed. "We know about girls like you, so come on…don't lie. Tell us how much you want to be raped."

"I…" I stared nervously into the camera for a moment and then lowered my eyes in shame. "Yes…' I whispered.

"Yes what?" Rich prodded.

"I want to be r-r-raped." I let a tear run down my cheek as I hugged my knees to my breasts, rocking slightly. "I d-dream about it."

"Good girl." Rich chuckled. "See, that wasn't so hard! Now, I want you to look into the camera and imagine all the guys who will see this tape…Men who will be jerking off while they watch you getting raped…"

I looked up, into the camera and stared. Nodding my head and smiling weakly, a sad pathetic little smile.

"…Now, do you have a message for your fans, Brenda? For those thousands of men out there watching you?"

"I…I hope you enjoy this, as m-much as I do…" I swallowed and glanced at Rich who was smiling and nodding. "And I, uh, just want to say I…I love you uh, all…" I closed my eyes, biting my lip as I turned away.

"Now, one last thing and then we'll start rapin' you, okay? I want you to sign this for the camera." Rich held up a model release form for the camera and Jeff zoomed in on it for a minute. "Basically it just says you love being raped, you want to be raped, and you want us to film your rape for sale to consenting adults. Okay?" He handed it to me with a pen.

I wiped my tear stained face and printed Brenda Pavageau in correct spot, wrote down a made up address in Portland, and a phone number that meant nothing to me. I signed that I was over eighteen, modeling with no form of coercion, violating no federal or local laws, and agreed to the terms stipulating in my (non-existent) modeling contract regarding compensation, monetary or otherwise.

It was all just for the camera and I wondered what sort of thrill this gave to anyone who might be watching, but I suppose it lent some minor credence to the illusion that I was who I said I was. Porn is all about illusion, I've learned, and this was my first lesson.

The rape itself didn't start out badly at all, I enjoyed it thoroughly and I think Rich did as well. He tied me spread eagle to the bed, on my back, and whipped me with his belt for a solid 30 minutes. I was screaming at first, so loud that he gagged me. He concentrated on my breasts at first, licking them with that hard leather strap until they felt as if they were on fire. And then he stopped, and that was almost worse, letting us both catch our breath before he went to work on my stomach and thighs.

When he'd had enough, I lay there bathed in sweat. The gag he'd used, my torn panties held in place with a tie knotted around my head, was soaked with spit. My body was criss-crossed with angry red welts and the light discoloration of newborn bruises.

"Get that camera down here. Look at this slut…" Rich was saying and Jeff moved down between my legs, zooming in on my cunt as Rich fingered me. "She's soaked!" Rich laughed. He worked two fingers inside me and then used both hands to pull my puffy labia apart, exposing the glistening pink interior to the camera lens.

I moaned as they examined me gently, teasing me and bringing my clitoris to aching life for their amusement. "I think a hungry cunt like that needs a spanking, don't you?" Rich grinned at me and Jeff panned up to my face, catching my eyes wide with fearful anticipation.

Rich used his belt again, this time whipping it down between my spread legs to light a fire in my sex. It was unbelievably painful, every slowly measured stroke making my entire body tense and jerk against the exploding sensation. Rich did this for perhaps 10 minutes before pausing to let Jeff get more close-ups of my now very red and swollen sex.

Rich fingered me some more as well, posing my pussy for the camera and declaring that I was the most rape hungry bitch he'd ever seen in his life. "She's so hot for it I bet she'd could even fuck The Babe!" I had no idea what he was talking about, but he soon showed me, retrieving a baseball bat from where it was hiding under the bed. He held it up for Jeff to film. "This is a genuine Louisville Slugger Babe Ruth Signature Baseball Bat!" Rich chuckled. "Forty inches long with a eight inch diameter barrel. Any man worth his salt keeps one of these bad boys handy, cause you just never know when you're gonna meet a girl like Brenda!"

Rich laid the bat on my body lengthwise, so the thick round barrel was between my breasts and the thin handle across my sex. "How far do you think we can get the Babe inside you, Brenda? Far enough so you can taste it?" I shook my head violently, groaning as I stared down at it. "Let's find out, huh?"

Rich picked up the bat and rubbed the rather dully rounded, but impossibly thick head of the bat against my pussy. He worked it in slowly, not bothering to lubricate the wood at all, and I had vague fears about splinters. I tried to relax, closing my eyes and thinking happy thoughts, but the pressure was incredible. My vagina just wasn't all that big. I'd never really been a size freak or anything and this was the largest thing I'd ever tried to take. It felt like a horse had kicked me right in the cunt when Rich grunted, leaning his weight into it and a good three inches suddenly seemed to slam inside me. I screamed into the gag, my body going stiff as a board and lifting my ass right off the mattress.

"Goddamn!" Rich laughed. "She's a real fan after all!" Tears flooded my eyes and Jeff focused on my face, catching the miserable ecstasy of that eternal moment. I'd never felt anything like it, the pain was beautiful, tangible. I felt like I could hold it and kiss and join with it forever. My cunt burned and throbbed, a thousand times worse than any cramp I'd ever had. Rich pushed again, sliding more of the bat inside me, but it was the head of the thing, the widest part of it, that did the damage. It stretched me further as it moved deeper, pushing against parts of me that I'd never known existed.

They say the interior of a girl's vagina doesn't really feel anything, that all the nerves are concentrated around the vulva and the clitoris. But don't believe it, I could feel it distinctly, every bit of that hard wooden beast as it caressed my walls. Rich worked it back and forth slowly, and every slight withdraw and push was a new and different pain.

"Deeper?" Rich grinned and I shuddered. I was going to cum any moment and when he pushed the bat again, deeper until it pressed against my cervix like a great weight upon my soul, I lost it totally. My cunt seemed to collapse around my impalement, squeezing the bat relentlessly, ignorant of the agony this was bringing to my already taut muscles. But it was bearable, more easily as my mind reached that next plateau, like a runner getting that high from her exertions. My body was being flooded with endorphins, natural intoxicating pain killers to bring the pleasure of being penetrated so thoroughly into sharp relief.

I was so lost, cumming over and over that I don't remember Rich removing my gag. I only know I soon found myself with his large hard cock pressed to my lips and I sucked him greedily, working my tongue around the head and savoring the heady rush of being used like that. Rich made a fist in my hair, pulling my head up so that his penis rammed into the back of my mouth almost painfully. I choked on it, gagging hard and the wretched sounds filled the room. Jeff moved to get close-ups of my face and Rich urged me to open my eyes. I felt them watering as the man banged his prick over and over into the reaches of my mouth, trying to force it into my throat like a battering ram. My body shuddered as it tried to deal with the sudden violence of this assault and at the same time my cunt was still enveloped around the baseball bat pressing into my womb. Every jerk of my head moved the rest of my body just enough to make that painful intrusion seem fresh and and lucid, like a living thing digging into my belly.

"Come on bitch!" Rich teased me with his voice full of cruel humor. "Open up and take it! Show us what a cocksucking slut you really are!"

And then he did finally force the swollen head of his cock into my throat, sinking deep quickly, with one hard thrust so that his heavy balls were pressed to my chin. He held it there, while my throat muscles worked reflexively around it, as though I might actually swallow that oversized organ. He groaned above me, holding my head with one hand while the fingers of the other hand stroked the smooth delicate skin beneath my jaw.

"Look at that!" he chuckled. "I can see it there! You get that on film?" he was rubbing the evident swell of his cock, embedded in my throat and pushing my once graceful neck outward into distended proof of his presence.

Rich worked his cock in and out slowly after that, finding no resistance now, and my throat seemed to burn painfully around him as he moved. I sucked cool air gratefully through my nose, and sputtered and coughed when he pulled back far enough so that the helmet of his cock rested on my tongue. He gave me a few precious seconds and then thrust inside again, moving so that his thighs straddled my head and leaning forward, no longer bringing my head up to him, but now fucking my throat hard, driving into my face and pressing me back onto the mattress.

"What a cocksucking bitch! Jesus....that's so fucking good in there! Throat me you whore!" He was whispering to me breathlessly, ramming his cock in and out and ignoring the gasps and desperate coughs that racked my body. I had my eyes shut tightly again, feeling my face hot and wet with tears. My arms flailed weakly, sometimes pushing uselessly at him, sometimes pulling as if I needed more. Other times I could only grip the sheets, pulling at them as my body tensed with the effort of accepting his long fat prick down my throat. I'd never experienced anything so brutal and it was almost frightening, which only made it that much better for me. My ass was coming off the bed and I felt the bat stuffed in my cunt moving, rocking back and forth and pressing against my body with pangs of obscene pressure. I was growing used to it, to the sensation of being so full and I enjoyed it.

"Ohhh! Fuck! Ready for your first load, bitch?" Rich pulled his cock free and slapped my face with it. "Open your fucking eyes!" I did as he told me, staring up at dark reddish cock, glistening with spit ad precum. "Jerk me off, cunt! I wanna cum on your slut face!"

I moved my arm, licking my lips and taking his cock awkwardly in my hand. It was so hot now, so hard and fat that my fingers could barely go around it. I couldn't believe he'd been ramming that thing into my throat, but I could feel the raw burning that it had left behind. I stroked his penis hard and fast, holding it just above my flushed face, staring at it while Jeff held his camera close. I moved my fist up and down for a minute until Rich arched his back slightly, thrusting a bit with his hips, and then letting loose with a dozen hard and fast spurts of his cum. It flew into my hair, across my forehead and into my eyes. It went in my nose and into my open mouth. I kept jerking him off, not pausing as I felt it pulsing in my hand until my face was a mask of sperm. Only then did Rich push his cock once more into my mouth and further, onto my throat, fucking me for a few long strokes and then pulling out completely, leaving me gasping.

"Ah fuck that was good, Brenda!" He rubbed his cock around my face, as if shoveling his cum towards my mouth. "Eat it up, slut. Show us how much you love eating cum!"

He'd rub his cock until it was covered with sperm and then bring it to my lips to lick and suck clean. He urged me to talk, to look into the camera while I ate his cum and tell my fans how much I loved it. "I love eating hot cum!" I whispered, my voice was hoarse and it was painful just to say those few words. "Mmmm..." I smacked my lips and rubbed at my eyes. The cum that had landed there burned and made my eyes water again, but there was nothing I could do for it.

Rich got off me, reaching between my legs and pulling his baseball bat free of my cunt with a slow, wet sound that belied the intense discomfort I felt. My pussy walls protested this strange new feeling of being suddenly empty once again. They'd just grown used to being stretched and now I moaned as they tried to collapse on themselves, to regain their previous shape.

Rich pushed three fingers inside me, working them around and laughing. "You ain't so tight now, bitch!" He grinned at me. "I bet you could fuck a horse, Brenda. How about it, you ever fucked a horse?"

"N-No..." I sighed and hunched my hips upward to meet his fingers.

"How about fisting? I bet a sweet cunt like yours has been fisted a lot!"

"Nooo..." I bit my lip, staring down at him as he pushed his little finger inside me as well, fucking his four fingers in and out slowly.

"I got pretty big hands..." He pulled his fingers out and held them up, wiggling his fingers. "What do you think, cunt? You wanna try fisting?"

I shook my head, telling him no and Rich slapped my cunt hard, sending a little shock of pain through my body.

"Ask me, Brenda! Ask me to fist your cunt, baby!" He slapped me again, his palm coming down hard on my aching clitoris.

"Nooo...oh!" I cried out weakly, my voice breaking and the effort only added more pain to my overloaded senses. "Fist me...Yiii!" he slapped me gain. "Fist me please...please...fist my cunt...fist me...fist me!" I was begging, my whole body tight and quivering. I'd tried to close my legs against his slaps, but Rich pulled them apart, reaching down to pinch the small nub of my erect clitoris, grabbing it along with a bit of wrinkled flesh around it. He pulled it hard and made me sob, my own hands reaching down to grab his arm, trying to free myself.

"Okay, Brenda." Rich chuckled and spoke reasonably. "Just remember, you asked for it, okay?" He held up his hand for the camera, turning to stare into it. "She's one crazy fuckin' bitch! Don't try this at home!"

A moment later he was pushing his fingers back into my pussy and at first it was good, not unpleasant at all. I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to relax and not wanting to know what was coming. Soon though, I could feel Rich pushing harder, tucking his thumb to his palm and trying to work the widest part of his big hand into my already stretched cunt. It wasn't so bad as I'd feared and the pain was momentary, I gave a hard grunt and then realized his hand was just inside me.

"That's not so bad, is it cunt?" Rich asked me and I shook my head.

"No...it feels...good..." I whispered.

"Good." Rich smiled and then I felt his fingers curling, making a real fist inside me, pushing unevenly at the soft tissue of my pussy. "Let's make it feel really good!" He pushed his fist inside me hard, going in until I felt him punching my cervix. It couldn't have been too hard, but it felt like the end of the world! The air whooshed out of me with a gagging cough and my body lifted off the mattress with the sudden rush of pain.

"This is called punch fucking, in some places, Brenda." Rich was grunting with the effort of pressing his clenched fist inside me, giving it a little twist I think as his knuckles jabbed into the soft tissue of my womb. "You like it, baby? Come on, tell me how much you love getting punch fucked!"

But I couldn't have said anything if I'd wanted to. I'd reached down, grabbing his forearm in my hands and holding Rich tightly, but neither pushing nor pulling against his movements. It was as if I couldn't decide what I needed, it was a mindless desperate overload of the senses. My mouth hung open, breathless and silent. I tried to breathe, but it was impossible. The intensity of Rich's hand pressed inside me was too much. My body moved of it's own accord, writhing and bucking, seeming to fuck itself on the sweet pain and ultimate pleasure the man was giving me. I was cumming as if I'd never cum before, dying more like, as everything else was overwhelmed.

I woke up sometime later, feeling very tired. I wanted to sleep more, to curl up and close my eyes, but I couldn't. I'd been tied face down over the hard wood of the hotel desk. The men must have moved it while I'd been asleep, in fact they'd been busy I realized as I lifted my head and looked around.

One of the beds was pushed against the far wall and the other turned on it's side, tilted to lean against another wall. I was in the middle of the room, bent over the desk lengthwise so that my hands were tied to a front and back leg, pulling me over so the edge of the desk pressed painfully against the undersides of my breasts. My legs were spread and pulled around the sides, which was another sort of discomfort, forcing me to straddle the desk like some kind of awkward beast. My feet couldn't reach the floor, of course, and my ankles were likewise tied to the other legs of the desk. I was gagged tightly and my tongue felt dry and swollen when I tried to move it.

I caught my reflection in the big mirror bolted to the wall near the television, and through that the open doorway behind me. The bastards had left me tied and unconscious, with the door wide open. There was some sort of sign, a handlettered piece of paper taped to the door. I couldn't read it, of course, but I doubted it was anything but an invitation to anyone passing by to have some fun with me. My pussy and ass were so sore, my ass especially, and I closed my eyes, feeling tears starting. All I could do was wait, wondering who would find me next, and if they would save me, or rape me. It was frightening, exciting, and terrible, and I hoped I would get a copy of the videotape.

end
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