Sir, Could you please write me a dirty about fraternity brothers raping and humiliating me? Your last post made me cum 3 times and I spend hours playing with my cunt while looking at your blog. I need you to degrade me because my boyfriend doesn't do it himself. Please sir, I'm desperate and wet for you. I need somebody to put me in my place and I'm begging you to help me with my fantasy. xxx Charlie
(See here, for what she’s referring to…)
Charlie, you didn’t admit to wanting to be raped before, did you now? (3.15, on the profile, in case you’re wondering). Are you too ashamed to admit that, hmmm? And a date-rape gang-bang, yet. Such a dirty girl - what would your boyfriend think if he knew? But if that’s what you want, let’s see what we can do for you, shall we?
People, as an aside, Charlie has communicated privately with me, and I can tell you that she’s rather lovely: long blonde hair; slender, lithe legs; firm, grabbable ass-cheeks; a cute snub nose; and the most perfect pert pair of tits. I’m not telling you this so you can admire her; she’s a dirty, little cunt who gets off on being gang-raped, which is hardly admirable. No, I’m telling you this so you can get a clear image in your head of what she’ll look like as she’s being used. Though, those of you with body-issues, feel free to be slightly jealous of her…. If there’s going to be a choice between you getting gang-banged and her getting gang-banged, she’s going to be the one chosen, and you’re going to be the one looking on.
Now, Charlie, where were we? Oh yes. You going to a frat party, I should think. Boyfriend can’t make it, and your girlfriend convinces you to go because “it’ll be fun and there’ll be some cute guys there.” Do you go in a short little dress to show off your legs, I wonder? Or are you too loyal to your boyfriend not to flirt behind his back? No matter, because at some point you drink something that someone gives you, and are soon fast asleep in an upstairs bedroom; whatever you’re wearing is irrelevant because it’s going to pulled out of the way, or just removed entirely. You’ll be unaware of all this because you’re out cold, with your mouth wide open and some dribble leaking out the corner of your lips.
It’s only later when you wake up on the floor, groggy, disorientated, and, as it turns out, wearing nothing but a pair of panties which are down around your ankles, that you realise something has happened to you. Your instinctive reaction, once you become aware of your nakedness, is to roll into a protective ball and huddle on the floor, looking frantically for your clothes. But they’re nowhere to be found - not under the bed, not in the messy, foul-smelling bathroom off to one side, either, which you retreat from, moaning. It’s about now that you notice that: first your body hurts in lots of different places; second you have black and red marker pen all over you. Now your moans turn into pathetic whimpering sounds. You look for a mirror. Nothing in the room, back to the filthy bathroom.
“Oh, my God…” You’re covered in grafitti: rude, gross, scrawlings of ejaculating penises; invitations to use your body, like “please fuck me”, written on your belly with an arrow pointing between your legs; “3-hole whore” written over your face in red marker with the “O” around your lips and the number “1” next to it. The number “2”, you now see, is next to the arrow directed to your crotch. Your hand automatically moves to your rear to see whether it too has been labelled. You can’t tell, of course: or, at least, not from touch alone. But you can tell that you are coated in dried, crusty material. You touch your face, run your fingers through your matted, tangled blonde hair, trail fingers down your desecrated, violated body. Standing there, looking at yourself in the mirror, you start to cry.
At some point, while you’re sobbing, a guy comes in. “Great tits,” he says, in a flat monotone.
“Oh, Jesus, fuck!” You scrabble to cover yourself up: one hand and an arm clapped to cover your breasts, another to cover your crotch.
He stands looking at you, his eyes roving over your crouching, naked body. “Bit too late for that,” he says, smirking. “But I guess you figured that out by now, huh?”
You stare at him, blindly, wordlessly. "See?“ he says, pointing at your chest. You glance down, you don’t know what he means, exactly.
You can just make out, between your spread fingers, the scrawled matchstick numerals.
“That’s how many times guys came in your mouth,” he explains. “There’s another, see it?” he says pointing lower down. “That’s how many for your cunt. What’s it come to? Ten or eleven, maybe?”
You’re still staring at him, crouching on the floor, trying to conceal yourself, not knowing what else to do.
“Then there’s your ass, of course,” says. “I guess you can’t see that though, can you? If you turn around and spread your cheeks I’ll tell you if you want.”
At this, you start trying to edge away from him, searching desperately for something to throw over yourself.
“I’d guess about the same number came up your tight, little asshole as did in your juicy little cunt.” He looks at you appraisingly. “Surprised you didn’t wake up, to be honest. Some of those guys were really ramming their stiff dicks in and out of you.”
“Please, my clothes …” You scrabble with the panties around your ankles, trying to tug them back up your legs.
“Your clothes?” he says, thinking. “Let’s see now. Bra was cut off with a kitchen knife, I think. Skirt and top was stuffed in the toilet. Might still be there,” he says, indicating back to the foul-smelling bathroom with his head. “Couple of guys jacked off in those,” he adds, as you finally get your panties back in place.
He looks on indifferently, as you hurriedly pull them off you again. “No point being squeamish about it. You had everyone’s cum leaking out of all your holes.”
You’re back, crouching on the floor, crying, but he carries on filling you in on the details. “Most of it got caught on your phone,” he informs you, blithely, pulling something out of his pocket. “Hey, Hey! No grabbing!” He’s holding the phone above his head, as you jump wildly for it, nakedness forgotten.
“Please give it back,” you whimper. “Please give it back.” You’re on your knees at his feet, hands together in supplication.
“One of the guys went through your address book,” he says, looking at the screen, not paying you much heed. “He was going to send it to your boyfriend, but I stopped him.”
“Thank you, thank you,” you find yourself saying.
He looks down at you, with an expression of mild surprise. “It’s insurance,” he tells you. “Don’t want you telling anyone you shouldn’t about this, see?”
“I won’t, I won’t,” you tell him fervently.
“Not unless you want the whole thing sent to your boyfriend, so’s he can watch you sucking one guy’s dick after another.”
“Please, I won’t. Please give it back.”
“Or unless you want the whole thing on the internet,” he carries on, looking at your phone intently. “Here, listen to this bit,” he says, holding the screen up for you to see.
The screen is jumpy, blurred, but the image of a stiff erection being pushed in and out of a pair of ass cheeks hoves into focus. There’s a lot of background noise, guys talking randomly, sounds of grunting, bottles of beer chinking. “Fuck this bitch is tight,” is one thing that comes through the general hubbub.
“Please give it back, I promise I won’t say anything.”
The screen jumps shakily to a face, your face, with “3-hole whore” written on it. Your eyes are closed, and you are obviously out of it, as a rigid cock is slapped against your cheek, together with the sound of laughter. “Hey dude, wasn’t your cock just up her asshole? Too bad she isn’t awake enough to smell her own shit.” More laughter. “Hey, stick it in her mouth. Make her suck it clean.”
You shudder involuntarily as you watch. Unable to bear it, but equally unable to tear your eyes away as the screen shows a hand grabbing your long blonde hair, and another squeezing your cheeks, so your drooling mouth falls open, and then, the head of the prick being pushed between your inanimate lips, to the sounds of cheers and jeering laughter.
“Don’t want your friends to see any of that, do you?”
You shake your head. You’re staring down now, looking at the floor.
“What’s that?” he demands, “I can’t hear you.”
“Being fucked up your tight asshole, then having you suck his shit-smelling cock clean with your mouth?”
“What’s that you say, whore?” he asks. His hand is in your hair, pulling it, making you look at him. “Do you want your boyfriend to see you doing that?
“I can send him it real easy, if you want.”
“What’s that? I can’t hear you, whore.”
“Stand up.” It’s a snarled command, reinforced with a yank to your hair, forcing you quickly to your feet.
“Spread your legs, slut.”
You comply wordlessly, realising the helplessness of your situation, as his fingers push crudely into your cunt.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he breathes into your face. “Now let’s try out your little asshole of yours, see how you like it when you’re awake, huh?” He’s grinning inanely at you as his fingers penetrate your rear, hearing you squeal. “You’re my dirty, fucking, little whore now, aren’t you?”
What do you think, Charlie? That the sort of thing you were talking about? Is that the way you wished your boyfriend would treat you?
snowghoul
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jbbartram-illu
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