“Fuck. She’s too loud,” one says.
“Dammit.” A pause. We stop moving, I feel the heavy breathing of the one carrying me. Zion? I don’t know. Maybe.Yes?Maybe. “Show her.”
“Got it.”
The hand under me shifts away, my balance is thrown off. I kick my legs, trying to…I don’t know. Get away? Why, though? I want this. I notice in a far-off way that I’m barefoot.
The realization hits me as my legs are wrenched wide, my dress dragged up. “Fuck, man. You see this?” A rough hand grabs a butt cheek, squeezes like kneading dough, then slaps, fast and painful.
I grunt.
“Shut up.” That stern voice sends another shiver through me. This one’s cold and hot and ends right at my pussy. With my next heartbeat, my cute, pristine, white cotton undies are yanked down to bare my ass.
Even under the hood, I squeeze my eyes shut, hold my breath. My bottom’s pried apart. Something cold rubbed on my ass. No. No, what are they doing? It’s slick, slippery. Wet.
Someone spits there. Right on me. I feel it drip, hot and humiliating.
“No!” I yell as a rough finger rubs against my most private place. Outside, in the open. Are there people watching? Oh my god, what are they doing?
That finger, thick, warm, prods at my tight asshole, rubs, again, then pushes in. In. Oh my god. This is how they’re doing it? Like this? Me, flung over a back, outside, unable to see, to understand? I’m lost. Caught up in it, questioning everything, full of doubt and excitement and—god, yes—a pulsing thrill of desire. I’m a mess of nerves and pain and questions and, oh, god, want. I want this.
I do.
How?
I don’t know.
The finger presses in, quick and deep. It’s not an easy invasion, it’s brutal and aggressive.
It’s a message. To shut me up.
He pulls out. I gasp, half relief, half disappointment and, oh no, something different presses in—cold and hard and slick with whatever they spread over me.
With a quick slap, it’s lodged inside me. “That’ll shut her up,” says one voice.
The shoulders beneath me shake so I feel the evil laugh more than hear it. “For now.”
Another slap, right over what has to be a butt plug. Butt plug? That’s right. I asked for Double Penetration, didn’t I? I’ve never done it. Hardly ever done anal at all, aside from some unsatisfying explorations with my ex.
I’ve thought about it, though. Like, a lot.
But that was almost a dream. Something I’d fantasized and pretended and lived out in my head for years. I even wrote it on the form, but those were just words. Words, ink on paper. That’s it.
Not this…this…this flesh and blood thing. Not this dirt on my knees and scrapes I’ll feel for days. Not this humiliating ignoring of everything I want, ask for, need.
But I asked for this. I wanted it.
Do I still want it?
The walking starts up again, the hand between my legs possessive and cruel, so deadly certain that it owns me. The shoulders so solid, inflexible. The pace quick, stern.
And in my ass, an intrusion. Just as I think it, someone pulls my falling dress back up and hits me, right on the buttplug.
The groan I let out is the most bestial, basic sound I’ve ever made. It’s pleasure and pain at an anatomical level.
For a few bright seconds, that’s all I’ve got room for in my brain.
Nothing else.
