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Subject: {ASSM} You Visit L.A. {ANW} (3M+F interr rape nc tort caution)
Date: Wed, 28 May 2003 11:10:10 -0400
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{ASSM} You Visit L.A. {ANW} (3M+F interr rape nc tort caution)
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interracial rough sex stories at http://allme.com/stories/interracial/?n
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"You Visit L.A" 
  by (author's name withheld)


You are unfamiliar with the L.A. streets and somewhere south and
east of the airport, you find yourself lost in the dark in a very
questionable neighborhood, run down, full of signs in lanquages
you can't read.  Suddenly, an old van with a big wooden bumper
rear-ends your rented Toyota, driving it up over a curb.  When
you recover from the shock of the collision, you reach for the
door handle, to get out and look at the damage.

As soon as you get out, someone grabs you from behind. A coarse
sack, burlap or jute, is pulled down over your head, and your arm
is twisted behind you, by someone you can't see.  "Don't make a
noise, Anglo bitch, or you are dead right now." says a voice
which sounds as if the teeth are clenched.  In seconds, you are
dragged into the van and pushed to the floor.  You can feel it
back up, stop with a lurch, and then move forward, making several
turns, probably turning at every intersection.

Strong hands roll you on your back.  Counting hands, there must
be at least three men.  You feel the hard steel floor of the van
against your back; it is a cargo van, no seats in back.  Probably
no windows, either, you realize. Unless there were witnesses to
the ramming and abduction, no one could know where you are.

You feel cold steel against your throat, under the bag which
covers your eyes.  "Listen, Sweetie, you are going to do
everything you are told to do, and you are not going to scream or
struggle or talk back; otherwise, you die right now. Understand?"
 The point of the knife presses painfully into your skin.

"Yes," you croak, your throat dry with terror. You feel them
pulling your arms above your head, and apart.  Your wrists are
tied to something, maybe the front seats of the van.  They are
using wire; it bites into your skin.  They take your Reboks and
tie your ankles, using wire again, pulling your legs straight and
apart.  You are spread-eagled, entirely helpless and vulnerable.
Your breathing is rapid.  You are hyperventilating and might
become light headed, blowing off too much carbon-dioxide, except
that the sack over your head restricts the air flow, compensating
for your panicky panting.

You are wearing a flannel shirt and jeans.  The knife point
slides down your neck, until the blade encounters the first
button of your shirt.  There is a little tug, and the button
flies off.  You actually hear it strike the metal wall of the
van.  Men laugh.  You smell marijuana.

You can feel another tug at your shirt.  The second button is cut
off.  Then the third.  And the fourth, and the fifth, which is
down by your navel.  Someone pulls the tail of your shirt out of
your jeans and cuts the last buttons. They didn't have to cut
them off.  You know you can never wear that shirt again.  Will
you die naked?  The flannel is pulled back, baring the front of
your body.

The sharp blade, double edged, slides along the midline of your
tummy.  You wonder, is it drawing blood?  How can you be so
detached, so clinical?  Does it have something to do with being
blindfolded by the sack?  You cannot see who is assaulting you,
so you must concentrate on what you feel.  You feel the blade
pause, between your breasts, and lift, and suddenly your bra
springs away from your breasts, leaving them exposed.  Almost
instantly, strong, masculine hands grasp your breasts.  They are
big hands, able to engulf your B-cup breasts, and they are rough,
calloused hands.  They squeeze and knead your breasts.  These men
have no respect for your body.

They could unbutton your jeans, but they don't.  The knife slides
along your hip and down the outside of your leg, slicing the
denim.  When it has travelled down both sides, there is nothing
holding your jeans on but force of habit.  Someone yanks on the
cloth, and you feel it sliding out from under you.  In seconds,
there is nothing on the lower half of your body but your cotton
briefs.  You can feel the cold steel floor through the thin
cotton.  You feel tugs at the waist of the briefs, as the knife
does its work.  Your last covering is snatched from you.  Now
your bare buttocks are pressed against the cold steel floor, and
your genitals are fully exposed to the crazy men who have
kidnapped you.

You know you will be raped.  You know it will be very unpleasant.
You can only hope you are not maimed or killed.  You remember
that woman who was raped and had her arms cut off.  You remember
countless reports of nude bodies being found in the hills around
L.A.  You don't want to end up on a slab in a morgue.

The bag over your head is pulled partially off.  You cannot see,
but you can breathe easier.  Something warm is pressed against
your lips.  "Suck it," you hear.  You open your mouth to receive
the stiff cock, uncircumcized.  It tastes strange, as if it
hadn't been washed for a long time.  You are disgusted, but fear
for your life makes you suck it just the same.

Meanwhile, whoever was squeezing your breasts is now pinching the
nipples, hard.  You want to cry out, to complain, but your mouth
is full.  The pain radiates through your body and, by the time it
finds its way between your legs, it is somehow pleasurable.
Another man begins grinding his fist into your vulva, mashing
your labia, pressing on your concealed clitoris.  "Hey, man, she
likes it!  Lookit her get wet."

The cock in your mouth is now fucking your thorat.  You want to
gag.  You can only breathe in gasps.  You are no longer sucking,
just enduring.  Sweet/salty semen makes you gag, and you have to
swallow it, or you will suffocate. Several men laugh, as you
swallow hard and try to breathe. The now soft penis pulls out of
your mouth, dribbling sticky fluid over your chin.

Now rough hands are probing your crotch, pulling the labia apart.
You hate that.  You feel hot breath between your legs, and then a
tongue touches your clitoris and begins to lick it, pressing
hard.  "OH, God, NO!" you cry, as the tongue rapes you.  Even as
you loathe the violation of your most private parts, you feel the
electric tingles from your clit, and you involuntarily begin to
buck your hips.  Tingles, twinges, waves of muscular activity,
radiate from your cunt, as, simultaneously, waves of stimulation
from your tortured nipples radiate downward. The nervous energy
meets in your belly, causing pandemonium, as if your internal
organs were playing musical chairs in your pelvis.

You are tossing your bagged head, moaning, straining at the wires
which bind you, sweating, on the edge of an orgasm, when the
tongue stops, leaving you frustrated and angry.  How dare they!
The nipple pinching stops, and you feel a warm hard body climbing
onto you.

"No, Angelo.  You got AIDS.  You go last." A shiver of horror
erases the lust you felt seconds earlier.  AIDS!  Someone else
lies on you, the buttons of his shirt pockets digging into your
mashed breasts, his massive belt buckle scraping your navel.  His
fat dick finds your cunt.  With a grunt, he forces into you.
Seconds earlier, you wanted a cock in you.  Now, you don't. Push,
push, push, the penis invades your vagina.  You are wet and
slippery.  You were on the edge of an orgasm. Now, you grit your
teeth and bear it.  Strangely, however, in spite of yourself, you
feel delicious tingles in time with your rapists push-ups over
your helpless body.  Again, you are gasping, feeling waves of
excitement racing through your body.  "Uh, uh, uh," you cry,
waiting for the climax you know can only be seconds away.  Even
now, your cunt is twitching.

"UUUHHH!" the rapist groans, and his spunk floods your cunt.  In
seconds, his prick is gone.  Your cunt quivers, with nothing to
hold onto.  The promised orgasm evaporates, leaving your feeling
congested and frustrated.

"Was she tight?"

"So, so."

"This will help."  You feel something being inserted in your
anus.  There is no lubricant; it hurts.  It's a hose, or
something like that.  You hear a swish-swish sound, and
something, a balloon or bag of some kind inflates in your rectum.

"Ah, you'll kill me," you cry, as your stretched bowels send
distress signals of intense pain to your brain.  You feel your
anal sphincters, and your anus itself, being stretched, dilated,
by the growing thing inside you.  Your swollen intestine presses
your vagina.  Your bladder is pressed, and you can't help passing
urine.  The men laugh. The next rapist is quick and rough.  His
swollen cock forces into your vagina, sending waves of increased
pressure through your painfully full rectum.  With the air
pressure squeezing your cunt against his tool, the friction is
intense, and before you can get over the shock and decide whether
he gives you pleasure or pain, he has ejaculated into you and
withdrawn.  You feel cheated.  You got fucked and couldn't even
enjoy it.

You realize the van is no longer moving.  You wonder where you
can be.  "OK, Angelo, your turn."  The one with AIDS!  Your blood
runs cold.  The hose in your anus is pulled.  Almost painfully,
the bag within you bears against your anal sphincter muscles,
stretching, stretching.  You think giving birth to a baby must be
like this. "EERRRGH!" you cry, and suddenly your rectum is empty,
your burning anus no longer stretched.

"Shit, man, I don't want her tight.  I want to enjoy this."
Angelo lowers himself onto you, pressing you against the hard
steel floor.  His hard penis pokes at your cunt, trying to find
the hole.  At one point, it bumps your clit, and your whole body
shudders.  Now he finds his goal, and you feel your ring of cunt
muscles distended as he thrusts deep into you.  He pushes hard.
His pubic hair tangles with yours.  You feel your womb displaced,
as his prod reaches the very depths of your treasure tunnel.
Slowly, he strokes in and out, sliding on the semen of his
predecessors.  You dread the moment when he ejaculates. Will he
give you AIDS?  For that matter, will you get pregnant; it's your
fertile time.  But such questions are meaningless, if they are
going to kill you anyway. Angelo strokes in and out.  He even
hums to himself, in no hurry.  One of the men says, "Hey, Angelo,
enjoy it while you can."  Angelo tries to prolong the pleasure,
changing position slightly, making his prod rub higher up in your
vulva and lower down in your cunt.  You begin to feel those
pleasant tingles and twinges.

Angelo keeps up the rhythmic stroke, filling your cunt with his
tool, then pulling out, almost all the way, so that when he
thrusts again, you feel yourself stretched open anew, feel
delicious friction in your vulva.  The sensations become
stronger, more insistent.  Little shuddering twinges begin to
ripple through your belly. They get stronger, so that your whole
body responds.  As he pushes down, driving his meat deep into
you, your legs stiffen, your tummy twitches, your breasts feel
electric, and your toes curl.  Before you know it, things are out
of control.  You are so sensitive.  You feel everything, and
every touch sends electricity through your belly.  Your organs
spasm. You buck your hips.  You groan, and thrash and writhe and
go crazy, as Angelo keeps thrusting into you, giving you no
relief.

There is laughter.  "She likes it, Angelo."  Your nipples are
hard, your chest sweaty.  You feel hot, flushed, and you are
breathing hard, as another wave of contractions washes through
you, like shock waves from an explosion, like an earthquake in
your body.  And then it is over.  Angelo has come inside you and
withdrawn his prick. You feel slightly sore, but relieved and
relaxed.  It was a whopper of an orgasm.

"What do we do now, cut her nipples off?" says a voice. You
shudder with dread.

"Too messy.  Kill her."

"No, don't kill me.  I can still show you a good time," you hear
yourself saying, without even thinking about it first.  You will
do anything to stay alive. You hear a wicked little laugh.
"Remember what we did to that chick we picked up on La Cienega?
The one that was only thirteen?"

"Yeh, man, let's do that."

You quake with fear, fear of the unknown.  Someone turns off the
engine, gets out of the van.  You hear the hood raise.  Moments
later, they start the engine again. "Hey, you red haired Anglo
sweetie.  Do you know what happens next?" "No," you say.  You
still can't see anything.

"Here is a wire from a spark plug.  A hundred thousand volts.
Enjoy."  You feel a sharp burn on your belly, and the electricity
spreads through your abdominal muscles and through your buttocks
and into the steel floor of the van.  Your body convulses,
flopping as far as the taut wires to your limbs will allow.  You
have a few seconds to catch your breath, and then the wire is run
down the centerline of your body: breastbone, navel, vulva.  The
engine is idling, so the sparks are leaping to your body perhaps
twice a second.  The burning pain where the spark enters the skin
is bad enough, like a red hot iron, but the ripply spasms of your
muscles, unable to relax, are even more worrysome.

"Man, lookit her twitch!" says a laughing man, as you scream in
pain and frustration.  Someone pushes the end of the wire into
your vagina.  You do not feel the burn, but the muscle spasms are
unbearable.

Some one gooses the engine, so the sparks are almost continuous.
"UNNNGH!" you groan, through clenched teeth, as your back arches
and your womb leaps in your belly, and you climax like the 1812
Overture, with cannons in your cunt.  They pull out the wire. You
lie there, gasping.

"Any bets how long she'll last?"

"Not long.  Do it again."

The wire strokes along your wet labia.  Your body writhes and
bounces on the steel floor, as every muscle from your shoulders
to your heels convulses.  You can't breathe!  And your cunt is
doing things that drive you crazy.  Through the pain, your brain
lights up with exstatic orgasms, a paradox of pleasurable pain.
Again, they give you time to catch your breath, to recover.

"Anyone want to fuck her again?"

"Shit, man, her cunt is ruined.  Be like fucking a bag of Jello."

"Well, give her some more."

This time, they shove the wire against your anus. There is no
orgasm, just pain so intense that you faint for a moment.  When
you come to, you hear, "She's not dead yet. Here, put this in
her."  You feel something cold inserted into your vagina,
something like a wrench handle.  "Now, just touch the wire to
that."

"UUNNGH!"  You make horrible noises, as your vagina recieves the
electricity, and your contracted buttocks connect with the cold
steel floor.  You reach a climax in seconds, and then another and
another.  You can't breathe. You can't control anything about
your body.  The electricity jerks you like a marionette. Climax.
Pain. Climax. Pain.  You see stars, hear roaring in your ears,
and then nothing.

You realize that your are regaining your senses, but you try to
remain limp and not let on.  You are being carried, hanging by
your hands and feet.  The bag is still over your head; you can
see nothing.  The remains of your shirt and bra are gone; you
haven't a stitch on.  You can still feel the wires, wrapped
around your wrists and ankles.  They must have simply cut you
loose, not bothered to remove them.  You continue to play dead.
You feel yourself being lifted.  Your ass bumps on a round
railing.  Suddenly you are falling!  One second, two, three!  You
wait for death.

There is a jarring, stinging, smack against your body. You are
under water, salt water.  You slam against a gravelly bottom. You
scrunch into a ball, holding your breath, and push off toward the
surface. You tear the sodden bag from your head, gasping to
breathe.  You can tread water.  You are alive and able to
breathe.  You wait, looking up at the bridge above you, blacker
than the night.  You wait, until the men will be far away.  Then
you swim toward the beach.


                           -- The End --


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