This story is based upon characters created by RapeU in his story “Thanks for the Memories.” I apologize for not using the one character you suggested, but I really liked the setup in Memories.
Next
by Gigi
Voices. Voices. They are coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. They fill my ears and head with a convoluted jumble of noise. The words have no definition because they are all spoken on top of each other. There is only the underlying meaning. Lust. Oh yeah! That was all it could be called. Lust… and rape
Everything about it was oppressive. The sounds beat down on my ears. The smells threatened to overwhelm me. The tastes clouded my mouth. My skin crawled with revulsion. I was sure that if I could see through the useless blindfold, I would be filled with disgust.
I tried to move, but already knew that I could not. I was so exhausted I could only lay there. It was like I was glued to the bare mattress. A cold, damp, foul glue that plastered my back, buttocks, legs, and arms spread akimbo, holding me in place like a prisoner to the lust that permeated the room.
What had exhausted me so? The seemingly endless line of bodies that had used me like a cock sleeve, each one focused only on their own pleasure and never mine. Or was it my stolen delight, the teeth-gritted orgasms that played their way through my body, all the while trying to hide the gratification I experienced? When it came down to it, who gave a damn.
I felt a pressure on my chest between my breasts and realized it was a hand pressing down as a body rolled off of me. It was heavy and I was suddenly able to breathe again. Grabbing every breath I could, I tried to spread my legs wider as I felt fluids run down the crack of my ass and underneath my back. I moaned like the slut they wanted me to be. I wanted to slap my cunt and let them know I needed more.
I was so desperate, I wanted to scream out, to let them know that there was still more of me. I was so helpless and knew that if I wished to get anything more, it would be on their terms, never on mine. One word. Just one. I wanted to pinch myself in case it was only a dream. If it was I could be done with this.
Then again, if this was a dream I was trapped in, then all I had to do was wake up for a moment. Just one word and let sleep take me once again.
Please.
Next!
\* \* \* \* \* \*
I felt sick as I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. My hair was disheveled and the rings around my eyes made me look like an old hag. The crotch of my nightie was soaked. I felt sore, like I had been been raped once again. I didn’t understand how this could keep on happening. I seem to have this nightmare every and every night I was begging for more. something was really wrong with me. I looked at the corner of the mirror where the business card I had been given was stuck between the frame and the glass. on it printed in script was the name of my therapist, Dr. Mendax.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I went to go find my phone. ’He’s the only one that I can trust. I know that he is going to make me better. I had better call him now.'
My finger hit the number on the speed dial and I listened for him to answer.
“Angela?”
“Angela Phillips?”
“Yes Dr Mendax!” I breathed into the phone as I felt a feeling of sublime comfort come over me. All I did was hear his voice and it was like the horror was gone. “It’s happening again. The nightmares. They’re getting worse. I need therapy. I need you to make me better. I know you can do it, Doctor.”
“There, there, Angela! there is nothing that you have to worry about. You did good and you reached out to me and I am going to help you. I will be at your house within the half hour. We’ll get this thing under control. Yes,” he said confidently. A nice long therapy session will help you greatly right now."
I thanked him profusely trying not to cry my relief. I could not hear his diabolical laugh as I hung up the phone.
The End
