Author Topic: Sweet Kyla Meets Her Monsters  (Read 14584 times)

Offline Dire Wolf

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Sweet Kyla Meets Her Monsters
« on: February 19, 2013, 01:38:19 PM »
For K, with love


  Kyla cursed as she rounded the corner just in time to see the bus pull away. Well, at least now she could stop running. The 3-inch heels on her new black pumps were murder and her long day had barely started. “Should have gone with the boots,” she muttered as she sat in the plexiglas Vancouver Transit enclosure and pulled off her left shoe.

  That really wasn't an option today, though. She had to look her best. Two executive VPs from the main office were in town and Kyla was hosting the meet-and-greet. It was a tall order for a 25-year-old still feeling her way through the insurance industry. She hoped she was climbing the corporate ladder on her smarts and not just her wholesome good looks. But just in case, and being well aware of the value of a good first impression, she wore a new gray suit over a sheer white silk blouse and took extra time on her hair, lips and eyes that morning.

  “Stunning” would be an apt description – if you didn't know her. To co-workers and acquaintances, she was quiet, competent, unassuming and always eager to help. To friends, she was the first person you'd want at your party or to commiserate the loss of a boyfriend – a rare mix of innocent, girlish curiosity and thoughtful, steadfast loyalty. “Ego” and “vanity” weren't even in her vocabulary, which made her all the more attractive.

  Timmy didn't know any of that. All he knew was that fine body and those bright, beautiful eyes.

  “Hey, lady, you need some help with that? I could give you a real nice foot massage,” Timmy said in a smarmy adolescent voice.

  Kyla looked up at the figure standing over her in the tiny booth, squinting to see his face with the morning sun behind it. She recognized the scruffy young boy – she figured him to be about 16 – from other mornings riding the bus. Several times she had caught him staring at her.

  Kyla forced a smile as she worked her foot back into the shoe and said, “No, that's quite alright. I'm fine now.”

  She realized how awkward that sounded as soon as she said it. The tiny warning center deep in every woman's brain was telling her she just gave this unwelcome stranger the upper hand in the subtle power play that develops in virtually any male-female encounter. She closed her overcoat at her neck and  tugged at the hem of her skirt.

  Even though he was just 16, Timmy was reading those cues. “Those are new shoes, aren't they?” he asked. “They're pretty.”

  “Where does this KID get off commenting on MY shoes,” Kyla thought. She raised an eyebrow in a show of contempt and ignored the question, craning her neck to look around him in the direction the next bus would be coming. She hoped that would end the conversation.

  “I said they're PRETTY, lady. … Jeeez, you got a stick up your ass or something?”

  He wasn't backing off. He was escalating, exactly what Kyla dreaded. And making matters worse, peering around him she noticed his friend – about the same age, but taller and heavier than Timmy – wearing ratty clothes and untied sneakers. The friend took a drag on a cigarette and grinned at her when Timmy spoke. They were demanding an answer.

  Kyla steeled herself and stood to address them. In the heels, she was a good 2 inches taller than Timmy. “I'm sorry,” she started. She forced her warmest smile, despite knowing what a terrible liar she was  and hating herself for even attempting it. “Yes, they're new shoes and they hurt like hell. … And thank you, I … I didn't mean to ignore you, but I have a big day at work today and … well, I have a lot on my mind and I'm already running late.”

  A wry smile gradually came over Timmy as he studied Kyla. Her forced politeness and hollow apology reeked of insincerity. But it told him how eager she was to avoid a confrontation. He moved closer, edging her into the corner of the enclosure. He spoke softly, and casually stretched his arm to the wall behind her, symbolically boxing her in on three sides.

  “Work, huh?” He flashed a grin yellowed by nicotine. “Fuck work! … Why don't you call in sick?  … Hang with us. We got some good weed … we'll get a little wine … you know, have a good time.”

  Kyla's eyes darted wildly now, from the street to the ground to the shoes on the other boy, but never at Timmy's eyes for more than a millisecond. Her heart was pounding. She clutched her shoulder bag.

  “My God,” she thought, “he's just a damn KID. Why am I putting up with this? Stand UP to this punk once and for all!”

  “Listen,” she said firmly in her most authoritative, adult voice, “I don't HAVE all day to just … 'party.' Some of us have responsibilities, you know. Some of us …” She caught herself as she was about to insult him. “Tell me … why aren't you in SCHOOL right now? Hmmm?”

  The two boys broke into laughter – so much so that the tension seemed to lift. Kyla was so relieved she allowed herself a genuine smile and almost started laughing along.

  “You know something, lady,” Timmy said, “me and Joey here, we gotta ...”

  Timmy stopped short as a dark blue BMW sedan pulled up to the curb and the passenger window went down with a whine. Both boys turned as the driver leaned over and asked, “Yo, you ready?”

  Kyla's stomach dropped like a stone. Those three words crystallized her deepest fear. They told her she was about to have the worst day of her life.

  With Joey holding her right arm and Timmy her left, along with a thick handful of her long, dark hair, they forced Kyla to the car, banging her head off the roof as they stuffed her into the back seat. She was dazed, vaguely hearing the two doors slam and the boys congratulate each other. She was stretched across the seat, face down, with Joey lying on top of her as the driver sped away.

  “This CAN'T really be happening,” she thought. She tried to shake off the cobwebs after the  blow to the head, praying that somehow she'd awaken from a dream and just be late for work. But the weight of Joey crushing her to the leather seat, and the sensation of him rubbing against her ass dashed that hope.

  “Kyla Branstead, 3194 Orchard St., Apt. 2C,” Timmy recited with a hint of glee. “Nice to finally meet you, Kyla.”

  Kyla grabbed for her purse, but it wasn't there. That little bastard was going through her wallet.

  “Yo, fellas, check this out, she's gonna be 26 next month. Not TOO old, eh?”

  “And by the looks of her, not too many miles either.” All three laughed. That was the first she heard the driver's voice. She'd later learn he was Steven, a recent transplant from somewhere back east. He was older, probably close to 21, and came from a well-to-do family, which explained the BMW. He was far better educated and more polished than his two accomplices, and they seemed to consider him the leader. It was him that Kyla had to reach if she were going to talk her way out of this.

  Kyla still hadn't spoken. Her mind was racing through a hundred jumbled thoughts and emotions. How far were they going to take this? Could she bargain? Should she beg? Why, oh why, did they pick her? Could this possibly be some hideous prank? These were KIDS, after all. They should be home with their PlayStations, or at worst, down in the park getting high, not commiting felony kidnapping and …  She refused to let that word even enter her mind at this point, despite Joey's chin nuzzling her neck and his growing erection pressed to her thigh.

  “You sure smell good, … baby.”

  Soon they were in the suburbs on an unfamiliar highway headed north and Kyla was allowed to sit up. Joey had his arm tight around her shoulders and was authorized to bust her face if she tried anything. She focused on Steven's bright blue eyes in the rearview mirror. They were very intense … and very cold. Timmy was going through the photos on her smartphone, showing Steven her friends, her mom and her younger sister along with a lewd commentary. “Yo, look at THIS one, dude. I'd do her. Fuck yeah, I'd do HER good.”

  Kyla was getting sick to her stomach. Everything that came to mind seemed the wrong thing to say, but remaining silent was infuriating her. She HAD to speak, had to do SOMETHING. Finally, in a calm, measured tone, much like the “adult” voice she had tried earlier, she said: “Please … don't do this.”

  Her trio of abductors paused, looked at her curiously and just chuckled. “Awww, baby! We just gonna party witchu,” Joey said in a voice you'd use on a child. “Why you gotta be all serious and shit. Let's have some fun now.” He grabbed the lapels of her overcoat and yanked it open with his dirty hands, exposing the expensive new suit and blouse. “Let's see whatchu gonna bring to the party here, KY-la.”

  “No,” Steven said sternly, watching in the mirror. “Don't strip her yet. Not till we're off this road.”

  That was the confirmation that Kyla had dreaded ever since the car appeared at the bus stop. She was going to be raped. The filth of Joey's hands and the stench of his unwashed body suddenly flooded over her, making her feel dirty and used long before the first button would be opened.

  All the logical thoughts that had been swirling in her head – whether she should fight, how she could fight three at once, how she might get her hands on her phone – all vanished in a flood of despair fueled by one overwhelming image in her mind: Mike, the man she intended to marry. She imagined him seeing her in a hospital bed. There would be no chance to keep secret what happened. He'd try to be supportive, sure, but there is no way he could ever forget. This would be a life-altering event as profound as any, but it could only be for the worse – and it was being forced on her. In her mind she saw Mike crying with pity and it unleashed her own tears, by the bucketful.

  “It's not my fault,” she whispered almost unintelligibly, her head bowed and her body shaking with sobs. “It's not my fault. It's … not … my fault.”

  Steven watched in the mirror as the beautiful woman broke down. He felt a familiar twinge in his cock. “She is gonna be one GOOD fucking RAPE,” he said quietly to Timmy.

  At the house, she was jerked out of the car and the pawing began. Kyla struggled to kick at them. She cursed and even spat at her tormenters. Joey had her arms locked behind her, and when she finally did land a blow to Timmy's shin, two hard punches just below her ribs ended the fight. Holding her face-down on the trunk of the car, the boys pulled off her overcoat and suit jacket and folded her arms behind her. A good 15 feet of duct tape rendered her arms immobile and she was pulled by her hair through the garage.

  The house was a single-story ranch, probably a nice place before it was foreclosed in the mortgage crisis. Now it was a shell. Holes in the walls where plumbing and wiring had been stolen, ripped up carpeting, spray-painted graffiti and piles of beer cans marked its new life as a party house.

  Kyla was ushered into the master bedroom, which contained only a putrid, stained mattress on the floor. The boys shoved her in and closed the door, standing silently, glaring at her the way a wolfpack watches a fawn. Out the window, Kyla could see only trees in every direction. She never felt so alone or so vulnerable in her life. The sheer silk blouse, rapidly becoming damp with sweat, revealed every detail of the white, lace-trimmed bra beneath. Her tight gray skirt and heels hobbled her, which was sexy for walking past the boss's door at work, but something else entirely here.

  Steven took off his coat and hung it on the closet doorknob. He handed his car keys to Joey. “In the trunk, man, there's a couple bottles of wine. And get my knife, too. It's in the black bag.”

  Kyla's eyes widened.

  “OK,” Joey said. “But don't start till I get back.”

  “Look, man, we got her for as long as we want her. You'll get your turn.”

  The grinning Timmy never once took his eyes off Kyla. His belt was open and his right hand was in his jeans, moving obscenely.

  Kyla was trembling like a leaf. It was like seing the most terrifying movie she could think of. It was BEYOND what she could think of. She simply couldn't comprehend how these boys could be so callous, so nonchalant about destroying another human being. It's as though they're monsters, she thought, predators without souls. She tried again to summon her wits. She resigned herself to having sex with them. She would just pretend it was Mike. That's it! She would just shut her eyes and let them make love to her like Mike did. She'd have to get her mind around this plan quickly because Steven was crossing the room.

  He grabbed her by the throat with his left hand while his right mashed her breast and pushed her back against the wall. Tilting her head back, he licked her lips and tried to get her to kiss him until their teeth collided. Both their hearts were pounding, although for different reasons, as Steven stared down into her wide, terrified eyes, and kept massaging her breast. “Just give us what we want, baby, and we won't fuck you up TOO bad.”

  Kyla told him with her eyes that she understood, that she had no choice but to surrender her precious body. She twisted her neck in his strong grip and swallowed hard. “Why do you need the knife?” she whispered. “You really don't, you know. I'll give you … I'll do whatever you say. And I won't tell anyone. I swear.”

  Steven smiled. “Maybe I wanna cut your tits.”

  Kyla looked at him forlornly. “No … please … don't say that. You really don't have to hurt me. I told you, I'll … I'll do it. … Please, please just don't hurt me. That's all I ask. I'm … begging you.”

  “So, you're gonna be a good girl for us, eh?”
  She nodded.
  “Then gimme a nice kiss, Kyla.”

  Kyla closed her eyes. As their lips met, the image of Mike reappeared, shaking his head. It broke her heart to give to another what had been sacred between only them, and she felt her tears welling up again. She silently told him she had no choice. She prayed that someday he'd see that and forgive her.

  When she opened her eyes, Joey was back handing a bottle of chianti to Steven. He took a long swallow and announced, “Good news, boys, Kyla's agreed to fuck our brains out. This little bitch is gonna pull a train all night long. Hahahahahaha.”

  Amid hooting and laughter, Steven held Kyla from behind with his forearm across her windpipe while Joey and Timmy tore away her pretty clothes. They moved in a frenzy, unzipping her skirt down the side and ripping the rest of the seam clear through the hem. The buttons of her blouse shot across the room like bullets, one pinging off the broken venetian blinds. He bra and thong panties were summarily ripped and tossed to the floor, leaving her in just her pumps and what was left of the blouse pulled off her shoulders and down her bound arms.

  Timmy wrenched Kyla's legs apart and buried his face in her crotch, tickling his nose in her carefully trimmed muff. Steven and Joey shared her breasts, pinching and squeezing and twisting her nipples until she thought they'd rip loose. The rape was on. And all Kyla could do, between her yelps from the pain, was close her eyes and cry.

  The naïve notion that she might endure this by imagining herself making love to Mike was dashed before the first penetration. Rape is not about sex, she was learning. Sex is about love. Rape is about hate. With each violation of her body, they seemed more intent on hurting her than on pleasuring themselves. They pounded their cocks into her vaginally, anally and orally. They bit, pinched, punched and squeezed, targeting all those parts that made her a beautiful woman. They sought to destroy her.

  It was well into afternoon – Kyla guessed about 3:30 judging by the light coming in the window – when Timmy pulled his huge cock out of her and rolled off to lie beside her on the mattress. The other two had finished about a half-hour ago. Steven sat nude against the far wall with his legs stretched out sipping the last of the wine. Joey was somewhere else in the house making occasional noises.

  Kyla lay with her legs spread, staring at the ceiling, almost catatonic, having stared at the same spot for the past hour. Her nose was bloody, her lips were split, her breasts bruised and bitten. Dried semen was caked on her face and chest. Liquid semen oozed from her pussy. Blood leaked from her rectum since Steven had violated her with a wine bottle to help her “loosen up.” All feeling in her arms had been lost hours ago.

  Also staring at the ceiling, Timmy licked a spot of Kyla's blood from his lip and spoke to Steven, “Man, you were right. She was a gooood fucking rape.” Steven chuckled. Kyla hadn't the slightest
reaction.

  Steven slowly got up and started gathering his clothes. He was buttoning his jeans when Joey appeared in the doorway. “Hey, you guys, I don't wanna break up the fun or nothin, but … well, my Mom gets home about 5 and she gets pissed if I ain't there.”

  The utter absurdity of that statement, given the circumstances, might have made Kyla's head explode earlier that day. Now, however, …
 
  Timmy and Steven dressed quietly, occasionally glancing at Kyla. Timmy found her panties beneath her torn skirt and put them in his pocket, causing Steven to smile. When they had finished dressing, Joey joined them in a corner of the room and a very quiet conversation ensued. Nodding toward the battered shell of their once-lovely victim, Timmy asked, “What are we gonna do with her? Just drop her at the bus stop? She doesn't even have clothes anymore.”

  Steven stepped into the closet and emerged with a white electrical extension cord. He put his arms around the shoulders of his two accomplices like a quarterback in the huddle. “You guys haven't ever killed a bitch, have you?”

  Joey's eyes grew wide and he swallowed hard. Timmy's eyes grew narrow as a subtle grin came over him. “Really?” he said to Steven. “What would we do with …?”

  “Don't worry, man, I know places,” Steven said reassuringly. “The question is, are you up for it? You think you can handle it?”

  Kyla was catching only snippets of the conversation, but she sensed something ominous by their hushed tones and furtive glances in her direction. She closed her legs and tried to roll into the fetal position. It was then that she noticed Steven holding the cord, wrapping it around his fists as if teaching a technique to his proteges. When Joey backed way from him and said loudly, “No way,” Kyla knew.

  “Nooo,” she tried to say, but only a rasp came out. Having only screamed and grunted for the past three hours, she had to clear her throat to find her voice. “You CAN'T,” she finally yelled. “Oh, God, no, you just can't.”

  It was quickly decided that Joey would strangle her and Timmy and Steven both would stab her to share the guilt. The three moved in to control their squirming victim. Kyla was on one knee, almost to her feet, when  Steven put his boot to her chest and sent her sprawling back on the mattress. Joey reluctantly took his position behind the panicky woman and wound the cord around her slender neck.

  “Please, lady … please don't move around now,” he said in a suddenly childlike tone. “Please don't make this any harder on yourself.”

  “Get her legs, Timmy. Hold her down,” Steven instructed. Timmy grabbed Kyla by the ankles and watched in awe as the cord bit into her throat. It was all the two boys could do to keep Kyla from thrashing out of their grip. They had never seen a woman fight for her life before. Straining with all her might, she arched her back and pushed until Joey was sitting with his back against the wall. There was no more room to give.

  “Yeah!” Steven shouted. “Fucking beautiful, man. Look at her tits bounce! Kill her, Joe. KILL that fucking whore!”

  Kyla kept squirming and kicking, but she was rapidly losing the little strength she had left. Her face grew hot and her lungs began to burn. Steven's cheerleading began to sound more and more distant, and when he knelt next to Timmy to shove his fingers into her in one final indignity, it barely registered on her consciousness.

  “Is this really how I die?” she thought. “I'm only 25. And these … children … taking my life won't even go to prison.”  God, how unfair.

  She thought about what a good life she had, and how well she tried to live it. So many people loved her. So many friends, true friends, like Amy. She could see her family at the funeral home and Mike at her grave. It wouldn't matter now, him knowing that she'd been raped. He could stay loyal to her memory and never have to make that awful choice … to abandon her as “soiled goods.”

  She wondered what he WOULD do now. How long before he found someone new? He's so handsome, she thought, it won't be long. She wondered whether she'd be able to watch him … from heaven.

  “But what if there IS no funeral? These bastards are liable to just leave me in the woods and I'll never be found.” Kyla imagined her picture in grocery stores, her parents on television tearfully pleading for the return of their beloved daughter, her co-workers giving up a Saturday to search a field. She'd be just another of the thousands of women who go missing each year without a trace ever being found. And her killers would be among the hundreds who hunt these women with impunity.

  “Come ON, lady! Will you fucking DIE already!”

  Kyla looked up at the sweating red face of Joey leaning over her, seeing him upside down as he strangled her life away. Now their roles were reversed. It was Kyla who was calm and Joey who was roiling with anxiety and fear. Looking into her eyes, waiting for the spark to go out was more than he could take. He let go of the cord, shoved her limp body aside and bolted for the door. “I can't do it,” he cried. “I can't fucking kill her … I just can't.” Three steps beyond the doorway he fell to his knees and vomited an ugly stream of chianti and Cheetos.
  
  Steven ran out to tend to Joey. Timmy stayed kneeling between Kyla's legs, staring at her with a fascination bordering on reverence. He looked beyond her bruises and wounds to the beautiful woman she had been that morning, the woman who had caught his eye on the bus those many months ago. He opened his pants and entered her again, all the while fixated on her unmoving eyes. With her body still supple and warm, he was easily able to complete one last rape.

  It was about 15 minutes before Steven returned. He was holding his knife, and it was bloody. Timmy didn't even notice.

  “I did her again, man. While you were gone. … Fucking amazing! I was fucking her, nice and easy, you know, and … I swear, it was like she was still THERE, man. I think she might have been still breathing a little, so I put the wire back on her and did her while I was FUCKING HER! She fucking DIED with my COCK inside her, man!  AWESOME.”

  “Nice going, kid. You broke your cherry,” Steven said, matter of factly. He handed Timmy the bloody knife. “Here, why don't you cut off a nipple. I'll show you how to pickle it. You put it on a string to make a necklace. I already got three,” he added with a grin.

  A look of wonderment came over Timmy as he pondered starting his own trophy necklace.

  “The bad news,” Steven continued, “is we got TWO bodies to haul out of here now.”

  “Joey?”

  “Yeah … I cut his throat. That fuck would have given us up in a heartbeat. Some guys, well, a lot of guys actually, they ain't like you and me, kid. It takes a special breed.”

  Timmy's smile confirmed he knew exactly what Steven meant. He held his fist out for Steven to bump, and their bond was solidified. A killing team was born.
« Last Edit: May 31, 2013, 06:01:23 PM by Dire Wolf »

Angel?
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Re: Sweet Kyla Meets Her Monsters
« Reply #1 on: February 23, 2013, 01:53:10 AM »
Great writing :)

Offline Minerva

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Re: Sweet Kyla Meets Her Monsters
« Reply #2 on: February 28, 2013, 02:32:55 PM »
Wonderful story  ::): Can't wait for the next one  ;D

JennifersRipped
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Re: Sweet Kyla Meets Her Monsters
« Reply #3 on: July 14, 2013, 05:51:28 PM »
I enjoyed this!!

PandoraSTL
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Re: Sweet Kyla Meets Her Monsters
« Reply #4 on: June 29, 2016, 01:38:51 AM »
You were right!  I did like it.  Unexpected ending :)  I really like the way you write.