Part I: Steamship
The steamship Calibretto had been at sea for sixteen days, and was nearing the haven of New York City. Launched from Calais, France, on May 13, 1892, she carried 1412 immigrants, all lower-class French provincials who desperately wished to make a better life for themselves in America.
Julianne Coeur, a beautiful nineteen-year-old was on the bow, watching eagerly for the sight of New York's skyline to appear over the horizon. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face, smiling. Turning around, she scanned the forward deck for a sign of her fiancé, Pierre, but he was nowhere to be found. Which was fine by Julianne. Pierre was six years older than she was, and much wiser to the ways of the world. Her parents hated him, and so Julianne had agreed to sneak off with him, and follow him as he set out to seek his fortune in the New World.
She yawned, tired of watching the endless ocean. Turning around, her pointed boots making a tap-tap-tap on the wrought iron deck, Julianne headed towards her stateroom. She opened the door, looked around, and saw that Pierre must still be elsewhere. Closing the big cast iron door, she walked toward the bed, and sighing, sat down.
Although not rich, and thus, not obliged to wear the big bustles that were still in fashion among the elite, undressing was still a minor production. First came the outer skirt, which Julianne folded neatly over a chair. Then it was unbuttoning her blouse, and then her petticoats. She had just finished untying her corset, standing in only her stockings and bloomers, when she heard a heavy thump on the steel door. Crossing her arms over her exposed breasts, she crept nearer and called out.
"Who is there, please?" she asked.
"It is I, Samuel, mademoiselle," came a heavy voice.
"I don't know any Samuel," Julianne replied.
"Please, I am an engineer on the Calibretto. We are investigating a possible steam line disruption, and there's an access panel in your stateroom."
Julianne felt uneasy. Half-naked, with only her white stockings and pale pink bloomers, she blushed, even though the man on the other side surely had no idea of her state of undress. "Go away please," she finally said.
There was silence on the other side of the door.
"As you wish," the man mumbled at last.
Julianne turned away from the door, stepping out of her bloomers. She paused in front of the small mirror, admiring her body. At nineteen, her breasts were still on the small side, but pert, with a perfect upward curvature. The small downy patch of pubic hair matched the auburn tresses that everyone else saw. She bent over, pulling at the first garter that held her stockings up when the wheel that opened the door turned with an unmistakable creak.
Horrified, she stood quickly, the garter unfastened and hanging against her creamy thigh. Three men filled the doorway. The leader grinned.
"Now, mademoiselle," he said grimly. "We will investigate this room."
Julianne took a step backward, preparing to scream.
Samuel shook his head. "This stateroom is located near the boilers," he said. "No one will hear you. At any rate," he nodded his head. The other two men squeezed past Samuel and, with cat-like speed, grabbed Julianne, throwing her down on the bed and pinning her there.
Julianne decided to forgo Samuel's advice. She opened her mouth to scream, but Henrie, the large man on her left, had anticipated the move, and as her red lips parted, he shoved her bloomers in her mouth.
"Hold her!" Samuel yelled sharply. He entered the room, closing and sealing the door behind him. Smiling, he opened a drawer, and fished through her lingerie. He pulled a black stocking from the pile, and bent down, wrapping it around her head, securing her underwear in her mouth. She stared back at him with wide, frightened eyes, trying to scream, but only muffled groans could be heard.
Samuel smiled at her, benevolently, and then, with shocking ferocity, slapped her with all his strength. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her cheekbone began to turn a bright, angry red.
"Tell me to go away, you stupid salope. You fucking bitch. Nobody tells me to go away. Henrie, Paul, ready her."
Julianne whipped her head from side to side, as the Paul brought her wrists up above her head, and held them in an iron grip. Henrie grabbed another stocking, and tied them deftly, then secured her bound arms to one the brass poles at the head of the bed. He then grabbed her flailing ankles, and yanked her, forcing her on to her stomach. Henrie, meanwhile, produced two lengths of rough bound rope, and quickly tied her ankles, one to the pole at the foot of the bed, one to the leg of the desk. Julianne lay on her stomach; her ass spread open, her cunt just barely dangling off the edge of the bed. Her eyesight blurred as hot tears of shame and fear flowed forth.
Samuel smiled. He undid his belt, and cracked it across her backside, raising wicked red welts across the smooth, pale skin. Julianne tried to scream, but again, the taste of her own underwear against her tongue stifled any meaningful sound.
"You know how hard sea duty is with no women in the crew?" Samuel asked. "I mean, some of the hommes here have taken to jacking each other off, and I hear a couple of them even fuck each other in the ass. Now I don't know about them, but I'd much rather fuck your ass."
Henrie and Paul nodded eagerly in assent.
Samuel stood over her stretch legs now, tracing a finger along the raised welts. He slid on finger through her cunt lips, which hung heavily below her anus, which was being forced to slowly dilate. He grabbed her ass cheeks, and spit into her rectum.
"Tell me, cherie," he said. "Are you a virgin?"
Julianne nodded eagerly, hoping against hope the men would somehow spare her.
"Good." Samuel laughed. "The blood will make a fine lubricant then."
Julianne tried to scream. She craned her head, trying to see the man, the one whose hot breath and spit she could feel on her pitifully exposed cunt and ass.
Samuel undid his trousers. He hefted his cock, judging the angle of his erection relative to her pussy. Then, leaning forward, placing his hands on her shoulders, he thrust into her with one savage lunge.
Nothing could prepare Julianne for the fiery pain that shot through her crotch. She could feel her skin stretch and tear, as he brutally assaulted her cunt, ripping the hymen apart, and then, as the pain of friction subsided, she knew that blood was filling the space between the walls of her pussy and that of his cock.
Samuel banged away, grabbing her hair and shoving her face into the bed. Excited, and with two weeks of pent-up sexual energy, he came quickly. As he pulled out, sperm and blood ran together, creating thick ropy strands of red-white that hung between her bruised pussy lips and his engorged penis. Samuel chuckled, and wiped his cock off on her white stockings. He put a finger between her garter, and snapped it, smiling at the welt it created.
"Not bad for starters," he said.
Henrie moved in next, and this time, Julianne was able to close her eyes and shut out the dull, aching pain. She had already been violated, already been torn asunder, and nothing this man could do could make it worse. Henrie also came quickly, and when he pulled his cock free, he climbed on the bed and wiped it off in her hair.
"The bitch is all yours," he said to Paul.
Paul laughed. "You've had it easy, you little slut," he told Julianne, cracking his belt across her red ass for emphasis. "Now is when you work for it."
He lowered his shorts, and straddled her ass.
Julianne, unable to see what was going on, feeling the come congeal in her hair, flailed desperately on the bed. Tied up, unable to do much more than shake her head and roll her body, she was helpless as Paul lowered his weight onto her shoulders. Her cunt was still empty; she could feel the breeze on her swollen lips. Then, a tingling shot through her body, as she felt something warm and hard on the puckered ring of her anus.
Paul pushed forward, easing the head of his cock into Julianne's sphincter. The little brown ring of muscle slowly turned red as the head of his dick was swallowed by her ass, and then widened, closing around his vieny shaft.
Julianne felt stabs of pain shoot through her stomach. It felt like the biggest shit she had ever taken, only rock hard and going the wrong way. Instinctively, she tried to push it out, but that only made her asshole expand, and allowed Paul's cock to glide in, easier and deeper. She howled silently into her gag. The cock still pushed into her, as if it meant to penetrate her very bowels.
Paul stopped pushing when his full nine inches was buried in Julianne's ass, and his balls dangled against her cunt. He took a moment to admire the view, the bright red sphincter muscles, tightly surrounding his cock, and then, slowly pulled back out.
Julianne could feel her bowels emptying, and blushed with relief. Put just as it seemed that the monster was going to exit from her asshole, he suddenly plunged the full length back in. Pain flared in her stomach again. Tears now soaked the bedspread beneath her face.
Paul slowly pushed his cock in and out of her ass, enjoying the way her anus clung to his cock. He, like Samuel, tugged on her hair, shoving her face into the bed covers.
As Paul luxuriated, raping Julianne's ass, Samuel and Henrie made their way around to the other side of the bed. Paul looked into Julianne's big green eyes.
"I'm taking this gag out," he said menacingly. "You scream, and you're dead." For emphasis, Henrie brandished a long, wicked looking dagger.
Samuel untied the stocking, and pulled the bloomers from Julianne's mouth. She gasped for breath, but was silent.
"Now," Samuel said. "If I feel any teeth, I'm going to knock every fucking one of them out with a hammer. Comprendez-vous, you bitch?"
Julianne managed a feeble whisper. "Oui, Monsieur."
Samuel eased his cock into her mouth. Julianne, not sure of what to do, began waggling her tongue back and forth along the bottom of the shaft. To her dismay, the cock continued to fill her mouth until she could feel the head of it bumping against the back of her throat. She gagged, and Samuel pulled out. He slapped her, hard, across the jaw, and glared. "We'll try again, you little slut," he said, and shoved his dick back into her mouth.
This time Julianne managed to suppress her gag reflex. Behind her, Paul, grunting loudly, came, and she could feel the jets of hot sperm shooting up her rectum. He pulled out, and called joyfully to his fellow rapists. "You boys should see this, her fucking asshole's as big around as a beer bottle!"
"You're bragging again," replied Henrie cheerfully.
Julianne felt come and blood running down the inside of her thighs, pooling around the tops of her stockings. Samuel looked down at her, and then, with a wicked grin, pinched her nostrils shut. Her eyes widened, as she whipped her head, fighting for air. He shoved his dick further down her throat, and then let go. Julianne took a huge breath of air, and a second later, Samuel pinched off her nostrils again. This time, as she tried in vain to breathe, Samuel let go with his second load of the day, coating her tonsils with fresh come. Unable to breath, or swallow, Julianne gagged and snorted at the same, and a spray of saliva and sperm came flying out of her mouth. It ran down her chin, and Samuel, with a look of disgust, wiped the mess she had gotten on to his dick on her cheeks. Henrie and Paul, excited by this, jacked off furiously in her face. Henrie let go first, aiming his shots of sperm at her forehead. Globs of come flew into her hair, and dripped onto her face. One shot of semen hit her in the eye, and she blinked as a sudden saltiness stung her vision. Another hit her in the cheek. Paul came as well, and the globs of semen he added to her face ran down her nose, over her lips, and pooled at her chin, dripping down her neck onto the bedspread.
"Nice," Paul commented to no one in particular.
Henrie and Samuel untied her ankles and wrists, and, holding her down, watched as Samuel viciously whipped his belt across her ass and back. This time Julianne did scream, and was rewarded with a punch to the mouth, and the taste of blood as a tooth was driven into her lip.
The three men dressed, as the shift-change whistle sounded. "Gotta go sweetheart," smirked Samuel. "We're coming into Ellis Island, even as we speak. Welcome to America, you stupid little bitch. Enjoy the hospitality."
Julianne didn't respond. She lay on the bed, curled into a fetal position, the come rapidly drying on her face, and dripping out of her stretched out asshole and cunt, pooling on the bedspread. She lay there, the welts on her ass gradually fading, a bloody streak marring her otherwise perfect white stockings, her hair flung in a wild, sticky mess around her face. When the door spueaked open again, she didn't even look up.
"Julianne," a voice in disbelief asked. "What the hell are you doing?"
It was the voice of Pierre, her fiancé.
Part 2: Ellis Island
Julianne lugged her bag down the wooden gangplank. At the bottom, she paused, wiping her forehead, looking back at the big steamship with despair. Her eyes teared up, but she shook it off, and, straightening her dress, she turned to make the long trek towards the immigration office.
When Pierre had found her, the night before, as she lay on her bed, the come of her rapists still coating her face and cunt and ass, he had flown into a rage. Julianne pleaded with him, begging for his understanding, but Pierre refused to listen, screaming that she was a cunt and a bitch and a whore. She tried to show him the injuries she had suffered, but all Pierre saw was his bride to be, naked, covered in come and blood, and instead of comforting and avenging her, as she had hoped, he slapped her until she fell to the floor, sobbing. Kicking her in the ribs, he spat on her bruised and battered body.
"Get the fuck out of here, you whore," he said. "I don't want to see you."
"What am I supposed to do?" she sobbed.
In reply, Pierre had roughly picked her up off the ground by her hair, and tossed her against the desk, bending her over. With one swift move, he unbuckled his trousers, lowered his drawers, and rammed his cock into her already purple and swollen asshole. She screamed, so loud that a nearby porter knocked on the door. Pierre roared at him to go away and terrified the man did so, leaving Julianne to the agony of another anal rape. Pierre cam roughly, and threw her onto the floor. Standing over her, he reached into his jacket and unfolded a five dollar US bank note, throwing it onto her naked body.
"Here," he said. "You're nothing but a fucking come-drinking whore, and whores get paid. Now get your fucking things and get the fuck out of here."
"My trunk," she cried. "How can I carry my trunk?"
Pierre threw one of his gunnysacks at her head. Fill this up. The rest you leave behind. Now hurry up. Get dressed. Leave."
"I need to wash," she protested, pulling herself off of the floor.
"Bitch, you dress now!" Pierre screamed. "Carry the stench of come on your body, so that all the men of America might know what a fucking slut you are! I'll be back in five minutes, and if you're not gone by then, by God, I'll throw you overboard myself."
Julianne stood, her body throbbing with pain. She stripped off her soiled stockings and her torn garter belt, and pulled new lingerie from her dresser. Pulling on a new, simple dress, her corset and blouse, then lacing up her knee high boots, she hurriedly threw another dress, some undergarments, and a bonnet into the gunnysack, and scurried out the door.
Now, standing on the dock, breathing the air of a new country, she realized just how bad of a situation she was in. Pierre had taken her papers, her passport, and her documentation that she had received before embarking in Calais. Shivering, she nevertheless joined the long line of immigrants that was inching towards the US Immigration offices.
Two hours later, she stood in a small room with a small woman in a military-style blue uniform, her hair pulled back into a severe bun. She eyed Julianne appraisingly, clicking her tongue.
"So, you have no papers, ja?" the woman asked.
"No ma'am," Julianne answered quietly.
"Why?" the woman demanded.
"My…my boyfriend, he was to be my husband, he took them from me when he said he never wanted to see me again."
"Tough breaks," the woman replied, eyeing Julianne. "What do you intend to do then?"
"Please," Julianne said. "I have no papers, I have no money, and I am thousands of miles from home. Surely this country can help me."
"Hmmm. And what would this country receive in return?" the immigrations officer asked sternly.
Julianne looked around helplessly. "I have clothes," she said meekly. "Nothing else."
"Clothes," the woman said. "That might be worth a trade. Tell you what. I might be persuaded to give you a temporary pass. A one week visa to get to the French Consulate and re-acquire your lost paperwork. Let's see."
The woman stood up, and came around the desk. Julianne bent over to retrieve her gunnysack, and was stopped by the officer's hands on her shoulder.
"This blouse is nice," the woman said. She began to unbutton the high collar.
"What…what are you doing?" asked Julianne.
"Nothing," the woman said innocently. "I'm just appraising your clothing. You do want to get into this country, don't you?"
"Yes," Julianne whispered, casting her eyes downward.
The woman unbuttoned the blouse, and then cupped Julianne's breasts. "Nice," she said. She squeezed, harder now. "This corset is very fine."
Julianne was silent.
Now the woman reached around Julianne's waist, and undid the clasps to her skirts, letting them fall to the ground. Another deft gesture, and her petticoats fell as well.
"Ah," the woman said, clucking her tongue. "No bloomers for you, eh? Makes you popular with the boys, ja?"
"Please," Julianne said. "My clothes were taken. This is all I was able to retrieve."
"Ah, well, I have no need of more underwear. That garter belt is very nice though. And those stockings. There's nothing like the feel of European silks. So much better than America's."
The woman stood straight up, unbuttoning her blouse, and then dropping her skirts to the floor. She pushed down on Julianne's shoulders until Julianne was kneeling on the floor, and then she sat on the edge of her desk, her legs spread wide.
"Come here," the woman purred. She pulled Julianne's head forward, towards her musky cunt lips.
"Oh God, please," Julianne whimpered.
"Do you want to get into this country?" demanded the immigration officer. "You are lucky you didn't get a man. What do you think he would do to you?"
Julianne winced, swallowed hard, and then leaned forward, until the tip of her nose was buried in the woman's black pubic hair, her lips caressing the pink fleshy fold's of pussy.
"Eat," the woman said. "Eat, Rover, lap it up."
Julianne stuck her tongue out, hesitantly poking the tip of it at the fleshy folds of the other woman's cunt. A tug of her hair convinced her to be more creative. Cringing inside, she opened her mouth, shoving her tongue deep into the other woman's pussy, sucking hard against the pubic bone. She continued to suck, moving her tongue in circles, until her jaw began to ache. The woman, enjoying this oral attention immensely, pulled harder on her hair, grinding Julianne's face into her crotch, spasming with orgasm after orgasm.
As the shudder subsided, Julianne started to move her head back, but a quick, savage tug on her hair forced her face back into the other woman's cunt. As Julianne knelt, helpless, her mouth open and pressed around the immigration officer's labia, her tongue folded against those warm, juicy pussy lips, cunt juice running down her chin and the side of her neck, a single tear running down her cheek, the older woman began to sigh.
Julianne recoiled as the first taste of warm urine splashed against her mouth. With her head forced into place, her mouth forced open, she was helpless to do anything but let her mouth fill with the other woman's urine. Desperately rolling her eyes, trying to find some way of escape, piss began to overflow from her lips, until her chin was golden, and yellow tracks of liquid ran down her bare chest and hung in droplets off of her pink nipples.
"Good doggy," the woman purred in approval.
Julianne, helpless to do anything else, gulped deeply, swallowing the mouthful of piss the immigration woman had provided.
At last her hair was released. She fell backwards, propping her self up on her elbows, staring hurtfully at the woman, her face a mask of female juices and piss.
"Good," the woman said absently. She deftly scribbled on a piece of paper. "Here is your one day pass."
"One day?" Julianne cried, dismayed. "You told me you would give me a week!"
"Well, I decided I didn't really need any of those clothes. Just a toilet, really. And being my toilet gets you one day. Use it well." The woman smirked.
Julianne, with no other choice stood, gathering her skirts around her waist, trembling. As the buttoned up her petticoats and laced her corset, her mind reeled. In the course of twenty-four hours, she had been orally, vaginally, and anally raped, she had been forced into lesbianism and group sex, and she had been forced to drink another woman's piss. As she buttoned up her blouse and grabbed the one-day temporary visa before the woman could change her mind, Julianne whispered a small prayer for help.
As she walked out to catch a ferry to New York City, she tried to cast an optimistic light on things. After all, all she had to do was reach the French Consulate, and things would be all right. Right?
Part Three: Night in the City
Night fell on the bustling metropolis of New York City. The denizens of the dark were out in full force, the hustlers and hookers and cops and crooks, all part of the seedy underlife of the city. Julianne walked through the darkening streets, tired, bedraggled, and hungry. The ferry ride had cost two dollars, and a small meal cost another dollar. She had hailed a hansom, and requested to be taken to the French Consul, but the cabbie, sensing a new visitor to the land, led her around in circles, and then demanded the last two dollars she had as a fare. Now, lost, alone, with no money and absolutely no idea where she was, Julianne's only thought now was finding a place to lay down for the night.
She made her way through a dark alley, until she spotted a patch of dry cardboard underneath a black iron alcove. It wasn't the hotel room she had envisioned when she started out on this trip, but it would have to do. Using the gunnysack as a pillow, she gathered up her skirts and lay down, trying to close her eyes and sleep.
A rustling nearby startled her from her slumber. She sat up, hugging her knees against her chest, her eyes wide. She began to tremble, as the stealthy midnight noises materialized into eleven shadowy shapes. All men, all leering and grinning. Some held broken bottles; other had small stiletto-style knives. One silently swung a length of chain, and another grinned as he held up his hands and pulled a section of rusty barbed wire taut.
Julianne couldn't move. Enduring five rapists in two days was too much. Any instinct she had to get up and run was crushed under the inevitability of it all. Nevertheless, she managed to stand before the pack of young men broke into action.
In seconds, she was pinned up against the wall, her clothes ripped without caution. The shredding of cotton and silk and taffeta gave an odd, subdued counterpart to Julianne's shrieks of misery and despair. In response, a pack of stray dogs, blocks, away, began to howl. The men worked silently, efficiently, until the leader, a big, swaggering brute with a crooked nose and a missing tooth, held up his hand. Like a pack of hyenas, then men stopped and slunk away, leaving Julianne exposed under the glare of a single gas lamp, her blouse and skirts hanging in tattered shreds from her body. She tried to cover her cunt, which was still bare with her gloved hands, but the leering of the men told her it made no difference. Helpless, she let her hands fall to her sides, giving an unobstructed view of her body, the short white whalebone corset, that pushed her small breasts up and out, her pale, cream-colored garter, with the antique, heavily laced garters, and her thick, barely pink stockings. The leader looked at her in silence.
"Nice boots," he said, pointing at her knee-high lace up leather boots. "Sturdy," he commented.
Julianne stood there, shaking.
"Silent type, huh?" the leader asked. "Fine. You'll scream soon enough."
Four men advanced, and pinned her onto the ground, among the cast-off refuse of the daytime world. They held her spread-eagled, and Julianne screamed, until her throat was raw and her voice sounded like sandpaper. The leader grabbed a thick green champagne bottle from one of his lackeys and approached her slowly, his smile brimming with malice.
"Better open you up," he said. He knelt between her legs, inspecting her cunt and ass. "Hmmm," he muttered, probing her anus with one fleshy, dirt encrusted finger. "Looks like someone did some opening up already. Fine. Then you won't feel this at all."
He took the bottle, and spit on the top, a great green and yellow loogie that slowly oozed down the sides of the neck. Then, screwing it like a corkscrew, he worked it slowly into Julianne's abused rectum.
Julianne found that she could scream after all.
"Shut her up," the leader commanded tersely.
"Right," responded one of the men. He stepped forward, grabbing Julianne's head until her face was level with his cock. "Here, bitch," he said. "Suck on this. And suck it good, you cocksucking slut, or we'll break that bottle, and then rape you with it." He shoved his smelly cock into her mouth.
Julianne accepted his dick, but was rudely surprised when she felt another cock brushing against her lips.
"Move over Saxon," the new assailant said. "I'm gonna get me some too."
"Fine, fine." Saxon replied. The new cock also forced it's way into her mouth, where they jostled and dueled, while Julianne gagged and choked, her lips stretched so wide that she could feel burning pain at their junction, as if they were threatening to rip apart.
The leader had worked the bottle halfway up her ass. He stood, unbuttoned his filthy trousers, and guided his cock into her pussy. Julianne, every part of her body screaming in outrage, writhed violently, to no avail.
The two men swordfighting in her mouth both came with groans and grunts, and Julianne's chin was soon covered with come. As soon as the two withdrew, another pair stepped up and shoved her mouth full once again. As the men took turns raping her mouth, the leader finished with her cunt. Winking at her, he pulled the champagne bottle from her ass, and announced to the crowd: "She's ready boys. Let's plug the bitch up!"
Julianne was flipped over onto her stomach, where a man grinned up from beneath her. As soon as a dick filled her cunt, another corkscrewed its way into her ass. With two men in her mouth, and her hands filled with more cock, Julianne was literally being suspended by the men's cocks.
When she left France, she had dreamed of becoming a wife and mother in this prosperous new country. Now, in an alarming turn of events, she had been reduced to a receptacle for cock, a living, breathing mass of pain that existed only for men to pleasure themselves with.
The night passed on. The men switched positions, laughing and joking, spraying her body with come. Several times, Julianne blacked out, only to be revived by a crack on her ass with a belt or a rope. As the men began to tire, she was left, on her face and knees, panting for air. Her entire lower face was covered in thick globs of sperm, so much that it ran from the corners of her mouth, down her chin, and was indistinguishable from the puddle of semen that her face rested in. Her asshole gaped open wildly, the ring of muscle purple and bruised, the inner walls of her anus fiery red and exposed. Come spilled out of it, joining the river of come that poured out of her cunt. One garter was completely coated in semen, and it ran in trails down her stockings, until it formed in pools around her knees.
So delirious was Julianne, she didn't even register the first shower of warm golden liquid until it struck a welt on her ass. Without a word, the eleven men, spent of come, had gathered around her prone body, to take turns covering it in urine. She huddled on the ground, helpless, feeling the warm liquid run down her face, dripping off her nose and stomach, mixing with the semen and traces of blood, until she was completely soaked.
Bored, but not yet tired of the game, the men then took turns whipping her. One man used a length of thin chain, which rattled and made a terrific thumping noise on her back and ribs. After he tired, another stepped up, flipping Julianne on to her back, and he whipped her breasts and stomach with his length of barbed wire, leaving thin, red, bloody lines across her white skin.
"Hold her down," the leader said after the whipping subsided. The men rushed to obey. The leader, still naked from the waist down, grinned at Julianne's stricken face, and then he squatted. "Lick my ass, you little whore," he commanded.
Julianne, all resistance gone, stuck her tongue out to comply.
Instead of an ass to lick, she received a wet, smelly shit. She recoiled her tongue in shock, and as a result, ended up swallowing it. What remained was splattered against her face. The leader laughed, and wiped his crack across her scratched and welted breasts.
He stood up, and gazed at what he had wrought. The pretty French girl was lying in an alley, naked, covered in come and piss and shit, and best of all, she would never tell a soul. He laughed.
Julianne lay like a dead thing until she was sure they were gone. Using the shredded remains of her clothes, she wiped the shit off of her chin, and cleaned the rest of her body as well as she could. She stripped down naked, discarding her soiled garters and stockings, and dressed in the last remaining outfit she had with her. She shivered.
"Not a bad performance," a soft, feminine voice observed.
A woman stepped from the shadows, richly dressed and slightly amused.
Julianne's anger bubbled to the surface.
"You saw?" she screamed hoarsely. "Why didn't you help me?"
"I wanted to see what you could do," the woman replied. "Let me guess, you're a new immigrant, you have no money, no identification, and no green card?"
Julianne nodded, head hung in defeat.
"That's what I thought. That's why I wanted to see what you could do. You took everything those men dished out. In truth, I sent them here. They audition new talent you might say."
"Talent?" Julianne whispered.
"Talent. You, my dear, took it well. I can use you. I will provide you with proper papers, a green card, and room and board. In exchange, you provide me with your body. Your soul, you can keep, but your body belongs to me."
Julianne was utterly defeated. She hung her head. "Oui," she whispered.
Finis
