Not so long ago, or far away!
Maybe only yesterday‽
I need to be honest with someone, and I feel I can trust you. It happened when I was 18, and I kept my secret close. In truth, I’ve told no one about it until now. The weight of what happened was suffocating me, so I needed to confess. The cheer coach, Mrs. Albright, held me back and complained I wasn’t showing enough spirit. She berated me, humiliated me, and seemed to take great pleasure in doing so.
She prattled on and on and just wanted to get out of there. I knew Cindy’s mom wouldn’t wait long for me. When the old bitch finally told me I could go, I ran to the parking lot. There were no cars, and my school bus was gone as well. This meant I had to take public transportation.
Desperate, I reluctantly went to the bus stop, still wearing my cute cheer uniform. The bus ride from the gym to my area took a long and winding 55 minutes. Exhausted and drained from my encounter with the coach, I retreated to the back of the bus. Craving solitude in the crowded vehicle filled with at least twenty-seven other people. Though I wasn’t really counting them. My mind was too consumed by the events that had just transpired.
Also, this was a big bus and only half full.
Lost in the digital world, I was engrossed in my phone as the bus rumbled along and made stops every few blocks. A man stepped into the bus, and my gaze flickered up from the bright screen to take note of him.
He appeared a late 40something, with a rugged exterior. He wore dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, a black leather jacket hugging his broad shoulders, and dark-gray dirty sweatpants on his hips. With plenty of empty seats, this creeping-looking man approached the one next to me, wedging against me despite many other open spaces.
We were on the back bench seat, and the two were the only ones on it. The man pushed right up against the right side window.
A sense of unease washed over me, but I remained silent. Honestly, I’m too awkward and introverted to say anything. My mother forced me to be a cheerleader to bring me out of my shell. The guy made me uncomfortable. But I couldn’t help but steal glances at him every now and then. Trying to decipher his intentions through his body language with an occasional side-eye. His reflective glass made him an impenetrable fortress of strength to me.
I sat with my legs pressed tightly together.
The relentless rocking of the bus and this big man’s close proximity made me feel queasy. But I brushed it off as just my imagination. I simply ignored the persistent brush of his hand against my exposed thigh. But when his rough hand grazed against my bare thigh for the third time, I turned to face him.
He had this smirk.
My heart raced as I realized he was doing it on purpose. The guy had a malicious sneer and rubbed my leg like he owned it. Ready to confront him, I couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his pants that made my stomach twist in disgust. It took me six agonizing seconds to tear my gaze away from his tent. Feeling violated, disgusted, and intrigued by his actions and my reaction. How could I get moist from this?
With each passing stop, it became bolder and more intentional. Despite my revulsion, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the obscene bulge before me for what felt like an eternity.
The bus ride felt like an eternity as I sat there, trying to avoid looking at the man next to me. But it was no use. His enormous bulge was constantly on my mind. I couldn’t shake off the discomfort and fear that settled in the pit of my stomach.
He put his hand on my knee and moved up toward my cheer skirt. At the same time, I sensed his eyes on me, but I refused to meet his gaze. It was as if he was challenging me to look again, to acknowledge what he was doing. And I couldn’t help but wonder, why me? Why did he choose me out of all the other people on the bus?
As the bus made its way through various stops and passengers got off one by one, I prayed for an empty seat to open next to someone else. But no such luck came my way. The man’s presence seemed purposeful. He’d chosen to sit next to me, and this filled me with a sense of dread.
I tried not to draw any attention to myself, keeping my head down and pretending to be engrossed in my phone once again. But every now and then, I would sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye. And each time I did so, his bulge only grew more swollen.
It was disgusting and terrifying at the same time. I wanted nothing more than for this bus ride to be over so I could escape this creep. Even so, that damn cock drew my attention.
The bus emptied out, and still, he sat there, squeezing my leg.
As the stranger’s hands gripped my thighs, I felt a mix of fear and arousal. I tried to focus on my phone, but the thought of him following me home sent shivers down my spine. Summoning all my courage, I spoke up:
“Can you please not squeeze so hard?”
His response caught me off guard - the apology delivered in a deep, sexy voice only added to the conflicting emotions coursing through me.
“I’m very sorry, miss, you’re so sexy in that outfit. I just can’t help myself. I am sorry, but you know it’s your fault for being such a hot girl.” As he spoke, he pushed his and up under my skirt and tugged my cheer shorts and thong down. His thumb circled around my clit, and one finger thrust inside me, only till he found my cherry.
“Virgin,” he said, breathing out the wood like a prayer.
A shock ran through me as I heard his first words, and arousal coursed through my body simultaneously.
Unconsciously, I found myself welcoming his touch. My hands mirrored his movements, exploring the tent in his pants as he quickly pulled out his ginormous member. Without hesitation, I stroked it as he caressed my breasts with one hand and frigged me with the other. Fear crept into my mind as I wondered if I would miss my stop and be stuck with this snake on the bus. Would he follow me home?
But then, I felt a sense of control return as I boldly stated, “I need you to cum before I get off.”
The pervert’s response was swift and forceful, shoving my head towards his throbbing member. Without hesitation, I opened my mouth and gagged on his massive erection. My frantic breaths mixed with saliva as the bus shook and jostled us. His hands clenched onto my head, driving himself deeper into my throat.
I could feel his unrelenting grip on my head, forcing me down onto his member. Yanking me back up only to push my head back down.
The scent of our arousal filled the air as I gasped for breath, mixed with the faint smell of sweat and crotch-stank. My throat was raw and sore from choking on the stranger’s dick, and his grip on my head was tight and firm.
The stranger’s penis was thick and pulsing in my hand, veins protruding and the tip glistening with moisture. As I went down on him, my vision blurred, and dark spots appeared, making it hard to see anything clearly.
As he forced my head up and down, thick spital oozed and sputtered around my mouth and down his prick. My hands were covered in my slobber.
The sounds of the bus shook and rattled around us, mixed with the wet sounds of my gagging and the stranger’s moans. His whispered words and my gasps for air were the only clear sounds in the chaos.
“Good whore, that’s it, use that fucking tongue.”
The stranger’s penis was thick and veiny, glistening with saliva and cum as I choked on it. White ropes of cum hit the back of my throat, causing me to swallow hard and gag. He let me lose and jumped into the aisle as the bus stopped.
“Thanks,” he said.
His casual manner was a dark contrast to his throat raping me. But for some reason, I responded to him.
“You’re most welcome.” Politeness had been ingrained in me from birth. My thoughts turned to the protocol. Should I say, ‘Thanks,’ back to him? Does a rabbit thank a wolf for eating him? The bus lurched to a stop.
This wasn’t my destination, but I exited the bus. I quickly walked away, hoping no one would see my messy cum-covered self. I could feel the slippery substance on my thighs, my own discharge, and the smell of it, along with his nasty cum, and it made me sick to my stomach.
I heard footsteps behind me and ran across an open field, not having any idea where I was. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him. He was running after me. Twisting my head back to see where I was going, I ran headlong into a tree.
Everything went black.
A sensation of floating in the air wrapped around me. Powerful arms carrying me. My father found me and saved me. The fog in my brain thinned. Only it wasn’t my father, and I wasn’t saved.
“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t’ve run, little girl. You’ve hurt yourself, and there’s no one to blame but you. Walking around alone, riding the bus alone, dressed so sexy, you demand people notice you. Well, I did. Now, little girl, I’m gonna make you a woman.”
The throb in my forehead pounded, my heart raced, my mouth was dry and filled with the gross flavor of his spunk, and my throat felt as if I’d swallowed fire. Cautiously, I opened my eyes to a dark, blurry world. But I realized where we were.
He carried me across my old elementary school playground, past the prison-like schoolhouse. Still holding me in his arms, he went to the back of the grounds. To the shed where the grounds keep’s lawn mowers and tools were stored.
The man slung up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The jangle of keys was followed by a loud click as the lock was extracted from the doorframe. He opened the door and slammed it behind us, hearting the clank as the bolt was secured.
He flipped the lights on. A bright white florences flooded the room. One of the tubes overhead flickered and blinked, casting alternating shadows and flashes of light. I understood what was about to happen.
“Please don’t,” I said.
Still holding me fireman style, he tugged down my shorts and thong. He pulled them down my thighs and let them find their own way from there. He tossed me on a bed, and my vision seemed to coalesce into focus.
No weedeaters, no lawmore, hammers, or tools. It had a large mattress on box springs. With no headboard or sheets, the bed was covered in cum and other fluid stains. I wanted to run to fight him. But I’m feet tall and don’t even weigh 100 pounds.
He turned his back to me and peeled off his leather jacket. He hung it on the back of the chair and sat down, gazing at me while unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed the shirt back toward the door. Stripping off his sweatpants, he threw them off to the side with his shirt.
“Kick off them shorts and panties,” he said. “Then take the top off, but leave the skirt, the ankle sock, and teeny-shoes.”
“Please,” I begged.
“Don’t what I tell you,” he said, reaching over and picking up a long plastic rod. “Elst I whip you but good, cunt.”
I kicked off the shorts and thong, pulled the colorful top over my head, and threw it at him. He laughed.
“Damn, bitch, them some big ole boobies, Aurora.”
“Oh, shit, I know you. You were my fifth-grade teacher. Mister Robertson?” all at once, I realized I shouldn’t’ve admitted that.
“Yeah, it’s me. Aurora, I saw you when you came out of middle school today. So fucking disappointed that my girlfriend reamed your ass out for your, what was it, enthusiasm?”
The door opened, and Mrs. Albright walked in. She shut and locked it behind her and glared at me. The smile on her face was cruel and cold.
“You started without,” she said.
“Did that to her on the bus. Dumb cunt made it easy, sat on the back bench.”
“Wish I’d seen that. Get that fucking bra off, Aurora.”
I took it off, and Mrs. Albright moved to me and seized it from my hand. “Twenty-eight double D,” she read the label. “Lift your skirt and show me your twat.”
I pulled my shirt out of the way for their inspection.
“Do you shave there, lil’ girl,” Mr. Robertson asked.
“No,” Mrs. Albright said. “Not much there to shave yet. Come have a look.”
“Been admiring them fat fucker tits,” he said, stroking his cock hard. “Oh, shit, she’s got a whisp of cunt hairs. Eat her out, Kate, while I gouge her throat and mangle me some bobbies.”
His prick was long and fat. There was so much more than he’d used on me before. I lay back, totally ashamed of my meek acceptance of the abuse. The first lap of Mrs. Albright’s tongue tamed any notion of running away.
Resting on my elbows, I arched my back, opened my mouth, and longed for what would happen. I allowed Mr. Robertson full access to his mouth and tits. Squatting above me, he jabbed his cock down my mouth, past the gag point, leaning into it, and fucked my face.
His big Harry balls smacked my forehead or eyes. His hands mangled my tits painfully, but it sent shivers down my spine, which collided with the ones running up from the tongue, lapping my labia lips, clit, and tickling inside my pussy.
Thick, snotty spit boiled in my throat and mouth, overflowing, getting in my nose and down my cheeks, and covering my chin. And that tongue, the wonderful, magical tongue, kept my tummy twisting into knots and gushes flooding my pussy.
“I’m ready,” Mr. Robertson said.
“She’s wet for you, baby. Split her open.”
Mrs. Albright sat on my face, forcing my mouth to her hot, wet pussy. I understood what I was to do, it disgusted me, but my tongue snaked out and slivered over her cunt. Mr. Robertson got between my legs, picked my ass up off the bed, and positioned himself. The knob of his cock was pressing into me.
He pierced inside me, one hard thrust, muscles tore, my hymen tore, and another thrust. Another stretching, ripping. Another, more intense, harder. Back away, jab inside. He hit bottom by the third lunge but forced more inside me. Things tore, things stretched.
Pain, sharp, profound agony, and under it, something worse, pleasure. My tongue worked in frenzies to make my Mrs. Albright happy. Mr. Robertson’s fingers twisted my nipples, and his hands smashed my tits. And they said nasty things.
“Big woman tits on a dumb, worthless cunt’s body.” “She loves being raped.” “Natural born whore.” Who said which I couldn’t know, but my body screamed in anguish and rapture.
He crammed more inside me, pulled back, and poked inside. Some tiny creatures scurried over my body, through my veins, up and down my spine, and their eggs exploded in my head. And Mr. Robertson kept thrusting, pounding, and hammering away at my hole.
Mrs. Albright shuddered through orgasm after orgasm. Falling off me, she played with my hair and kept calling me whore, slut, cunt, anything to hurt me.
All the while, Mr. Robertson kept up his relentless attack on my body. Slapping breasts, my ass, pinching nipples, twisting them, spanking my ass, while he bulldozed my pussy, and fucked the shit out of me.
The bastard wounded my body and kept me in a constant state of internal, physical enjoyment. Little death followed little death. Pain and pleasure, rapture and misery, anguish, and ecstasy became the same.
The torture took all too long, and his climax happened all too soon.
He filled me with seed. And Mr. Robertson collapsed on top of me, crushing me under him. he didn’t withdraw, and Mrs. Albright got between both of her legs. Her face was buried between his butt cheeks.
“That’s it, Kate baby, stick that nasty tongue in there. Yeah, getting me hard again.”
Soon, far too soon for me to recover any at all, he rose up, lifted my legs to his chest, and pulled out. My ass stung, he thrust, thrust, thrust, and entered me.
For another fifteen minutes, he raped my ass while Mrs. Albright watched and played with her bare cunt. As he fucked me, he grunted like a pig. Spital dribbled out of my mouth, landing on my face. Thurst, stab, rip, and fucked my ass. He spat in my eyes, or on my nose, or across my face.
I was no longer a person. I was holes to fuck and nothing more. When he finally finished, he pulled out and ordered me into the makeshift shower. They turned the cold water on me and made me use soap. Mrs. Albright got a hose, shoved a round nozzle inside my ass, and squeezed the handle. Water flooded my inside, and she yaked it out.
Cum, blood, and a little shit shot out of me and washed down the drain. She repeated it in my pussy. Just for a second, but it was cold and hurt. She ordered me to clean myself better and picked up my phone.
“Hello, Mrs. Danforth, this is Mrs. Albright… I’m well, thank you for asking. I’m calling because I’ve held Aurora back to work on the returnees… Yes, she’s fine… Taking a shower… She’s such an awkward little girl… Well, yes, she does try hard… I hate to say this, but I’m not sure she cut out to be a cheerleader… Well, Mrs. Danforth, if you insist, I’ll keep trying… yes, I will work with her personally every day this week… No, No, Mrs. Danforth, I’ll bring her home when she’s done showering… No need for you to come for her. Bye-bye.”
My heart sank. This wasn’t a one-time thing. They would use me this way every day after practice until the game Friday night. Maybe use me this way every weeknight from now on.
Mr. Robertson grabbed my hair and dragged me out of the shower, forcing me to knees.
“This is your god, now,” he said, rubbing on his cock. “And you’re keeping your cunt trap mouth shut. Even when your belly swells up, you gonna lie to explain it. You’ll be blaming Tommy Aalistar for raping you, maybe.”
As Mr. Robertson held me by my hair and barked out his instructions, his cock twitched and grew. I understood my fate, opened my mouth, and offered my throat as an offering to my god.
So, you see, you don’t have so bad, do you?
