1 comments/ 58862 views/ 3 favorites Prejudice By: LucOuarm Part One: Professor Gregory Stimson noticed that every year there were a more Asians on campus, not only the foreign students, but the sons and daughters of recent immigrants. At one time there had been much fewer. They were good students, but drudges, automatons; all they did was study. They only lived to study and study more. Stimson imagined their little brown fingers diddling their privates in a feeble effort to release sexual tensions between their tests and term papers. Anahita Nara was on her way to her favorite class, taught by a talented instructor, Professor Stimson. She liked him and smiled at him whenever she could, and sometimes he smiled back. That made her feel good inside. She was born in America and wanted to be just like the other students, even if it meant arguments with her traditional parents. They informed her very firmly that boyfriends were not permitted. Her job was to study. Then, after she graduated, they would arrange a suitable marriage for her. There was no room in her life for romance. They even directed her to major in Psychology, and this was America! Failure was a disgrace; it was unthinkable. Her parents would simply not accept failure. Students had no other lives but their books and schoolwork, the true road to success. Professor Stimson did not recall how it began, but he now disliked Indians. They ate strange food, and most were vegetarians. They were standoffish and did not mix in well. Indo-British accents grated his ears, and the female version was even worse; it sounded like a hysterical whine. They even smelled funny. The Indians had picked up every bad aspect of their former masters, the British, and converted them into annoying vices. Their native land was a constant thorn in the side of the United States. Finally, relentless drudgery earned them the top grades, depriving real Americans their proper reward in the college. Anahita Nara liked Professor Stimson because he epitomized what she liked about her country: the informality, the individuality, the freedom. Maybe she and her teacher could meet socially in a more informal setting. He would discover what a cute and charming girl she was and maybe even... Her heart fluttered with secret romantic yearnings. She wanted no arranged marriage; she wanted no marriage at all to another Indian. She wanted an American husband! Gregory Stimson smiled evilly. He had caught an Indian student turning in a plagiarized paper. He would do her in! He would have her expelled from the college in disgrace and send her packing back to her little brown family so that they could punish her too. The little wog had thought that she was clever. She had paraphrased a classic paper on Indo-British relations, but she had made a big mistake. Every idea and its development were in the exact same order as the original paper. It had popped out at him as soon as he had read the little drudge's first two paragraphs. Too bad for her that he knew the original document almost by heart. He should; it had been at the core of his PhD dissertation. Ms. Nara was an excellent student and seemed very bright; Stimson could not fathom why she had copied the paper. Her test scores had guaranteed her an A. Even a mediocre paper, balanced against her excellent class participation would not have changed that. Fair was fair; they often annoyed him, but he gave the Indians what they had earned in his courses. He would give her what she earned: expulsion! The rules of Chapawquaque College were very clear about that. Professor Stimson walked into the recitation hall. The class, Modern World Political Systems, was due to begin, and he arranged his notes on his desk. It was a small room, and he enjoyed close proximity to the nineteen undergrads still in the course. That is, he enjoyed being near those that weren't Indians. Also there were a few cute coeds, young females at the age of ripe perfection. The little blonde with the big tits was his favorite. Now that the weather was warm, her flimsy, almost slutty, outfits gave him stimulating ideas for his idle hours. Anahita had a shy smile on her face as she glanced at her teacher. He was so ruggedly handsome, so amusing, so charming, and so knowledgeable. She would love to know him better. She saw him smile at her and smiled back. Maybe he actually liked her! She needed to meet him sometime. She wished that she dared be as brazen as the blonde girl with big breasts, boldly displaying her body to the world. Ms. Nara was seated in her usual place. A slight smile moved across his face as he anticipated holding her after class to arrange an appointment at his office. She smiled back at him, possibly thinking that he held nice thoughts about her. If she only knew, but she would know at the end of the day when her world came crashing down on her. A brightly colored scarf covered her hair and a small dot of color gleamed on her forehead. Her round face had a very light tan complexion. It would become pale later today when he sprang his little surprise on her. Maybe Ms. Nara could pass for a white woman then. The last few students ambled in and dropped into their regular places. Ms. Nara was patiently seated with her notebook open, her text in the corner of her desk, and a pen poised and ready in her hand. As silence grew, Stimson stood and made the introductory remarks of a short lecture. When he finished talking, he opened the floor for discussion. Anahita participated well again. She seemed to understand every point he had made; too bad she had to go. The little blonde asked such an inane question that the class was in stitches, and even he had to smile. Her face flushed in embarrassment. She was a poly-sci major too. He would love to be her faculty advisor. He would straighten her out; she needed a big dick in her. Oddly, only Anahita did not laugh at the blonde's shame. The recitation slowly wound down. Stimson's eyes flicked across Ms. Nara's pleasant, but all too brown, face at times. The shuffling of papers signaled that the students knew that time was up. Professor Stimson stood and rocked back and forth on his heels. He made a gesture with his hand, and the Indian girl moved toward him obediently, her books gathered against her full chest. "I need to see you today, Ms. Nara, about something important," he said. "I can see you after four; is that is all right?" she replied with a faint smile on her face. She probably though she was to be commended. He watched her as she followed the other students out the door. She modestly wore long skirts, but her clothing did not conceal completely the full, feminine hips, shapely legs, and round, full boobs. Anahita was both sexily well proportioned and sweetly innocent; it was too bad she was an Indian. Anahita walked slowly to her next class. She supposed that she might be receiving a compliment about her paper at the upcoming private meeting. Maybe she could announce her intention to switch her major. She liked Professor Stimson so much and wanted to have him as her advisor. She was becoming tired of Psychology, but combining Political Science and Economics would be just right for her own future plans. Her parents would be annoyed, but this was America. She had found just the right paper in the old bound journals in the library basement. The article contained the same ideas that she wanted to say about India and Great Britain, so she made a copy and used its format to phrase her own ideas. It said everything that she had already thought of; She just filled in her thoughts and verbiage over what was there already. It was a snap, and she was done in no time. The most work came when she put in her references and bibliography. After lunch Anahita returned to her dorm room, showered, and changed into a new, fresh dress. She wanted to look her best for her appointment. She put on new underwear, a sexy set that she had bought and concealed from her mother. Her next class ended thirty minutes before her meeting with Professor Stimson, giving her time to stroll slowly to the Higgins Social Science Building. Part Two: By fifteen minutes after four she was a sobbing wreck. Her body quivered on a hard wooden chair in Professor Stimson's office. Tears streamed down her face. If his office had been up on the third floor she would have thrown herself out the window onto the pavement below, hoping for a quick end to her miserable life. His first words rang in her brain, "About this paper you plagiarized and handed in..." His face was not smiling when he said those words, slowly and with menace. Anahita had heard more unpleasant news after that, only barely comprehending it. Anahita felt a roaring in her head and blackness overwhelmed her. Her muscles relaxed, without warning all at once, and she slid onto the office floor. Her life was ending, and she was dropping into an abyss. Sometime later she felt strong arms gather her up and place her in a comfortable place. Hands arranged her clothing to preserve her modesty, a cool glass of water was held to her hot lips, and she sipped delicately the refreshing liquid. She opened her eyes. Anahita was looking directly into Professor Stimson's strong and handsome face. His blue eyes and light brown hair were so attractive. She felt tears forming again in her eyes. He reached over and wiped them away with a fresh tissue and placed it in her hand. It was hard to focus on his face, but Anahita believed that she perceived some sympathy and concern there. She tried to say something, but only some mumbled nonsense emerged from her lips. "Don't talk now, Ms. Nara," he directed. He urged her to relax for a while. As he looked down on her, he recalled what he had seen as the young female student had slid to the floor of this office. Her nice dress had caught on the chair edge and slipped all the way up her body exposing her curvaceous bare legs, sexily flared hips, and narrow waist. She had a shape that men would die for, both firm and sensuous. She was wearing sexy, tiger-striped panties. They had pulled up tight against her vulva and exposed its shape. Her pale brown skin was so smooth and golden. Her hair had become disarrayed in her tumble. It was long, shiny, and emitted a pleasant, spicy aroma. When he picked her up, his hands had inadvertently touched the soft, round fullness of her breasts. The girl emitted a sexily scented aroma, but it was so subtle, as if she wore no perfume at all. Holding her in his arms was the most exciting thing he had done in years. Anahita slowly gathered herself together. Her life was over, turned into nothingness by Professor Stimson's accusation. Her eyes told her that she was still in his Office and on his couch. The building was silent and the sounds of nature floated in on the Spring breeze. What had she been thinking when she had prepared the paper? Her innocent efforts had disgraced her forever! He was right; she had plagiarized the paper, unintentionally, but to the entire world it appeared to be deliberate. No one would ever believe her. Her father would curse her, and her mother would turn away in disgust when she arrived home. If she were lucky, they would send her as a servant to some wealthy relative's home. Gregory gazed down at her, allowing his eyes to sweep the length of her without really seeing, only feeling, her femininity radiate from her sexy body. She was, no doubt, a virgin, completely untouched by male hands. He would be, if he dared, the first to touch and kiss her nakedness. His lips would be the first to suck on her breasts and kiss her private places. Anahita's eyes focused on him, shyly noting his rugged good looks. He was not old, maybe in his thirties. Anahita had dreamed about him in a sexual way after her first class with him, filling in her romantic thoughts with images garnered from popular films. They would touch, kiss, and excite each other in these girlish fantasies, but that was all over now. She had angered and disgusted him. "I am so sorry," she murmured. "I really did not mean to plagiarize, but no one will ever believe me. I am judged and doomed. I accept any punishment you impose; I also accept my disgrace, sir." Greg said nothing, but stared at a bare leg, exposed to mid-thigh, which protruded from her disarrayed clothing. The leg ended in a slim ankle and a small, bare foot delicately housed in a sandal. A gold ring gleamed from one dainty toe. How, he thought, could anyone do evil to such a beauty? Still, Stimson was now undressing her with his eyes. He saw her shudder and glanced at her face. It was so pretty. He felt obsessed with her in a sexual way. He wondered how it would be to be naked with her and wanted to find out. "Sir," she continued, "I am entirely in your hands now. You may do with me as you please. I beg you to help me. My future is entirely up to you." Gregory continued to gaze on young Anahita. She was so distraught. She exuded some irresistible sexuality. He felt stirrings in his loins as he stared at her and recorded each nuance of her words in his mind. In spite of all ethical concerns, he lusted after her. He needed her; he needed her right then and there amongst the books and papers of his office. Gregory wanted to take her completely. His social life had been devoid of contact for the past three years as he churned out paper after paper to insure his tenure. The few women he had met soon became bored with his incessant pedantry and left him. "I am dead to my family; I am nothing, sir. Do what you will. My life is ended, and I will pay any price for my misdeed. I am in your hands." "Take off your clothes," he whispered. He could not resist her offer. "Yes, sir." She slowly rose from his couch and began to undress. Anahita unbuttoned the top of her dress and pulled the entire garment up and over her head and draped it carefully on the back of a chair. Her movements made her breasts jiggle within her thin bra, also of the tiger-stripe pattern, and Gregory could see her nipples were pushing out the fabric. When she reached behind her and unhooked the bra, her round breasts sagged slightly in their fullness. Anahita slipped her fingers into her panties and slid them down her shapely legs, stepping out of them gracefully. She placed her pretty underwear neatly on top of her dress and stood before him in only her sandals. The young girl attempted to conceal her nakedness with her arms and hands. "Drop you hands. I want to see you," Gregory ordered. She was a sight. The voluptuous figures on Asian temples could have used her as a model. Anahita was all women, from her pretty face, to her ample breasts and wide hips, down her shapely legs to her delicate feet and toes. His penis hardened in the confines of his clothing. He stood up and saw her eyes notice his condition. A glimmer of fear passed over her face, but was replaced by resolution. Her world had crashed; she was nothing. He could do as he pleased. She had said it. Greg took off his trousers, shirt, shoes, and socks. He stood before her with his briefs bulging with his erection. He motioned her closer and pressed her down to a kneeling position in front of him. "Pull down my shorts." Anahita helped him step out of them. "Suck my penis." "I don't know how, sir," she lied. She had found her father's private porn collection two years ago. She gave herself some private screenings of his videos. Her father liked to see blonde women suck off big, black cocks after these monsters had been jammed deep into their twats. The blondes always had enormous breasts. It had been a very educational experience. "Use your mouth, tongue and lips on my cock, but be careful with your teeth. Suck me... lick and kiss my dick. Do it until I come and then suck my semen from me and swallow it. "Yes, sir," Anahita mumbled meekly. As she recalled from the videos, that was exactly how it was done. She began with slight tentative kisses and licks, but soon gave up any pretense of being unsophisticated. She understood exactly what deep throating involved, and, in this first practical experience, found that she was able to do it without gagging or choking. Hopefully, she would please him enough that he would reconsider and help her. The girl was doing such a fine job that Gregory felt no need to force her head onto his hard prick. He watched in amazement as Anahita expertly fellated him. He began to wonder if the Kama Sutra was required reading for young ladies from India. He felt the first twinges of his climax in his balls and moaned. He saw her eyes glance up at him. Anahita began to bob her head up and down on his thick cock while she stroked it with her small hand. With a muffled groan, Gregory drove his hips forward to insure that the first load of his cum went into her mouth. Anahita wrapped her lips tightly around him. As his cock spasmed out each load of cum, she gulped it down and accepted all he could produce. She was actually sucking him and licking up his cum! She did not lose a drop. Pleasure enveloped him. "Was that satisfactory, sir?" "Uh... yes, Anahita, it was rather... uh... adequate," he lied. It had been the best blowjob that he had ever had. "Where did you learn to do that?" he asked, curious about her background. Was she really an innocent young girl? "I found my father's video collection," Anahita admitted. She cast her eyes down in shame and whispered, "I watched each one from beginning to end." She did not dare confess how many times she had viewed them. "Did you like what you saw?" Her face flushed. "Yes, I did, sir," she confessed truthfully. "I see. What did you do while you watched?" She turned her hot face farther away in her shame and mumbled softly, "I touched myself, sir." "Show me... Show me, Anahita, what you did." Anahita sat on the couch and spread her legs. One hand grasped a breast and the other began to massage her pubic mons slowly. Her pace gradually quickened as she fingered and pinched her nipples and slid her fingers into the moist, pink crevice below her thick, dark fur. "Have you ever had a man?" He needed to know that. "No, sir," she gasped weakly, already caught up in her activity. Her busy, delicate fingers continued to stimulate her pussy and breasts. Gregory was torn between two opposing inclinations: to touch her gently and lovingly, enjoying her virginal, but partly sophisticated, innocence, or to violate her in every way, callously raping and fucking her, using her body to satiate all of his libidinous, lustful urges. Gregory's lust joined his dislike of all that Anahita represented to him and overcame his natural good will. Anahita began to whine almost inaudibly and her hands moved in a frenzy of frustration. Her head twisted about, and her partially open mouth gasped for air. She licked her lips and moaned. Her pelvis began to rock against her fingers. Little whimpers emerged from her, and her entire body shook with the tension of her effort. A sheen of sweat made her skin glow. The room filled with her sexy aroma. She seemed to be unable to reach her climax even with Gregory blatantly fondling his dick and balls before her wanton face. Unable to resist this lewd sight any longer, Greg knelt before her and began to lick Amanita's pussy. Its exotic aroma stimulated him to make an enormous effort. Her hips undulated against him. He cupped her ass with his strong hands and pulled her pussy to his mouth. She froze with her fingers entwining his soft hair. Her face relaxed, she moaned, and finally her body relaxed and slumped back on the cushions. Lust had driven him beyond the bounds of decency. Gregory did not know how many minutes passed, but he ended her respite and ordered her to get down on her hands and knees on his carpet. He knelt behind her and rubbed the head of his dick, once again hard, through her wet crevice. He placed the head of his hard cock at the vaginal opening. Prejudice Warning: Apart from being pure fiction I'm not sure what this story is, if you read it, you tell me. Apart from a lot of talk, this story also contains descriptions of one hetero incestuous rape and one incident of gay-male rape, the two incidents are intwined in a rather disturbing manner. Don't read if you have no stomach for nonconsentual fiction. * John didn't realise he was in trouble, before he was grabbed from behind on a desolate sidewalk. Even then he still thought it was a sort of joke, a belief he somehow retained while a second person taped his mouth shut - duct-style. But when one of his assailants spoke to him, John knew he was in deep shit and started struggling like a maniac. "So you like gay-bashing. Do you, John? Huh? By the time we are done with you, you will be wishing your dad's lawyer didn't get you off the hook." ----=(Twenty-four years later)=---- "I'm... uh..." Dave was fidgeting with his coffee cup, even here with only his two best friends present, he had trouble bringing himself to say it. Molly and Brian looked at him, patiently, not pushing. The three of them were close. They knew Dave well enough to understand he was trying to say something personal, and if Dave was about to tell them something private, which they didn't already know, then it truly had to be a big secret. "I'm gay," Dave said, finally pushing out the words. "Ok," Molly said, her tone about the same as it would have been if he had said 'My real hair colour is brown'. Brian didn't say anything. "There I said it," Dave continued, "I'm out of the closet." "Good for you, Dave," Molly said, and offered a small smile, "There is gonna be a trail of broken hearts at the office, but the girls will get over it eventually. When are you going to tell your parents?" "Tomorrow," Dave said, and nodded as if to confirm his own words. "Don't do it, Dave," Brian advised, staring intently into his own coffee cup. As if the surface of his coffee had a manual - written in sugar and cream - on how to live as a gay man. "What?" Dave was baffled, he hadn't been sure how Brian would react to his announcement. A multitude of possible reactions had run through his mind the previous evening. An advice to stay in the closet, however, had not been one of them. "I said, don't do it," Brian reiterated, and wrestled his eyes of his cup, dragging them to Dave's face. "Don't listen to him, Dave. Do it," Molly countered. The three friends went quiet, they didn't want to fight. Brian was the first to break the silence. "If you do it, you will become a walking, talking political statement. You will become a living bill-board sign saying 'Gay is ok'. Friends, family, acquaintances, everyone you know, will become political nay- or yay-sayers. Not to mention, you will become a hate-target." After his speech Brian let his eyes move back to his coffee. "If you don't do it, you will be living a lie. Lies are like slow-working poison, they infest and spread, and you can't presume to know what the consequences will be." "Bullshit," Brian stated, "as long as he doesn't tell anyone, it won't mean a thing to anyone but himself." The friends went quiet again. Once again Brian was first to break the silence, after a couple sips of courage gathering coffee. "I'm gay too." "Ok," Molly said. "You?" Dave asked. "Yes, me. But I keep it to myself, I'm not a bill-board." Quiet took hold of the room yet again. This time Molly was the first to talk. "Since we are sharing secrets today, maybe I should offer mine too." "What? Are you gay too?" Dave asked, his head was spinning. Admitting to his best friends that he was gay had felt unreal, being told that one of them was gay too made him feel like he was having a surreal dream. "No, I'm not gay," Molly said, "but in ways I would prefer if that had been my secret." "Hah," was Brian's comment to that remark. "In ways, Brian, in ways," she said and shot her old friend a harsh glance, "Maybe you should listen to my secret before you judge?" "Sure, let's hear it," Brian doubted she could say anything that would make him retract his 'hah'. "Twenty-four years ago, my brother was on trial for a hate crime," Molly began, "My father was fairly wealthy and hired a really good lawyer. His money seemed to be well spent. In spite of being guilty like fuck, my brother, John, was acquitted on all counts." Molly sipped her coffee, her tone and manner would imply she was telling just yet another normal tale of something half-interesting, but her shaking hands revealed she was troubled by the memories. "The crime was gay-bashing. You see, me and all my siblings, we hated gays in general and gay men in particular. We weren't directly raised that way, it was just the tone at home. Or well, our father's tone. If a package arrived torn and battered, the post office was run by faggots. If a sports judge made bad calls during a fight, he was a fucking queer. All that, the usual, you hear it all the time." Brian and Dave nodded. 'How is this supposed to be a speech in favour of leaving the closet?' Dave wondered. "Twenty-three years ago," Molly continued, "pictures began to circulate in our home town. Pornographic pictures, in which my brother, John the Gay-Basher, engaged in gay sex. There was no doubt they were real. When he saw the pictures, he started telling people he had been raped, but no one believed him, 'cause he hadn't told anyone of being raped prior to learning about the pictures. They had been going around for days before he heard of them. And at that time it had been many months since they were taken." "John, was a gay gay-basher?" Brian asked. "That's what we all thought," Molly said, "I was devastated. My adored brother, a gay man, I didn't want to believe it, but I did, I was absolutely convinced he was gay. My brother left town, he couldn't stand the shame of nobody believing him. For two years, I didn't hear from him, and I was relieved." "You hated gay people so heavily you couldn't stand the thought of your own brother being gay?" Dave asked. "Actually, that wasn't the worst part for me. That is part of why I have never told anyone about this. I had a secret of my own back then, still a secret today, but now I will tell you guys. You gay guys," she tried to smile, but her lips trembled at the effort. "I had the biggest crush on my brother John. Yeah you heard me right," Molly said, even though neither Dave nor Brian had made objections to her words, "The biggest crush, I was in love with my own brother. I had daydreamed of marrying him since I was ten and he was fifteen. Later those dreams evolved to... Let's call it 'less innocent fantasies'. By the time I saw those gay-sex pictures of him, I was seventeen. A virgin with raving hormone, having all sorts of impossible thoughts about what could happen at my next birthday. I..." A tear rolled out of one of Molly's eyes and she got up to fetch herself a paper-napkin. "I couldn't help myself," she continued while dubbing the napkin against her eyes, a make-up wearing habit, "I fantasised about my five year older brother John, several times a day, almost every single day. Fantasies about him were the alpha and omega of my evolving sexuality. Other guys was nothing, I didn't even date, it just felt too phoney to play up to some guy who meant little more to me than dust on the pavement. The guys I would consider friends, well there were plenty reasons not to date those. For one thing they weren't cool, for another I didn't want to hurt their feelings." "In that order, huh?" Brian asked, apart from his sexuality he wasn't one to keep his clam shut. "Yeah, in that order. I was seventeen the concept of being unpopular scared the living daylights out of me. Ok?" "Ok," Brian shrugged, "so you were in love with your gay gay-bashing brother. I'm happy that you trust me enough to confide in me. But really, your secret isn't all that terrible, Hun." "I'm not done with my story yet," Molly grabbed a big bundle of paper-napkins and took them back to her chair - she wasn't done by far. "Keep telling, Molly," Dave said, if she hadn't started weeping he would have felt somehow neglected, having his talk of closet-abandoning interrupted. "Twenty-one years ago, I was nineteen years old, and still living at home. My twenty-four year old brother John was visiting our parents for thanksgiving. It was his first visit since he had left town. My father had instructed all of us, 'Not to call John gay,' and 'Not to mention the pictures,' " Molly said, imitating a stern male voice when quoting her father's words. "I had no plans of playing the obedient daughter and good sister. I was planning to let John have it, every piece of venom and malice I had saved up for him in the last two years. When John left I had been a virgin, a good girl, an old fashioned decent girl. But at my eighteenth birthday, where John had not been present, something had snapped inside of me. Since that day, I had grown to be the cheapest slut in town. After cheating on the first three guys, I no longer bothered calling my lovers 'boyfriends'. I fucked anyone, chess-club members, football members, the dirty old guy next door. Anyone." Molly rose again, and went to her lovely decorated drink cabinet. "Help yourself if you want drinks," she said, mixing herself a big glass of what seemed to be randomly chosen alcohol. Dave and Brian stuck to their coffee. Molly continued her story as soon as she was seated again, monster drink in front of her. "I even volunteered for a couple girl-guy-girl threesomes, that's how I know I'm not gay. I mean it wasn't so bad to eat pussy, but if I hadn't been rammed by a cock while doing it, I woulda been bored." Molly shrugged. "What can I say, I am not eligible to join your club." "The first day of my brother's visit, I didn't get a proper chance to bully him. My father was guarding him like a hawk, he didn't even leave his side to fetch beers. My mother aided in that by fetching beers non-stop, like an old-fashioned wifey. The second day however, they started letting their guard down, there hadn't been any incidents." Molly sighed. "Most of the family went to the mall together, for the big not-yet-last-minute-thanksgiving shopping. John the Infamous Gay Gay-Basher stayed behind, he did not want to expose himself to the curious eyes of the town. Claiming to need to wash my hair, I stayed behind too. This was my big chance to be alone with John. My big chance to vent the wrath of my sexual frustrations on their target." Taking a gigantic gulp of her monster drink, Molly delayed the story a few seconds. "You see, the reason I was the cheapest slut in town, was that I was trying to drown my fantasies about John. I kept trying and trying, anything, with anyone, to extinguish my forbidden fantasies about my gay brother." Molly laughed a bit to herself. "Oh the irony," she said, not offering an immediate explanation to that remark. "Did you ever succeed in that?" Dave asked. "That, my friend, is another story," Molly stated, "let me continue this one, before I lose my nerve." "Go ahead," Dave admonished, not sure how Molly's fantasies about her brother could suddenly be another story. "I went to the shower, just before the others left, while washing my hair and body I planned how to assault John verbally. When I finally left, I had a really trashy, condemning, demeaning speech ready for him. Covered only by a big towel I went to my room to dress up in one of my few not-slutty outfits, for more effect. But when I reached my room, my plans shattered. "He was there, sitting on my bed. John the Gay Gay-Basher. The image of my every sexual fantasy, just sitting there looking hotter than ever. " 'What the fuck are you doing in my room, you gay fuck,' I screamed at him. " 'Don't fucking call me gay, you slut,' was his reply, all this time after, I still remember every word he said clear as day. "Shit. At noon I can't remember what I had for breakfast, but I remember every single word my brother spoke to me that day. I remember them, and I remember how his voice sounded as he pronounced each one of them. I remember how he smelled like sweet rice, expensive cologne, and musk. I remember the freezing fire in his ever intense eyes. I remember how even just looking at him, made me wet, even though I was yelling like a lunatic. "Yet I don't remember what he was doing in my room, apart from the explanation being quite innocent, and plausible. " 'Gay, gay, gay. You like fucking men in the ass, Sicko,' was how I responded to his almost civil request not to call him gay. " 'Shut the fuck up, Bitch, I'M NOT GAY,' he roared at me. The force of the volume in his voice, genuinely turned me on," Molly paused her story. Brian looked a bit uncomfortable. "You don't have to tell us this, Molly. Unless you want to," he said, 'Why is she telling this? What does it matter so many years later?' "I want to," Molly stated. "There I was, soaking wet under my towel. And I don't mean from water, I dried up properly in the shower. Wet for my own brother, and it made me even more furious. Planning to yell at him, and take my wrath out on him, I was still turned on by him. " 'Don't call me bitch, Bitch!' I said." Molly shrugged. "Well right then it seemed like a witty retort. It got him to his feet, he launched of the bed, and was in my face in a second. " 'I was raped, you stupid slut, get it into your head. I didn't fucking enjoy it,' he said. I didn't believe a word of it. I had seen the pictures of cum all over his stomach, his own cum, still dripping from his own cock. " 'Sure, and Santa is real, and the Easter Bunny has a sexy ass! Did you have some of that ass too, Queen?' I said. To this day I don't know where those words came from, I was far out. " 'SHUT the FUCK up!' he replied. He was furious, his eyes burned more than ever. "Staring into those eyes, I was swept away, I didn't think about what I was doing. I opened my towel and pushed my chest, my tits, forward. " 'Oh yeah?' I said, 'If you are not gay, how come these don't turn you on, huh?' "He looked down at my breasts, and narrowed his eyes. " 'Are you saying, that if I wasn't gay, I'd be turned on by my little sisters tits? Who is the sicko now, Slut?' that was his question, and I realised he was right. Closing my towel I pushed past him to my closet, to dress. While opening the closet, I started yapping off my prepared speech. "Oh yeah, I let him have it. I had my back to him, so I couldn't see how he took it. He was eerily silent, and John was never silent in the face of insults; his silence alone should have warned me that he was cracking. But I was too far out to think straight. Literally dizzy from old frustrations, I dropped the towel, adding an unplanned remark. " 'Ah, that's right,' I said, 'you're gay. No reason to not let you see a naked woman's body is there? Doesn't do anything for you anyway.' "After that remark I began a new verbal bashing, but I was interrupted mid-sentence. As John grabbed my hair and pulled me backwards. Surprised, by the sudden attack I didn't even protest as he hauled me to my bed and tripped me onto it. He pressed my down on it, face down, my knees on the floor. " 'I will tell you exactly how I was raped, Molly,' he said, 'I will show you exactly how I got raped.' " Molly paused to concentrate, to better mimic the anger she remembered in John's voice. " 'They duct-taped my mouth and hands, Molly. I have no duct-tape on me, so I will have to improvise certain aspects.' " Dave and Brian each felt chills running through them, they had not expected this turn in the story. Now they began to understand the monster drink and the darkness of Molly's secret. "He was wearing a tie," Molly said, "he was dressed up for meeting the family, dressed manly." She blinked and took another large gulp of her drink. "John caught my wrists and pinned them to the bed. He seated himself on top of me, he gathered my wrists in one of his hands. While taking his tie off with his other hand, he started narrating to me, he kept talking while tying my wrists together. " 'They placed me on a bed, like you are right now, Molly. That bed was quite similar to yours actually, it also had a single wooden board on the wall side. They tied my taped hands to that board. Like I am going to tie yours to this one.' " Molly paused, tears left her eyes again, but she didn't bother with the napkins this time, she just let them travel slowly down her cheeks. "Like he said, so he did. The tie was plenty to keep my hands together. A belt I had carelessly discarded next to the bed was all he needed to bind that to the board. Still speechless I hadn't protested even once by the time my hands were bound - together - to the wall side of my bed. " 'There were several of them, and they kept me restrained at all times. Not once, did I get a chance to make a swing at one of them,' he said, 'I wished one of them would put their filthy cocks in my mouth, so I could bite it off. But guess what, Molly, none of them were that stupid.' Dave and Brian, were getting accustomed to the change in Molly's voice whenever she quoted her brother. It was disturbingly easy for them to imagine this man, whom they had never met, saying these words. "John seated himself next to me, his feet on the floor, his hands on my ass. 'One of them sat next to me, like I sit next to you now, Molly. Another held my ankles to the floor, the cowards took no risks, Molly. But you and I are alone here, so we will have to do without that.' "My breaths were shallow, I was listening intently, I honestly can't tell what I was feeling that moment. As my brother groped my ass while describing how he had been raped by men. Whatever I felt, it froze me, hypnotised me, left me inactive. "He spread my ass-cheeks, I could feel his weight shifting on the bed as he leaned forward. I think he was studying the view of my pussy and anus. " 'The guy who sat next to me started probing my asshole with a finger. I tried to scream with rage, Molly, but with the tape over my mouth all I could do was whine through my nose.' While he told me this, his one hand slid towards my asshole. I was convinced he would do to me what they had done to him. But his fingers changed direction and moved down instead, to my pussy. "He slid one finger up and down between my labia, uncharacteristically gentle for a few seconds, but then suddenly with no warning he shoved the finger inside my pussy. I felt my walls contract against the intrusion. It woke me from my dazed trance. " 'Please stop, John,' I pleaded, 'I'm sorry I called you gay, I won't do it again.' " 'You are wet, Molly,' he said, and proceeded to finger-fuck me in a steady rhythm." Brian reached a hand slowly over the table, towards Molly's hands, which were clinging on to the monster drink. "Don't!" she commanded, "If you touch me now, I will break down in tears, and I won't be able to finish, and I want to finish. For twenty-one years, I have kept this secret, hidden it inside. I want it outside now." Brian withdrew his hand, not sure if he should say something or not - he remained quiet. "John's finger in my pussy felt, wonderful. And horrible. I had had countless fantasies of my brother finger-fucking me like that, some of them with me in bondage. Most of them on that very same bed. But I had never fantasised him doing it while enacting a rape of himself. And..." Molly lost her courage and sought it in her monster drink, after three long gulps the bitter taste nearly made her vomit. Somewhere in between coughing in her hand and fighting off the nausea she found the courage to continue. Prejudice "And he was my brother, my flesh and blood. I had always felt guilty for fantasising about him, to actually enjoy his finger inside me, be turned on by it. It was too much. Especially while he told me that story. I felt like puking, but my pussy felt like fucking. I can't describe that feeling. "But what I felt didn't seem to matter anyway, 'cause John kept ignoring my pleas. " 'He finger-fucked me in the ass, Molly,' he said, 'not civil like this though. No. His finger moved in circles, here and there, pushing my ring more open. Can you guess why, Molly?' " 'Please stop now, John,' I pleaded, but he ignored me. " 'He was loosening my ring, so he could fuck me in the ass without breaking something. Guess shit is ok to guys like that, but blood isn't. Or what do you think, Molly?' " 'If you don't stop, I will scream, the neighbours will hear, and come to my aid,' I threatened, hoping to bring him to reason. " 'Will you really, Molly?' he asked, and pushed a second finger in with the first before continuing the finger-fucking and the talking. " 'Do you really want the neighbours to come running in here, and find me with your horny pussy juices dripping over my fingers. Do you really want the friendly neighbours to know that you are horny for your brother?' "John understood what it meant to be shamed in public, I guess. After all he was the only gay gay-basher in our town. Of course I can't know how sure he was that I wouldn't scream for help, yet he sounded very confident, speaking with that hoarse angry voice. "I didn't scream for help, instead I hid my face between the bed and one of my tied arms, hoping for the nightmare to end. Wishing that I didn't feel so fucking horny. Wishing I had never fantasised about him. " 'I'm not gay, Molly. I'm so fucking straight that even my own sister's wet pussy turns me on. I know you've become a slut since I left, I know your pussy has been visited by even more cocks, than my cock has pussies. But it's still a fucking fine pussy you got. Pink and fresh and swollen. You really are horny aren't you, Molly?' "I didn't reply, I just hid below my arm, trying to deny reality. He kept finger fucking me, slower now, I got the impression he was watching his finger sliding in and out of me. Suddenly he got off the bed, I could hear him undressing. I wanted to beg him not to fuck me, I was terrified of feeling my brother's cock inside me. Terrified that I would enjoy it. "He kneeled behind me, preparing for doggy-style. " 'After spending a long time loosening and lubing my asshole, the ass-probing guy raped me in the ass. Do you know how it feels to be ass-fucked, Molly?' "It was a rhetorical question. I knew how it felt to be ass-fucked, but he didn't give me time to reply. Not that I would have replied if given the time. " 'It hurts like hell, Molly. Being fucked in the ass hurts like hell.' " Molly paused her story to sip her monster drink. "That's when I realised he had been telling the truth all along. He really had been raped, he really wasn't gay. If he had been practising gay sex, he would have known by then that anal doesn't have to hurt. Heck anal wasn't one of my favourites, and I knew. " 'He raped me in the ass, Molly. I, however, don't like shit on my cock, so I will rape you in your sweet wet pussy.' "So he did. He pushed his cock into me and started pounding away. Just as his speed started becoming truly frantic, and I thought he was about to come, he stopped. Staying absolutely still, with his hips pressed against my ass, and his cock inside me, he started explaining how his rapist had sounded while raping him. "After a while he shut up again, and resumed ramming my pussy. He was holding my hips with his hands, I felt his palms sweating up against my skin. Worse than that, I felt my pussy burning with lust for the pounding it was getting. My brother was raping me, yet I was still wet, wetter than ever. More ashamed than ever before, I kept hiding my face under my arm. "The next time I thought he was about to come, he stopped again, and told me other details from my rape, just to resume the fucking moments later. The third time he did it, I realised he did it on purpose. He was prolonging the fucking by turning himself off every time he was on the edge. Turning himself off by thinking of the worst thing that ever happened to him. "I started fearing he would keep it up forever, or at least until our parents and siblings came home. I started imagining being found by them all. Me tied down and horny, with my brothers cock ramming my pussy. The image was horrifying, shameful, somehow that added horror triggered my pussy further. "I felt myself nearing orgasm on my brothers next long fucking stretch, but that I managed to fight off. I don't usually come easily in doggy-style without clit-stimulation. A few more times, I got close, but I managed to stop each time. Being raped by my brother was bad, coming during such a rape seemed an even worse 'bad'. "Finally, when my pussy was beginning to get sore, he lost control and shot his load into me. I felt his cock beating while his load shot into me, I felt his hands clenching my hips so hard, I was sure I would bruise. And I heard him groan. He sounded like a dying man, he collapsed upon me as if he really had died. "He hadn't of course." Molly got out of her chair again, to make herself a drink, one less nauseating than the half-full monster still left on the table. "That must have been really horrible, Molly," Dave said, "Keeping it to yourself all these years, must have been terrible too." "It didn't end there, Dave," Molly said, mixing Southern Comfort with Sprite, a sweet drink to wash away the bitterness. "I'm sorry, Molly," Dave said, not specifying if he meant for interrupting, or for what had happened to her. In reality he meant for both, "Continue when you feel ready." "Don't worry, I will. I went this far, I'd continue even if you both held your ears and begged me to stop." Sipping her sweet drink, she walked back to her chair again, and seated herself yet again. "After regaining his breath, he pulled his already flaccid cock out of me. I still kept my face hidden, so couldn't see what he was doing. From the sounds, I figured out that he had picked up my discarded towel, and was wiping his cock clean of my juices and his own cum. He didn't wipe me clean though. " 'Can you guess, what happened next, Molly?' he asked. "I was horrified, he had fucked me to a sore pussy, really thoroughly fucked me like even I had never been fucked before. And yet he continued the narrating. Convinced that further narrating meant further abuse, I remained absolutely still - frozen yet again - pretending I wasn't there. Pretending this wasn't happening to me. "I could her him rummaging, as if he was looking for something. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what he was looking for. He found it though, and dumped it on the bed, close to me. " 'Maybe even a slut like you, isn't depraved enough to guess what happened next,' he said, just before rolling me onto my back. He grabbed one of my upper thighs and raised that one of my legs. A moment later I realised what he had been looking for, and had found. It was my childhood's skipping ropes. " 'They flipped me over on my back, and tied my legs up. Like I am doing to you right now, Molly,' he explained. Once again, I started pleading with him, I sobbed and begged. All for nothing, John never was big on mercy, it just wasn't in him to change a course of action over begging. "While I pleaded hopelessly, he wrapped skipping ropes around my upper thigh, just above my knee, and he tightened the rope around my bed's wall-board. He did the same with my other leg. By my arms I pulled myself closer to the wall, to loose the ropes, so I could gather my legs some." Molly stopped talking, took a giant gulp of her monster drink, and washed the taste away with the sweet drink. 'I wish she would be less detailed,' Brian thought, but didn't speak it, 'I wish I couldn't see the whole thing behind my eyes. Poor Molly.' "But he didn't allow me my closed legs. He took more skipping ropes. I had a bloody whole lot of them, skipping ropes was a real big deal to me when I was small. He mercilessly spread my legs again by tying other skipping ropes to the first and tightening the new ropes to the ends of my bed. "While he did it, I stared at his eyes. There was a coldness in them, freezing me, but also burning me. Ever since I fell in love with him when we were just kids, his eyes had always had a special magic for me. " 'Where do you keep your lube, Molly?' he asked. I didn't reply, of course I didn't. At first at least. Until he spoke again at least. " 'Do you really want me to do a thing that should require lube, without lube, Molly? I know you have lube, sluts always do. I know my way around sluts, Molly.' "I really didn't want him to do a thing that would normally require lube, without lube. So I told him. Following my instructions, he opened the correct drawer, retrieved the lube, and closed the drawer. But then..." This time Molly needed to repeat her double drink routine twice, to muster the courage to continue. "He opened the drawer below the first, and looked inside, and then he pulled out the shirt I always placed on top of what I was hiding there. " 'I told you, I know my way around sluts, Molly. Your type always keeps toys around. Just in case of lousy fucks, right?' It was true, lousy fucks and lonely nights. I had my own little joy toy collection. Still do by the way." In spite of her grim memories Molly grinned, she was starting to get tipsy. "I expected him to pick my biggest dildo, to ram my pussy further." Another round of double drink sips, and Molly was ready to continue. "He chose a small vibrator, not dildo-material, only suitable for clit stimulation. Or sore shoulder muscles!" Molly laughed, a shrill kind of hysterical laugh. "At least that's what the declaration on the package claims, when you buy one." She downed the rest of her sweet drink, and rose to make a new one. She continued narrating, while mixing a second Southern Comfort and Sprite. " 'A man has something which a woman doesn't, Molly.' "My eyes shot to his cock. Obviously. But that wasn't what he was referring to, as if he had read my mind he explained that. Well he didn't need to read my mind did he, he could see what I was staring at. " 'I wasn't talking about the penis and vagina thing. You wouldn't need to be a slut to know about that, would you, Molly? I was talking about the prostate, men has it, women don't.' "I was a slut, but actually, I hadn't yet learned of the prostate. I know, it's weird, but guys don't like to talk about their prostate with young sluts. Nowadays I frequently meet men who won't shut up about their prostates. Well, John knew about his prostrate. Obviously. It wasn't the best way he learned about it either. "Sorry guys, getting a bit ahead of myself there, alcohol speaking. " 'When I was tied in place, somewhat similar to how you are now, he put just one single finger into my sore ass,' John said, and lubed one of his own fingers. Once well lubed he pushed it into MY ass, and wiggled it. " 'With that finger, he tickled my prostate. I wasn't horny, I was angry, I was in pain. I felt like killing every single one of them.' While listing his emotions during that phase of his rape, John kept wiggling the tip of his finger inside me, as if looking for something in there. " 'You don't have a prostate, Molly. So once again, we will have to improvise. I will try to demonstrate how they managed to make that cum shot picture of me - which I'm sure you have seen.' "He managed to turn my vibrator on without taking the finger out of me. I guess he really did know his way around sluts and their toys. I was horrified, I knew I wouldn't be able to resist that vibrator directly on my clit. Never was able to. It was my low-spirits-orgasm-toy. No matter how depressed, tired, moody, cold, or overheated I would be, that vibrator would always do the trick. Easy releasy, if you know what I mean." Once again Molly paused to down more alcohol. "The good news is that the tale of this particular ordeal, is soon over, Guys." After a Sprite and booze burp, Molly was ready to continue. "He turned the vibes to max speed and put it directly on my hooded clit. Fuck he wouldn't have needed lube to finger fuck me in the ass. His cum and my own juices were leaking out of me already. Trailing down to my asshole. And when he put the vibrator on me, my pussy muscles instantly started clenching pushing out even more. Fucking Niagara between my legs, as my brother forced me to orgasm. " 'Yeah that's it slut,' he said multiple times, 'clench my finger with your ass.' "As if I had any choice about my asshole clenching and unclenching, when I came. Which I did almost instantly. First one, second right on it's tail. My brother's eyes were burning, he looked insane, crouching for a good view at my lower regions. His cock was completely spent. Flaccid. To this day, I have no clue what drove him at the end, it can't have been sexual arousal. "After the second orgasm my clit hurt and sent jolts through my abdomen, but he kept going. Wiggling his finger inside my butt, and letting the vibe do it's persistent job on my clit. Within moments I came a third time, after that it became impossible for me to tell orgasms from over-sensitised clit-jolts. He kept at it for minutes, at least I think it was only minutes but it felt like hours. "Finally he asked, 'Do you believe me now, Molly?' "My whole body was jerking from the over-stimulation, but I managed to reply." More alcohol ran down Molly's throat, this time for comfort, not courage. " 'Yes,' I said, 'Yes, I believe you!' " 'Do you understand how they made the cum shot, Molly?' " 'Yes, yes I understand, please stop, John. Please STOP.' And he did, he removed the vibrator from my clit and pulled his finger from my ass. " 'So you will never call me gay again, will you?' " 'No, I promise, I won't.' Why would I? I knew he wasn't gay then, and even back then I understood that raping your own sister was far worse than being gay could ever be. Heck, even though I hated gay people back then, I considered coming in front of my own brother far worse than being gay could ever be. "He untied me, and left the room. That's were it ended. None of us ever told anyone what had happened in my room, while the others had been shopping. Until now at least, now I've told you guys." "I'm sorry, Molly," Brian said, "That must have been a terrible thing to carry for so long." "I get by," Molly replied. "Your story makes my closet-trouble seem small," Dave said. "Oh, I almost forgot!" Molly exclaimed, "The reason I told this story now, the whole point of it." "What do you mean?" Dave asked. "We all hated gay men when we were young, me and my siblings, because we all thought our dad hated gay men," Molly explained, and added, "So ironic." "Your dad didn't hate gay men after all?" Brian asked. "No, he most certainly didn't. That whole fucking queer fag language was just a habit of his," Molly said. She downed her second sweet drink and rose to make a third. "I've often wondered, if things wouldn't have turned out very differently, between me and John, if only my father had revealed to us that he was bisexual when we were small." "bisexual?" Brian asked, "You can't be bisexual that's a myth." 'Shit am I ever gonna learn to keep my trap shut?' he thought to himself, regretting being a pain so soon after Molly's heartbreaking story. "Well, call it what you like, Brian. My mum and dad had a great sex-life together, until she got sick and died some ten years back. And now my dad has a great sex-life with his new husband. They fell in love six years ago, moved to a more tolerant place, and got married. "He never cheated on my mum, so while she was alive it didn't matter that he liked fucking men too. I suppose that's why he never talked about it. I guess that after John was raped by men, Dad was even more careful to not mention it. But once he fell in love with a man and married him, he really couldn't keep it from us any longer now, could he? "But my point was, considering what might have been averted if my father had told us about his own sexuality, when we were small. I recommend that you leave the closet, Dave. You too Brian." "So because your brother might not have raped you, if your dad had declared himself openly bi, while living faithfully with his wife. You want us to leave the closet?" Brian asked, and immediately regretted his frank comment, "Oh crap, I said that out loud didn't I?" "You did," Dave reproached. "Sorry, Molly, I shoulda kept that to myself," Brian apologised. "No, it's ok, Brian," Molly stated, "I'm a bit drunk, I think. I didn't really mean it that way. It's more... uh... I'm not sure how to phrase it. Keeping things like being gay secret, it implies that things like that are wrong. It feeds prejudice, you know?" Brian nodded, he was willing to admit to that much. "Prejudice leads to all sorts of nasty things," was Molly's finishing argument.