“I understand!” she cried.
The man stood from the bed. “Not only are you a great piece of ass,” he said, “but you’re a smart girl.”
Before heading toward the door, the man scooped up the young woman’s ruined bra, panties and blouse. “You won’t mind, will you,” he asked, “if I take these as souvenirs of our time together? I don’t think you can use them again, anyway. They’re a little worse for wear.”
The next thing the young blonde heard was the door to the hotel room opening and then close. The room was then suddenly still. Did she dare hope that he was gone? Did she dare move? For a long time she did not move, remaining face down on the bed, her arms by her sides, her naked and bruised body shaking uncontrollably. She was glad that she was alive. She cried.
Eventually, the tears stopped. She rolled to her side, and then slowly sat up in bed, grimacing at the pain felt in multiple regions of her body. Wearily, she surveyed the mess that was her bed. There was literally blood, sweat and tears all over on the disheveled sheets. Not to mention urine, snot, and vomit. And semen, of course. Loads of semen. She could feel what seemed like a quart of the stuff drip from her vagina and her rectum as she sat upright. With that, the fear of pregnancy again struck her. She would have to run to a drug store for the morning after pill. But she would have to ask the pharmacist if the pill could harm an already established fetus. But then, the pharmacist would ask why she wanted the morning after pill if she thought it possible that she was already pregnant! And then the specter of STD flooded over her. She shuddered. It was all too confusing. She could not think straight. She shook her head numbly and glanced once again about her. She idly thought of what the maid was going to think when she saw the condition of the bed.
Then then she stood and walked—stumbling mostly—to the bathroom and the shower. She needed a shower very badly.
XXXXX
It was the longest shower she had ever taken. After lying in the tub for fifteen minutes with the water spraying her body, she at last stood and began cleaning herself as thoroughly as she could, the water continuing to pour over her. She was aghast at the amount of semen dripping from her vagina. She wished desperately that she had a skinny brush of some sort that she could insert in her vagina to completely douche herself. Lacking such a brush, she inserted her fingers instead in an attempt to cleanse herself of her rapist. She sat on the edge of the tub with her legs spread to do this. Unfortunately, her fingers could not go into her as deeply as the man’s penis had, but she gave it the effort anyway…until it began to feel like masturbation. When she became aware of a certain tingling sensation in response to the action of her fingers, remembrance flooded over her of the huge penis that had been up her ass. She gasped and withdrew her fingers from her pussy. I did not come! she assured herself. He made me say it, but I didn’t! This denial would remain with her forever.
At last, when the water was beginning to lose temperature, the young woman turned the shower off. Before reaching for a towel, she remained standing under the showerhead for a long while with her head bowed, drops of water dripping off her.
She now stands naked before the mirror of the bathroom, staring woefully at her image, taking inventory of her wounds. Her face is swollen. She has two black eyes, a swollen lip, and a cut running from the corner of her mouth. Lower, she sees bite marks and hickeys on the sides of her neck. Lower still, there are bite marks and hickeys on the bottom hemispheres of both breasts. Both wrists have huge, bright red cuts and welts from the handcuffs that she continually and futilely struggled against. Turning around, the milky white skin of both buttocks can be seen to have bright crimson patches where she had been viciously spanked. It looks as if she had been badly sunburned. Almost invisible against the reddened skin are the hickeys that had been applied to each of her soft, round buttocks.
The deepest marks left on her by her rapist are not visible in the mirror. They are what she feels inside her vagina and, especially, her rectum. Both of these bodily cavities feel as if they have been reamed by the large end of a baseball bat.
The wedding for her friend is in a few hours. She cannot miss it. Make-up and clothing will cover some of the external wounds, though she will probably have to concoct a story about stumbling and falling in the shower. The bride may not want her to be in the wedding photos, the way her face looks. Feeling her tender butt, she knows that she will have to remember to sit very carefully at the reception—or not sit at all.
She continues to stare forlornly at her image in the mirror. When she recalls the things he made her say, her face blushes a deep crimson.
All of a sudden, she feels yet more semen drip from her pussy and trickle down her thigh. She is shocked by this. She thought she had thoroughly douched herself in the shower! As she stares at the semen, she knows what she should do. She should put a robe on and go immediately to the nearest hospital and have a rape kit taken. The hospital would call the police for her. There is still enough of her rapist’s DNA inside her to have the bastard arrested, convicted, and locked away. If she does not do this, other innocent women will surely be raped. Yes, this is what she should do. She almost takes a step toward the bathroom door. But then she recalls the words that her rapist had whispered in her ear. Her name. Her address. His threats if she went to the police. She thinks again how knowledge of her rape would devastate her husband. Her short lived resolve to do the right thing quickly melts. She steps back into the tub and turns on the shower again. No one will ever know about this. No one. Except her. And him, of course.
Author: Mario Caliente
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