The Instrument - Chapter Thirteen - Gang Rape
By Big Brother Alan
A mini-novel about sexual slavery, humiliation, degradation, redemption and escape


I was brought to the great room. For quite a while I just lay there with
nothing to do. I was beginning to get bored. The room was quiet and fairly
dark even though it was only noon. I was given some slack in my chains and I
was able to sit up. I wondered if I might be allowed to watch some television.
"Mistress?" I called. Nobody answered. I waited a minute more, listening
intently. No sounds. The TV remote was only a few feet away on the sofa but I
couldn't reach it. At least not as long as the bench was here. I had never
before tried to move the bench but it was on wheels and the girls rolled me
around all the time.

I lowered my feet to the floor and gave a slight push. It moved. I scooted my
bench toward the sofa and was able to reach the remote. Then I pushed myself
back to the starting point. "Mistress?" I called again. Again nobody answered.
I used the remote to turn on the TV. The cabin had satellite TV so I began
flipping through the channels looking for something interesting - news or a
movie or something.

With no warning at all something flew around my neck and tightened, pulling me
violently onto my back. I couldn't breathe. My chains had enough slack to
allow my hands to try to remove the cord around my neck but it was being
pulled so tightly I couldn't wedge my fingers underneath it. I began to lose
consciousness as I felt my hand chains being pulled and stretched away from
me.

A awoke to find myself trussed tighter than I ever remember. My ankles were
being held together and pulled toward the end of the bench. My knees were held
down to the bench but in a frog leg position. I had a belt over my stomach
holding me tightly to the bench. My arms were stretched out to my sides, my
wrist cuffs pulling so tightly I thought my bones would break. My elbows were
strapped down. My neck had a belt tightened around it and my forehead was
strapped down as well.

I don't know how long I was unconscious. It could have been five or ten
minutes or it could have been several hours. Jessica stood over me but didn't
say a word. She was wearing a ceremonial robe. Kim also wore her robe. I had
never seen them wear their robes unless a group was gathering. Soon enough I
would find out just how big a group it was to be.

I heard no car sounds or doorbells or knocks. All I knew was that it was
beginning. A single robed woman entered the room. She wore the robe but her
hood was down. However, she wore a mask on her face. The halogen lights were
shining brightly so they wanted me to see these women, at least to see their
bodies. This woman removed her robe completely. She had the body of a fifty
year old. She was plump and somewhat sagging. She was wrinkled in places. She
straddled my face and spread her lips. She lowered herself onto me. It was
obvious what I was to do. I tasted her. I licked her aging and dry pussy, my
saliva being the only lubricant. She wasn't young but she was fully able to
reach an orgasm and she did. It was slow but she did. In my mind I named her
Abigail.

Robed and masked woman number two had the body of a thirty year old but she
must have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. She wiped my face with a wet
sponge and as she climbed onto the bench it creaked and I was afraid for my
neck bones. She didn't have to lower herself onto me. Gravity did it. Her
pussy fell over my face in folds. This was probably my imagination but I think
she could have stretched her labia around my entire head. She was thankfully
quick and I named her Bertha.

The afternoon, evening, and night dragged on in a seemingly endless procession
of women. I tasted more pussy in one hour than most men do their entire lives.
Some of the mistresses were quick, five minutes or less. Others drew it out
for twenty or thirty minutes. The women were of all ages from teenagers to
seniors. Some women were menstruating at the time, leaving my face and mouth
bloody and rancid. Some women tasted and smelled as if they hadn't bathed in a
day. Many women were stunningly beautiful while others were out of shape and
unkempt. There were big women, small women, fat and skinny. Some had huge
swinging breasts, others had chests as flat as mine. There were at least two
pregnant women. I thought one of them was going to give birth so large she
was. As I was tasting her and as she was relaxing and as her juices began to
flow the thought entered my mind that if her water broke I would surely drown.
This mother-to-be I named Jennifer.

I couldn't do much since my straps were so tight. My tongue and lips were my
only tools and most of the women had to position themselves right where they
wanted my tongue to be. The thought of rebelling never really entered my mind.
What could I do, clamp my mouth shut? Start shouting? No, I was being punished
in this way - and for nothing more than turning on the television. How many
women would gang bang me before this night was through? My tongue was sore. My
jaw ached. My lips felt like they were swollen and bleeding. And yet still the
line continued - clean women, dirty women, old and young, pierced and
tattooed, curvaceous and angular. One woman was beautiful and strong and well
toned and tanned and she must have stood well over six feet tall. Wouldn't you
know it? I needed a name that started with X, so Xena she became. Another
woman was so petite a puff of wind might have blown her away. I barely felt
her presence. She was Tabatha.

The tastes, oh, the tastes. I never imagined that there could be so many
different nuances to the tastes and scents of the female genitalia. I suppose
it has to with genetics but also with diet. Maybe the various hormones
produced by the body at various times of the month or during various stages of
life produce different tastes. Some vaginas were large and roomy inside while
others were small and tight. Some clits were easy to find, others were almost
nonexistent. Some labia were pink and moist, others were mauve in color. Some
women had an abundance of pubic hair - long, short, silky, wiry, fine, coarse.
A few women were shaved completely bare. One woman wasn't shaved at all - she
simply had no hair. God, I hope she wasn't some pre-pubescent girl thrown into
the mix to turn me into the rapist. Wouldn't that be bizarre? I gain my
release only to be arrested for statutory rape.

Of all the women who raped me that night, almost all were Caucasians. But
there were quite a few Native American or Hispanic women and there were three
African Americans. I don't think there were any Far Eastern women, though
there was one slender woman with small breasts and very straight dark hair.
Her skin was pale and she might have been Asian. Her pubic hair was fairly
straight as well, and fine as corn silk. With the masks they all wore, I could
only go by skin and hair color. No one spoke a word. The occasional muffled
moans were the only vocal sounds I heard.

I pleasured ninety-six women that night. Jessica and Kim were not among them.
I think I would know them by their taste alone but certainly I would recognize
their abdomens and breasts. Each woman began her rape of me by cleaning my
face with a sponge from a bowl of water that she carried with her into the
room. Oftentimes, they would sponge out the inside of my mouth as well. I know
there were ninety-six women because I named them all. I went through the
alphabet three full times and I was going through it the fourth time when the
line ran out, ending with Roxanne.

Not all of the women wanted to be there. I could tell. They had all probably
received a phone call or some other type of summons and it was a duty or an
obligation to which they had to respond. Many probably had to drive half the
night to get here. That may be why there were some who seemed less than clean
and fresh. Others seemed to relish this opportunity. Perhaps they just needed
an orgasm or perhaps some really enjoyed my bondage. Most looked at me long
and carefully in the eyes, as if imagining other scenarios or perhaps
remembering other encounters.

I know it's easy to say of this event that there could be nothing worse than
being gang raped by ninety-six plain and unremarkable women in one night.
Nothing could be worse than that level of degradation and humiliation. But I
choose not to think of it that way. Instead, and perhaps for my own sanity, I
choose to think of it as an experience no man has ever had before. Not all
women are young or beautiful as individuals but there is most definitely a
beauty to the variety. And that night I sampled the variety pack and lived.