Page 85 of Riding the Pine

Thankfully, I always park right up front when I know I’m going to be here late, right under the lamppost to the left of the door outside. If anyone’s going to damage my beloved car, it’ll be under the harsh streetlight where there’s more chance of them being found.

In the short walk to the car, something shifts. Despite the cold, my hackles rise. The hair on my neck stands up, and I pick up my pace.

A throat clearing tells me that someone’s behind me. Before I can ready my bag, swing around to confront whoever’s on my six, or pull out my phone to call someone or record the encounter, a hand covers my mouth, jerking me backward at speed.

Dropping my car keys, I claw at the strong arm curled around me. I have no time for fear or feelings, survival instinct and adrenaline are the only things driving me, surging through my veins.

I thrash out with my fists, hoping to connect with whoever’s got me from behind, and kick out my feet. I can’t scream, butI can make myself tough to contain. Or at least I could until a second person picks up my feet.

Dread, utter dismay, and a deep sense of foreboding washes over me as I blink back tears. My body tenses. What do these men want? Money? They can have it. If they think my father will pay a ransom, they’re right. I may hate his living guts at the moment, but I’m still his little girl.

I open my mouth to try to scream but he grips my mouth tighter. When I try to bite down on his hand, a knee connects with my kidney, and stars blur my vision.

Fuck.

I’m helpless.

They don’t drop me onto the ground. I’m lowered to what feels like a patch of grass, but I’m disorientated and can’t figure out in the dim light where the fuck I am.

Have they been carrying me for seconds, minutes, or hours? I have no idea.

“Make it quick.” The man covering my mouth snarls at the other guy who is now spreading my legs.

No.

My blood runs cold. This isn’t a hostage situation; it’s not about money. These men are about to take something much more intimate from me.

The man at my feet pins one leg to the ground under his knee and picks the other one up. He tuts three times. “Such slutty little shoes. I bet she likes it rough.” There’s no accent other than a typical, accent-less Midwestern speech. I can’t tip my head back to get a look at the guy at my head, and the guy at my feet has a hood pulled up and a scarf over his chin.

When his knuckles curl around the band of my pants, I buck like a bronco at the fucking rodeo. I’m not going down without a fight. I’m not letting them take this from me.

Bile burns the back of my throat, tears sting my eyes, and no amount of screaming into the guy’s hand is helping. He lets go of my other hand, the unmistakable sound of a video being started on his phone has me throwing my fist around, but he’s out of reach.

My thrashing makes both of my attackers laugh.Laugh.Assholes. A flash of anger rattles through my body but it’s quickly replaced by terror as he pulls down my pants.

“See?” He tugs on my thong. “Red, lacy, thong.” He leans over me, the only thing I can see are his cruel, soulless eyes. “Filthy little sluts.” He snorts. “Her body, my choice, am I right?” He asks into the camera, or at least I assume so, because no one replies.

No amount of attempting to break free is helping the situation. And as much as I want to be problematic right now, rationally speaking, I might need to acquiesce somewhat, to let them think I’m subdued, resigned, and then strike.

No matter what I do, I bet they’ll say I wanted it, asked for it, consented to it.

I gag against attacker number one’s hand as the bile surges from my stomach. I fucking hate these incel assholes who think a woman is nothing more than their plaything. And now I’m seconds away from becoming another statistic.

Attacker number two yanks my underwear so hard I scream, there’s definitely a friction burn in my crack, but after a number of pulls, the fabric comes free, and he shoves the panties under his nose. “You smell so good babydoll.”

“Hurry the fuck up.” The guy holding the camera checks over his shoulder.

I give a couple more hard shakes, jolts, and wriggles before he shoves my legs apart. His fingers dig into my skin, and some part of my brain hopes he leaves his fucking fingerprints all overmy thighs so I can throw his ass behind bars for what he’s doing to me.

The asshole holding my mouth still has me in an iron grip.

Attacker number two runs his hand through my pussy, and the tears I’ve been blinking back start to leak out.

“Fucking love it when they cry.” As his hand violates me, he leans over and laps up my tears. “She’s so wet too.”

“All the best sluts are,” attacker number one chimes in.

It’s clearly not their first time. The biting weight on my ankle tells me if I try to move again, there’s every chance I’ll do myself more damage. This is going to happen. Resignation seizes my entire body as attacker two unzips his fly.

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