Best Rape Sites

When I was 21, I went to Turkey on holiday with a couple of friends. As girls do, we went out to party in the resort where we were staying. As it was summer and very warm, we were all wearing skimpy tops and very short skirts to show off out well shaped tanned legs and arms. While we were walking towards the next bar, I got separated from my friends. Being tired and a bit drunk, I decided to find my own way home. So I walked the streets for an hour or so, before realizing I was totally lost.

Just as I decided to get a taxi, a police car pulled up next to me. A Turkish policeman got out and bundled me into the car. I sat in the back terrified, wondering what I had done wrong. I tried to speak to them, but the two policemen ignored me. Neither of them appeared to understand English. As we drove down along the dark streets, I started to panic. I didn’t know where I was, where they were taking me, and what they intended to do to me.

We soon arrived at a small police station which consisted of a dingy looking office and one police cell. In the cell, there was a group about 15 rough looking men who leered at me as I walked in escorted by the two policemen. In the office there was only one other policemen, who looked like he was in command.

I tried to speak to the commander in English. He glared at me with disdain and motioned to the cell, taking my hand bag from me. The other two grabbed me and dragged me to the cell. To my horror, they opened the cell door and threw me in amongst the men there.

At first I cowered in a corner as they all closed in on me, leering with evil grins on their unshaven faces. Then, in unison they all charged forward and grabbed out at me. I kicked and screamed and as they carried me into the center of the room shouting in Turkish. Several of them pinned my arms and m legs to the floor, immobilizing me face up on the stone floor, as others ripped off my skirt, my top and my panties in a brutal frenzy. And then the gang rape began.

I cried out as the first cock rammed in my pussy. Above me a bearded middle-aged face panted and grunted as he fucked me hard. I cried out, begging the police to save me. But no one came to my rescue. It was not long before his face converted into an ecstatic snarl and I felt his hot spunk shoot into me. The next one was in me within a second, as another Turkish cock hammered deep into my pussy. I cried out, sobbing, but was drowned out by the jeers of the men around me. I felt him explode inside me with a cry of joy and I screamed, pleading them to stop. As I lay there helplessly, I moaned and cried out constantly as I felt one cock after another assault my tender pussy. Again and again the men took their turn to rape me as they thrust their eager cocks into me and came ecstatically in my pussy, oblivious to my sobbing pleas. Read the rest of this entry »

You are unfamiliar with the L.A. streets and somewhere south and east of the airport, you find yourself lost in the dark in a very questionable neighborhood, run down, full of signs in lanquages you can’t read. Suddenly, an old van with a big wooden bumper rear-ends your rented Toyota, driving it up over a curb. When you recover from the shock of the collision, you reach for the door handle, to get out and look at the damage.

As soon as you get out, someone grabs you from behind. A coarse sack, burlap or jute, is pulled down over your head, and your arm is twisted behind you, by someone you can’t see. “Don’t make a noise, Anglo bitch, or you are dead right now.” says a voice which sounds as if the teeth are clenched. In seconds, you are dragged into the van and pushed to the floor. You can feel it back up, stop with a lurch, and then move forward, making several turns, probably turning at every intersection.

Strong hands roll you on your back. Counting hands, there must be at least three men. You feel the hard steel floor of the van against your back; it is a cargo van, no seats in back. Probably no windows, either, you realize. Unless there were witnesses to the ramming and abduction, no one could know where you are.

You feel cold steel against your throat, under the bag which covers your eyes. “Listen, Sweetie, you are going to do everything you are told to do, and you are not going to scream or struggle or talk back; otherwise, you die right now. Understand?” The point of the knife presses painfully into your skin.

“Yes,” you croak, your throat dry with terror. You feel them pulling your arms above your head, and apart. Your wrists are tied to something, maybe the front seats of the van. They are using wire; it bites into your skin. They take your Reboks and tie your ankles, using wire again, pulling your legs straight and apart. You are spread-eagled, entirely helpless and vulnerable. Your breathing is rapid. You are hyperventilating and might become light headed, blowing off too much carbon-dioxide, except that the sack over your head restricts the air flow, compensating for your panicky panting.

You are wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. The knife point slides down your neck, until the blade encounters the first button of your shirt. There is a little tug, and the button flies off. You actually hear it strike the metal wall of the van. Men laugh. You smell marijuana.

You can feel another tug at your shirt. The second button is cut off. Then the third. And the fourth, and the fifth, which is down by your navel. Someone pulls the tail of your shirt out of your jeans and cuts the last buttons. They didn’t have to cut them off. You know you can never wear that shirt again. Will you die naked? The flannel is pulled back, baring the front of your body.

The sharp blade, double edged, slides along the midline of your tummy. You wonder, is it drawing blood? How can you be so detached, so clinical? Does it have something to do with being blindfolded by the sack? You cannot see who is assaulting you, so you must concentrate on what you feel. You feel the blade pause, between your breasts, and lift, and suddenly your bra springs away from your breasts, leaving them exposed. Almost instantly, strong, masculine hands grasp your breasts. They are big hands, able to engulf your B-cup breasts, and they are rough, calloused hands. They squeeze and knead your breasts. These men have no respect for your body. Read the rest of this entry »

The following is a true story about my wife Patti. My job required that I move around a lot as a manager. In 1999 I was assigned to our plant in Fayetteville, NC, my hours were long and I would get home around midnight every day. We settled in bought a new home and started making friends. Patti has always liked black men. She had a black boy friend when she was in high school and fucked him often.

A little about Patti: she is in her mid 40’s, 5 7, 140 pounds with 38DD breasts, blue eyes and blond hair. She has very large nipples that if you play with them she will cum. Her pussy is just as sensitive, rub her clit and she will go crazy. She loves to get on top of a dick and ride as well as into a 69 position. She loves to suck a dick, and I must say, is very good at it. Patti always takes her bath just before going to bed; she puts on a long nightgown with panties and bra. She always does this with no exception that I knew of until Tom came along.

One day we both went into a local business and computer store, the attendant, I will call him Tom (Not his real name), was very helpful with what we were looking to buy. He was a very large black male in his mid 40’s. I could see that he was attracted to Patti by the way he was looking at her. I could also see that Patti loved the attention and was attracted to him.

We all talked for awhile and then left the store, but before leaving we exchanged phone numbers, as I was interested in his help with my computer at home. In a few days he called and after a few minutes I suggested he come over to our house. He arrived and we worked on my computer for awhile, then set on the back porch talking between us three. We all were getting along great. He asked if he could stop by sometime and talk to Patti, I said sure. After he left I told Patti to call me if he wanted to stop by. Read the rest of this entry »

When I was a nineteen year old college girl, I used to work evenings in my local corner shop to help supplement my studies. One particular evening I was working alone, and being naive and self-confident, I didn’t imagine there could be any problem in working alone in a shop. After all, what bad could happen?. That night I was about to find out.

It was a spring evening and I was dressed casually in a short thigh length mini skirt and a tight top with short sleeves. There were no customers so I started stacking some cigarettes in the shelves behind the counter, I heard the door open and looked round. It was a women called Elaine. It was clear she had been working late as she was still in office clothes, a knee length close fitting business skirt and a white blouse. We greeted each other and chatted briefly as she bought a women’s magazine and some milk. I always loved when she came in the store. She was so pretty and slim, with her long blond hair, and she always looked so sophisticated in her suits and skirts. As she was in her mid-twenties, I always looked up to her and so wanted to be like her. I always imagined her to be cultured and refined. I wanted to be just like her and to know her better. And that night I did get to know her better in a way I did not expect.

Just as she was about to leave, three men burst into the shop. They were dressed all in black, and their heads were covered in balaclavas with slits cut for their noses, mouths and eyes. Before either of us could scream, two of the men grabbed Elaine and I, covering our mouths with their gloved hands, and bundled us into the store room, while the third rummaged through the till.
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