Vengeance Is Mine

by Millie 90 lbs of Dynamite

Copyright© 2016 by Millie 90 lbs of Dynamite

Sex Story: Offered up for your approval, the life and times of one Elizabeth "Shortcake" Dyer, a woman slight of stature, with an enormous intellect, who pursues retribution with a dogged determination that would make a bulldog proud. A deeply scared woman who never wallowed in self-pity but channeled her rage to helping others. When she ran into brick walls in the pursuit of justice, she manufactured vengeance, for, after all, vengeance has its own sufficiency.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Rape   Gay   Heterosexual   Fiction   Crime   Cheating   Revenge   Rough   Sadistic   Torture   Snuff   Gang Bang   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   .

License Notes

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Cover Design by Shiloh Young

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. By reading this eBook, you assert that you comply with your local or state laws. This book is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons whether living, deceased, actual events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

In Millie's Vast Expanse, not every story has a happy ending – not all lives are sunshine and rainbows. Demons walk among us, they move in the shadows watching, waiting for the opportunity to devour those they can. Sometimes the most brilliant minds have the darkest thoughts, sometimes the scales can't be balanced through the system. Sometimes people with the best of intentions take justice into their own hands.

Offered up for your approval, the life and times of one Elizabeth "Shortcake" Dyer, a woman slight of stature, with an enormous intellect, who pursues retribution with a dogged determination that would make a bulldog proud. A deeply scarred woman who never wallowed in self-pity but channeled her rage to helping others. When she ran into brick walls in the pursuit of justice, she manufactured vengeance, for, after all, vengeance has its own sufficiency.

Hattori Hanzo: Revenge is never a straight line. It's a forest, And like a forest it's easy to lose your way ... To get lost ... To forget where you came in. Kill Bill: Part One


"For as long as I can remember, well since that day in June of 1968 anyway, I have wanted justice for me. If not justice then vengeance ... for me ... for my pain ... yes, my pain needs to end. I don't know if I can ever find peace as long as he is still out there, somewhere - alive.

"I remember those horrible screams, my brother crying, pleading for mercy. There gave no compassion to James. Most of the men are just blurs but the one they called Boss, I remember him. I can't get his image out of my mind ... not even now after all these years," said fidgeting around on the couch. Sitting up she looked at the doctor, "This was a mistake."

"Now, Mrs. Dyer..."

"It's MS Dyer ... I use my maiden name professionally," Elizabeth said.

"It takes time to make progress," the doctor scratched some notes on her pad. "Why did you wait almost twenty-three years to seek help on this?"

"Does that matter?"

"It could," the doctor said as she straightened her skirt. She looked at MS Dyer her face showed concern. Elizabeth wondered how genuine the appearance was.

"At a hundred-fifty dollars per hour I suppose it could matter..." standing Elizabeth moved toward the door.

"I want to help you..." Doctor Proctor said.

"I don't think that is a truthful statement ... you know, it's my profession to sniff out liars," she said, opening the door she hesitated. "You, Doctor, are a liar, I shan't be back. Bill me whatever you think your time has been worth," Elizabeth told her, pulling the door closed. She would have to hurry she had to get back to court. She figured Monday would be closing arguments, no hope that would help. As soon as his lawyer smelt the blood in the water, any hope of deal went out the window.


"Gil," Elizabeth said into the phone. "No sir, it didn't go well..." she waited as he talked, "We're losing this one I'm certain ... the victim didn't help at all ... I think he got to her." She again listened while he talked. "No, I don't blame her ... you can't help but fear a man like him and he did put her in the hospital. When the collected evidence was thrown out we lost the case ... at that minute, well hell, she knew it and she just couldn't or wouldn't finger him."

"Look, Shortcake, don't blame yourself," he wanted to say more but didn't know what to say.

Hanging up the phone she looked at her watch, time to get out to the boat. Maybe two days of fishing would cheer her up, no not with her real purpose for going out there with – him – with Mike. He would tell her he was running away from it all they would fight it would suck.


The smog hung heavy over the city, fouling the air, the boat made its way out of the Marina, heading for open water. A big cabin cruiser slides through water smooth and straight. The pilot held her course, she watched the horizon her, eyes darting around looking for dangers.

"I don't know why you wanted to come along," the man said, just behind her he worked on his rod and reel. "You don't even like fishing that much."

"The hell I don't," Elizabeth said, "I don't like fishing with you. You aren't a patient man when you fish. You aren't persistent at anything you do." She added the later statement with a mixture of regret and anger in her voice. Gaining control, she continued, "I wanted to talk, to change your mind."

"I'm not changing my mind," Mike told her, standing he took the rod to the back of the boat and put in a holder. "I want to out a long way, past the casino ships. Where the water's cold and the Whites swim," he sat down on the seat where he had been before, getting comfortable.

"Well it's your funeral," Elizabeth said, laughing afterward. "Seriously, dear we can work this out, its a bump in the road, nothing more, no need for such drastic measures."

"It isn't drastic, nor is rash, I didn't wake up this fine March morning and decide this." He said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket he tamped it down on the case. Lighting the smoke he looked at her he felt sad, this can't be easy for her. "This isn't the end, it's just a break. I'll get this new venture going well – once everything is right, well talk. I can see Rene on school breaks, holidays and such. I'm not going divorce you, not yet and perhaps not at all."

"Mike," she said.

"Yes, dear," he answered.

"If you leave me, and this Gabriela person is with you," she turned her gazed on him, no it wasn't a gaze it was a glare, angry daggers thrown from her eyes to his. "You will never see Rene again."

"You don't understand, Shortcake, I love her ... and I love you. Elizabeth, darling, you can love more than one person," Mike said, sucking in the smoke. "You have to admit you're obsessive about your work, you have a monomaniacal fixation with – justice – or at least the pursuit of justice. It's hard to live with someone that fanatical."

"So, your infidelity is my fault," Elizabeth said.

"I didn't say that," Mike said, laying back he again he sucked in the smoke, laid his head back and blew smoke rings, shooting one ring, after another, through the center of the preceding one. Pulling back the throttles she stepped away from the console, turning to him she folded her arms and tapped her toe. He knew she seethed with anger he had seen this all to often, another reason to put distance between them.

"You picked a fine time for this shit," Elizabeth told him, her voice hard and hateful. "I have a case that will go to the jury in on Monday or two or three days after that. I'm going to lose that case in spectacular fashion. As a result, a horrible rapist will go free."

"You see what I mean? I mean good God it isn't the end of life as we know it, and it has nothing to do with me, the cops mishandled the evidence. I'm not a cop anymore, remember," Mike said, his own voice angry. "Conflict of interest, best if I do something different, I gave up my fucking career for you. And believe it or not, Shortcake, despite how the movies portray it, being a PI ain't all that glamorous. I'm not the one with ambitions, you are. I'm making this move for a reason and believe or not, it isn't Gabby, not by half."

"She's a ditz, with the IQ God gave a sponge, you're a fool with a monster for a boss," she said.

"And yet, we're both loveable, ditz and fool," he said, trying to lighten the mood.

"As usual, you're missing my point," Elizabeth said, raising her voice, pausing she regained control and continued, "I'm not angry about the move, hell it isn't even your whore, not so much those issues, as the reason. The reason you tuck your tail between your legs and run away, you fucking broke the law, Mike, you're up to your ears in this thing. You won't get away from it – you don't do favors for the mob and come out clean."

"I didn't mean for it to turn out this way," Mike said, she broke him off before he could continue.

"You put me at risk, hell you put Rene at risk. You don't swim with sharks and not get bitten," she told him, tears flooded her eyes, and she returned to driving the boat. "Turn state's evidence, Mike, we can help you."

The argument wore on for hours, in due course, the anger petered out, and the pair fell silent. No truce was called, but they stopped bickering. The slept in separate beds that night – each angry with the other. Each unwilling to make a move to end the years old conflict. Elizabeth had, had enough and determined to make an end to all of it that weekend.

The next they fished in silence, neither arguing nor talking pleasantly. Elizabeth couldn't stop thinking about the betrayals, both the adultery and his feloniousness association with gangsters, she put away her fishing gear and drank. The gears in her mind whirled around as her anger grew. The day wore on, he fished she watched, to angry to relax and enjoy the day. Near sunset he hooked a big one, a Great White, he fought it until after sunset. At last, it was near the boat, and he could see just how big the brute was.

"I'm cutting him lose would you hand me that knife, please," he asked her.

"Here," Elizabeth said while handing him the big knife. "Why letting it go? I thought you wanted to catch a Great White."

"Yeah, sure I did, a four or five footer. He's at least a seventeen footer, I would never wrestle him into the boat, not fifteen hundred pounds of him. He might take my arm off if I get him any closer." Cutting the line, he sat down on the floor of the boat. "Man that took it out of me," he looked at her smiling. "It was fun, though."

"Did I ever tell you about the man they call Mad Dog, or the hit man Saunders?" the question seemed to come from nowhere. Her mind worked that way on occasion, she would hit him with something out of leftfield and he was expected to change gears as fast as she.

"Only that they got away Scott free," Mike told her, opening the metal cigarette case he removed the smoke, tamped it down and lit it.

"Oh, there's a lot more to the story than that," she looked at him then decided to jab a knife in his heart as he had done to her. "I had an affair with Saunders." The cigarette fell from his mouth landing on his arm. At first, he did react, then he felt the heat and brushed it off onto the deck. Standing up he crushed out the cherry with the toe of his deck shoes.

"Well that's a hell of a thing to tell me," he said.

"You confessed Gabriela to me," she said, twisting the blade, she deftly turned the blame back to him. "What was it you said, confession is good for the soul. Only the confessor's soul is my guess. Would you like to hear about my affair, Mike?"

"Why the hell would I want to hear about that," he snapped at her.

"Because I'm going to tell you, Mike, that's why – like it or not I'm telling you about it. Because, Mike, a month ago I had to hear about your loveable ditz and how she was better for you than me. So, since there's no place to go but with the sharks, you will listen."


It was a few years ago, I had lost a big important case. In truth, I lost that case, by design. The contract killer Saunders walked because I wanted him to and more to the point he knew I arranged it.

I had an unofficial meeting with Saunders during the trial. A closely guarded rendezvous on a weekend break. It was ... intimate ... he was easy to seduce, and he made love quite well. I picked him for a specific reason a statement in his interview. I listed to the audio recording of the statement repeatedly.

"I got a code, I don't kill nobody, I mean nobody, that don't deserve it. I only kill people I know is killers, cold blooded murders, or rapist. I don't kill women neither, especially ones that got kids. The only exception to that has been a woman that murdered her husband and couple of other folks, I killed her only cause you all let her walk." I nearly wore out my copy of the tape. A killer, a cold blooded murdered with a code, a man like that could be ... useful.

So, I got a message to him, and he met me inside his authorized zone, at a hotel of my choosing. I took a trip to San Francisco for the weekend, you remember that don't you dear? Only I didn't go. I meet him in his room in a hotel, a room I got just for us. It wasn't hard to set up either, a holiday weekend, a long court break, a simple, uncomplicated, unethical meeting. No other lawyers, no judges or jurors just me and him and a proposal.

Saunders is a big man but when he opened that door and saw me standing there, I was so soignée, he seemed to shrink. You know, I don't think he imagined I would show. I remember it like it was yesterday. You can't know the excitement I felt – venturing off the straight and narrow – to be certain I could right a few wrongs.

"Oh, good lord ... hey I didn't expect," Mike said, I just moved to him and wrapped my arms around him. Pressing my lips to his, sticking my tongue in his mouth, well he got the message. You know, for a brutal killer, he is the gentlest, most loving, person I have ever – fucked. He picked me up and carried to the bed, kissing me all over, as he undressed me and I undressed him. His hot lips burned a desire in me I hadn't felt for years. His course fingers sent tingling shivers through my body, like no other man's touch every.

He was erect before our clothes hit the floor. To my surprise he lay on top of me held me then rolled us over, positioning me on top. Imagine that Mike, he was secure enough in his masculinity to have me top of him. And his prick, oh good lord he had the most wonderful cock, big, hard at a moment's notice and, my love, he knew how to use it.

As I lay on top of him, positioning myself, he made the slightest move and his prick slide in, just a tad, just the head. I can't tell you how good it felt, I nearly came. I got so we when I rose up I just moved up and down on his magnificent shaft. I felt so hot and wet as I embedded his pecker deep in. Heat radiated out from there through my whole body.

As his hand slid over my body, poking and prodding, exploring. Unlike some people, his hands were rough and hard but his touch tender and loving. You couldn't call it fucking, no we made love. My emotions built up in me, I had orgasms, oh God did I. But the big one had nothing to do with the act, no the big was an accumulation of the loving. When I went that time, oh dear God, I exploded, arching my back – riding him harder and faster. We writhed in passion feeling exploring, fucking. His hands caressing me, those callused hands so tender and loving sent wave after wave through my body.

You know for you, its all about how your cock feels, and how fucking makes you feel like a man in control. For me, it's how loved a man can make me feel, you never fucked me and made me feel love, he made me feel loved, and we barely knew each other. That's when you know it's special.

I could have stayed that way for the rest of my life, clutching each other, loving each other. We didn't need anything but each other's bodies. The entire three-day weekend was like that; no sooner did we wake from a nap than we were at it again. Loving each other's bodies and becoming one, moving as one – and yet still two separate individuals operating in harmony. I hated when Sunday afternoon arrived, it depressed me to think of having to back to you.

That was when I told him what would happen, he would work for me in a part-time position. He had a greater calling, righting wrongs, for want of a better way of putting. When justice couldn't be rendered, he would administer vengeance. In exchange for his assistance, I would protect him on his other jobs. He would confide in me about that work and would advise him on how not to get caught, on the condition the person deserved to die. I would misdirect investigations related to him.

I made certain that our evidence was tainted, and the charges were dismissed, with prejudice. If you recall, I was so upset about him going free – I took a trip to get away from everything. I went to Catalina on this boat – we made love for a week. You know once we fucked right there where you are sitting. Our bodies moved as one, yet we were two, touching feeling, longing and loving, right there where you're sitting. I bet the cum stains are under your ass.


"We fucked for a week like rabbits, I'm not trying to be cruel, Mike, but he really knows how to please a woman," she laughed, walking back to the cabin door she turned back to him. "Want to make love for old times sake?"

He breathed out a heavy sigh, putting his hands up, one on his face rubbing the stubby growth on his face with one and his hair with the other. Dropping his hands to his side he pushed up and moved to the seat, plopping down he looked at her, his were bloodshot, and tears threatened to fall.

"So this," Mike motioned at his chest, "is what it feels like to find out the person you love cheated on you. I did this to you? I didn't know, I just..."

"No, it's worse for me, I did what I did for a reason. You did what you did to get your rocks off," she told him. "You're selfish and self-centered ... not one moment of thought about what this will do to your daughter, to me. Mike, you're a prick," she told him.

"So, do you want to fuck or what?" she asked him, she switched direction with ease.

"I have questions ... and I want answer," he said.

"Ask," she said, sitting down next to him.

"What did this Saunders do for you?" Mike said, then changing the question, "I mean what service did he perform to right wrongs. And tell me about this Mad Dog, did you have an affair with him as well?" She laughed aloud shaking her head no.

"Mad Dog is more into men than women, and he likes to use force. So, when a rapist goes free – Mad Dog administers the vengeance," Elizabeth said, she enjoyed Mikes pain, he had hurt her she returned the favor.

"He kills them?" Mike asked.

"They are rapist, not killers, he's a rapist, not a killer. He rapes them, and if they beat the girl, he beats them. Men, at best, rarely report being raped – even or perhaps especially rapist," Elizabeth said, adding, "I make sure there is reckoning – an eye for an eye."

"And Saunders?" he asked.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes," Mike said.

"Let's say, a life for a life," she said, standing she moved back to the door of the cabin.

"You have people murdered," Mike said, halfway a question, hallway an allegation "You're a murderer, dear."

"I don't see it that way," Elizabeth said, sounding sad. "Do you want to fuck or what Mike?"


Wednesday, March 6th, 1991

"Gil, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? I don't see the chief deputy district attorney nearly often enough," she said.

"Yeah, well I wanted to tell you not to get depressed over the verdict. We don't win them all. The cops fucked you on this one," he said, then set down in a chair. She moved behind her desk and also set down, she folded her hands on her desk.

"Well we can hope some mad dog bites him, and he gets rabies," she said.

"Yes," he said, laughing as he did. "Also did you see the videotape?"

"The King deal, yes I saw it," she said. "I thought I might..."

"No, stay the fuck away from it ... I mean it. I don't want my probable replacement having her stellar reputation tarnished ... win or lose half the city will mad at the verdict, there will be no winner in this thing," he said.

"You're going to make a run for it, for DA aren't you?" she asked.

"Keep it under your hat, but yeah, next year. I'll tell you this, the shit from King will hit the fan just before I do," he said. "I mean it stay away from it." He sat there unmoving holding a hand in the air. He had a hard time with what he had to ask next, "Oh, this may be a sore spot, but I have to ask, do you know where Mike is?"

"Florida," she said, raising her arms palms skyward. "That's all I know."

"Yeah, feds have a warrant for him. I don't think he will make Florida. Gabriela Santorini wrapped her car around a light pole last night, they had to identify her by dental records."

"Can I be honest, Gill?" Elizabeth

"Always, Shortcake," Garcetti answered.

"I'm glad about her, sad for Mike, but man that wreck couldn't have happened to better bitch," she said, Gill nodded. Rising to leave he paused at the door and turned back to her.

"I'd keep that sentiment between us, Liz," he said, he stepped out of the room leaving her alone. After a short time, she went downstairs to a pay phone, inserting the quarters she dialed the number.

"Hello."

"Got a job for you," she said.

"Yeah, I seen the papers. How bad you want him fucked up?" Mad Dog asked.

"Put him in the hospital, scare him enough he will keep his mouth shut," Elizabeth told him, her voice cold and hard.

"He won't say shit, they will know he's been raped, but the bastard won't cop to it," she told her.

"Thanks, Mad Dog," hanging up the phone she felt better, much better.


Present Day

It takes a long time to get from there to here – but here we are twenty-three years down the road. The young girl always enjoyed seeing her grandmother, always looked forward to their time together. She sat in the car wishing the miles would pass quicker, or the highway would grow shorter. Her mother prattled on about not fretting 'Granny' too much to be happy just to be around her and be quiet. She had no idea how close the two were. It bothered her that her mother didn't understand their special bond.

She wondered what magical story she would tell her this time. She had told her of her days as treasure hunter diving in the Caribbean. The story about her going on an archeological dig in Egypt. All those wonderful stories about being a lawyer and the cases she had tried as an assistant district attorney when she finally settled down and raised her family. What it would be this time? She could hardly contain herself, wishing only for her mother to drop her off, kiss Nana on the head, then make a quick exit and leave them alone.

At last, they were there. Nana had baked a cake and invited her daughter to join them, but fortunately, for Sandra, her mother said no, she had errands to run before her plane departed. So she kissed everyone goodbye and left. Nana fixed their cake and drinks, milk for Sandra and coffee for herself. Sitting down, the old woman looked at her grandchild, and the thought entered her mind. "It is time you knew about the monsters in the world, child," Elizabeth said.

"Monsters? What, like – vampires?" Sandra asked.

"No, monsters like bastard men without souls. You will, unfortunately, encounter a few of them. I spent years putting them behind bars, but there are some that are worse than others. I told you I was raised near the beach didn't I?" She asked her. Raising her cup, she sipped the last of the coffee in it. Sandra studied her grandmother's face, she had been beautiful when she was young, Sandra had seen the pictures. Still beautiful, at least to Sandra, Nana's green eyes twinkled with the dazzling light of her soul.

"Fetch the coffee pot, fill my cup dear and I'll tell you a story of long ago, the summer of my eighteenth year. Not all that much older than you are now," Nana told her. The girl grabbed the pot and filled the cup. While looking at her grandmother's face, she noted the lines that ran over it, not unlike streams meandering over the countryside. After she had filled the cup, she returned it to his place and came back to the table and couldn't resist reaching out and touching her grandmother's face.

"Do they hurt, Nana?" she asked.

"What child?"

"The wrinkles, do they hurt?" she then added. "I have always imagined that wrinkles hurt, do they?" she asked again.

"No, Sandra, they don't hurt. Some of the memories they represent do. Sit down and listen to me and I'll tell you the story," Nana told her.

"Is it a fun and exciting story?" Sandra asked.

"Well not too much fun but yes, it has its moments of excitement," she said, taking the last bite of her cake she followed it by a cautious sip of coffee.

"Well, it was June 1968 on the California coast, a hot day to be sure."


June 1968

It was June of 1968. My brother and I went down to surf on the little beach at the base of a big cliff next to the Pacific Coast Highway. It was crackerjack hot that day, and the cool waters of the ocean provided a welcome relief from the dry heat of that California sun. We were both right good at surfing and swimming – we kept keen eyes peeled for sharks. Little did we know the sharks were on land that day, not in the water.

About three o'clock in the afternoon, as I remember it, we heard cycles above on the highway. Loud, barking motors and a lot of them, they didn't fade in the distance but lumbered above us. I glanced up and could see men standing to look out at the ocean. There were many motorcycle clubs during that period, but most were harmless business men that rode on weekends. A few were gangs that did all sorts of unscrupulous things.

Looking to the north, I saw three men on the path from the cliff down to the little beach. I looked at my brother, James, a big strapping twenty-year-old, he looked worried. Even so, it took me off guard when he grabbed the surfboards and headed to the path on the south side of the beach.

"Come on, Shortcake, we have to go," he said, I heard something in his voice I never heard from him – not ever – fear. I jumped up and followed behind him, where he froze a few feet from the path. There were three men there. One of the men was much bigger than the others, at least six four or six five. He wore leather clothing, they all did. Leather pants and vest and no shirts or just t-shirts under their vest.

A short man stood in front of the others. I could hear, or maybe feel, the other three come up behind us. The short man had a hand rolled a cigarette in his mouth. He sucked in the smoke deep and handed it to another man who followed suit and passed it on. I learned later it was a reefer. Coughing and sputtering at first, the short man talked.

"Jonesy ... boys yours," he hacked the words out, then he was able to talk normal again, "I go first on the CUNT," the word sounded all spittle and venom when he said it, as nasty as the word could sound. I had never heard it before, but I knew he meant me. "I don't do no sloppy seconds." The phrase stuck with me, not sure why.

The big man grabbed my brother and dragged him behind a rock. Our surfboards hit the ground when they grabbed him, and my instincts were divided. I wanted to go after the man, hit him, hurt him and make him not hurt my brother. Instead, I picked up the boards and planted them in the sand, that's the proper way to keep a board on the beach.

The short man came up to me, running his hands over my body and face. I just stood there not knowing what to do or say. James's screams chilled me to the bones, about four of the men huddled around the rocks and watched the action. They rubbed their selves through their pants. That was when I realized what he was doing to my brother.

The short man ran his coarse hands over me, his rough mitts scratched my skin. I so wanted to run, but I couldn't move. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not make myself move. I lost control at that point and felt it, my piss filling my swimsuit crotch leaking out and running down my legs. God awful feeling, pissing yourself out of fear. He grabbed me by the hair and ran me into the surf – letting the waves wash me clean. After that, he yanked me back up on the beach and dragged me back away from the ocean. I held onto his wrist trying to lessen the pressure on my head.

When we got to the foot of the cliff he yanked me up on my knees. Fishing out his cock from the leather pants he let it hang in front of me. Perhaps it wouldn't have impressed a seasoned whore, but to me, it was a giant log. I looked up pleading him with my eyes, a wad of thick, nasty spit landed on my nose and right cheek.

"Get to work on it," he said. "You guys can fag out tonight, only I fuck the BITCH," the word burnt my ear. I had never heard such language in my life, it was a different time then than now, such language just wasn't used every day, nor every in polite society.

"I don't know what you want me to do," I said, I really didn't know what he wanted. As an immature, inexperienced eighteen-year-old in the 1960's, there was no way for me to know, blowjobs weren't discussed in the group I ran with. With blinding speed, he slapped my face, first the palm of his and then with the back of it.

"You put in your mouth like a fucking popsicle and suck it till it spits globs down your goddamn throat, you fucking twat," he spat the words out as raw and nauseating as the spit that still clung to my face. My brother no longer screamed, and the big man walked over as I sucked on his boss's nasty semi hard pecker, its dreadful taste made me want to puke.

"I busted him good," he said.

"Get the fuck away from here," the short man snarled. "I ain't sharing, and you can't watch. Tell them all to keep away." He pointed a gun at the man, "I'm in a fucking bad mood Jonesy so get the fuck away." The cock stiffened in my mouth, and his fingers clutched in tighter on my hair. He used my hair as a handle and forced me to move faster on his now rigid cock.

My jaws ached, and my throat hurt from his massive penis. I wanted to stop ... I wanted to help my brother ... I wanted to kill these bastards. But I was a small eighteen-year-old, girl what could I do. I felt so worthless I wanted to die.

Jimmy's screams rang out again as another man took a ride on him. I should have been concerned about him, I was, but I should have thought about him more and me less. I could only think about my shame, my pain not his. Consumed with fear I worried only about me. I did whatever Boss Man wanted. I didn't know what his name was, I just pictured him as the boss.

The long fat cock went down my throat, its plump, enormous, globular head ripping wherever he wanted it. Soon he pulled it nearly out, it spat dense, grotesque, streams of revolting semen inside my mouth and down my throat. He pulled away, I spat as much of the offending fluid out of my mouth onto the grainy sand, as I could. I hoped it was over, what stupid little girl I was!

My brother no longer screamed, I heard whispers, pleadings from him. The words, "No more, please, no more," came from where he was. No longer his voice, it was a creaky, gravely, voice like some old man. There was no fear left in the voice, there was no emotion at all unless you think pain is an emotion. All the men cackled, laughing like a bunch of hyenas. One of them howled like a wolf. The sun dipped near the horizon. It would be dark soon, and one of the men had built a big bonfire. They were all naked, and I lay in the sand crying. The Boss Man had stripped out of his clothes and sat on the ground looking at me. His cock rising up beyond his belly button as he stroked it.

"When you boys finish the sissy off over there you can watch this shit over here," he said. He again turned his attention to me, "I'll give you a choice, you can strip out of that bather, or I'll rip it off your fucking dirty body, WHORE," again the word hurt my ears. Sitting up I worked my way out of the tight fitting bathing suit. I covered my breasts and the small patch of light colored pubic hair.

He rolled another joint and turned his head to the side, like a vulture looking at the dead meat he was about to eat. "Uncover, CUNT," he spat the disgusting word out at me. I did what he wanted. He tossed the bag filled with the jane onto his vest. After lighting the toke, he did the same with his lighter as the pot. Looking at me this smirk moved over his face, the campfire's light danced over his naked body, rock hard muscles covered him. He sucked the fumes from the joint in deep. Again he coughed and wheezed as the noxious billows filled his lungs. He looked me up and down, licked his lips like a wolf and rubbed his face, body and that awful rod between his legs.

"Sit on my cock baby. You're a virgin ain't you?" I nodded, "Come rape yourself ... bust your ripe little cherry for me, baby ... sit on my cock and fuck me like you know how to do it." Terror held me still, but I managed to shake my head. "It won't hurt as bad that way sweet thing," again I shook my head. He pounced on me so fast I didn't realize it until I lay flat on my back, legs spread wide and big pecker pressed against my opening.

"Gave you a chance to control it, CUNT," he hissed out, my face was between his belly and chest, his thick hair felt nasty. Thrusting, he buried it deep in me, ripping its way, tearing my hymen and slashing the muscles. I felt dirtier than ever before, worse than if I was covered in mud. He forced it deeper and deeper, he would pull out and jab it back in, stabbing me with it soiling me inside making me unclean, unworthy. Not just hurting me he dirtied me making me less than human. He called me dirty names as he fucked me.

I heard a gunshot ring out, then another. I knew what that signaled. James was dead. The men gathered around us hooting and hollering encouragement. Flipping me over he forced me on my hands and knees, the rough sand hurt me knees. I couldn't believe I even cared about my knees or that the pain there even registered, but it did.

He held my hair and pounded inside me, the ash from the pot cigarette fell in front of my face, drifting in the air as well as the foul smelling smoke. He pumped in and out in some furious rhythm like he played drums to a rock beat. At least that was how my mind perceived it, I was the drum, and he banged the drum out of control.

"Stick her man, stick 'er her like the pig she is," one man screamed out in a shrill, excited voice.

"That's it boss – fuck the shit out of that whore," another added. All of them yelled things and called me nasty names. I felt so dirty, so worthless. I don't know how many times he raped me. Three maybe four. When he crawled off me, I again thought it was over and hoped they would kill me. It wasn't over, not by the five of them that were left.

"Changed my mind, Y'all can have her now. So go for it boys," Boss Man said. He sat and watched as each man fucked me sometimes two at a time, one in my mouth the other in my vagina. It went on for hours. Toward the end, the bastards used me three at a time, fucking every hole. I wanted to die and hoped Boss Man would kill me. But Boss Man never again entered me or even came close. He just watched from afar.

"I don't do sloppy seconds boys," he told his men. When the last one crawled off me, I waited for the bullet that would end the nightmare.

"We should kill the little girl," the big man said. I lay on the ground curled up in a ball my eyes shut tight. I waited for it and waited, but there was no boom of the gun. The crackling of the bonfire and the crash of the waves on the beach were the only sounds. Then the bark of an engine rolling over, and another, until all six cycles were running. The rumbling grew softer as they sped away from the scene.

I didn't move – for hours, until, at last, my father found us. I didn't go to James's funeral. I spent over a month in the hospital. My family moved to Florida to give me a new start that fall I entered the University of Florida. Eventually, I managed to put it behind me. I never got over it, not even now am I over it.


The old woman stopped talking and cleared the dishes, Sandra helped her. She stayed quiet not wishing to upset her grandmother more than she already was. She would never ask questions about this, misadventure. She didn't have any desire to hear about this story she didn't want to know about it, but how do you unlearn something?

Later that night the grandmother opened a bottle of wine and poured herself a large glass of it. She filled a small glass and gave it to Sandra. The girl gazed at the glass, not sure what to do.

"Never had a drink before?" her grandmother asked. Shaking her head, she continued to look at the dark maroon liquid. "Go head, it won't make you drunk to have that thimble full." The girl took it, smelled it, not a bad smell, sort of like grape juice. Taking a sip, she didn't mind the taste – she gobbled down the liquid. Nana laughed and said, "Slow down, child. You can get drunk on it, and if you want more, you have to make it last." She poured the girl another glass.

"Our story didn't end where I left off, I need to tell you the rest," Nana told her.

"This isn't a happy adventure, Nana, I don't like it," Sandra said.

"No, it isn't happy. Life isn't always happy, but I do need to tell you this. Other than my mother, father, and the cops you are the only person that knows it. I feel a need to unburden myself, especially with the facts that no one on earth or heaven above but God and I knows," she said, she wiped tears from her eyes.

"Five years later I graduated from college with a pre-law degree. I decided to take off a few years before I went to law school, much to my father and mother's dismay. At the end of summer, I returned to Miami a bit richer than I had been when I went to the Caribbean, you know that story already."


I returned from treasure hunting in the summer of 1973. At twenty-two-years-old, I had the world by the ears. In South Beach, I partied with the best of them and made plans to go to Egypt for a dig after the election in the fall. I wanted to vote, Nixon had ended the draft, and I wanted to vote for him because of that. I thought it signaled an end to the war.

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