“Come on, Steph, we’ve got to get going,” her roommate, Amy, called to her through the door to her room.

“Just a minute,” she called back, taking one last look at herself in the the full-length mirror as she buttoned up her white silk gloves. At 5’3” and 110 lbs, she was a slight girl, with a slim Asian figure. She felt her face warm as she looked at the costume she had chosen. Her neck was encircled by very simple, plain white silk chocker, offsetting her black hair and dark eyes beautifully. A spaghetti strap halter top, leaving her back criss-crossed with straps, pulling tight against her b-sized breasts, her nipples hard through the soft fabric as she had eschewed a bra, the white silk making her shoulders and arms stand out. A flash of her flat, toned stomach peeked between her top and the full-length double-slit white silk skirt she was wearing, exposing the sides of her lean, sexy legs, her calves shaped beautifully by a pair of 4 inch white heels. She turned to the side and looked down at the outside of her right thigh, where she had had her friend paint an elaborate, stylized ‘K’, clearly visible through the slit on the skirt.

“What are you supposed to be, again?” Amy asked as Stephanie joined her in the living room of their apartment.

“Oh, just a gyrl,” she smiled.

“Never mind. The haunted house at Bowles hall started a while ago. We’re meeting up with Jeff when we get there,” Amy said, distracted as she headed out the door.

They left, walking down from their North-Side apartment and cutting through the campus, the streets and the campus filled with other college students out for Halloween night. Stephanie kept her eyes forward, happy that her skin tone could hide her blush, wondering if any of the people walking by recognized what she was dressed as, the excitement of exposing herself like this, even if it was on Halloween, keeping her warm in the cool night air. Of course, most people would probably be looking at Amy, in her fembot outfit, her tight Asian body seemingly poured into silver hotpants and the silver bra/halter.

“Jeff,” Amy called out when the had arrived and spotted him milling about among the crowd waiting to get into the haunted house. Steph stood back a bit as Amy ran up to him and they embraced, Amy’s head turning up as he bent down to kiss her, their lips locking, his hands roving over her body as Steph watched, feeling jealous and exposed and excited all at the same time.

“Hey Steph,” Jeff greeted her as he came up for air, his arm possessively around Amy, his pirate costume suiting him.

“Hey Jeff.”

“I like your costume,” he made a motion with his hand to say she should turn to show the whole outfit to him. She obliged without hesitation. She liked Jeff, even though Amy thought he was too controlling, and blushed again when she saw the way he was looking at her, his eyes seeming to bore into hers as she finished her twirl.

“Very, very sexy, Steph.”

“Hey,” Amy said, punching him in the side.

He turned his attention to his girlfriend. “Nobody holds a candle to my little fembot,” he said, leaning down to kiss her again, his hand in her hair.

They waited until a few more of their friends showed up, Steph glowing in the general excitement of the night. As she chatted and laughed with her friends, she couldn’t stop thinking about how exposed she was, how much of herself she was showing to the world with her costume, laughing off her friends’ attempts to get her to tell them what she was dressed up as, simply responding, “Just a gyrl,” and changing the subject.

After she had made her way through the haunted house, she rejoined Amy and Jeff. She needed to find a restroom. Jeff pointed her to a side door, telling her that there were only a few rooms down there, and there wouldn’t be too many people using that dorm bathroom. She thanked him and followed his directions.

She was surprised at how quiet it was once the door shut behind her and she found herself in hall. She walked forward and took a right, finding walking past a single room--she guessed there were no more than 6 on this floor, and turning into the bathroom. She was drying her hands, feeling the booming noise through the floor above of the haunted house through her body when Jeff came through the door.

“Hey Jeff,” she started, startled when he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her back to the corner of the room.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” she practically shouted, starting to struggle as he pushed her into a shower stall, her feet twisting in her heels as she stumbled over the step-down, her hands pushing against his chest, her heart starting to race as adrenaline flooded her body.

She gasped as her head hit the tiles on the back of the shower as he pushed her forcefully against the wall, his head coming down, his lips trying to press against hers as she twisted her head away, fighting him, her terror and hysteria growing.

“No! No! Stop it.”

“Kajira don’t say no,” he said, his fingers twining in her hair, holding her head in place, his body pressing hers against the cold tile, his heat seeming to burn her.

The word struck her like a blow, and she gasped again as he tightened his fingers in her hair, her soft red lips parting as humiliation seemed to suffuse her body, making her face burn, her stomach clench, and a dark, horrible excitement flood her. He KNEW. Oh God he KNEW, she thought wildly as his lips met hers hard, bruising them, his tongue sending chills through her as he forced it into her mouth. His hand was hot on her thigh, the thigh with the ‘K’ symbol on it, she realized, almost moaning into his mouth at the realization, and she trembled as his hand moved between her legs, his fingers sliding past the thin fabric of her thong to slip easily into her damp, virgin pussy.

She choked a grunt of surprise as his thumb found her clit, shocking her with the sensations flooding her body as he continued to assault her body.

“That’s a good little slave girl,” he said, breaking the kiss, slipping his fingers from inside her, his lips finding her neck, his breath hot and thrilling against her flesh, “nice and wet for me.”

Shame filled her at his words--she was wet. She had been ever since she had put on her costume, wet with the excitement of exposing herself, of showing the world her darkest desires. She was shaking now, trembling as she felt him working on his pants, sliding them down his legs, his lips sending flashes of burning excitement down her neck and through her body. She wanted to yell ‘Stop!’, to push him away, to push by him and escape among the crowd above, but it was happening too fast, everything was happening too fast. She couldn’t control her body, couldn’t make it move. He was in total control, and the thought sent a shudder through her and seemed to make her cunt throb with pleasure.

She was practically hyperventilating now, her gaze over his shoulder, realizing for the first time that he had slid the shower curtain closed as he lifted up her leg, holding it under the knee, opening her up. The front panel of her dress was pushed aside, and then she felt it even as he covered her mouth again with his, his cock pressing up against her cunt, his tongue violating her mouth again, her trembling seeming to increase.

He surged into her with a single stroke, and she stifled a scream, surprise and shock shaking her as she was penetrated for the first time, the pain a distant second to the heat that seemed to be burning through her body. She was stunned, pinned to the wall of a shower stall, her leg lifted in the air, as he fucked into her with hurried, brutal strokes. She was being raped. Raped. The thought seemed to send an explosion through her body, and she came, hard, so hard it almost hurt, her head twisting away from his, a long, defeated moan torn from her body as she felt her cunt spasm around the hard, hot meat that was violating, raping her, her whole body shaking, her hands finding his shoulders, gripping them in her pleasure.

She felt him stop, shudder, and moan, and she knew he was cumming, cumming into her; her rapist was cumming into her, and she came again, tears running down her cheeks as pleasure rocked her slender body.

Then he was out of her, and she was left leaning against the wall, limp, spent, her eyes half-closed. He looked at her and said, “Red silk for you, now.” Then he was gone, leaving her there, leaving her as if she were nothing more than a slave, a kajira. Excitement flooded through her, followed by shame, humiliation, and fear, fear of discovery, fear that Amy would find out, that her parents would, that she would be shamed. It was all mixed up, and she was frightened by the intensity of it.

She staggered out of the shower and went into a stall, her cunt sore and damp, his cum starting to slide from within her, making a mess of her crotch and thighs. She closed her eyes as she cleaned herself, her thinking that she had been raped, raped by Jeff. Jeff had seen her, seen her dressed as a kajira and had KNOWN. He had known and he had taken her, raped her. Her fingers were on her clit as she ran those thoughts through her head over and over, crying even as she brought herself to orgasm one more time.

It seemed to calm her, and she stood, straightened her clothes, and stepped out of the stall to wash her face. When she thought she looked presentable, she went out to find Amy--she didn’t want her friend to think anything had happened. It would be too humiliating. When she finally spotted Amy, she waved and hurried toward her, hesitating only when she saw that Jeff was there too, looking as if nothing had happened, talking to Amy as if he hadn’t just raped her friend.

Stephanie gripped her arms, shook herself, smiled, and called out to Amy.

“There you are,” Amy said as she turned toward her. “We’re just talking about going to the party up at one of the co-ops. You up for it?”

“Sure,” she responded, keeping here eyes from Jeff, who seemed too close.

The rest of the night seemed like a blur. It was like she was two different people. One was the person that danced and laughed and talked and was Stephanie, the person she and all her friends knew. The other was the person who couldn’t hold a thought for more than a second, whose mind kept going back to that moment when she had felt Jeff’s cock slide between her legs and push up into her body. What was worse was that he was still there, laughing and talking and acting as if he hadn’t violated her, but what was worst of all was the way she felt. She felt that she had betrayed her friend, that she had done something wrong by being raped by her boyfriend. She felt that she was truly deserving of being raped--she had dressed as a kajira, and he had used her like one, the thought even now making her blood burn, her pussy tingle. It was all her fault, and she couldn’t let anyone know, the shame and humiliation of exposure too much for her. The next morning the memory of her rape came back to her, and she felt nauseous. She staggered out of bed, thinking thankfully that she was on the pill, and had been since her freshman year (not because she expected to have sex, no, but because she was in college, and she could, and it helped with her skin and her cramps, and it made her feel mature). She leaned against the shower wall, hot water coursing over her slender body, her mind consumed by the events of the previous night. The fear, the shame, the overwhelming humiliation crashing in on her. It was so awful, she thought, so awful, even as something deep inside her whispered ‘kajira’, and her pussy throbbed.

“No!” she said aloud, and then whispered, “No.” It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t, she kept thinking, but she knew it was. “Oh god,” she moaned aloud, the shame making her close her eyes--it was her fault. By wearing that costume she had advertised her need; Jeff had seen her and had known. He had used her like she had dreamed, fantasized, about being used, used like a kajira, used like nothing more than a beast. He was in the right. He had done nothing wrong. It was her. All her. Her pussy throbbed again, and she sobbed and stood up straight, running her hair under the water, casting all thoughts of the previous night from her mind. She wouldn’t think of it again. It didn’t happen. Jeff was Amy’s boyfriend, and Amy was her best friend. Nothing had happened, and nothing would ever happen again. She had been stupid. She wouldn’t be stupid again.

The day passed without incidence. She went to classes and spent time with Amy and even saw Jeff and thought she did alright, acting as if nothing had happened between them. By the time she went to bed, she felt better, even the flashes that ran through her mind at inopportune times throughout the day, flashes of how she must have looked, pushed against the back of the shower wall in her white silk, her leg pulled up, her pussy pulled open, a man rutting against her, she managed to ignore. Things could go back to normal.

Friday morning she woke up a bit late, pushing from her mind the half remembered dream of being dragged through a field at night, her clothes torn, firelight dancing on the handsome, savage faces of men at the camp to which she was being dragged, dragged to be used like an animal, mounted over and over by every man there. She had two afternoon classes today, leaving the morning free. She needed to study, and with Amy out of the apartment for the morning in her own classes, the rest of the morning was a perfect time.

She slipped into a simple dress that fell to mid-thigh and gathered up her books. An hour later, deep in study, she didn’t hear the deadbolt turn in the door, and looked up, surprised, when she sensed someone standing the doorway to her room, her heart skipping a beat.

“Jeff,” she put her hand to her heart. “You startled me. Amy isn’t here.” She kept her dark eyes on him, a flutter in her stomach and a growing warmth in her pussy shortening her breath.

“I know.” It was all he said, his eyes locked on hers, as he strode toward her. She stood quickly, her chair skittering on the hardwood floor, the fluttering in her stomach turning into an ache. She should scream. She knew she should scream, shout, something, but she seemed to be paralyzed, and then he was right there, right in front of her, his hands on her, one tangling in her hair, pulling her head back hard, the other on the small of her back, pulling her to him.

His lips came down hard on hers, crushing her lips, possessing her, owning her. Her body tensed even more, and she tried to move, to fight, to push him away, to turn her head, but for some reason she couldn’t. It was happening too fast, again. It was happening again, and she sobbed into his mouth, her whole body shaking against his, shame flooding her at what she knew was about to happen.

He spun her like a doll, pushing her thighs against the desk, his hands forcing her down until she was bent at the waist, scattering papers around, her heart racing, her breathing short gasps. A part of her dream flashed back to her, of herself bent over a log in the camp, a man’s hands hot against her hips, and she started to tremble with shame and need. As his hand pulled up her dress and pulled down her panties, exposing the soft flesh of her ass, she wanted to reach back and say “NO!”, to resist the hand pushing against her lower back, to stand and push him away, but the back of her mind was whispering to her kajira, kajira, over and over, and she kept her hands by her head, staring blankly at the side of her computer, all her attention on Jeff, on the man who was going to rape her again.

She felt him push her feet further apart with his own, feeling her panties stretch just above her knees. Humiliation flooded her and she moaned as she felt his cock slide across her cunt, realizing how wet she was, knowing that he saw her lust, her need. Three strokes across her cunt and then he was pushing into her, raping her, and they both gasped as he broke through and plunged his cock deep into her pussy, his hips slapping obscenely against her ass.

She felt every millimeter of him inside her, taking her, raping her, his hands hot against her hips as he readied himself to truly fuck her. She closed her eyes, tears leaking from them even as she flashed back to her dream, where she man after man had used her from behind as she thrust back at them like a she-sleen, welcoming them, wanting them, the feeling of ecstasy, both physical and emotional, overwhelming. She sobbed as she felt him pull back, his cock seeming to send pleasure to every nerve in her pussy, and she sobbed in confusion, her mind a whirl of passion and shame and humiliation.

He was fucking her now, her body jerking back and forth across the desk, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room, filling her mind. Her body trembled and shook as she was raped, overwhelmed. Her best friend ran through her mind, and her shame deepened, and then she thought of her friend walking in on them, of finding her bent of her desk while her boyfriend was fucking her. White flashed behind her eyelids as the scene seemed to burn itself there, her best friend, aghast, Jeff, hands on her hips, plowing into her submissively bent over the desk. Amy’s shock, Amy’s anger, Amy’s horror at the scene--it was too much. Her body clenched, her hands closing into fists as she came, a sob of humiliation and unbearable pleasure choked out from between her lips.

She felt Jeff grunt and speed up his thrusts, her own body still quivering under the onslaught of her pleasure, her mind spinning, whirling, and then she felt him stop, his hips pressing hard against her ass, his cock pulsing inside her, and she came again, came knowing that her rapist, her best friend’s boyfriend, had just cum inside her.

She felt him pull out, jerked as he slapped her ass, remained laying there, the air cooling the wetness on her inner thighs, her ass up, her head down, as he left without saying a word. She lay there for a while longer, her mind a blank, until she felt his cum begin to leak from her cunt. The sensation pushed her into motion, and she stood unsteadily on her feet and made her way to the bathroom, sat on the toilet and cleaned herself up.

She felt like she was drowning. What was wrong with her? She knew that she could have stopped him. All she had needed to do was fight, shout, yell, anything. Instead she had just let him use her like a thing, “like a kajira” a part of herself whispered, but she pushed it from her mind. The thought of Amy catching them ran across her mind again, and a mixture of shame and lust shot through the pit of her stomach, making her bend over on the toilet and moan in disgrace. It was all so wrong, so wrong. It just couldn’t be happening to her. She was a good girl, a girl whom her parents could be proud. She wasn’t this ‘thing’ she was becoming.

“Leave it be,” she thought, finishing cleaning herself. She shouldn’t think on it; it would drive her crazy. Just get on with her life, avoid Jeff, don’t tell anyone. If he came to her again, alone, tell him in no uncertain terms to stop. That was what she would do. It was what she had to do.

She implemented her strategy, making sure she was never in her apartment whenever her roommate was gone, waking up early and leaving for the library, staying out until she was sure her Amy was back. She pushed the attacks out of her mind, put her mind to studying, and refused to indulge in the common fantasizing that had made her choose the costume she had chosen for Halloween, even as unbidden images of her bound on her belly, of her on her hands and knees, mounted, of her pushed against a wall in a dirty alley being used, of her degraded and humiliated and treated like an animal would flit into her mind at the most inopportune times.

She shook them off, refused to give into the fantasies that seemed to grow stronger each day she tried to ignore them. The images became harder to push from her mind, the throbbing in her pussy harder to ignore, making her want to touch herself, bring herself some relief from her forced denial. Those thoughts weren’t right, weren’t who she was; those thoughts had caused Jeff to rape her, twice, and had made her want it, crave it. She wasn’t like that. She wasn’t, she kept telling herself, throwing herself with more abandon into her studies.

The worst thing was seeing Jeff and Amy together, feeling a unwanted pull toward him, her mind flashing to images of being used by him every time he saw her. She tried to act normal, and thought she succeeded, both glad and scandalized that Jeff too was acting as if nothing had happened between them. Almost as bad were the dreams. After a few days, the dreams started up, strange, surreal montages of running with flashes of skin as her clothes slowly disappeared piece by piece, of capture, where she would trip or fall or just find herself surrounded by men, but not men, dream images of men, almost half-animal, howling and hooting and rushing at her before rushing back, laughing and calling out, of rape, as they pounced on her, pulled her limbs apart and using her brutally and long until she woke up sweating and gasping, her fingers at her cunt, her heart pounding, frustrated and turned on, wishing only to forget and go back to sleep.

It was a Friday night, Amy had left to spend the weekend with her family, and she was alone in her apartment for the first time in over two weeks. Dread filled her as she watched television, not able to concentrate as she wondered if he would appear, if he would walk through the door and just take her. Every minute that he didn’t seemed to raise her fear, until she realized it was more than just fear, it was also a sick anticipation. Every time she shifted on the coach, she felt the lips of her pussy slide against each other, swollen and wet, sending an unwelcome shock of pleasure through her body. Her stomach started to ache with the stress of it, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it, realizing with shame that as much as she dreaded him coming through the door, she wanted him to.

As the hours passed, the dread lessened and the need grew, until she was glancing at the door every few seconds, tensing her thighs to feel the waves of pleasure from her slippery cunt, even the thought of him finding her so wet, increasing her humiliation, seemed only to add to her desire. She waited past midnight, refusing to touch herself, refusing to admit, truly admit, that she wanted him to come, telling herself she was glad he hadn’t come, glad, because she wouldn’t have been able to resist. Tomorrow would be different. She wouldn’t be so needy. She could beat this.

It was in the middle of one of her dreams, she had just been thrown to the ground, a man-beast mounting her, his strong body covering hers, his heat seeming to seep through her pores even as his cock was readying to plunge into her defenseless pussy, when she came awake with a shock, gasping in surprise as she saw a figure standing beside her bed. She opened her mouth to scream, jerking her covers to her neck in a useless motion of defense, but strangled the cry when she saw it was Jeff, staring down at her.

“J ... Jeff...” she started to say, her eyes wide, her heart pounding, her mind racing, trying to figure out what was happening even as she knew, even as she felt her cunt throb and heat fill her body, taking her breath away.

All of a sudden he was on top of her, his hand around her throat, his face next to hers, fear lancing through her body.

“Stephie Stephie Stephie. Avoiding me isn’t nice.”

He squeezed her neck slightly as she opened her mouth to speak, silencing her, her hands lightly around his wrist as he threw the covers off of her.

“Girls like you shouldn’t avoid men like me.” She felt his hand as it slid down her front, over the long t-shirt sleeper she wore to bed, embarrassed that he would find her without panties. “Girls like you need men like me.” She shuddered as she felt his fingers push up her tee, slipping between her slender thighs and sliding against her cunt.

“Your pussy knows it,” he said, wiping his wet fingers down her cheek, her body trembling in humiliation, “you need to learn it.”

He let her go and kneeled beside her on the bed as she lay frozen, paralyzed as if she were a bird facing a snake, watching as he slipped off his belt and doubled it up.

“Roll over, slut.”

The words shocked her, and almost without thinking she obeyed, her stomach fluttering, her mind a mixture of fear, shame, and unbearable excitement. Then the belt came down, striking the firm globes of her ass, and she grunted, her body tensing, her hands gripping the sheets beside her head as pain flared through her, pain and an incredible heat between her legs.

“Ten strokes, Steph, ten strokes for each time I looked for you and couldn’t find you.”

After ten, she was crying and writhing on the bed, her slender body twisting, her legs kicking slowly, her stomach tense, her chest heaving, her ass burning and hurting like it had never hurt before, but they were as nothing compared to the tumult in her mind. She should be fighting, resisting, enraged at this humiliation, but instead each blow on her ass was like a release, like a cleansing wave of pain that seemed to wash away all her confusion, all her inhibitions, all her resistance. Jeff was beating her like an animal, like a kajira, because she had displeased him. Worse, she had known that she was displeasing him, and had done it anyway.

At twenty, the pain was overwhelming, and she simply lay there, her hands tangled in the sheet, deep, sobbing gasps rocking her body as he continued to beat her. She deserved this, her mind seemed to scream, deserved to be punished for denying herself, for denying that she was a slut, a mere animal in heat. As much as she wanted the pain to end, she didn’t want it to ever end, for it wiped away all doubt, all fear, all confusion. She was a slut, an animal, a slave, a ‘kajira’.

Jeff, reaching forty blows, stopped and looked down at Stephanie, beautiful, slender, sexy Stephanie, so untouchable, so friendly and teasing and pretty yet remote until Halloween, when she had revealed her fantasies. When he had seen her in white silk, with that look in her eyes, he had known, and acted, and now he was enjoying his boldness, Stephanie laying prone before him, her ass flaming red, her body shaking in sobs, submissive, docile, and, he was sure, burning with need.

“Ass in the air, slut,” he commanded, moving around behind her as she, weeping still, raised her ass up in the air, her face still pressed into the sheets, presenting herself to him, her cunt an ugly red gash between her thighs, swollen and wet with lust.

She wept not just from the pain, but from the need. “Oh god,” she thought, “please, please. I need it,” she wanted to beg, her ass swaying slightly as she trembled before him, her eyes tightly shut, the feel of his hand at her hips, his other guiding his cock to her cunt making her heart race and her pussy throb. “Fuck me fuck me fuck me use me use me use me take me take me take me” ran through her mind and then she felt his cock at her entrance, pausing, and then thrusting deep, hard, brutally, his hips slamming against her beaten ass, the shock and pain and screaming pleasure made her shove her face into the mattress as she screamed out her orgasm, each thrust of his cock into her cunt seeming to drive her pleasure higher, each slap of his hips against her bruised ass dragging out a deep masochistic streak in her until finally the waves of pleasure that threatened to engulf her ebbed.

Instead of leaving her spent, though, or satisfied, she was left trembling as he continued to fuck her hard, his hands leaving bruises on her hips as he slammed his cock into her; she could feel another orgasm building, giving in to the sensations, the need. He had raped her; had used her; had beat her and was fucking her, and it was indescribable. Her muscles tensed, and she started to rock back against him, following the lead of his hands as he rode her like an animal, causing him to exclaim,

“Damned fucking bitch!”

The words spiking through her, sending her crashing into another orgasm, her whole body shaking as she came, her toes curling, her feet pulling up to her ass as he didn’t let up, seemingly determined to pound her cunt to jelly. She went practically limp, finally spent, her cunt still burning and tingling under the assault. Her third orgasm hit her unexpectedly as he came inside her, the thought of him spending himself in her cunt triggering a wave of pleasure that washed through her and seemed to calm her.

She slid over onto her side as she felt him pull out, watched him through slitted eyes as he crawled over the bed until he was leaning back against the headboard, his legs spread, his cock, semi-hard, glistening with her own juices. He reached over and grabbed her hair, pulling her, guiding her until she was staring at his cock, inches from it.

“Clean it up, slut. You’re the one who got it dirty with your cunt, so clean it up good.”

It was foul, disgusting, and student-Stephanie would have resisted, but kajira-Stephanie opened her mouth and took his cock into her mouth, the taste of her own pussy strong and bitter on him, letting her saliva wash away her own spend, sucking and licking and nuzzling his cock and balls while his hands, tangled in her hair, guided her head. It felt so right, so good, a low level of lust filling her body, to be servicing him, to submit to him, to be a kajira for him. She shut out her doubts, her fears, shut out thoughts of Amy and her friends finding out and reveled in the moment, the moment where she was completely submissive, completely devoted to serving and pleasuring the cock before her.