“OK, so that’s your sexy young wife or girlfriend spread-eagled across the bed, her breasts exposed and trembling, fearful trepidation in evidence as the men force her panties into rapid-descent mode. You can barely breathe as her nakedness is revealed to their perverted gaze. Hands begin to grope her, fingers inveigling their obscene way between her legs and into that tight little slit that just hours earlier had belonged to you alone. She looks up at you, pleading, apologizing ... lost! The first man thrusts so hard into her, that her legs are forced even further apart. She maintains eye-contact, letting you share her pain, her defilement - her total submission.

As the rape progresses, you discover that things are not always as they seem. The hatred you had fashioned for these men begins to diffuse and is replaced by what might be termed, embryonic arousal. You metatmorphisize, passing through various stages - protector to observer, voyeur to wannabe accomplice.

The man completes the formalities, spurting all that he has, deep inside her. The girl’s mouth is open – half in shock, half in wonderment. You look on grief-stricken, yet cruelly, in expectation of a repeat performance. That is no problem ... rapist number two is already between her legs, filling the void left by his compatriot just moments earlier. Hands beneath her thighs, he spreads her wider, increasing his window of opportunity, beginning now to penetrate her with almost brutal callousness. One might be forgiven for thinking he is drilling for oil.

Another man inclines his head and begins kissing the girl, even as he commences fondling her breasts with an indecency borne of opportunity one imagines. Aggressor number one, having just completed his tour of duty, finds the visuals bed-top, much to his liking and grasping his re-erected phallus, massages its length, not twelve inches from the girl’s face...

I think you get the picture!

Described above is your standard, garden-variety male fantasy. Helpless wife, sister, girlfriend, etc – facing the worst-case sexual scenario a young female might find herself at the mercy of. What would such actually feel like from the partner’s viewpoint however, should such be encountered? If you’re interested, I’ll tell you!

Melanie was just eighteen when I married her – barely eight months ago now. Blessed with opportunity throughout my life, I headed up a small stock-broking firm downtown that made more money per partner, than a 747 Flight Captain. We lived in the city’s eastern suburbs in an area where housing was not something you saved-up for. You either inherited property or phoned–in your bid mid-auction. We had taken the latter route.

Far older than Melanie of course, I suppose we were totally unsuited. She made good use of my Chase-Manhattan PIN number whilst I flaunted my newly acquired schoolgirl-bride amongst the neighbors. There was a lot to flaunt!

Quite small for her age, Melanie looked even younger than her eighteen years. Not only petite, she was possessed also of a rather attractive shyness. I particularly enjoyed taking her to the local cafes where it was commonplace to be asked, “and for your daughter sir?”

A very pretty brunette with a penchant for tight, short skirts and tops that revealed more than they concealed, we were never short of a dinner invitation let’s say. My business partner Rick it must be admitted, had oft questioned me as to whether or not Melanie might be persuaded to extend her favors beyond her “immediate family” as it were. I would be lying if I told you the concept was not without a certain vague appeal, although I was careful you might understand, to avoid airing such thoughts aloud.

Last Friday night, Rick invited us to dinner at his home.

“Three other guys from the office joining us too,” he told me. I had taken this to mean, Cameron, Stu, Tony and their respective wives.

As it turned out, this was right on the money. Only problem was, the men were unaccompanied, meaning that poor Melanie found herself instantly outnumbered – five men to one female. I have to say she did look a tad anxious there for a while.

Finding herself the center of attention however, more than made up for the sexual imbalance on site. After an hour or so I was wondering why I even bothered going, since pretty much the entire group conversation was directed towards my young wife. A few times I caught Rick glancing my way, casting what might be described as a “knowing smile.” If he was trying to tell me “Hey, your wife’s popular,” then it was really a case of “Tell me something I don’t know!”

Plied additionally with alcohol – primarily champagne, Melanie seemed unconcerned by their attentiveness and escalating inebriation. I was remarkably underwhelmed myself when I think back upon the evening.

It was at the point the giggling factor had increased noticeably (shortly after we had all retired to the lounge-room) that the mood changed subtly. How exactly, she and I became separated I can’t recall, but I remember sitting back in Rick’s recliner, quaffing the remnants of my bourbon pre-mix, and watching Stu and Cameron either side of Melanie – one re-filling her glass with monotonous regularity, the other chatting about some work-place inanity that evidently had her in fits of laughter.

I was about to close my eyes, overtaken by a totally relaxing stupor, when Melanie upgraded her decibel output with a shrill “Noo Cameron!”

This might have had something to do with the fact his hand was currently residing on her left thigh or to be more accurate, well up under the hem of her skirt. Either way, Melanie was busily removing it and glancing across at me in the interim. Momentarily I felt like Captain Bligh losing control of the Bounty.

“C’mon guys,” I called out, desperately trying to assert my marital authority. “Show a little respect here,” ... God, I needed some more Wild Turkey. Rick interpreted my desperation, handing me another bottle. Just across from me and looking somewhat chastened, Cameron refilled Melanie’s glass.

“Sheesh, anyone would think they’re trying to get her drunk,” I muttered to myself.

How much time had elapsed I don’t recall. I do remember a gasp of sorts and opening my eyes I was bemused to say the least, at Stu’s attempts to kiss Melanie. I say “attempts,” but in reality, I would have to say he was doing pretty damn well.

She must have thought so too because there she was, propped up against Cameron, his arm around her waist, fully receptive to Stu’s lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was returning the favor.

“Jeez,” I started, trying to get up from my chair. An arm restrained me.

“Let her go Sean,” Rick whispered. “Mel’s fine, they’re just having a bit of fun with her is all.”

“A bit of fun?” I queried, “Looks like a whole heap of fun if you ask me Rick.”

“Yeah well, it’s not that hard to watch if you’re honest with yourself is it?” he replied. Damn it all, he should have been a psychotherapist!

Melanie’s gasps had turned more into sighs. Even through my alcoholic disadvantage, I could see why. Undaunted by his former chastisement, Cameron’s arms had risen above my wife’s waistline, both hands now cupping a breast each. Initially wriggling free of his clutches, this was obviously no long-term deterrent, as he began openly groping her through her top. I watched as she raised her own hands in what might have been intended as some token resistance but which achieved no more than total complicity at the point she cupped his hands, encouraging his greater exploration of the general area.

Tony had set up base-camp I noticed, on the carpet near Melanie’s feet. The playing field was ominous – the game obvious! Had I been more in control of my faculties, I would have moved for an acquittal of the current hostilities but sad to relate, the sight of my teenage wife being pawed and molested in my direct line of vision was something of a turn-on.

Things took a turn for the erotic when Tony reached forward and slipped both her shoes off. There is something inherently sexy about a girl in bare-feet – especially with one man kissing her and the other with his hands up her skirt as Stu’s now were.

Happy to accept Rick’s endless refills of Wild Turkey, I poured the soothing liquor down my throat. It was drying up rapidly ... in direct proportion to the increasingly exposed aspect of my wife’s girly-pink panties that Cameron’s fingers were doing their best to approach in stealth mode. Tony meanwhile was feeling his way along her feet, ankles and lower calf, which itself generated considerable voyeuristic pleasure.