Me and My Uncle Ch. 11

When I look back over my life, I sometimes find it amazing that I never had a nervous breakdown.

I mean, I went through an awful lot of mental and physical abuse over the years, and I came out of it with my body and my sanity intact. Well, until now, that is. Maybe the dreams and nightmares I've been having lately are a delayed reaction to everything I went through, especially the last few weeks that I worked for my Uncle Bill. I guess that's why I'm here.

My mental reaction to the traumatic events of my life was strange. I guess it's like the old saying that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. It seems like the worse the things that were done to me, the stronger they made me.

And that was certainly true of the ordeal Curtis Miller put me through. I came out of it more determined than ever - desperately so - to get away from my uncle and forge a life for myself. But it was also as close as I want to come to completely falling apart.

For the next few weeks, I forced myself to act strong so I could get through the last little bit of college, but inside I was having a tough time. I'd find myself jumping every time something fell unexpectedly, and when I was alone, I'd find myself starting to cry, as much from latent fear as anything else.

During this period, I was spending a lot of time with Janelle while trying to get my schoolwork finished. She could sense that something was wrong with me, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell her about my home life, and the job I had to go back to.

I wasn't going back to it enough to suit Uncle Bill, though, and he was more and more bitter about how much time school was taking from my job. There was this disconnect in his mind about what would happen after I graduated. He kept talking about the big-money jobs I'd take on once summer came around, as if this was just another summer like the ones before.

Looking back on it, I didn't help matters by being non-confrontational about it. I should have just taken the bull by the horns and told him flat-out that I was quitting. Instead I led him, I guess, to think that I was fine with his plans.

The truth is, I was increasingly frightened of my uncle. His temper was getting worse, and his drinking was out of control.

As graduation approached, I was more and more nervous about him coming to see me walk across the stage and receive my diploma. I didn't want him to see my friends - and vice versa - and I was concerned about what he would do when he heard my name, the name I now considered my real name, being called out.

Fortunately, a couple of days before commencement, Bertie got sick and Bill had to man the store in her place.

Bertie had stayed on for those four years, largely for my sake. Uncle Bill had been a little nicer to her than he was with me, but she had still seen him pretty angry at times. If she could have, she'd have left and tried to find a job somewhere else. But I think she felt an obligation to be there for me.

We'd gotten to be friends, and she was someone I could truly unburden myself to, within certain limits. Uncle Bill had told her in no uncertain terms that what I did at night wasn't any of her business, and he'd told me that she wasn't to be told what went on there after she left work.

But she wasn't stupid. She could see the effect prostitution had on me, and she could tell how many boxes of condoms were being used on the premises, rather than being sold.

From pretty early on, we had offered customers the option of wearing condoms when they had their sessions with me, and I'd say a little over half of the men used them, especially if it was late and I started getting a little sloppy. I didn't like them much. As I've said, I was a real cum queen for much of that time, plus I didn't care for the feeling of a rubber-clad cock in my pussy.

Bertie tried as best she could to be a sort of grandmother to me, so she stayed around. And, honestly, she needed the job. She was widowed with deep roots in the county, and there weren't too many jobs for single women her age in that area.

So Uncle Bill wasn't there when I got my diploma, and I stayed in Columbia and celebrated with my friends. It was really one of the best times I'd ever had, a nice, mellow party with a few people I'd come to like. Afterward, Janelle and I made love, and it was beautiful.

I left the next day, a Thursday, and told Janelle I'd give her a call in a few days. She was leaving that afternoon with a couple of friends to go to Washington, D.C. for a few days, then she was staying over to attend summer school and to work at the fitness center.

She was like me, there wasn't much of a home for her to go back to during the summer. Her home was there on the Missouri campus, the way it should have been mine.

I got back to the store to find Uncle Bill in an expansive mood. When he told me why he was in such good spirits, I swear I turned white, and my stomach turned. He showed me the check from Curtis Miller, and he beamed.

"Boy, you must have made a real impression on him," Bill said. "He threw in an extra thousand. He wants you to come today, and stay through Sunday."

"Uncle Bill," I said in a shaky voice. "I can't go back there. He'll kill me. You don't have any idea what he did to me the time before. I can't do it. I won't do it. Send the check back and tell him I'm not interested in the job."

My uncle lost it completely. He walked over to me and got right in my face. He was red in the face, and he smelled of beer, even though it was well before noon.

"You fucking whore!" he screamed. "This isn't found money, and this man doesn't just give it away. I need the money he's paying for you, and you are damn sure going to go to his place right now and do whatever the hell he wants."

I broke down, then, and cried hysterically.

"You... you ... I... c-c-c-can't," I blubbered. "He'll... k-k-k-k-kill me."

"Bullshit!" Bill roared. "He's a goddam senator. He won't do anything to you."

"Uncle Bill!" I said sharply, as my composure abruptly returned. "He fucking tortured me for a whole day and a half! Tied me up, whipped me, just, just... It was awful!"

"SHUT UP!" Bill yelled, and then he did something that he'd never done to me before. He slapped me across the face. I was so stunned; I couldn't react at first. Then I just turned around, walked out of the apartment, got in my car and drove off.

That was officially the end of my relationship with my uncle. Whatever affection there may have been between us had been brushed aside by his abuse. I was as good as gone, or at least I thought I was.

My mistake was not packing my stuff ahead of time so I could take off right then. Truthfully, I had hoped for a day or so after graduation to get everything together before I left. However, things had been so hectic beforehand that I hadn't had time for any of that. Then - wham! - I'd been hit with the shit with Uncle Bill and I just left blindly.

I would pay dearly for that mistake.

I drove to Columbia and holed up at Janelle's the whole weekend. I had a key to her apartment, so I stayed there and kept to myself mostly. I watched a little baseball, wandered the campus and just thought about my life and where I wanted to go.

That Monday, I met for a few minutes with Mrs. Lasko, the placement counselor. She had put me onto some pretty good prospects, and I had even interviewed with a couple. But those companies were both located in Kansas City, and I wanted her to know that I had decided to leave Missouri, and I wasn't sure where I was going to go.

I stayed until that Monday night, then I decided to make a dash for the apartment so I could pack up some of my things and make my getaway. I'm not sure what I was thinking, as far as Uncle Bill was concerned. I hoped that maybe he was gone either to KC or Jeff City on one of his prowls, and I could sneak in, get my things and sneak out.

But luck wasn't with me that night. It was about 10 o'clock when I pulled in to the drive where I usually parked my car. My heart sank as I saw Uncle Bill's truck. There were also a lot of cars I didn't recognize, many with out-of-state tags. I took a deep breath and marched up the stairs prepared for a confrontation.

He was drunk, belligerently drunk, and he was sitting on a chair at the table, with three men I didn't recognize sitting at the table with him. My instincts had never betrayed me before, and I knew immediately that I had walked into trouble.

"Well, if it isn't the whore," he said in a low voice.

"Uncle Bill, I came to get my things," I said in a trembling voice. "I'm moving out and you can't stop me."

"Oh I can't?" he said as he stood up. "You fucking whore. After all I've done for you, and this is how you repay me. By standing up one of the most powerful men around, costing me four THOUSAND dollars, and by running out on me? You ain't goin' nowhere. DO YOU HEAR ME! You're staying your butt right here, right now."

I suddenly had a dry taste in my mouth. I knew I'd walked into a trap, and unless I made a dash for it, I was probably going to be killed right there.

I tried to run for the door, but he caught me. I was kicking, screaming and clawing at him as he carried me by my waist to the table. But his friends - or whoever they were - jumped in and held me down while Uncle Bill stripped me naked.

I blanched as I saw the look in his eyes. In all the time I'd known him, he'd never had a look like that. It was an utterly pitiless look of hate and contempt, with no life in his eyes whatsoever.

"Hold her down," Bill growled. And as his three friends held me down on the table with my legs spread, my uncle walked up and began to fiddle with my pussy, trying to generate a little moisture.

When I didn't respond the way he wanted, he walked into the bathroom and returned with some hand lotion. He squeezed a big dollop on his fingers, worked them into my cunt until I was fairly slick, then unzipped his pants, flopped out his big, hard cock and rammed it in me.

It was nothing but forcible rape. Of course, I could never have charged him with it, because he'd made sure there was no evidence of forced entry, and, besides, the sheriff wouldn't have let me press charges.

Indeed, several deputies had told me on more than one occasion over the previous year that the word was out on me. They said that if something I did wasn't up to their liking, they'd haul me in on some trumped-up charge and throw me in the jail and let them all have at me.

So I had to take what Uncle Bill was giving me, and I couldn't do a thing about it.

He fucked me hard and relentlessly, and quickly moved a hand and began to roll my clit around, I guess, in hopes that I'd get turned on. I did, in fact, start to feel a few sparks of lust building from the friction of his hand on my clit. But every time I felt it starting to mount, I forced myself to remember where I was and what my uncle was doing to me.

"Come on, whore, you know you love this!" he snarled, and his buddies laughed at that. "You think you're such hot shit, being the college girl, but you're still nothing but a cheap, goddam whore!"

The whole time, he was pounding his hot, hard cock in my pussy, and despite my best efforts, my body finally started to respond. My hips started moving in rhythm with his inward strokes, and my legs wrapped themselves around his waist. I was disgusted with myself, but something told my body that I'd better act like I was enjoying it if I hoped to get out alive.

Funny thing about survival mode. It was like I was detached from my body, that I really didn't want to know as I heard myself tell the others they didn't have to hold me down any more, and that if they'd give me their dicks, I'd give them something to remember me by.

Quickly, my head was pulled back and a good-sized cock was thrust into my throat, while two other cocks filled each hand. I worked them in unison, and Uncle Bill laughed dementedly as he watched and fucked me relentlessly.

"I told you," he said triumphantly. "I knew once you got started, you'd turn into a slut. Happens every time. You'll never leave here; you love cock too much."

His words stung me, because I knew now that it wasn't true. Fact is, I was starting to hate cocks, and everything they represented. No, check that. I still liked a cock when it was used right, but not like this.

But I had to act like I did, or I'd probably be killed before the night was over. I was almost killed anyway, but it wasn't from fighting back.

I could feel Uncle Bill's cock begin to pick up steam, and I could feel the juice of our coupling running out of my pussy onto the table. At the same time, I could feel the cock in my throat, skullfucking me harder and faster.

"Cum... cum on her face," Uncle Bill said with a leer. "She likes it all over her."

The man pushed his cock twice more deep in my throat, then pulled it out and exploded in thick, ropy strands all over my face. He shot cum across my lips, my nose, over both eyes, then he pushed his cock back in my mouth for me to get the last few drops. When he was finished, his buddies cheered and gave him a high-five.

Watching me get hosed like that sent my uncle over the edge. With a gasp and a grunt, he pushed his cock into the deepest part of my pussy and spewed a terrific cum load deep in me.

There were still two other cocks that needed servicing, and they quickly took their place. These guys weren't as big as the two that had proceeded them, and they were on a quick trigger anyway. The one in my pussy fucked me hard and fast, then pulled out and shot his cum all over my stomach, while his partner came down my throat.

I never really came close to reaching an orgasm, but I faked it pretty good. For some reason, I thought that was going to be it, but I had a rude surprise awaiting me.

As soon as the second pair of men were finished unloading their cocks, I was dragged off the table and hustled downstairs to the bar, which was filled with about two dozen men, none of whom I'd ever seen before. Uncle Bill pushed me through the doors with a sort of disdainful shrug.

"Here she is, guys. Have fun," he said. "Feel free to do anything you want with her."

Then he turned around and walked away, leaving me to the leering lusts of these men, most of whom were already pretty drunk. I never saw my uncle again the rest of the night.

From snippets of conversation, I was able to learn that they all belonged to some kind of Army unit from Fort Leonard Wood that was on leave. I never found out how Uncle Bill connected with them or why they were there, but what it meant for me was that I was about to be gangbanged, and then some.

I think if it had just been a gangbang I could have dealt with it. But some of the guys in the bar were violent, and they got a kick out of making me hurt.

Seconds after I was thrust into their midst, one man grabbed the back of my head, forcing my mouth open and a bottle of beer was forcibly poured down my throat. I coughed and sputtered as the liquid flowed into my stomach, with a good bit of it spilling onto my chest.

As soon as that beer was finished, two guys held up a can of beer over my still forced-open mouth. One guy used a can-opener to punch a hole in the bottom, which he quickly held closed, then the other popped the top open and the beer was shotgunned down my throat.

It was awful. I had all but quit drinking by that time, so this forced drunkenness was really a form of abuse. After another beer was shotgunned down my throat, I was thrown on a table and a large, swarthy fellow stepped between my legs and forced a pretty long dick into my cunt.

As he gathered speed, another man pulled my head back and rammed his cock into my throat. They both fucked me hard and shot their cum in me, backed away and were replaced by another pair of men.

In all, four pairs of men fucked me while I lay there on my back. I was allowed up just long enough to run to the bathroom and pee, after which time two more beers were forced down me.

Then I was leaned forward over the bar while a black man shoved his cock up my ass, which, fortunately, was decently lubed from several cumshots that had flowed out of my pussy.

Two cocks materialized in front of me, and they took turns fucking my face. Sometimes, they both tried to get their cocks in me at the same time, stretching my lips painfully. Soon, the man in my ass filled my bowels with his hot cum, while the two guys in front of me shot off on my face.

Two more trios took a turn with me that way, until my face was covered with cum, and cum was flowing out of my ass like a river. During that time, another couple of beers were poured down my throat, and this time they didn't let me go to the bathroom.

I held it as long as I could, but finally the steady flow of beers into my increasingly drunken body overwhelmed my control. Everyone laughed derisively as I was forced to pee on the floor. I was crying by the time I finished, but things were about to get worse.

For some reason, I made a drunken decision to make a run for the door. What I would have done if I had gotten out is unclear, but I just wanted to get away from these men who were making sport of me.

But as I jerked away from a group of them, I slipped - probably in the pool of urine I'd just left - and fell hard to the floor. When I fell awkwardly, I felt a sharp pain as I twisted my ankle. I found out later that I'd sprained it pretty badly.

With my ankle throbbing, I was picked up from the floor and carried to one of the pool tables, where one of the men was lying on his back with his hard cock sticking out from his pants. I was placed on my knees and the man on the table pushed his cock up my flooded pussy, while another man climbed up on the table and slid his cock into my gaping, cum-filled ass. Two more men took up position at the head of the pool table and alternated sticking their cocks in my mouth.

To my absolute mortification, I found my body finally responding to this quadruple-fuck, the way it always had. I had not, as yet, had a climax, nor did I really want one. But the feeling of being double-fucked, along with the two cocks I was trying to suck, lit the fuse on my long-dormant lust, whether I wanted it to or not.

This, I believe, is where my current difficulty in reaching an orgasm really took root. The fact that was aroused to the point of climax by a gang rape did something to my psyche. As I shuddered with the crackling glow of a terrific orgasm, I felt ashamed - deeply humiliated - and something in my soul died.

All the more so, because the whole room knew I'd come, and that just fueled their madness. As yet another beer was poured down my throat - I didn't willingly drink a single beer the whole night - the foursome working their cocks in me all shot huge cum loads in my body.

When they had finished another foursome took their place on the pool table, and this bunch all pulled out at the end and shot their cum all over my body. I felt dirty with the slimy feeling of semen all over me.

Not too long before, that would have triggered supreme pleasure in me. But over the previous months, I had begun to get over my addiction to cum. I wasn't a cum junkie any more, and this just drove the point home about how degrading it really was to have men shoot their cum on my body.

I just wanted this orgy to be over, so I could go back to the apartment, regroup and figure out another strategy for making my escape. But my ordeal was still far from over, and it was the next group that finally went over the edge.

I was hauled off the pool table onto my feet, and found myself surrounded by about a half-dozen really hard-looking men, led by a Hispanic-looking man with cruel features. I'll never know what set him off, whether it was anything in particular or whether he just liked to beat up women.