What a fool I am

Why do they always pick on me? Aren't there enough other women for you? It's impossible to walk down the street, cars honk from everywhere, all the male passersby brush against me. In a crowd, they always try to get closer, and even better, to be right up against me. If I happen to be somewhere in a bar, they immediately start hitting on me. Why do all men think that if a woman comes to a night bar alone, it means she's a prostitute, it means she's looking for a client? Where does such self-confidence come from? And then, by the way, they accuse me, saying it's my own fault. What am I guilty of? Only in being beautiful and very shy. And also in being a fool. I don't understand myself—how did I give that jerk my phone number back then. And not just anywhere, he latched onto me in a store. "Miss," he says, "can I court you?" "You can," I say, "but then not just me, but my child too." Now I understand I shouldn't have answered like that. I thought he would understand that he was dealing with a respectable married lady and would back off. Not a chance. He replied that it was no problem at all. Wherever I went, he followed me everywhere. And even if he had been something special, but that's just it, there was nothing special about him. I went outside—he followed me. I walked to my car, he blocked my way and started asking for my phone number. That's when I made my second mistake—I should have given him a fake number, said any digits, just to get rid of him. But for some reason, I gave him my real one. And then it started—he pestered me with calls, you could say—terrorized me, demanded dates, talked nonsense. He called me when I was at work, when I was at home, when I was at the gym, and just anywhere else on errands.

He simply gave me no peace. Attempts to fend him off were unsuccessful. Finally, I told him, okay, we'll meet, after my workout, but only to talk and so that he would leave me alone after that. I thought he would wait for me after class, but it turns out he was watching me during the workout. He said I was very beautiful and danced well. I'm just a weak woman, how much does it take to seduce us? A little flattery—and we melt. Experienced scoundrel-men take advantage of this. I had to get in the car with him and drive him to my place. As luck would have it, my husband had just left for Europe a few days ago on that very project he had been lobbying for for a long time. I hoped to scare off my new admirer and lied to him that my husband was home. He said he would just walk me to the door and came up with me. I had no choice but to let him in. The last thing I needed was for him to hang around my door. And then the neighbors would tell my husband and each other such things that you could never wash it off. I tried to explain to him that I was not his type, that I was married and my life suited me just fine, I didn't need lovers on the side. He replied that I was beautiful, that he had never seen anyone more beautiful than me, that he just wanted to admire me, that he only wanted to be my slave and for me to be his goddess. He called me a beautiful goddess. It was some kind of psychological attack, incredibly powerful pressure. I even suspected it was hypnosis. I tried to resist this onslaught, but what can I, a weak woman, do... He talked and talked incessantly, his words flowed like a continuous waterfall, he spoke very convincingly. I simply couldn't refuse him when this psychopath started insisting on making him the happiest of mortals—to dance a striptease for him. I agreed on the condition that he would leave immediately afterward. We agreed. I turned on the music and started dancing, gradually getting more and more into it. I caught myself having a rebellious thought that I liked the hungry gleam of admiration in my admirer's eyes. Gradually, I undressed down to my swimsuit.

I danced and saw how he was almost going crazy, barely restraining himself from pouncing on me. Every now and then he reached out to me—to grope me, but fortunately, I moved away in time. The music ended, but he demanded more and more. I had to continue. Finally, I stopped, exhausted. He picked me up in his arms and threw me on the bed, tore off my swimsuit, and started greedily kissing my breasts. I almost suffocated from surprise and indignation. He painfully squeezed my breasts, saying that I was his beautiful goddess. I almost tearfully begged him to let me go. I was very scared, various stories about maniacs and rapes, murders flashed through my mind. What if this one was one of them? I was so scared that I almost fainted. My heart was beating so hard from that thought that I was already preparing to die. I was suddenly struck by an idea—somewhere I had heard or read something—like advice on how to avoid the worst turn of events in such a situation. I told him to let me go and I would do everything myself. He obeyed. Overcoming incredible shame and feeling disgust for myself, I knelt down in front of him, unbuttoned his pants, and... I had to take his erect penis in my mouth. It was the first time in my life I had given a man a blowjob. I thought I would die of shame. I was standing completely naked in front of a strange man on my knees and sucking his penis!!! It seemed to me that I would go crazy, and it would be better if my mind really became clouded than to remember such a thing. I hate myself for this! And this scoundrel even took my head with both hands and started "helping" me, forcefully pushing my mouth onto his penis. I looked at his face—it expressed dull bliss. But I was far from blissful. At the same time, he groaned, cried out, and said that I was his goddess and that I should be worshipped, that prayers should be said to me, that I was a saint. With this, he completely confused me. It couldn't go on like this for long, and he came violently right into my mouth. I almost choked, but he forcefully held me by the hair, pressing my face to his crotch, and made me swallow all his semen. Overcoming disgust, I forced myself to submit to the violence. Then we both lay next to each other for a few minutes, resting. Finally, I spoke. I said that he was a scoundrel and a rapist, that I couldn't bear to see him, he had dishonored me—a faithful wife, a pure woman, a mother of a child, made me a prostitute.

He disagreed, started saying that he admired me so much that he couldn't resist such temptation. He said that merging with me in sex purified him and he wanted to be better. I was very surprised by his words, I didn't even believe them. He set about proving it, again words poured like a waterfall onto my brain. I was afraid that now I would again fall into a stupor from his words and everything would repeat. So I hurried to tell him to get out, otherwise I would call the police. It worked, he started gathering his things, went to the door, and as a parting shot, gave my bare butt a loud slap.

At the same time, he added that, supposedly, we'd meet again. I said I had no intention of meeting him. He replied that it wasn't said to me, but to my "plump royal ass." He left, and I suffered for a long time, I wanted—I don't even know what. I had never been degraded like that. Never in my wildest thoughts could I have imagined such a thing—to just, without even knowing his name, knowing nothing about him, seeing him only for the second time—to give myself in the most humiliating and shameful way. I was tormented by remorse! What tormented me especially was that he wasn't even anything special himself. Not even a prostitute would give herself to such a man. Not handsome, neither tall nor good-looking in face or figure. Not brilliant in mind either. Only his strange words alarmed me—after all, he kept repeating incessantly that I was beautiful, that I was his goddess and he wanted to pray to me. Something strange for a simple womanizer. Am I really so good that I drive men crazy???!!! Men want to see me as a goddess and be my slaves… That probably doesn't happen with every woman. This thought somehow, even against my will, began to tickle my pride. I wanted to be proud. And I would be proud, if not for the very fact of my infidelity and my sexual humiliation. About a week and a half passed. My so-called "slave" called again. I started shaming him, after all, he promised he would leave me alone. But he said he would definitely leave me alone, but he just wanted to see me to ask for forgiveness on his knees. Foolishly, I believed him and allowed him to wait by the entrance. But when I came home, no one was waiting by the entrance. Thank God—I thought—he's backed off.

But I was wrong. The scoundrel waited until I went inside and started ringing my doorbell. I had to open it so he wouldn't disturb the whole entrance. He came in, and not alone, but with some teenage boy about 18 years old and with another nondescript man. I angrily asked—what do they want here now in my house? But they took out bottles of champagne, cognac, something else, a box of chocolates… my old acquaintance announced that he had come just to ask for my forgiveness, and his son and best friend came with him to express their admiration for me, the goddess who had bewitched him. I felt like I was about to melt and allowed them to come in, but not for long. The whole company assured me in unison that it would indeed be not for long. We settled at the table, chatting about all sorts of trifles. They poured me more champagne than themselves. The champagne immediately went to my head. I got very drunk, but on the other hand, I felt somehow lighter, I felt more relaxed. I was only afraid that my admirer would gossip to his friend and especially to the pimply teenage son about how he forced me into oral sex. We chatted like that, had some treats. We argued about wines and cognacs, and the nondescript man said he knew a recipe for a cocktail that couldn't be found in any restaurant, but he could make it right now. It seemed strange to me that such an unremarkable-looking lout could know something about such delicate matters, and I told him so. He said he was ready to bet on anything. I made another mistake by agreeing to his condition. I demanded that if he was lying about the cocktail, they would fulfill any wish of mine. After some arguing, we agreed that the wish shouldn't be fantastic, impossible, like—"bring me the moon from the sky or give me a million dollars in cash." I stepped out for a minute and came back when they called me. The "cocktail" consisted of a mixture of champagne, vodka, beer, and cognac. It was a full glass. They almost forced me to drink it all to the bottom.

Then they started joking about me, how awkward and timid I was. I argued that it wasn't true, I wasn't more timid than them. My admirer then asked—So, are you brave enough to dance a belly dance naked in front of us? I was somewhat embarrassed, I didn't expect such a question. They, already paying no attention to me, started arguing among themselves—whether someone like me was brave enough or not to dance a striptease for them. I was offended by such an attitude, and most of all, that they considered me incapable of any bold gesture. I told them I would prove right now—who among us was brave. I still don't understand how I could decide on such a thing, what happened to me. I turned on the music, undressed completely, and started dancing in front of them. I think I was a little drunk, because some strange inspiration came over me and I danced very well. I came up close to them, touched their faces with my stomach, leaned over them with my breasts. When they tried to grab me, I deftly dodged and continued the dance. Turning my butt towards my admirer, I rotated my hips, brushing against his face. He couldn't stand it and grabbed my buttocks. I laughed, moved away from him, and quickly ran over to his son. The boy was staring at me wide-eyed. He was even somewhat embarrassed, probably seeing a completely naked beautiful woman so close for the first time. But there was no trace left of my embarrassment. Encouraged by the older ones, the boy stroked my bare thigh with one hand, and with the other ran his hand over my bare stomach—it tickled me, I trembled, laughed, and slipped out of his embrace. Whether it was the alcohol or the awareness that I was being admired, something liberated me. And I spun around in ecstasy until I noticed that my admirer was holding me from behind and caressing me. I smiled at him, thinking he wanted to dance with me.

But he step by step approached the sofa and pushed me chest-first onto the back of the sofa. Only then did it dawn on me what they wanted to do with me. I wanted to break free, but he held me firmly from behind by the waist, and his friend—the unfamiliar man—grabbed my hands from the front and held me so I couldn't resist. I begged them, saying don't, but they seemed not to hear anything. To my horror, my "slave's" hands slid from my waist to my hips. I felt that he was trying to rape me in a perverted way. What could I do? Nothing, I just cried. I hoped that he wouldn't succeed, but he still managed to thrust into my butt with such force that I almost lost consciousness from the pain. The sensation was as if a stake was being driven into my rear. I didn't even have enough air, I screamed as loud as I could from the terrible pain and shame, kicked my legs. He yanked my hair and I understood I couldn't break free. This scoundrel tormented my virgin anus (which had never known any sex until then) with such frenzy, as if he wanted to tear it apart. He even cried out himself from passion. I hated him for it. He caused me terrible pain, and he himself enjoyed it. It seemed like it would last an eternity. I screamed non-stop, cried, begged them to let me go, but they just laughed, and the scoundrel behind me snorted like an animal. Moreover, the boy took out a camera and started taking pictures, apparently they had discussed it in advance. Finally, my "admirer" came, I felt how hot semen abundantly filled my poor butt. My rapist jerked a couple more times, weakened, collapsed on top of me, drooling on my neck. He was disgusting. My anus seemed to be burning with unbearable fire. But I didn't care anymore, I just lay there, bent over the back of the sofa, and the scoundrel lay on top of me, breathing heavily. I wasn't screaming anymore, only sobbing, and these bastards made crude jokes.

The men grabbed me and threw me on my back. I couldn't resist. They tore off

the robe I had barely managed to cover myself with after my "admirer" raped me. I was naked again and felt completely helpless, especially when I saw the scrawny figure of the teenager. He was already undressed and approaching me with a predatory look. I groaned and desperately tried to break free, but two scoundrels held me firmly. One crossed my hands above my head, and the other held my legs, sitting on my knees. The rapists started persuading me, saying, well, there's nothing special about it, so the kid will fuck me, what's the big deal. And they also told me not to scream because the child would wake up again. Scoundrels, they were blackmailing me! I cried quietly, vainly trying to cover my body with my hands, but my hands were grabbed above my head. The boy himself was embarrassed, he didn't know how to behave, it was his first time. The men started encouraging him, giving advice.

I tearfully begged them to let me go. He grabbed my breasts with his hands and squeezed them so hard that I couldn't stand it and groaned loudly. But he muffled my groan with a kiss right on the lips. He didn't know how to kiss either, but he still got pleasure. And I almost suffocated. The men praised him—good job, if the woman is screaming, it means you're a real man. The boy started sweating and came. I felt how his semen filled my insides and I felt disgusted. I became disgusted and vile to myself. It was very painful between my legs. The little scoundrel raped an adult woman, raped her so that I "got knocked up." But that wasn't the end. The boy got off me and then the third man said he wanted me too. I didn't care anymore. He tried, but he couldn't manage. He got angry, as if it was my fault, and sat on my chest, saying—well, okay, if you don't want it that way, then come on, take it in your mouth. I shook my head, trying to turn away from his penis, but he grabbed my hair so hard that it became unbearably painful and I opened my mouth. He inserted his penis into my mouth and… I don't even want to tell what happened next. He said that if I didn't try hard, he would kill me. Fortunately, he still got aroused and came too. And again I had to force myself to swallow the semen. The man was very pleased. In "gratitude," he gave me a couple more loud slaps. I burst into tears from the pain and humiliation. The bastards started saying that I was a fool and that I should be grateful to them for the fact that it wasn't just anyone who had me, but them. They said that now I was purified. Though it's not clear—from what exactly did they purify me? I told them I would kill myself. They replied that I wouldn't do it