Unhappy New Year

[LaLia]

The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.

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Vorschau: New Years Day in Cologne...The story of 31.12.2015 repeats itself 10 years later
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Titel: Unhappy new year
Autor(in): LaLia
Info: I started the following story sometime last year, but never finished it or considered it too morally extreme. I gave it a try and then immediately translated it into English. To clarify: What happened in Cologne on December 31, 2015, was horrific and certainly a nightmare for everyone who had to experience it. That's why I consider a fantasy about such a real event to be borderline. But then again, other fantasies we have are too, so I'm publishing this story...


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It was the first time we celebrated New Year's Eve in a big city – Cologne. For me and my best friend Johanna, two "village kids" through and through, it was a little adventure. Back home, you knew everyone who stood next to you at the turn of the year. In Cologne? Everything was different there. Much bigger, much louder – and that's exactly what appealed to us. We started the evening very relaxed. First, an Italian restaurant in the Südstadt district – pasta, pizza, and a glass of white wine. We laughed a lot, happy about our decision to try something new this year. Afterwards, we ended up in a small, cozy bar with wood paneling, dim lights, and those creaky bar stools that automatically made you feel closer to each other. A few other people were sitting there, talking, drinking cocktails. It was relaxed, and we met a lot of nice people.

Around 11 p.m., we finally made our way to the Domplatte square. The streets were crowded, but friendly. People with sparklers in their hands, others with champagne bottles – I had my leather jacket open, the air was so mild. Double-digit temperatures. Much too warm for New Year's Eve. And yet somehow perfect. When we reached the cathedral, I was amazed. The crowd was enormous – but it didn't feel threatening. Quite the opposite. There was an expectant joy, a crackling in the air. People were laughing, dancing, and hugging everywhere. Here and there, the first rockets were already rising into the sky, colorful and loud, with an echo that bounced off the cathedral's ancient stones.

I felt my heart beating faster – not from fear, but from excitement. I held Jojo's hand tighter, not because I was afraid of losing her, but because I felt we belonged in this very moment. For us, this was something big. Something new. And somehow also something liberating. No one was talking about what had happened here ten years ago. It wasn't in the air. No mistrust, no heaviness. Just joy for life. I noticed myself taking a deep breath and marveling at myself. How quickly one can get lost in a place and yet find it at the same time. "Look, over there!" Johanna called, pointing to a small ledge, raised only a few meters. From there, you could see the entire cathedral square. We climbed up, laughing as we stumbled almost simultaneously, and sat down on the edge. Below us: a colorful sea of ​​people and lights. Five minutes until midnight. I briefly thought of home. Of my parents, probably sitting in front of the TV, with a glass of champagne and watching "Dinner for One" for the twentieth time. And me? I was sitting here, in the middle of Cologne, with my best friend, my heart leaping with anticipation.

Then came the countdown. First shouted by a few, then by hundreds, finally by thousands:

"...three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Explosion in the sky. A frenzy of colors, light, and laughter. I turned to Johanna, and we fell into each other's arms. Our first New Year's Eve in the big city.

It started innocently enough. We took photos with our phones, capturing the colorfully lit chaos above our heads and laughing at our blurry selfies. In every picture, there was a rocket somewhere in the sky, glittering, sometimes already half-burned out—but that didn't matter to us. It was about the moment, not about perfection. I felt euphoric, full of energy. The air still vibrated with the explosions, the laughter, the countdown that still echoed in my ears. I looked out over the cathedral square. Everything seemed alive. Urban. Uncontrolled, but somehow also fascinating. The people around us were dancing, screaming, celebrating. A few were already staggering slightly, having had one or two too many mulled wines—but so far, it was easy to ignore. No one seemed dangerous, at most a little too loud or overly enthusiastic.

But at some point—I can't say exactly when—the mood shifted.

It wasn't immediately tangible. No outcry, no loud bang. Rather, it was a change in the atmosphere. A subtle shift. And it was Johanna who noticed it first.

"Tell me... do you also find this a little... strange?" she asked, nudging me lightly. I frowned. At first, I wanted to object, but then I saw it too. The crowd seemed denser, more tightly packed. More and more groups of men pushed through the mass. Many with hoods, some with wide-open eyes, others with faces in which I could no longer recognize any trace of friendly celebration.

"Let's move a little further forward," I suggested. We climbed down from our ledge, carefully pushing our way through the crowd. And with every step, an uneasy feeling grew within me. The laughter grew harsher, louder. Somewhere a fountain of firecrackers flew into the middle of a group of people – no consideration, no hesitation. I heard a girl scream, somewhere a curse, a "Watch out, you idiot!", but no one seemed to be intervening. The police were present, but far away – somewhere on the edge, somewhere where you could see them but not reach them.

Suddenly – hissing, fast – a rocket flew past us not two meters. I ducked instinctively, felt my heart leap into my throat. Johanna yanked my arm.

"We're leaving! Now!"

I just nodded and followed her. Away from the Domplatte. Away from what had just seemed like a dream and now seemed more and more like a space that had been too tightly constricted. People crowded around, it got louder, more uncontrolled. And then the gauntlet began. Inevitably, we thought of New Year's Eve 2015/2016. We were still children back then, but everyone had heard about it. Was the drama going to repeat itself exactly 10 years later?

We had to pass groups that didn't move aside, but instead studied us – intensely, intrusively. Some said something in a language I didn't understand, but the tone was clear. Laughter, whistling, sharp remarks, intrusive glances. A hand brushed my back, I turned around, but the person had already moved on – or acted as if nothing had happened. I suddenly felt so small, so out of place in the middle of this crowd. Everything that had been exciting and new before now felt foreign and hostile.

"Don't stop," I whispered to myself. "Just keep going."

Johanna was very close to me, our shoulders touching, we were holding hands. I could see that she was tense, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes alert. She, too, said nothing more. The streets were slippery from all the burnt gunpowder, the asphalt glinted in the light of the rockets. There was noise everywhere. It seemed as if every street had suddenly become a narrow escape route, lined with people who had drunk too much, had too little consideration, and no longer had any sense of proximity or distance.

Around us, colorful lights burst in the sky – a fireworks display that should have signified joy. But beneath the clouds of smoke that settled over the square like a veil, I wasn't in the mood to celebrate.

"Stay with me, Johanna!" I called over the babble. My fingers tightened around her hand. It was becoming more difficult not to lose her – in this wave of bodies pushing, shoving, sometimes almost carrying each other.


All around us – men everywhere. Many faces, many languages. I didn't understand a word, only heard fragments of Arabic, sometimes aggressive, sometimes lascivious, sometimes loud, sometimes hissing. I felt alien, small, vulnerable. We hardly saw any Germans anymore, and no police nearby. Somewhere someone was shouting, somewhere a girl was crying. I turned around in panic – was it Johanna? No, she was still there. Still.

A man came too close. His hand brushed my back, too close. I flinched, turned away, but there was another one. A movement, a grip that I couldn't fend off in time, which touched my bottom. I didn't scream. I couldn't. Fear sat in my throat like a thick lump.

"We have to get out of here," Johanna gasped next to me, her voice shaky.

"I don't know where to go," I stammered. Around us were only faces, cigarette burns, glasses, stares, hands. The square had become a trap.

We tried to make our way, taking small steps, our hands always clasped together like a final promise: I won't let you go. I felt tears in my eyes, from anger, from fear, from being overwhelmed. I wondered when we stopped feeling safe. When a celebration became a test. I felt powerless.

We pressed on, step by step, into the wall of people because there was no other way. Every attempt to turn ended in front of another block of bodies. It was as if the square were swallowing us whole. Noise, crowds, eyes clinging to us like cold on bare skin. "There!" I called, pointing to a narrow alley. There was something. Hope in the form of a dark crevice. Johanna nodded, her eyes wide, her gaze haunted. Her cheek was red, and not just from the frost. Someone had touched her again in an intimate place. We pushed through. I screamed when a hand briefly reached between my legs. "Out of the way!" but my voice was drowned out. No one heard, no one wanted to help. Perhaps they saw us being harassed—but they turned away, as if in a nightmare where everyone is for themselves.

The alley came closer. Two or three more meters. But then—another swarm of men. They stood there, smoking, laughing, watching. Their eyes were glued to us, as if we weren't people, but prey. Their conversations died down as we approached. I felt my steps falter. "Go," hissed Johanna. "Just go through."

But my instinct screamed something else. Everything inside me wanted to turn around, to run – even though I knew there was no way back. We had no choice.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" someone asked in German, but with a heavy accent. His hand shot out, grabbing my arm. I pulled away. "Don't touch me!" My scream echoed off the walls. For a moment there was silence. Then laughter.

"We're not doing anything," said another. But his look said something else.

I turned around – behind us, two more men, out of nowhere. We were surrounded. I felt the ground slipping from beneath my feet. I had never felt anything like this before. Such immediate, piercing fear. I almost forgot to breathe.

"Leave us alone," Johanna pleaded, her voice almost shaky.

"It's New Year's Eve," said the first one. "Why so hostile?"

I took a step back, still holding her hand—tighter than ever. And then I screamed. Just like that. Loud, panicked, raw. I don't remember what I shouted. Words? Or just sounds?

My scream echoed, cutting through the thicket of voices and strange words for a moment. Some men stepped back, laughing awkwardly, as if it were a game that had suddenly become too loud for them. Others stopped, looked at us, as if considering whether it was worth coming any closer.

That tiny gap—that hint of reaction—was our chance. I grabbed Johanna's hand and pulled her with me. We tore ourselves away, staggered on, blind, just away. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, with relief, with fear, with everything together. Our steps were hectic, skidding, our bodies bumping against trash cans, fences, slippery cobblestones.

And then—suddenly—something ripped in my hand. Her fingers slipped from mine. I stopped. Turned around.

"Johanna?!"

The crowd had swallowed her.

I saw her again—for a moment. Her coat, her hair. Then someone stood between us. Several men. I called her name, yelled it. But she was gone. Gone. Panic hit me like a blow to the chest. I spun around, not knowing whether to run back or keep running. Everything inside me screamed for her—for my friend, for safety, for someone to share this nightmare with me. But I was suddenly alone. So damn alone.

I stumbled on, dazed, numb. My breath was ragged, as if my body had decided to stop playing along. I didn't turn around, knowing what was coming. I heard the clicking of tongues, the murmuring of strange words. I looked around. No police. No open doors. Only shadows, faces, and hands approaching. My body trembled, my knees almost giving way. I didn't know what they wanted—or maybe I did. And that was precisely what made it so unbearable.

I was alone. Lost. And no one came.

I could hear their strange words as they circled me. I felt helpless and vulnerable as I felt their hands on my body. They ran over my stomach, my hips, and my buttocks while they tried to kiss me. I wanted to scream, but no sound came from my lips. I was paralyzed with fear and shock. They feasted on my helplessness and became increasingly bold in their touches. I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks as I tried to free myself from their grasp.

I tried desperately to resist, but I was hopelessly outnumbered. More and more men approached, and I felt their hands moving between my legs, grabbing my breasts, and their greedy gazes on me. I tried to scream, but my throat was tight. I could only cry helplessly as they continued to grope me and direct their obscene gazes at me. I felt completely helpless and exposed.

I could feel their hands pushing up my white shirt and then moving directly to my breasts. They pulled my bra down, and their fingers touched my nipples; the cold New Year's Eve air played against my bare skin. As they did so, their lips kissed my neck and pulled my head back, burying their hands firmly in my hair. I could feel their arousal and was helpless. Suddenly, two men grabbed my hands and placed them between their thighs. I couldn't tell who it was, but I could feel how hard they were. They moaned and moved their hips against my hands, while the other men around me grew louder and louder.

I could do nothing but cry silently as they continued to exploit my helplessness. No help came, no one came to help me. I was alone.

Then my jeans were ripped with shaky fingers and a few seconds later, I felt a hand between my legs, under my panties. I screamed again and looked around for help, but more men had joined me, and I counted at least 20 surrounding me. They were all staring at me, and I could see their erections through their pants.

I was roughly pushed to my knees and saw the first cock right in my face. The cold, hard asphalt beneath me made me realize I was trapped here. I vaguely saw the bodies around me and heard the rustling of pants being unzipped. It was clear what they wanted from me, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it. I looked around desperately, but there was no one there to help me. I was alone and had to surrender to the men.

I tried to press my lips together tightly, but I had no chance. A hand grabbed my chin and forced me to open my mouth. Without warning, my head was pulled forward, and a hard cock was shoved deep into my mouth. I gasped and tried to resist, but it was too late. I could feel it getting harder and harder, pushing further into my mouth. The men around me laughed and cheered him on as I gagged helplessly. I tried to free myself, but I had no chance. They were too strong and outnumbered.

I felt used and humiliated as they continued to push and grope me. There seemed to be more and more of them, and I couldn't tell which way was up as they took turns. Time and again, someone else took over using my mouth.

I couldn't tell how many cocks I'd already had in my mouth when I finally got a break. But it didn't last long, because I was immediately passed on like a piece of meat. The men continued to take turns, repeatedly fucking my mouth while their hands roamed my body. I could feel their fingers playing with me and penetrating me. I squealed and writhed, but it was useless. There were so many of them, and I was so alone. Then I felt one of the men come and his cum land on my face. I wanted to be disgusted and pull away, but I couldn't. Then I felt a finger in my ass and a new cock forcing its way into my mouth.

I couldn't think anymore, couldn't feel anything anymore; I was just a plaything for their lust. The minutes dragged on like hours. I could no longer count how many men were pushing their cocks into my mouth and fucking me. Each one came in my mouth or on my face, and I could feel myself becoming more and more humiliated. They dragged me around like a cheap whore, using me for their disgusting fantasies, and laughed dirty while doing so.

My face was covered in their cum, dripping from my chin, nose, and cheeks. I could feel it running down my body and collecting on the cold asphalt. The men cheered with each cumshot, and I couldn't tell if I was still a human being or just a thing for their pleasure. It was pure torture, and I didn't know how much longer I could endure it.

"No mercy," I thought to myself as I was forced into the new position. I stood up briefly, but then my upper body was pushed forward again to get the next cock in my mouth. My legs were spread, and then the first man penetrated me from behind and drove his cock deep into my pussy. I couldn't resist anymore; I was at his mercy as he began to fuck me hard and deep. I wanted to scream, but the cock in my mouth muffled every sound. All I could do was stay still and endure being used by both sides at once. I no longer knew who I was, where I was, or what had happened to me. I existed only to satisfy their lust.

I could feel their hands roughly holding me as they thrust me back and forth. The cock in my mouth throbbed, and I fought the urge to vomit while the other man pounded into my pussy like mad. I could feel the cum soon being squirted into my pussy, making it easier for the next man to penetrate me deeply. I gagged again as the cock in my mouth was pushed even deeper into my throat. I could barely breathe, let alone think straight. This was no comparison to what had happened in 2015; this was so much worse. I was being raped orally and vaginally at the same time, and I knew it was far from over.

Suddenly my jeans and panties were pulled off me and IIhung helplessly in the air, my legs and arms held tightly. I could do nothing as I was lowered onto a man and his cock penetrated me deeply. But before I had time to get used to the feeling, I felt a second man behind me. I screamed as his cock penetrated my ass and anally deflowered me. I was sandwiched, helpless and defenseless, at the mercy of the men. It was a dark place, here in Cologne, in the middle of the city, in a public place. No one helped me, no one saw what had happened. All I could do was stay still and hope it would be over soon. But the men seemed to have no mercy.

I could only vaguely perceive what was happening around me. The fireworks and rocket explosions could still be heard regularly, but the only thing I really heard were the sounds of the men—their gasps, panting, and laughter. I was pushed back and forth, from one cock to the next, one in my ass while I rode the other. I screamed and cried incessantly as my body was abused more and more. I couldn't tell how many men had raped me or how long I'd been there. All I knew was that my body was being desired more and more, and that I had no control. After what felt like an eternity, I finally collapsed and slid to the floor, physically and mentally burned out.

Then I saw her lying on the floor, not 20 meters away from me. Johanna, my best friend, covered in cum and with her top torn. She, too, had been raped, just like me. Then when I saw the paramedics' white pants and the flashing blue lights, I knew it was over.

But in my dazed state, all I could think about was what had happened. What had happened here was a thousand times worse than what had happened in 2015. I wondered if other women had suffered the same fate, if they had had to endure the same horrors as we had.

[Shocker]

This was quite wonderfully done, you write the fear and brutality in a very believable fashion. I don’t usually think that history repeats itself that quickly, but I liked the conclusion that this was 1000 worse, being directly a victim would result in such a feeling.

[Blue]

Sehr gut geschriebene Geschichte, die die Sicht des Opfers gut schildert.
Was mir aber nicht ganz klar wird: was war da am 31.12.2015 passiert?

[praetor3d]

That was a riveting first person perspective that reads almost like a spy thriller navigating through enemy territory, except you know that they are meeting their untimely end. I'm more into the pleasurable erotic nature of ravishment material, but even though I knew this work wasn't really going to that conclusion, I still read it all the way through. And that's because the writing was descriptive and interesting to keep reeling me in.

I clearly remember the news story of the events in Cologne. How intrigued were you from the news stories? Did you find yourself trying to find explicit details?

My other thought on this story is being on the fence on whether to add more detail on the backstories of the attacking gang. Clearly there's a social and frustration element to it that perhaps drive this lust to defile and pollute. Would it have been worth exploring or writing about? Or would that be too much of a trope?

[LaLia]

Sehr gut geschriebene Geschichte, die die Sicht des Opfers gut schildert.
Was mir aber nicht ganz klar wird: was war da am 31.12.2015 passiert?

Kölner Silvesternacht mit ca. 100 sexuellen Übergriffen und auch einigen vollendeten Vergewaltigungen durch Asylbewerber. Ich dachte das wäre bekannt, weswegen ich das nicht weiter in der Geschichte erklärt habe

That was a riveting first person perspective that reads almost like a spy thriller navigating through enemy territory, except you know that they are meeting their untimely end. I'm more into the pleasurable erotic nature of ravishment material, but even though I knew this work wasn't really going to that conclusion, I still read it all the way through. And that's because the writing was descriptive and interesting to keep reeling me in.

I clearly remember the news story of the events in Cologne. How intrigued were you from the news stories? Did you find yourself trying to find explicit details?

My other thought on this story is being on the fence on whether to add more detail on the backstories of the attacking gang. Clearly there's a social and frustration element to it that perhaps drive this lust to defile and pollute. Would it have been worth exploring or writing about? Or would that be too much of a trope?

I was actually 11 or so at the time, so I didn't really notice much of it at the time, but in retrospect, I do. And if it weren't such a harsh reality, it would trigger a lot of emotions and somehow correspond to parts of my fantasy.

Since I deliberately wrote it 10 years later, the background and details probably weren't that important, which is why I haven't done much research. I theoretically have another idea about that night, which describes the actual events, where I would go into more detail. I've already thought about it, though, and as I mentioned at the beginning, I'm still somewhat conflicted.

[Claire]

The idea itself is a strong one. If you are somewhat familiar with the events from 2015 and maybe have been to Cologne before that alone can help a lot getting immersed in the scene. That gives the whole story an eerie note.

But may I ask how you translated this? Was this Google? Because there is a lot that could be done to make this translation better. The most glaring mistake is how the translation keeps referring to the group of men as "her" instead of "their". I would really like to read a polished version of this story.

[LaLia]

The idea itself is a strong one. If you are somewhat familiar with the events from 2015 and maybe have been to Cologne before that alone can help a lot getting immersed in the scene. That gives the whole story an eerie note.

But may I ask how you translated this? Was this Google? Because there is a lot that could be done to make this translation better. The most glaring mistake is how the translation keeps referring to the group of men as "her" instead of "their". I would really like to read a polished version of this story.

You mean:

I still saw her – for a moment. Her coat, her hair. Then someone stood between us. Several men. I called her name, roared it. But she was gone. Path. Panic hit me like a punch in the chest. I went round in circles, not knowing whether to run back or flee further. Everything in me was crying out for her, for safety, for someone who shared this nightmare with me. But I was suddenly alone. So damn alone.

I think I used the Word translation for this story and just ran the spell checker over it

[Claire]

I mean

But then – another group of men. They stood there, smoking, laughing, watching. Her eyes were glued to us as if we were not humans, but prey. Their conversations fell silent as we approached.

I felt helpless and vulnerable when I felt her hands on my body

I could feel tears running down my cheeks as I tried to free myself from her clutches.

More and more men joined me, and I felt her hands go between my legs, grabbing my breasts and her greedy eyes on me.

I could feel her hands pushing my white shirt up and then wandering straight to my breasts. They pulled my bra down and their fingers touched my nipples, the cold air of New Year's Eve played against my bare skin. Her lips kissed my neck and pulled my head back, burying her hand firmly in my hair. I could feel her excitement and was helpless.

I could feel her fingers playing around with me and penetrating me. I squealed and squirmed, but it was useless.

I was just a plaything for her lust

I only existed to satisfy her lust.

But even apart from that, the translation is very clunky. I would really recommend to use DeepL and then work with that as a basis. @Jennifer Strawberry did that for some of her stories and that produced great results.

[Claire]

@LaLia I skimmed only through the text, but at first glance this translation seems to be much better. That reads much more like natural English. Even apart from the wrong "her" pronoun, a sentence like

For me and my best friend Johanna, two "village kids" through and through, it was a little adventure.

reads much more natural than the earlier version which said.

For me and my best friend Johanna, two "village children", a little adventure.

And avoiding a phrase like this

Away from what had just seemed like a dream and now seemed more and more like a room that was too tightly tightened. People crowded, it became louder, more uncontrolled. And then the spit route race began.

which translates "Spießrutenlauf" literally and using instead

Away from what had just seemed like a dream and now seemed more and more like a space that had been too tightly constricted. People crowded around, it got louder, more uncontrolled. And then the gauntlet began.

The first sentence is still not pretty in my opinion, but overall that is a clear improvement.

I might give it a more careful look in a few days from now if you want to. You could even send me the original German version and we could go through the translation together at some point if you'd like. But for now, I will try to catch up with the other stories that have been posted/updated over the course of the last few days.

[LaLia]

For clarification: I wrote the first version directly in Word and had it translated. Result: inadequate. This was the first time I'd done it this way.

Then I translated the part again, as before, in Google and ran the spell check with Spellboy. It definitely seems to make more sense. The results between DeepL and Google were very similar, by the way, but there are also huge differences between the spelling websites. But now that I think about it, "Ghost of Valentine's Day" was also originally written in German, and it worked there. I think you have to be even more mindful when writing that you might express the German meaning differently. Good example: Südstadt...Here it should have been written directly "Im Süden der Stadt"