Raped-Virgin is no more involved in the process than a fleshlight would be, just a set of warm, moist holes available for use when the need arises. You grit your teeth, force yourself to stop rubbing your cock through your pants as you fight against the urge to enjoy this. You can live with being a coward, but not with being someone who revels in the suffering of an innocent person. And yet, why is the thought of using her as nothing more than a hole for your own pleasure so enticing?
-------------------------------------------------------------
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.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Title: Late to the Party
Author: @Claire
My Story Collection: Claire's Cesspool of Sin
This story competes in the You-Contest.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Late to the Party
You arrive late to the party. Relax, not in a performative, desperately trying-to-look-cool kind of way. You just decided to take a nap in your room in the afternoon, taking after your grandparents apparently, and forgot to set the alarm. So here you are, late, and probably the only one still sober.
As you approach, you hear music blasting from the house of the Eta Omicron Tau sorority. You were promised the party of the century, but to be honest, you couldn’t quite tell if the sophomore students you talked to were just being hyperbolic, saying the same shit about every party, or if this one was actually special. Either way, being just a freshman boy, this is your first college party, so you have nothing to compare the experience to anyway.
You see a girl and a guy standing outside, just next to the door. She’s vomiting. He’s holding her hair with one hand while the other sneaks down her back. Target: her ass. Not exactly smooth, a little desperate, but who are you to judge?
You’re about to reach for the door when it opens from the other side. Two girls – one clearly wasted, the other serving as a human crutch – stagger past you. Drunk-Girl briefly leans into you as she almost falls over while Supportive-Friend gives you an apologetic look and a mumbled ‘sorry’. Whatever the night brings, you technically just had contact with boobs, so there’s that.
You step into the smell of the party. Cheap alcohol, vomit, weed, and the final note: a faint trace of urine. An… acquired taste you’re far too sober for at the moment. You look around. A topless girl bursts out of… the kitchen maybe? She rushes past you cheered on by the loud screams of the other students, presumably to take a lap around the house. Was this some kind of dare or bet? You don’t really care.
You stumble over a guy sitting on the floor who seems to be sleeping with a plastic cup still in his hand, its contents slowly seeping into the carpet. People move in and out of the rooms as if the chaos were perfectly normal to them while you’re looking for your friends, Lamar and Brian, the only two guys you really got to know since you started college. If only your roommate wasn’t a total ass. It doesn’t take you long to spot them, but Brian isn’t looking so good.
Lamar is supporting Brian, not unlike Supportive-Friend did for Drunk-Girl earlier, and walks toward you.
“Dude, where’ve you been?”
You smell the alcohol in Lamar’s breath. Brian’s eyes wander aimlessly.
“Asleep. Yes, seriously. What’s with him?”
You point at Brian; who might technically count as awake, but for all intents and purposes is just gone.
“Fuck do I know. Must have taken something stronger than weed. I’m taking him to his room.”
Lamar, as reliable as ever.
“Come on, I just got here. You can’t leave me alone like this.”
Look at you, complaining like a whiny little bitch.
“Look who’s talking. Not my fault you’re late. Sorry man, but in a situation like this, it’s bros before… late guys? I don’t know. I’m too drunk to come up with anything clever.”
You sigh as you watch Lamar walk away with Brian. Maybe you should have just stayed in bed. But look on the bright side. With everybody wasted already, you won’t need to try too hard to come up with any clever conversation openers.
You get yourself a plastic cup filled with cheap beer. You take a sip, then hold the cup awkwardly in front of you as you scan the rooms for a face that feels at least vaguely familiar. Then you see her. Ngọc Nguyễn, the Vietnamese exchange student you know from the gender studies class you’re most certainly not just attending because 80% of the students taking that course are women.
As the culturally ignorant American that you are, you have of course no idea how to pronounce her name properly. So in your brain, she has been saved as Nice-Ass-Girl. It’s not that you don’t appreciate women beyond their bodies. You simply didn’t have the chance to talk to Nice-Ass-Girl before today, so your mind hasn’t associated her with any – let’s say – deeper category yet.
A brief sizzle makes you take your eyes off Nice-Ass-Girl. Some blond chick has dropped her cigarette into your beer. You sigh. Great night so far. You look back at Nice-Ass-Girl. She’s most definitely wasted too.
You see her walk up the stairs. Well, calling what she’s doing walking would be a discourtesy to the word. It would be more accurate to say that she’s engaging in the age-old battle of drunk person vs. stairs.
You watch her climb a few stairs, stumble, almost fall, giggle for no reason, burp, keep going, and, finally – against all odds – make it to the top without falling once. You’re impressed. You wouldn’t have bet a cent on Nice-Ass-Girl Staircase-Conqueror. You leave your beer-turned-ashtray behind and decide to follow her.
You don’t have nearly as much trouble making it up the stairs as Staircase-Conqueror did. You revel in the superiority of being sober for a second, then focus on her ass, uhh, her again. You watch her tumble and fumble about as the sounds of the party downstairs fade behind you. She vocalizes incomprehensible gibberish to herself, laughs for no reason, keeps her balance by holding onto the wall, and yet she moves like she has a clear destination in mind.
Her drunken walk gives Staircase-Conqueror’s movements an almost hypnotic sway. Your eyes wander down those long legs, trace the outline of her hourglass figure, take in the straight, dark hair, and ultimately return to that delicious ass. Could you be more of a creep, buddy? You’re following a lone, drunk girl you barely know from little more than fifteen feet away as she stumbles toward wherever she’s headed. You couldn’t act more suspicious if you tried. What will you do next? Follow her into the bathroom? Get it together, man! Her ass does look nice, though, in those tight, ripped jeans.
Finally, Staircase-Conqueror opens one of the doors in the hallway and disappears into the room. She doesn’t close the door behind her, giving you an opportunity to watch her for a bit longer. You take a look around, making sure nobody watches you watching her. Without turning on the light, she sits down on the bed in the room, then immediately falls onto her back. For a moment, you expect her to just fall asleep, but she musters all her strength to sit upright again.
She leans forward, then falls onto her knees. Her hands pat over the floor until she finally finds her shoes. Despite her heavily inebriated state, you watch her take them off successfully, albeit slowly. The resilience of her fine motor skills under pressure is truly a marvel. Next, she reaches for her purple socks. She manages to peel one off her left foot, but falls onto her back before she can get to the other one. Looks like she passed out.
It’s time to leave. You know that. You should let Staircase-Conqueror Single-Sock-Sleeper sleep it off. So far, you’ve followed her to her room and watched her take one sock off. Not exactly the textbook definition of a gentleman, but also far from the creepiest thing that has happened at this party. If you walk away now, you’ll be fine, your only mistake being a quick lapse of judgment that didn’t cause any harm. But your late-teenage-boy brain can’t resist the allure of Single-Sock-Sleeper’s one naked foot. Before you fully realize what you’re doing, you find yourself crossing the threshold into the room and closing the door behind you.
Your eyes need a moment to adjust to the darkness now that no more light from the hallway illuminates the room. You’re alone with the sound of Single-Sock-Sleeper’s soft breathing. Is this even her own room, you wonder. You don’t mean to doubt her, but your trust in her ability to actually find the correct room is limited.
You make your way to what you presume to be her nightstand and turn on the small lamp. Immediately, you notice the photo sitting on it. A photo on a nightstand? A little old school for a modern college girl. Maybe that’s more of a thing in Vietnam? You don’t know.
The photo shows her, a selfie she took with some guy. She looks the same as she does now, just sober, less sleepy, and happy. You find the bright smile on her face cute. The guy next to her looks a little younger and a bit uncomfortable. Her little brother maybe? He has that look on his face that’s unique to 16-year-old boys feeling embarrassed by the affection of their older sister. You can’t help but smile as Single-Sock-Sleeper’s Caring-Sister’s love for her little brother reminds you of your own older sister. Amused, you come to the realization that being embarrassed by older siblings seems to be an experience that transcends culture.
Your gaze moves away from the photo and to her sleeping figure. Does she feel lonely here? It must be the first time Caring-Sister is so far away from home. You know a bit what that’s like just having moved for college yourself. But it’s not the same. You couldn’t find Vietnam on a map, but nevertheless you know that she moved halfway around the world to get here, experiencing a completely foreign culture. By comparison, your three-hour drive back to your parents’ house suddenly seems very short.
You take in more of the room. None of the posters on the wall strike your fancy, but that’s okay. The guitar hanging on the wall briefly catches your eye. You haven’t played in forever. There is also a large closet with glass doors. You’d never get yourself one of those as you’re very grateful for the solid wooden doors hiding the chaos in your closet from prying eyes.
You’ve been here long enough. You should leave now, you should have left five minutes ago, you should never have come inside. And yet, your eyes are transfixed by Caring-Sister sleeping unaware of your presence. Your gaze wanders down the legs dangling off the bed, coming to a halt only when you reach the naked foot resting on the floor. You gulp.
You should help her. You absolutely should! That’s the least you can do for her. Take the other sock off, pull her fully onto the bed, tuck her in. The way she's lying there, that’s no position to sleep in. Earn back some of your lost gentleman points. So you kneel down at her feet. Of course you do. What a perfectly normal thing to do. Why is your heart beating so fast?
In your mind, you find yourself taking the other sock off her right foot. But in reality, you end up holding Caring-Sister’s, no, Helpless-Gi… Caring-Sister’s naked left foot in your hand.
Her foot is soft and warm in your palm. It’s so small and delicate. Your thumb traces the outline of her foot as it closes in on her toes. She painted her nails a purple that matches the color of her socks. You want to take that big toe into your mouth.
Your face inches closer to your target while your hand lifts her foot gently off the ground. Caring-Sister lets out a soft moan in her sleep that briefly distracts you, but you keep going since she doesn’t move. Until this moment, you didn’t know your heart could pound like that while you’re kneeling almost perfectly still.
You’re merely an inch away from making contact when you hear steps and voices from the hallway. Maybe they’ll just walk by the door? What if they don’t? You panic, let go of the tender foot you wanted to indulge yourself in, and get up. Your eyes quickly scan the room for a place to hide. Below the bed? No, there’s no room for you there. The closet! A cliché no doubt, but it will do.
You slide open the closet door and hastily step inside. When you realize you’re still able to watch Caring-Sister sleep, you remember the doors are made of glass, perfectly see-through. You squeeze between the hanging coats, jackets, and shirts, doing your best to stay hidden in the cramped space. Not a second too late do you disappear from sight. You see the door slowly open, inviting in the music from downstairs. A moment later, the unfamiliar face of a guy peeks into the room.
You see him check the room not unlike you did yourself earlier. For a second, he’s looking at you, or, more likely, the closet. You consciously slow your breathing, scared your panting might give away your presence. He steps into the room. You don’t know him. He looks Asian to you. Maybe another exchange student who knows Caring-Sister? Asian-Guy picks up the sock Caring-Sister left on the floor and throws it onto her stomach with an amused smile on his face.
He comes to a halt standing next to her. He gives her a quick once-over, puts his hand on her shoulder, and shakes her a little. No reaction. You find his demeanor rather rude. The fact that your judgment is dripping with hypocrisy isn’t lost on you. You see him proceed to slap her lightly across the face. Still no reaction. You hear him mumble.
“Yep, that one’s out.”
You detect no foreign accent in his English. Without a care in the world, Asian-Guy Asian-American-Guy sits down merely inches away from Caring-Sister. He grabs his phone and types something. Shortly after, he puts the phone away again.
This is getting awkward, isn’t it? You just wanted to wait until he’s gone and then leave yourself. But Asian-American-Guy seems to have no plans to go anytime soon. If you stepped out now and confronted him, who would look weirder? Him or you? You decide to keep waiting. After all, he can’t stay here forever.
Two minutes later, the door opens again. A Black guy and a Latin American guy enter the room. What sounds like the beginning of a joke is the reality of the situation you find yourself in. You have a bad feeling about this, and two more reasons to stay hidden.
Latin-American-Guy closes the door behind him, then Asian-American-Guy addresses the newcomers.
“She’s completely out of it. Guess she took one of the pills. She was probably high as a kite before she passed out.”
The others just nod, seemingly unconcerned by how casual he talks about Caring-Sister’s Drugged-Girl’s vulnerable state. Black-Guy speaks up.
“Well, you’re going first? You found her and you’re both Asian.”
“Dude, I’m from Japan. She’s Vietnamese. That’s not the same thing.”
Asian-American-Guy Japanese-Guy rolls his eyes. Black-Guy responds.
“Whatever. Don’t be so sensitive. I wouldn’t mind if someone from China thought I was Canadian.”
Black-Guy shrugs, then continues.
“But if you don’t want the first round, I’ll take it. Just warning you, that will be very sloppy seconds for you. No pulling out today.”
Latin-American-Guy snorts.
“Heh, I actually don’t mind sloppy seconds. Just makes things easier.”
Latin-American-Guy Sloppy-Seconds-Enjoyer laughs at his own joke. Japanese-Guy just shakes his head.
“Too much information, bro. Anyway, help me undress her. Can’t wait to get those jeans off her. I didn’t get to fuck my girl in three days, so I’m itching for some pussy.”
The truth of what they’re talking about dawns on you. Well, that’s not entirely true. You knew where this was going from the moment the other guys entered the room. It’s just that their conversation got rid of all plausible deniability.
Now you have to make a choice. Fuck this, maybe Drugged-Girl Victim will wake up before they start? Would that even make them stop? Maybe she’s better off passed out like this? Shit, it’s up to you. Either you intervene… or no one will.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Feedback and ratings are welcome as always! I'm very curious to see how many actually enjoy this "unique" story.
If I forgot to add the formatting somewhere, please tell me. 
) ready for oral? 
it took me a second to register he was literally describing her booty and not her demeanor 
who needs culture when u have liberty 
it’s one of the few places we can point out cause of the war we lost against them…which we actually won cause of freedom 
razzing u up a little 
all in all I enjoyed the evocative descriptions and dialogue! The panty-stuffing-roofie-technique was also quite inspired 
very beastly; charmingly vulgar if u would 