A pair of the degenerates had grabbed hold of me on either side and lowered me onto a third who waited prone on the floor. At the time I had been preoccupied with struggling to escape and lobbing a steady stream of curses at my assailants. Had I not been so overcome with rage and dread at the next imminent violation I might have been impressed by how the three men acted in sync to force my then-protesting ass onto the jutting shaft; or how deftly they pinned my arms to my side while simultaneously prying my kicking legs open to bare my vulnerable pussy.
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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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Title: Teamwork
Author: @chloevee
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Author's note
This is a fantasy that depicts things that would be unforgivably immoral and very illegal in real life. This story, and I, do not condone rape.
After finishing the first draft I realized that this story was partially inspired by @AdmiralPiet's Spoils of War and @Claire's Record Chaser, at least in some of the themes.
This story is an entry in the Gang Rape Galore Story Contest.
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Teamwork
What really struck me was how well they worked together.
Ok, no, what really struck me was the thighs of the man currently reaming my ass, the slap of his balls against my battered pussy lips, and the head of a cock jabbing at the back of my throat.
But I had become somewhat detached from what was happening to my body at some point over the last several hours so I'd had a lot of time to observe the half-dozen men violating me. As my body automatically relaxed my throat--a recently-developed reflex--and swallowed down the invading shaft, I found myself reflecting on the group interplay that I had unwillingly become so up-close-and-personal with.
I had first become aware that there was something exceptional about the group when two of the pricks had plucked me up from where I had been dropped by my most recent abusers, hauled me into the air and positioned me to be spitroasted. It happened so fast that I hardly knew what was happening before I was skewered, limbs swaying inches from the ground. They had deftly maneuvered me with such coordinated grace, I remember thinking it almost seemed choreographed.
I was reminded of something that happened before I had adapted to my new reality, not long after arriving at this strangely secluded hotel conference room.
A pair of the degenerates had grabbed hold of me on either side and lowered me onto a third who waited prone on the floor. At the time I had been preoccupied with struggling to escape and lobbing a steady stream of curses at my assailants. Had I not been so overcome with rage and dread at the next imminent violation I might have been impressed by how the three men acted in sync to force my then-protesting ass onto the jutting shaft; or how deftly they pinned my arms to my side while simultaneously prying my kicking legs open to bare my vulnerable pussy.
Thinking back on the day's events in light of this realization, I picked up on other things, such as the many subtle examples of the kind of thoughtful and cooperative comportment at the root of effective teamwork, which they demonstrated--well, towards one another--in spades.
As introduction to this merry band of rapists, one of the sick fucks had held me cradled in his lap, obligingly trapping my knees wide open for his friends who, one after the other, unloaded into the mess of slurry soon drenching my cunt. Granted, it wasn't long before my desperate attempts to close my legs were too weak to pose any real challenge. Still, his leaking cock that prodded at my lower back the whole time felt hard enough to be painful and he got nothing out of it aside from gnawing on my neck and occasionally groping a breast whenever his hands were free.
Later, after that same sicko had toppled me forward onto my knees one of his comrades had, unbidden, given my shoulders a helpful little shove, supplying the last extra bit of force needed to cram the sick fuck's unusually girthy bulk into my then-straining channel.
Then there was the time awhile later when a man kneeling behind me had reached over my body to hold my face in place for his friend kneeling in front of me, who in turn reached over to pull apart my ass cheeks, each offering up one of my holes to the other.
Their communication skills were great too, I realized--far more effective than any of the executive teams I had coached in my career by a wide margin. While they weren't a particularly wordy bunch, they undeniably practiced the tenet of "Clear and Open Communication" outlined in the "Three Pillars of an Effective Team" handouts scattered forgotten near the door, though they didn't follow quite the same methods. No, they spoke in nods, gestures, and half-phrases, a private language built over years of camaraderie.
"You wanna..." and an eyebrow lift and glance at where I thrashed on the conference table clawing at the hand pinning me down by my throat. To which the man opposite him, immediately understanding, proceeded to pin my shoulders down and spear my throat for good measure.
"We could..." and a head tilt in the direction of a conference chair. To which a man nodded, and together they plopped me on the chair facing backwards, knees straddling the backrest and breasts pressed into the meshed fabric, positioning my holes at the perfect height to be used by a man kneeling or standing.
"Open 'em?" a man had prompted as he pressed my closed, straining knees towards my chest. The man buried in my ass under me had responded by wrapping his arms around the back of each knee, folding me in half, splayed open and utterly helpless.
It was surreal, almost eerie how they worked in concert almost without words.
Moreover, the group embodied a "Culture of Learning" to a degree that the bickering teams I usually worked with never seemed to grasp. This group supported one another without ego, freely offering and accepting feedback and constantly improving together.
"Careful," one had cautioned. "From the side." He had demonstrated wringing my neck without crushing my larynx as his psycho friend had been, until my limbs grew too weak to put up a fight. I can't be sure how his friend reacted because I passed out soon after and therefore missed his response. But when I came to it was the psycho's finger's uncurling from around my throat. I could only assume he adopted the proffered technique since I was able to gulp in precious lungfuls of air, still alive to endure many more hours of use.
"Can I show you?" prompted a lech in his mid-to-late-forties, coming to the side of a younger man who I guessed to be the newest member of the group, a pervert in his early-twenties who was somewhat awkwardly fucking my face. His wobbly hold on my sweat-dampened shoulders seemed liable to slip and leave me dangling backwards from the man standing across from him who I was mounted on.
"Try here." the old lech advised, and I felt him guide one of the pervert's hands past the inside of my slack arm and clasp onto my ribs, demonstrating a more secure grip that forced my back into a dramatic arch and tilted my lolling head fully upside-down. "Just like that," the old lech had beamed as he watched the pervert pull me onto his cock with each enthusiastic, forceful thrust, pride evident in his voice.
I considered everything I had observed about the tight-knit group.
From a purely professional standpoint, it was a beautiful thing.
I only had one complaint--well, aside from the relentless rape which I was absolutely not thinking about.
Of the tenets I would have taught today had I not been wrestled to the ground and stripped the moment I'd walked through the door, they utterly failed at--a "Habit of Listening", specifically to those outside of a given group. I suppose the sort of external feedback they were likely to get--"Oh god, no!" or "Let me go!"--would run somewhat counter to their mission, so I could see why they wouldn't be interested in adopting that particular practice. Still, the glaring shortcoming in an otherwise stellar assessment needled at my professional sensibilities.
But if I was honest with myself I had to admit, I thought as cum squirted out from around the dicks unloading into my over-filled orifices--two out of three really wasn't bad. Pondering this as I was passed off to a well-rested trio who had been patiently waiting their turn to inflict unspeakable acts on my body, I tried not to wonder how much longer I would be at the mercy of this all-too effective team.
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All feedback welcome, but I'd especially appreciate if you'd be so kind as to bring any errors to my attention.
