Ramya: a three-mile walk of shame

I'm exhausted and spent, unable or unwilling to move. I leave my legs spread, dirt and blood mixing on my wet pussy as it hangs open with semen leaking out. One tit hangs out, the nipple bloody from rubbing against the ground. Twigs, dirt, and dead leaves stick in my hair. My left eye and cheek are red and swelling.

They stand, breathing hard, adjusting themselves. Short Guy is rummaging in my pack for valuables. Tall Guy stares at my gaping pussy with a cruel smile. "Her pussy is bloody," he says.

"She's a virgin," Short Guy answers.

Tall Guy snorts. “No way. Not a hot chick like that. She was tight as fuck, though.”

I roll over and begin to stand on shaky legs. They ignore me. I've already proven to be powerless against them, and I'm too tired to run or call for help.

Short Guy laughs and holds up the dilator to his friend. "We got her phone. Let's go."

"Wait. We came inside her," Tall Guy says. "That's evidence. A lady like her goes to the police."

"Told you not to nut in her," Short Guy mutters.

"We have to take care of her," Tall Guy adds.

He wants to kill me.

Adrenaline surges. Inexplicably, the men have forgotten about my gun. It lies in the leaves a few feet away where one of them set it down while they were fucking me.

Tall Guy turns away from me to argue with his friend about whether or not to execute me. I scramble to grab it. My sudden burst of movement causes both sets of eyes to snap back on me.

"Oh shit," Short Guy says as I raise the gun.

I point it at Tall Guy. My hands are shaking. My lip is split and bleeding. One breast is still hanging out of the sports bra, sticky with sweat. Cum and virgin blood are cooling on my thighs. "I'm going to kill you. Do you want to turn around, or do you want to see it coming?"

There's no traditional safety on the Glock 19. If I squeeze the trigger, Tall Guy will die instantly at this range. Short Guy is shaking his head furiously out of the corner of my vision. "Ramya... No," he pleads.

I pause to think, and that saves Tall Guy's life. He's unarmed and no longer a threat. This is revenge, not self-defense. And if I involve the police, my ordeal will be public. I'll be ruined. It's a tragedy and unfair, but no man would marry me after these black men defiled me, even if I was forced.

How many women before me have endured the same thing and remained silent for this very reason?

I squeeze the trigger. The noise is deafening. The bullet flies six inches to the right of Tall Guy's torso and lands safely in the bank of the lake.

I have the immense satisfaction of seeing a dark stain spreading down the front of his jeans as he pisses himself while staring at me with wide, terrified eyes.

"Leave before I change my mind," I rasp. Short Guy runs with my pack, and Tall Guy races behind him.

I'm in shock, and it takes ten minutes for me to stop shaking. I tuck my breast back in my sports bra and pull my booty shorts over the mess between my legs. Dried semen and blood trail down below it. I don't bother washing off in the lake.

I'm about to stagger off when it hits me: I have the GoPro. It is still in place, and based on where the sex happened, it recorded everything! If I want to go to the authorities, I have the entire crime on video.

It's a three-mile hike back to my car. My lip is split and my eye socket throbs, a black eye forming. My scalp stings where someone had a fist in my hair. My pussy throbs with pain deep inside and is raw at the opening.

The gross double-creampie works its way out during the hike and leaves my crotch a sticky, blood-stained mess that shows through the shorts. My bleeding left nipple oozes through the bra. Fortunately I only pass two other hikers, a couple walking a dog. I hide the Glock behind my back, and the woman looks horrified.

"Are you okay?"

"I am, thanks for asking," I say, switching the pistol to my front as I pass. I can feel their eyes on me as I continue, and I just hope they don't try to be heroes and call the police.

A mile later I'm at my vehicle, and mercifully, alone in the parking lot.

I enter the code to get in without the key. My backpack is in the passenger seat. Keys, phone, dildo, all there. I already have a text and two missed calls.

I put the towel on the seat to soak up blood and semen, and I call him back.

"You okay?" Jamal a.k.a. Short Guy asks.

"No, I'm pretty fucking far from okay. You were supposed to use condoms, and you were supposed to be alone!"

"I was just making it hotter for you, baby."

I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell. The words are right there. Instead I hear myself say, quieter, "It was hotter. Damn.”

The words leave a strange aftertaste. Not just shame. Something closer to pride. It was time to pop my cherry anyway. And I didn’t just lose it... I had it taken in the dirt by two strangers, hard and raw and unforgettable. Ruined, sure. But spectacularly. Maybe it was worth it.

"If I get pregnant or get some disease, I'm going to come back and shoot you both. You didn't exactly pull your punches either. Who the hell was that other guy?"

"My cousin. He's not good people."

“Wait… did he know? Jamal, did he know we arranged this?”

Silence.

The answer hits me in the gut. Blood drains from my face.

“Holy shit. I should have shot him.”

"No, you did the right thing."

"Whatever," I scoff and hang up.

The horrifying truth just makes the arousal hit harder. What the hell is wrong with me?

I slide my hand under my soiled booty shorts and rub out a third orgasm in less than a minute.