Shows it to the others

"Hey guys check this out, think it's her diary?" the man asks as you squirm helplessly. "What's it say?" came the reply, the others not tearing their eyes from the phone. "Rulebook" he read aloud, before opening it and laughing "hell she ain't much of a writer, but damn if she don't write the truth, get a load of this!" and he tosses the book towards one of the others. "Hey I'm lookin at pictures here!" sighing, he picked the book up off the ground, and opened it up "All homeless men have large cocks and love to **** young women", "Hah! she sure knows us, say, do you think she tied herself up? think we got a rapeslut here?" All four men turned to stare at me and I froze. "What do you think Earl? I've heard stories, girls that'll beg for it, lick your feet and come back for more, she one of em?" He tossed the book back to the man who had been rummaging in your bag, Earl you assumed, and he looked it over briefly. "Nah, there's just the one line, chicks like that tend to be obsessed, crazy, wouldn't write one line when twenty would do", and before you could react, or even let out a whispered scream, he tossed the book over his shoulder, and into the fire barrel.

You thrashed wildly, fence creaking, chain clanking, and this time they did hear, for they all came over to look at you, leering at your abused form. "Hey little rapeslut" one man said with a wicked grin, "Is little Macie eager for more cum?", and then the fire flickered. It wasn't a burst of flame, more like a sudden absence of it, like the whole barrel flickered with shadow, before steadying again, and with it, like a light being turned off, came a change in the expression of the four homeless men. One looked confused, another embarassed, a third appeared to panic and run off, while the fourth, Earl, grew suddenly grim. "Shit", Earl grunted, "what the hell happened? was that some new ****? I had a giant dick, sticking it in this slut as many times as I wanted, and then, I'm just me again. I'd say I was drunk and dreaming, except here's the slut, she doesn't normally stick around when I wake up." The second man stuttered, "did.. did we really? but it all felt so normal, and now she's... she'll be ok right?". "Enough of that", Earl replied, think about us!, we called the others, we're the ones to blame if the police come nosing around, she's still blindfolded, get your stuff and get out of here, get out of town and maybe they won't catch up, and ditch the phone!." And with that, he turned and ran, gathering a few bags, before disappearing into the night. The third man followed suit, tossing his phone, with all of your photos, into the barrel in a cloud of sparks, leaving a terrified looking man standing over you alone. You had done this, you realized, you had made a rule, and they had all followed, unknowingly. But the book was gone, so shouldn't the rule have been destroyed? You looked down at your ravaged body, and the nervous man wringing his hands, and felt another chill of realization. No, the rule had ended, but it hadn't been erased, it had existed, and now it was done, but they still remembered, you still remembered, your body still remembered, nothing had changed except for the rule.

You had done this to yourself, had **** them just as much as they had **** themselves on you, and on top of everything else, you felt guilt gnawing at you. Suddenly you felt a hand, and you flinched reflexively, but it wasn't another come to use you, instead a worried looking man tucked a rough blanket over your body, scrabbled through the mud to untie your hands, then disappeared into the dark, leaving you alone.

You released the collar first, taking in a deep, shuddering breath as you felt your bruised throat, then slowly, painfully, released your legs, letting them fall into the mud with a splat, as you painfully waited for the blood flow to return. You had to bite your hand to stifle a scream as it did, fire raced up and down your legs, but slowly, you were able to move your toes again, and the pain subsided into a throbbing ache, burning in time to your heartbeat. You pulled yourself into a half sitting position, and groaned as you felt a wave of cum ooze from your pussy as you did. Inspecting yourself, you saw that your vagina was red and puffy, and your belly seemed bloated, your stomach churned again at the thought, the cramping pushing another rivulet of cum out of you, to join the mud.

Standing up was impossible, but you managed to crawl, eager to get out of the mud, **** to look at the fire barrel, which was beginning to die into embers. Your abused tits hung down like a cow's udders, painfully swinging back and forth, and cum leaked from your asshole now too, mixing with the mud on your body, and running over your pussy and down your legs. You ached to clean yourself, but the only cloth you had was the blanket, and you couldn't give up your only covering. Reaching the barrel at last, you decided to look inside first. Struggling, using a pile of scrap wood to climb, you managed to raise yourself onto your shaking feet, and peered in. Embers, and a blackened piece of the leather cover were all that met your eye, before a wave of smoke **** you back, blinking. You sank down heavily on one of the chairs with a squelch, 'this was such a stupid idea'. Like bungee jumping, you thought, only to realize the cord had been cut, now you had to deal with the bottom of the ravine. The ground was cold, you moved your feet towards the fire, and wrapped the blanket tighter around you.

How long you sat like that you weren't sure, not thinking, not remembering, just staring blankly at the fire barrel. As the chill grew, you were aware of a gradual lightening, the stars disappearing one by one as dawn approached. You considered putting some more wood on the fire, but your brain began to fire again. 'You did this' , you told yourself, 'now you have to get yourself out of this', or rather, not out, the way out was ash in the barrel, but forward. The bungee jumper might have died without a cord, but you were still alive, and had to do something. What were your options? Option one, call for help, this had a certain appeal, you could make a noise, or wait until someone found you, let them care for you, spend time in a hospital, you were almost certain you needed it. Then what? would you talk to the police? could you press **** charges against the men who were following the rule you had made? Where would your life go then? the girl **** by the homeless, that would follow you forever. So option two, hide. How many other girls had done the same, but how many others could honestly claim they had done this to themselves? You stood on shaking feet, you still thought your stomach looked bloated, but the leaking cum had almost stopped. Looking around, you saw your bag, now empty, and next to it in a pile, was your shirt! The mud had half dried, but you cleaned it off as best you could with the blanket, before pulling the shirt over your head, wincing as it brushed past your breasts. The shirt was quite long, hiding the holes torn in the crotch of your leggings, covering you all the way to your knees, which was helpful as underneath it you were still caked with mud and cum. Your shoes had somehow stayed on through the whole ordeal, but next was your hair. Caked with mud, vomit, and dried cum, there was no chance of cleaning it here, but a quick rummage around found a dirty bandana, that should cover it up for now. A little bit of whatever **** they were drinking served to clean the mud and obscene writing from your face, aided by your reflection in a broken piece of mirror, though the liquor stung your skin. Picking up your bag, you put your highschool yearbook inside it, gave a last look around, and then walked, shakily at first, but then more steadily, out of the woods.

The pre-dawn bus ride was harrowing, though you felt you were able to pull it off, and no one suspected anything. You had to stand the whole way, your legs clenched tight together to prevent any more cum from sliding out, but you managed to make it look more like a casual lean. Your pussy was oozing again as you walked up the steps to your house, but no one was awake to see it running down your leg. You walked up to the door, entered the code, and walked inside. There was one outside factor that you had counted on, and it looked like your luck was finally with you. The car keys and your mother's purse were gone, your parents were away the weekend as they had planned, you had two days to yourself, to try and clean up, and put this all behind you. The shower felt like heaven, you let it get as hot as you could stand, and soaped and shampoo'd again and again. The writing was fading a bit, but was still visible, but you knew better than to try **** on your more sensitive areas, and decided to wait a day or two first. Drying off gently, you winced as you put some antiseptic cream on the welts on your breasts, before putting on a pair of sleeping shorts, ditching the top, you lay on your back on your bed, and despite the light of day filtering through the curtains, fell instantly asleep.

The next days had been strange, hiding in the house, scrubbing, cleaning. You remember waking up the first morning, and seeing a wet spot on the bed from cum that had leaked out of your pussy as you slept. You remember seeing a puddle of mud and cum on the front hall rug, and drips leading upstairs to the shower, which you hastily cleaned. You remember greeting your parents in long pants and a turtleneck, hiding your body for two weeks until you had finally managed to scrub all the writing off, and the bruises and welts had healed. A quiet word to your mother about a possible yeast infection had earned you a visit to the doctor, who of course found an STI, but thankfully a curable one, and even more thankfully, she didn't tell your mother. Unpacking your own memories of the night proved difficult, shame, fear, trauma, but also sometimes led to masturbating in your bed, remembering a faceless fat homeless man **** your cervix. Your luck ran out a few weeks later however, when your mom found the positive pregnancy test you had carefully wrapped up and hidden in the garbage can. Not that there was much you could do by then anyway, hoping nothing happens turns out to be not the best method of birth control. She was so excited to be a grandmother, and she talked your dad around. They were upset you wouldn't tell them who the father was, you could never admit that it could have been any one of a hundred homeless men, but they loved you, and promised to help raise the baby.

Stranger still had been leaving the house, sunlight on your skin, people passing by, it felt, strange somehow. Your heart stopped when you saw the first homeless man, but no one noticed you freeze, and he paid no attention to you, and you walked onwards. The third homeless man however locked his eyes onto your face as soon as you came near, watching you with narrowed eyes, and a subtle half-smirk, and you could feel his eyes on your back as you walked away, and shivered. And so it went on, most didn't recognize you at all, some stared vaguely, as if they knew you from somewhere but couldn't place it, and a few undressed you with their eyes every time you walked by, knowing exactly who you were and what they had done to you. Some seemed guilty, and these ones all left town shortly after they saw you, but the ones that stayed, made obscene gestures when no one else was watching, or whispered what they'd like to do to you. Maybe your rulebook hadn't had to push some of them very far at all. But they never touched you, never pushed it, though a couple flashed you, ultimately they had a lot to lose too, rapists didn't fare well in prison around here. Besides, when your belly started to show, they were all too busy nudging each other and grinning to risk ruining a good thing, they had gotten away with it, and knew better than to push things too far.

And so it was, 5 months pregnant, you stepped out of a grocery store, to see a man you had never seen before, but knew. He was obviously homeless, you could tell from the tattered clothes, shopping cart full of recyclables, and the scent you could smell, even across the street. But he was also big, at least a foot or two taller than you, and maybe 5 or 6 times your weight. He was peeing in an ornamental rose bush, and you remembered that cock, you hadn't seen it, but you remembered all the same, even without the rulebook, that cock hadn't changed a bit. He looked up, and saw you standing there, and quickly shoved his dick away mid stream, and turned away, before glancing back, his eyes widening. You walked calmly forward, and he watched you, hypnotized, he eyed your belly and breasts, and his grin grew. You found yourself in front of him, who had been the subject of your masturbatory thoughts for 5 months now, 'now or never' you thought to yourself, and spoke aloud, "Hi, my name is Macie".