Coldwater
I can't do it. I don't have to. I don't have to wake up, don't have to open my
eyes and see the pain, the shame in their eyes as they crowd around my hospital
bed. I can just stay here, in the dark, and not talk to the police officers who
come in day after day, seeking a statement. I can stay here forever. It's not
safe here-no, my ordeal replays behind my closed eyelids, over and over, an
endless loop. But at least I don't have to share it with anyone else, I don't
have to see it in their faces.
My name is Lana. I'm 23 years old. Until last week, I was just an average,
happy person. Engaged to be married to the man I'd saved myself for-was still
saving myself for--running my own successful home based consulting firm. Owned
my home, hit the gym a few times a week, ran in the mountains every evening. It
was that last bit that got me here. I just didn't run fast enough.
It was Friday. Last Friday, I guess. My usual running spot had a few too many
cars parked at the trailhead. It made me nervous; I teach---taught---self
defense/rape avoidance classes, and seeing that many vehicles made me think a
party was going on. Parties in the mountains and women running alone are a bad
mix. So I drove on, headed up the canyon to Coldwater, my other trail.
Approaching the trailhead, I spied one solitary car-a newer Land Rover. Nice,
shiny vehicle. Racks on top for skis or snowboards. I figured I was safe.
Climbing out of my car, I peeled off my jacket and began stretching. Knee
bends, lunges, working the blood into my joints. After a few minutes, I headed
out, eager to get my heart pounding, my mind empty. When I run, I go into a
zone, you know? All I hear is my heart, my breathing. I lose track of
everything else.
Hitting the trail, I took the first stretch slowly-it's steep, rocky, and
narrow. My body began to flush as my pulse quickened. A light sheen of sweat
cooled me as I reached the running trail proper. I don't remember how far I'd
run---like I said, I lose track. I go as far as my body tells me to. But I
heard them before I saw them. And I stopped in my tracks.
In the clearing off the trail-MY clearing. I could here them, laughing,
talking. Boisterous in tone, I knew they were drinking. And I was angry. That
was MY place, the spot where I stopped to catch my breath, take a long swig of
cold water. Sit back and look at the sky with the last light making the clouds
glow.
Ah, well. I stood, uncertain. Should I risk moving past them, or should I call
it a night and head back? I hesitated, uncertain. I was so focused on the
group ahead of me that I never heard the others coming up behind me until it was
too late. Not sure what I could have done to save myself, even if I had heard
them before they were almost on me.
A shout-I remember that. I whirled around to see three men rushing towards me.
Instinctively, I began to run away-and towards the other group. I remember
thinking-God, I really thought this---that they would help me, protect me. And
then I saw the group ahead bursting from the clearing, running toward
me-laughing. And I knew.
I darted to the side, throwing myself into the rough brush at the side of the
trail. I was thinking maybe I could circle through and evade them both, make my
way back to my car. Crashing through the brush behind me, whooping and
laughing, they stayed on my heels-close enough to push, to grab at me, but not
stopping me. Not yet.
I ran and ran-faster than I ever had, my arms pumping as I raced through the
bush, the knowledge that they were playing me, teasing me, dawning. But I
couldn't stop. If I stopped they'd get me for sure. If I kept running, maybe I
had a chance. So I kept on. My lungs were on fire, my heart pounding, breath
coming in ragged gasps. The twigs and brambles left welts on my legs, tore at
my clothing. I don't know how long I ran, didn't even know where I was
anymore-I'd lost my sense of direction as they pressed, herded me. Every muscle
in my body burned, shook as I burst through the thickets and splashed into the
stream. The stream! I was close, close to my car, almost there! The slick
rocks in the water tripped me up, and I fell, splashing and sputtering as they
reached me. They knew. They always knew I'd never clear the stream. Their
hands, rough, mean, groping, dragging me from the wet by the hair. I couldn't
breathe, couldn't scream, all I could manage was a week, reedy squeal. Pulling
me up the bank, they threw me to the ground, and I realized-I hadn't almost made
it to the car-I'd gone UPstream, not down. I had run right back to the
clearing, to their camp.
I struggled to my knees, my mind on one thing-escape. Dripping wet, freezing, I
tried to pull myself up, only to be knocked to the dirt again. Leaves and
gravel stuck to my wet skin as one of them fell on me, his hips grinding into my
backside as he reached roughly around and tore my tank-top open at the sleeve.
Laughing, he grabbed my bra, yanked sharply, ripping it open. My breasts fell
out, and his hands were on them, pinching, squeezing as I sobbed, tried to
scream, to escape. He reached down, began tugging at my shorts-and I found my
voice. Dragging in a ragged breath, I screamed---one sharp, terrified cry.
"Put something in the bitch's mouth, shut her up!" I could feel his erection
pressing against my ass, though his jeans, through my shorts. I was horrified,
NO! No, please don't do that, don't rape me! One of them-I don't know which,
don't know how many there were-dropped to his knees in front of me. Grabbing my
hair, he jerked my head back, and I saw his monstrous cock bobbing before my
face. I drew another breath to scream---oh, God, this is so horrible---I opened
my mouth to scream again and his cock plunged into my mouth. It was so big, my
jaws felt like they would break. I couldn't even bite, it was that big. I was
choking, gagging as he pushed it deeper into my mouth, then into my throat. I
was retching, I couldn't breathe.
I could feel my shorts being ripped from me, the cold air hitting my wet skin.
I was tearing, scratching at the man in my mouth's legs-and he began hitting me.
On my head, my shoulders, hard. Another stepped up, and my arms were yanked
behind my back. Don't think I wasn't fighting, I was. As hard as I could. But
everything hurt, every muscle was shaking with fatigue. I felt the rough rope
biting into my wrists as my hands were bound. And then my panties were pushed
to the side, and I felt it-a cock pushing, probing, rubbing against my pussy
lips.
I tried to squirm away, but I couldn't even get my knees under me---his weight
had me pinned. With each rubbing pass, his cock opened my dry pussy lips
further, until he was poised-and thrust, shredding my hymen, stealing my
virginity. Oh, Jesus, he was huge, inside me. It felt like he was tearing me
apart as he drove into me again and again, slamming my hips into the hard
ground. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to concentrate on breathing---if I
could just stay alive, I could escape. I could wait them out. But it hurt so
much!
The man in my mouth began to moan, his thrusts getting harder, faster. His cock
swelled, choked me further, and I realized with horror what was going to happen.
I'd never. Never. And then it exploded in my mouth, my throat, hot, sour. Oh,
there was so much of it, and it tasted so bad. I couldn't spit, felt like I was
drowning. So I swallowed. Over and over, I swallowed his sickening cum. My
belly jumped, threatened to rebel, but I fought to keep it down, afraid I would
choke to death if it came up. He pulled out, the last of it splattering my
face. I was gasping, hacking as it dripped in my eyes, ran down my cheeks. My
breaths came hard as the man inside me began slamming in earnest. He grabbed my
hips and pulled me to my knees, driving into me so hard that I was lifted from
the ground, my breasts bouncing painfully with each thrust. The pain was
overwhelming, my pussy, my belly-my belly was cramping from the force of his
blows. And that's what it felt like-like he was beating me with his cock. He
laughed, then shouted as his cock began to spit forth its load into my bleeding
pussy. I cried out-it burned, I could feel his meat twitching inside me, it was
horrible. Throwing me down, he continued to thrust until he was limp, then rose
and kicked me hard in the ribs.
"That was fresh pussy," he laughed harshly, "who else wants a go?"
I groaned, pulled myself to my knees, dragged my head up to look around, seeking
escape. I saw a gap in the circle they'd formed around me and began to inch
along on my knees. I could feel the sticky spunk running down my thighs as I
struggled toward hoped for freedom. And they let me-for a minute or two.
Moaning, I pushed myself across the rough, biting gravel, single-minded in my
goal. I remember worrying that my breasts, covered with mud and leaves, were
swaying free, uncovered. Wishing that I could clothe myself even as I inched
toward my salvation. And then they were on me again.
One of them threw himself on me, knocking the wind from me as he crushed me to
the ground. Grabbing my panties and tearing them from me, he lifted them up
like a trophy. His cock, huge and hard, was pressing against my virgin asshole.
I couldn't scream-I couldn't even breathe under him. I bucked weakly, tried to
push back, push him off me, but only succeeded in aiding his rape of my ass. He
laughed, sank his tool all the way in. I could feel his hips against my cheeks,
his balls slapping my pussy lips as he rode me viciously. Hoarse, guttural
sounds were driven from me, my legs spread wide, knees working in the hard
ground. Grabbing my hair, he pulled me back so I was sitting on his lap,
impaled on his cock. Bouncing me, he grabbed my jouncing breasts as he
propelled me up again and again with his thrusts. Pinching my nipples, twisting
them as I mewled weakly in agony, he laughed. I couldn't even cry-it hurt too
much, I was too stunned, violated. I just whined, struggled. Another dropped
to his knees in front of me-I looked into his eyes. Saw nothing-it was then I
knew they were going to kill me. I began to squirm, even though it made the
pain in my bowels excruciating---they were going to kill me, I had to get away!
Squealing, writhing, I put everything I had into it---and failed. Even as I
jerked and twitched, the man in front of me moved in, cock in hand. Opening me
with a calloused hand, he drove into my bruised pussy. I screamed thinly, my
strength gone. It felt as though they were going to tear me wide open, their
cocks thrusting into me, almost touching through the thing membrane between. I
was lifted of the ground again and again, buffeted between them. My head began
to loll---I just couldn't keep it up. And then the hands in my hair, jerking my
head to the side, and another cock pushing past my swelling lips, into my mouth,
down my throat.
I remember the cum filling my ass. I remember that because it hurt, cramped me.
Even after he pulled out, I could feel the pressure of his spunk. Felt it
trickling from me. The man in my pussy bent down and bit my nipples as he
came---I thought he'd bitten them off. I cried out, blood began to trickle down
my chest as he sprayed his jizz inside me. The last thing I remember clearly is
the man in my mouth cumming. I remember because he forced my head to his belly
and spewed wave after wave into my throat. I was choking, dying. I gagged,
felt it coming up and out my nose as I drowned in it.
I'm lying. I do remember more. I remember everything. But I can't think about
it. I can't. Oh, God, but I can't stop. It's all I see, feel. I can still
smell them, smell their sweaty balls, their sour, boozy breath.
When I woke up, they dragged me to my feet. I couldn't stand, but they didn't
want me to. They hauled me to the stream and threw me in. And somehow,
spitting and sputtering, I found the strength to keep my head above water. It
was so cold. I could feel myself numbing, knew this was how I would die.
When they pulled me out, I was shaking uncontrollably. My skin was on fire with
the cold, my hands and feet numb. On me again, I couldn't even be sure what was
where-it all felt the same to me, hands, fists, cocks. I passed out again.
But that's not why I can't come back. Not all of that. It's how they left me
to be found. They waited for me to wake up, then dragged me to a fallen
tree-the same tree they'd bent me over at some point. A rope to my bound wrists
was thrown over the branch of another tree, then lifting me. I could feel my
arms straining, felt they were breaking as they hauled me up by my arms. It
felt like I was screaming, but I wasn't, I was whimpering. Lifting me up, over,
and then lowering me, impaling me on a broken branch, driving the splintering
tool up into my pussy as I straddled the log. I remember my legs flailing
weakly, instinctually, trying to find some purchase, some ground. But I
couldn't reach. I hung there, bleeding, kicking out, as they bound my breasts
tightly, wound the ropes around and around, trapping the blood, forcing them up,
out.
I whined weakly as they walked away---I wanted them to kill me. You see? I
wanted them to come back, to end it. But that was the crown jewel in their
torture. They let me live.
I heard the voices, heard people on the trail, calling my name. I stayed
silent. Prayed they wouldn't find me. It was snowing lightly, a weak spring
storm. I was quaking with the cold, but I wanted to stay, to die. I knew I
would if they would just let me be. The log was slick beneath me, tacky with my
blood. I would bleed to death if I didn't freeze-if they would just leave me
alone. But they didn't. Damn them, they didn't.
I saw my father's eyes on me, saw his horror as he stood there, looked at my
bound breasts, my impaled pussy, my dangling cum and blood run legs. Then I
closed mine. I will never open them again. I don't have to.
