She rubbed her belly slowly, chewing her lip. She wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer, just wave it off as the Covid 20 so many have gained. No, that story wouldn’t be bought by anyone on another month. They’d know. Everyone would know. And then the questions would start.
“How did this happen? Who is the father? Why didn’t you practice safe sex? How could you do this to your family? Don’t you have any self respect? ” they’d all ask.
And she didn’t know how to answer any of that. Not fully anyway?
How? She went to a concert. Who? She had no idea. Why? Because she didn’t remember it. That night was just a blur. She remembered drinking a beer, her first. She remembered chatting and flirting with someone. She remembered feeling weak, being helped towards the bathrooms. Then nothing.
Nothing wasn’t quite true. She had glimmers, brief flashes, strangers, over her, grunting. Each one different. And then, blackness. Then morning, cold, almost freezing, in a porta-potty. Her purse and money gone. Her clothes reeking of smoke and beer and piss. Her thighs bruised, her pussy stained with dried cum. Even her ass hurt. She threw up, stumbled out, hitched a ride home. And cried. She didn’t tell anyone, just tried to forget, until she missed her period, until her belly started to grow. A surprise gift, her life ruined.
And when she didn’t think it could get worse, a video arrived in a package sent to her. An SD card, her thong, soiled. Pictures. Of her night. She watched the video, one after another, men talking turns with her mostly limp body. She wasn’t a person to any of them. A set of holes to use in a bathroom stall. Once, the cameraman filming her took a turn, filling her with white. None of them seemed to use a condom. Then, someone dragged her, camera shaking, to the porta-potty. Jerked around, positioned painfully, peed on, then spitting on her ass. Pushing in her, soft moans escaping her mouth, whimpers, coupled with the cameraman’s grunts. Filling her ass. Then, camera zooming out, him leaning in, kissing her tits, kissing her. Smiling.
Her uncle. He’d taken her, dropped her off, told her to call if she needed a ride back. He had been there, filmed the whole thing, given her a soda on the drive there. It hasn’t been the beer, it had been him. She rubbed her belly, wondering was that his too? It could be over a dozen men.
Later, her parents asked her to come down. Her uncle was there. He’d noticed, and once he brought it up, they’d noticed too. Was she pregnant? She nodded, in shock. There were screams, frustrations, but her uncle, to them, was the voice of reason. Summer had started, she could stay with him for a bit, while they decided what should be done. No scandal was needed, just visit him at his Florida home and then it could be put up for adoption. No one else needs to know. It would be for the best, they all agreed. She didn’t say anything. Everyone was disappointed in her but thank God for her uncle.
Thank God for him. She numbly got in the car with him, waving goodbye to her parents, her home. They drove off in silence, until he started rubbing her belly.
“Such a good girl, not saying a thing,” he said smiling. “Now we can make so many movies while we find out if someone’s the father or not. Your going to be so popular with my friends, you’ll never want to go home.”
Then he pushed her head down and they drove to her new home, her new life, her new reality. And he was right, his friends did love her, every day of the week.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rwbpmc/the_belly_doesnt_lie_mf_gangrape_pee_drugged
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