The concert is pounding in your ears. You are in your oversized jacket, covered with patches from heavy metal bands, and your favorite short skirt. The sound of the bass is shaking in your bones. You’ve drifted away from your friends in the darkness and throngs of dancing people, lost in the music and the primal pounding drums.
A hand at your arm. Not an accidental brush, but a firm grip, with purpose. Before you can turn you are pinned against a strong male form, a had over your mouth. You struggle, try to scream, but the firm grip keeps you locked as you are dragged to a dark corner of the venue.
Someone has to notice, you think. Someone will hear the struggle. But the venue is dark, masses of bodies pressing together in a chaotic swirl, and the screams of the vocalist overpower any that escape your muffled lips.
You are slammed roughly against the wall. Lips on your neck, the brush of a strangers teeth on your throat. A hand goes to your waist, drifting down under your skirt, fingers slipping under your panties and feeling your slit. Its only then you realize, with horror, that you are getting wet.