IrishBrute
10-11-2009, 02:54 PM
New member, first story, i posted this in another forum
Kathleen Kelly was a successful, high-powered, attractive Irish businesswoman, working and residing in London. She was 35, and had been marketing director with prestigious Soho insurance firm Richards and Able Ltd for the past four years. Kathleen was a woman who certainly stood out. She stood five feet, eight inches, fairly tall, well-endowed with a curvy, voluptuous figure: large breasts, broad hips, strong, shapely legs, a pretty, even beautiful head, large luscious brown eyes, rich crimson lips, topped off by luxuriant dark brown hair which dangled on her shoulders and cupped her face. Her skin was fresh, healthy, delicate, her face lit up by a broad smile which flashed her eyes and flushed her cheeks. She was charming, talkative, very assertive of course, passionate, typically Irish. She was strong, confident, intelligent, a bloody hard worker, she lived for her job, for success, achievement, money, driven by power – a sense of her own and a desire for more. She was dynamic, a little ruthless in the workplace, sometimes shouting at her cringing subordinates in a shrill, harsh Irish accent; at other times she was considerate, spoiling, indulgent – either way, always in control and demanding that everything be “just so.†Some of her English male colleagues certainly wanted to fuck the shit out of her, awestruck by that gorgeous figure swaying from side to side always in tight skirt, blouse and heels, but none dared approach her for fear that either she would end up breaking their balls in the sack or somehow be ‘dissatisfied’ with their inadequate ‘performance’.
Kathleen knew how to dress – dress to kill. She knew her figure, how to maximize its attractiveness, while also being elegant and respectable – tempting men while keeping them firmly at bay. She was always in control and always would be. Her penchant was for tight, hip-hugging black pencil skirts, perfectly clasping her broad ass and hips, ending just at the knee, just a little, tiny bit above the knee caps, framing a sexually arousing, firm and wide crotch area. Then, to amplify the effect, she chose tight, clingy, white or cream blouses, slightly see-through, low-neck, buttons not even beginning until below the tops of her heaving large breasts. She wasn’t vulgar – didn’t have to be. Big, pouting breasts, almost bursting through the slight film of blouse, up close the outline of cotton or lacy bra was somewhat visible, the rich folds of big breast flesh barely supported by the seemingly inadequate bra. When she walked, the breasts jutted side to side, up and down, bobbing, bobbing, just a little, never too much, but always just so; it seemed a miracle, a fucking unwanted miracle to the lads in the office, that the bra never broke – or the thin blouse for that matter. Sometimes she wore hose, sometimes not. She was proud of her bare legs – strong, firm, curvy, perfectly in shape and proportion to her broad arse and hips, supporting that tasteful torso. The whole effect was topped off by three or four inch stilettos, awkward to walk in, sharp heels that could rip a carpet to shreds if provoked into anger, heels barely covering her toes, amplifying those luscious legs and cocking that pert fine arse a little higher, a little snootier. Men didn’t know which was hotter, which scene more provoking, which view caused the most arousal: Kathleen prancing through the office, the skirt swish-swishing, her hips swaying from side to side, stilettos squeaking in a rush, arse swaying, legs cocking, the arse bobbing up and down as if to say ‘fuck you’ to all and sundry, the breasts bouncing, bouncing, bouncing, or, Kathleen calling a bloke into her office, sitting him down in a pet-pet motherly manner and then drawing a chair next to him, sitting down herself, the hem of the pencil skirt swooshing up her full legs, followed by her crossing right thigh over left knee, squeezing those legs together, the hem rising ever higher, higher, up her thighs, the half-exposed big chest drawing closer before she asked in her little Irish accent, “So, Davy, where’s the fucking profit sheet?â€
On this Friday night, Kathleen was having late dinner with two work colleagues, Bill Dyers and James McHenry, together with four visitors, two men, two women, from an associate American firm. They dined at Renards, Kathleen’s favourite French restaurant, just off swanky Kimble Street. Kathleen looked particularly attractive that night: hair, long and straight; eyes sparkling even more than usual helped by tasteful eye-shadow (and a few vodkas too many!); stunning, flimsy thin, white blouse, lacy around the buttons, extremely low-neck, her black silk bra transparently staring out, breasts spilling out, black pencil skirt rather above the knee on this occasion and very much so above the knee when sitting and crossing her legs, three-inch black heels – the pointy heels like a dagger strutting the ground, proof of her utter assuredness and domination. Kinky little black jacket topped it off. It was a successful, pleasurable dinner, Kathleen thoroughly enjoying herself, knocking back four vodkas in forty minutes, to the amazement of her colleagues, but not to her – as a proud Irishwoman she could easily handle such alcohol! She turned on the charm, needling her new American friends, pressing their arms, squeezing her legs tighter and loose, tighter and loose, pressing the men into her ‘confidence’ by drawing their heads down for a whisper, in the process almost burying them into her cleavage, the aroma enraptured by her loud voice, alcoholic laughter, and endless head tossing, hair flying around.
At 12.30 the dinner broke up and they went their separate ways. Kathleen, brushing off suggestions that she may be too tipsy to drive, walked out, down the street, and then a few more streets, disdaining a cab, and making for the underground garage where she had left her six-month old Bentley Continental. Kathleen walked a little slower than usual; she wasn’t drunk but there were some effects. So she walked, firmly, confidently, her figure still sashaying, wearing an expensive long black overcoat, clutching her purse and leather briefcase. The coat was partly buttoned, but through its crevice swish-swished her long, shapely, bare legs, the stilettos crashing off the solid ground, quite loudly.
Lenny, Robbo and Steve were out on the piss! They were young lads, ‘up for it’, loud, brash, crass, vulgar, a little aggressive, ‘didn’t give a fuck!’ Lenny was 23, the eldest, leader of the pack, a tall, skinny but tough fucker, the face of a convict on him, a little wispy decaying blond hair on his head. Indeed, he had been in jail, for theft, twice. Robbo was 20, a college student, a short but stocky, brown-haired bloke, chain-smoking, the loudest and most talkative. Steve was fairly quiet, only 19, currently unemployed, something of a ‘follower’, eager to please the older lads, tall and rather handsome. The lads had been on a pub crawl all evening and night, and were quite blown by midnight, taking breaks from pubs for a sidewalk indulgence in smoking cannabis. Mixed with the drink, eventually they became stressed, tetchy, high-strung, aggressive, ‘looking for fuckin’ action!’ They provoked passing couples, whistling at “bitchesâ€, giving the finger, and on one occasion spitting at a gypsy beggar – Lenny even took out his cock and pissed on him, before they all scampered off laughing. By nearly 1 in the morning, they were hanging around near the underground car park, bantering amongst themselves, pissing up against walls and cars, Steve vomited up the alcohol and cannabis twice, while the others baited him and slapped him on the back.
A dog barked, drawing their attention to the figure of Kathleen approaching the car park entrance. They found her attractive from a distance, and then even more so as she got closer. Stupidly, Kathleen stopped, giving them more time, and drew a smoke. Smoking was her secret vice – she only did it now, far from people, far from view…. or so she thought. A slight wind blew up, blowing the folds of her long coat open, exposing gorgeous bare legs and a short skirt – to the amazement and delight of the lads. The wind blew her briefcase over – she bent down to put it upright, in the process sweeping the hem of her pencil skirt way up her thighs, legs open wide too (she didn’t notice the intense glare of three horny, vulgar young men just two dozen yards away). She stubbed out the cigarette, smothering it – sexily – with her pointy stiletto, and then resumed her confident stride towards the car park entrance, legs swish-swishing through the coat, heels causing loud little bangs.
Inside the car park, it was cold, very, very cold, almost menacing. No one around. Not a soul. Nothing but endless columns of cars. The lads followed this attractive, rich bitch inside, just curious at first. They hadn’t been laid in months anyway, and cheap chav hookers were decidedly nothing compared to a cunt like THIS. Not that rape was on their minds, as such, more the imaginary thought of fucking her. They were also struck by her obvious – stupid – vulnerability. At least, they could rob the business cunt, eh? Kathleen strode forward, the sound of her heels on the cold hard floor louder and louder, muffling the sound of the three lads hesitantly, excitedly following her through the underground car park.
Suddenly, Lenny’s shoe screeched on the surface. Kathleen turned around to see the three lads following her. Their cover was blown. Now or never! “Oi luv, how’s you then, eh?†Kathleen gulped, turned again, and walked faster. Faster, faster. So did the lads, tormenting her, whistling, whistling, “Nice fuckin one eh luv? Ah come on luv, talk to us, wot you fuckin’ afraid of eh?†They were faster. Her high heels and the weight of her briefcase held her up, all her arrogance and power now suddenly worthless. She finally got to her car and started taking the keys out of her purse – nervously, shaking. But she knew it was hopeless. These little bastards had her. “Come on eh†said Lenny as he turned her around. The three of them were now in her face. “What do ye want†she asked, half in fear, half as a proud, defiant utterance. “Irish bitch eh†Robbo remarked as her accent made itself plain. Their eyes glared. Not only was she a fine looking cunt, she was an Irish fine looking cunt. “Just wantin’ to be friendly†said Lenny, “just fuckin’ friendly luv†with more menace and a snarl. “Well ye can fuck off†Kathleen replied. They laughed. “Not nice, bitch†said Robbo. Steve, trying to be tough, shouted “You fucking Irish cunt!†They got more aroused now.
“Right, grab her bag.†Kathleen dropped her briefcase and now her purse was ripped from her by Lenny, as Steve and Robbo grabbed her by the arms. She fought, tried to get away, but was held firm. Lenny ransacked her purse and dropped everything onto the floor, retaining only her large, well-filled wallet. “Nice one bitch!†“What else she got on her, eh?†Lenny asked, his eyes now running all over her. “Take off her coat.†The lads did so quickly, leaving Kathleen in her pencil skirt, blouse, heels and little perky jacket that was too small to cover her ample chest. Kathleen felt real nervous now – this might be more than just a robbery. She began to shake, ever so slightly. Without ‘orders’, Robbo swept off her little jacket. They gazed in amazement, happy amazement, at her gorgeous chest bursting forth, invitingly, the extremely low-neck, thin film white blouse, her black bra brazenly transparent through the thin white film blouse – the bra and the big breasts it encased shining all the more with the gaudy light in the garage. They noticed everything quickly – not just the sexy chest, but the tight, short, very very short and tight pencil skirt, and how sexy and pathetically vulnerable the high pointy heels were. Her curves were bursting through the skirt and blouse. Her hair was long and rich. Her eyes were a daring, tempting mix of pure sexuality so natural to this woman and despising defiance. This cunt deserved more than a mere robbery.
Whistling softly, they drew in on her. “Nice looking paddy cunt eh†said Lenny. “Ever ‘ad English cock Irish?†“Fuck off†Kathleen replied, as if trying to find strength. Robbo and Steve held her arms tight as she sort of struggled. Lenny drew closer and began rubbing his hands over her chest, feeling those bouncing breasts, squeezing, playing, buttons falling out exposing more bra and breasts. Kathleen winced, sobbed. Robbo looked downward, downward, and inserted his hand up her skirt, brushing his fingers against her shapely legs, up, up, up, sweeping the hem up, and rubbing the crotch area of her black little panties, then quickly cupping her arse.
At this Kathleen had enough. “Fuckin’ English bastards!†They were so distracted by her body they didn’t expect this fight-back! She broke free, kicked Lenny in the balls and then began running. They quickly recovered and, realizing she had no chance in hell of escape, let her run for a few seconds, happy that she was doing this – it made the fun all the greater. Hollering, whistling, swearing, they began running after her. She didn’t get far anyway; those heels and the tightness of the skirt made it impossible – her large breasts added a gravity problem when running too. Quickly they grabbed her – now more aggressive than before. Much more aggressive “Fuckin’ Irish bitch!†screamed Lenny. Robbo held an arm and a leg, skirt yanked up now, Steve her other arm. “Right!†Lenny whacked her across the face. Kathleen, still defiant, spat back at him. Another whack. Another. Another. She was being beaten now, badly, repetitively. She still looked defiant and spat at him again. “English bastard!†Lenny grabbed, her face, licked it to her disgust and mortification, and then drew back and punched her, full on, nearly knocking her out. Blood streaked across Kathleen’s lips and one of her eyes was bruised. Robbo couldn’t restrain himself anymore. The violence, the lust, the hatred, this gorgeous business fucking bitch, this Irish business whore. He tugged at her buttons. Her flimsy blouse dissolved almost instantly, the black bra and huge globes bouncing out, to be grabbed and kissed instantly.
“Let’s fuckin do her! ordered Lenny. Like hyenas, they whistled ecstatically and gathered her up violently – Lenny her legs, Robbo and Steve her arse, back, back towards her car – where the light was good. Kathleen, though dazed, knew what was about to happen. She struggled, cursed, as best she could, her heart palpitating, but her resistance only intensified their hatred and determination to rape the shit out of her – every protest and struggle by her made them hold her harder, painfully, fingers digging into her stomach and legs. She was plonked down on the ground. Robbo and Steve held arms out wide and spread, Lenny grabbed her legs. They ripped her blouse apart in a second, Lenny yanked up her pencil skirt, exposing gorgeous thighs, milky white Irish skin. Kathleen kicked, hitting Lenny in the face with her sharp heel, drawing blood. Screaming: “Ye fuckin’ Irish rich fuckin’ whore!!†He beat her again, slapped her legs, yanked the legs wide, while Robbo ripped open her panties, all of them now staring at her massive dark brown wild bush. Her face was contorted with fear and fighting spirit, Steve punched her again as her body was held more firmly, more totally, than before. Lenny began unzipping, taking out his cock, and then rammed away. Kathleen screamed at this invasion. Lenny pumped and pumped, licking and kissing her, while Robbo and Steve rubbed her head and her stomach. Lenny, then threw her down and came all over her body, pressing down on her, oppressing her, ripping the bra off from in front with a violent tear, grabbing her breasts and squeezing the shit out of them, hard, hard, hard banging her torso off the ground with each fuck, almost pulling her tits off her body. They were all so aroused now, even the sweet perfume on this bitch…. Kathleen screamed and wept with the pain, face red, sweating, terrorized, hating, trying so hard to fight. Finally, Lenny came. He whacked her across the face, drawing more blood from her lip. He got off her, and then watched as Robbo unzipped and took his turn raping her. Robbo punched her breasts, “Fuckin Irish bitch, come on luv, eh, eh?†He fucked and fucked, punching those tits, almost breaking her arms, while Steve bent over and – almost tenderly – began kissing her, licking her. Kathleen began crying, sobbing. Robbo held her legs wide and high, creating as much penetration pressure on her pussy as possible, rubbing those legs, even licking them, getting more aroused, occasionally letting her legs drop to the ground, all of them excited as her heels squeakily scratched the floor with each ‘pump’ by Robbo, accentuating the curves on her legs. He was taking his time. Finally, he came too.
Now Steve unzipped and bent down, first stuffing his face inside her cum and blood-strained pussy, wallowing in the filth, sticking his tongue inside her. Lenny and Robbo bent her arms back real wide and hard, painfully, her big breasts being raised up under the pressure, and then they began ripping the breasts, digging their fingers in, squeezing the nipples, Lenny also licking Kathleen’s reddened face. “Ya luv it don’t you cunt, don’t you bitch, ya hehe hehe!†Steve penetrated her, and then saying “Fuck off†to his mates, grabbed her tits himself, using them as leverage for deep, deep penetration. He kicked her legs wide, then raised them up very high and wide, using his fingers to push her pencil skirt right up to her waist. Then, cumming, he dropped the bitch’s legs – they fell flat, breaking the heel of a stiletto.
Kathleen was in a state of pure frenzied terror, frantic, bursting with maximum stress and shock. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. In her hysterical mind, she didn’t know which was worse – the physical pain of violent penetration and strong male arms and hands crushing her, ripping her, or the sheer degradation of being violated, raped, degraded, humiliated, hated by ravenous disgusting drunken bastards, English bastards, doing this to her, a successful, beautiful proud Irishwoman. She hated herself, she hated them, she clenched her teeth, just hoping it would pass, occasionally erupting with a curse, a rebuke, sometimes still trying to fight, kicking a leg or jerking an arm, only to be punished by a harsher embrace and “fuck off†blasting into her ear.
After Steve squirted inside her Irish cunt, they wanted more. She was roughly raised half-upright, for Steve to punch her, twice. “Go on mate, hit the Irish slagâ€, and he punched her again, bursting Katheen’s lip which spurted blood. Steve then clasped his cock, masturbating himself while watching her. She spat at him!, her face still defiant even after all this ordeal. Robbo and Lenny then forced her face onto his cock. “Suck it slag, suck it, go on ya cunt, come on Paddy, eh†Disgusted, smelling the stench of his cock, Kathleen had her face rubbed all over his cock, and then Steve forced her lips apart and shoved it in. Steve’s fingers coerced her into sucking well, while Lenny applied extra ‘persuasion’ by squeezing her nipples. So she sucked, closing her eyes, trying to wipe out her sense of taste, sucking, rolling her lovely tongue over that cock which swelled slowly like a snake, protruding deep down her gullet. “Harder.†“Bitch!†She sucked more and more, rolling, rolling, till she could hardly breathe. Then Steve unleashed a little flood, down her throat before whipping out and spraying her face, to the lads’ whooping joy and sick laughter.
“Let’s break the cunt lads!†said Lenny. He picked Kathleen up and dragged her over to the bonnet of her car, throwing her up against it, her pencil skirt and arse jutting very high in the air, the stilettos still on, though the heel had snapped off on one of them. They gathered around, mesmerized by her fine arse. Lenny felt the skirt and buttocks cheeks, almost reverently, smoothing his hands all over them, then quickly hiked the skirt up, exposing her bare arse cheeks. Greedy hands competed, slowly, then more frantically, combing her arse cheeks, widening them, fingers sticking into her anus, causing Kathleen to blanch, fingers caressing around her sodden bush in front. “Jesus†moaned Lenny. Next, he brutally ripped her skirt off which fell in tatters around her ankles, he used his legs to violently spread her legs apart, wide, pressed her down onto the bonnet, and began raping her arse, shoving it in, hard, for her anus was tight, forcing, deeper, Kathleen squirming, her mind almost bursting with the pain, and then he began jerking, jerking, jerking inside her, using his hands to finger-fuck her pussy, rolling his hands across to her tits, squeezing them, banging her torso onto the bonnet every now and then with a loud slam, banging her, up and down like a piece of meat, bashing her head off the bonnet causing more bruises. Robbo and Steve, drunk with lust, rolled their hands over her spread legs, down to her heels, rolling up again, squeezing her calves, her thighs. “Fuckin’ whore, jesus h. fuckin’ Christ lads†exclaimed Lenny in ecstasy as he jerked her harder and harder, throwing her body down on the bonnet like a savage, before he finally squirted, spreading a fire of sperm inside her innards, causing Kathleen to burst out “Sweet jesus, sweet fuckin’….†before collapsing on the bonnet. Steve then moved on her arse, only for Robbo to violently push him aside, “Fuck off, she’s mine!†Robbo took off his belt and walloped her legs, flogging her, belting her arse. Then he invaded her arse, violently and quickly using her hips and thighs as leverage, before squirting and dropping her onto the bonnet too. Then Steve, immensely frustrated, like a demented fuck jumped on her, banged her head very hard on the bonnet, provoking a screaming, begging pathetic whelp from Kathleen. “Please jesus, please, enough, please…†“Fuck you, ya Irish slag!†He raped her harder, hard, extracting his cock to suck her arse and legs before raping her again, cum and blood dripping down her legs. Meanwhile, Lenny opened her briefcase and began, almost seriously, reading her documents, while Robbo stared intently at Steve’s brutality, stroking himself and lighting a long deserved cigarette, watching transfixed as Steve brutally raped her – the bewitching sight of her legs swaying from side to side, the visible part of her arse bopping, throbbing, heels squeaking. “Ye want it don’t ya, don’t ya, don’t ya, ya bitch†exclaimed lunatic Steve as he finally squirted, squirted, using her body as a rag, prancing her tits and face onto the ruined, bloodied bonnet, beating he back, before letting loose. Kathleen, catatonic by now, slowly slid off the bonnet, falling on her back, totally nude except for one high heel still on her foot.
“Come on, let’s split, bitch is fuckin’ finished†said Lenny, bumming Robbo’s fag off him. Steve stepped over, held up Kathleen’s weeping wreck of a face, drew back, and gave her the boot, slamming her head off the car. They laughed and left, strutting, singing, and occasionally belching.
Back at the car, Kathleen passed out for four hours, until she awoke. Crying, ashamed, in extreme pain, she took an hour to get herself reasonably attired, before crawling off, barely erect, limping on the shoe with the broken heel.
Kathleen Kelly was a successful, high-powered, attractive Irish businesswoman, working and residing in London. She was 35, and had been marketing director with prestigious Soho insurance firm Richards and Able Ltd for the past four years. Kathleen was a woman who certainly stood out. She stood five feet, eight inches, fairly tall, well-endowed with a curvy, voluptuous figure: large breasts, broad hips, strong, shapely legs, a pretty, even beautiful head, large luscious brown eyes, rich crimson lips, topped off by luxuriant dark brown hair which dangled on her shoulders and cupped her face. Her skin was fresh, healthy, delicate, her face lit up by a broad smile which flashed her eyes and flushed her cheeks. She was charming, talkative, very assertive of course, passionate, typically Irish. She was strong, confident, intelligent, a bloody hard worker, she lived for her job, for success, achievement, money, driven by power – a sense of her own and a desire for more. She was dynamic, a little ruthless in the workplace, sometimes shouting at her cringing subordinates in a shrill, harsh Irish accent; at other times she was considerate, spoiling, indulgent – either way, always in control and demanding that everything be “just so.†Some of her English male colleagues certainly wanted to fuck the shit out of her, awestruck by that gorgeous figure swaying from side to side always in tight skirt, blouse and heels, but none dared approach her for fear that either she would end up breaking their balls in the sack or somehow be ‘dissatisfied’ with their inadequate ‘performance’.
Kathleen knew how to dress – dress to kill. She knew her figure, how to maximize its attractiveness, while also being elegant and respectable – tempting men while keeping them firmly at bay. She was always in control and always would be. Her penchant was for tight, hip-hugging black pencil skirts, perfectly clasping her broad ass and hips, ending just at the knee, just a little, tiny bit above the knee caps, framing a sexually arousing, firm and wide crotch area. Then, to amplify the effect, she chose tight, clingy, white or cream blouses, slightly see-through, low-neck, buttons not even beginning until below the tops of her heaving large breasts. She wasn’t vulgar – didn’t have to be. Big, pouting breasts, almost bursting through the slight film of blouse, up close the outline of cotton or lacy bra was somewhat visible, the rich folds of big breast flesh barely supported by the seemingly inadequate bra. When she walked, the breasts jutted side to side, up and down, bobbing, bobbing, just a little, never too much, but always just so; it seemed a miracle, a fucking unwanted miracle to the lads in the office, that the bra never broke – or the thin blouse for that matter. Sometimes she wore hose, sometimes not. She was proud of her bare legs – strong, firm, curvy, perfectly in shape and proportion to her broad arse and hips, supporting that tasteful torso. The whole effect was topped off by three or four inch stilettos, awkward to walk in, sharp heels that could rip a carpet to shreds if provoked into anger, heels barely covering her toes, amplifying those luscious legs and cocking that pert fine arse a little higher, a little snootier. Men didn’t know which was hotter, which scene more provoking, which view caused the most arousal: Kathleen prancing through the office, the skirt swish-swishing, her hips swaying from side to side, stilettos squeaking in a rush, arse swaying, legs cocking, the arse bobbing up and down as if to say ‘fuck you’ to all and sundry, the breasts bouncing, bouncing, bouncing, or, Kathleen calling a bloke into her office, sitting him down in a pet-pet motherly manner and then drawing a chair next to him, sitting down herself, the hem of the pencil skirt swooshing up her full legs, followed by her crossing right thigh over left knee, squeezing those legs together, the hem rising ever higher, higher, up her thighs, the half-exposed big chest drawing closer before she asked in her little Irish accent, “So, Davy, where’s the fucking profit sheet?â€
On this Friday night, Kathleen was having late dinner with two work colleagues, Bill Dyers and James McHenry, together with four visitors, two men, two women, from an associate American firm. They dined at Renards, Kathleen’s favourite French restaurant, just off swanky Kimble Street. Kathleen looked particularly attractive that night: hair, long and straight; eyes sparkling even more than usual helped by tasteful eye-shadow (and a few vodkas too many!); stunning, flimsy thin, white blouse, lacy around the buttons, extremely low-neck, her black silk bra transparently staring out, breasts spilling out, black pencil skirt rather above the knee on this occasion and very much so above the knee when sitting and crossing her legs, three-inch black heels – the pointy heels like a dagger strutting the ground, proof of her utter assuredness and domination. Kinky little black jacket topped it off. It was a successful, pleasurable dinner, Kathleen thoroughly enjoying herself, knocking back four vodkas in forty minutes, to the amazement of her colleagues, but not to her – as a proud Irishwoman she could easily handle such alcohol! She turned on the charm, needling her new American friends, pressing their arms, squeezing her legs tighter and loose, tighter and loose, pressing the men into her ‘confidence’ by drawing their heads down for a whisper, in the process almost burying them into her cleavage, the aroma enraptured by her loud voice, alcoholic laughter, and endless head tossing, hair flying around.
At 12.30 the dinner broke up and they went their separate ways. Kathleen, brushing off suggestions that she may be too tipsy to drive, walked out, down the street, and then a few more streets, disdaining a cab, and making for the underground garage where she had left her six-month old Bentley Continental. Kathleen walked a little slower than usual; she wasn’t drunk but there were some effects. So she walked, firmly, confidently, her figure still sashaying, wearing an expensive long black overcoat, clutching her purse and leather briefcase. The coat was partly buttoned, but through its crevice swish-swished her long, shapely, bare legs, the stilettos crashing off the solid ground, quite loudly.
Lenny, Robbo and Steve were out on the piss! They were young lads, ‘up for it’, loud, brash, crass, vulgar, a little aggressive, ‘didn’t give a fuck!’ Lenny was 23, the eldest, leader of the pack, a tall, skinny but tough fucker, the face of a convict on him, a little wispy decaying blond hair on his head. Indeed, he had been in jail, for theft, twice. Robbo was 20, a college student, a short but stocky, brown-haired bloke, chain-smoking, the loudest and most talkative. Steve was fairly quiet, only 19, currently unemployed, something of a ‘follower’, eager to please the older lads, tall and rather handsome. The lads had been on a pub crawl all evening and night, and were quite blown by midnight, taking breaks from pubs for a sidewalk indulgence in smoking cannabis. Mixed with the drink, eventually they became stressed, tetchy, high-strung, aggressive, ‘looking for fuckin’ action!’ They provoked passing couples, whistling at “bitchesâ€, giving the finger, and on one occasion spitting at a gypsy beggar – Lenny even took out his cock and pissed on him, before they all scampered off laughing. By nearly 1 in the morning, they were hanging around near the underground car park, bantering amongst themselves, pissing up against walls and cars, Steve vomited up the alcohol and cannabis twice, while the others baited him and slapped him on the back.
A dog barked, drawing their attention to the figure of Kathleen approaching the car park entrance. They found her attractive from a distance, and then even more so as she got closer. Stupidly, Kathleen stopped, giving them more time, and drew a smoke. Smoking was her secret vice – she only did it now, far from people, far from view…. or so she thought. A slight wind blew up, blowing the folds of her long coat open, exposing gorgeous bare legs and a short skirt – to the amazement and delight of the lads. The wind blew her briefcase over – she bent down to put it upright, in the process sweeping the hem of her pencil skirt way up her thighs, legs open wide too (she didn’t notice the intense glare of three horny, vulgar young men just two dozen yards away). She stubbed out the cigarette, smothering it – sexily – with her pointy stiletto, and then resumed her confident stride towards the car park entrance, legs swish-swishing through the coat, heels causing loud little bangs.
Inside the car park, it was cold, very, very cold, almost menacing. No one around. Not a soul. Nothing but endless columns of cars. The lads followed this attractive, rich bitch inside, just curious at first. They hadn’t been laid in months anyway, and cheap chav hookers were decidedly nothing compared to a cunt like THIS. Not that rape was on their minds, as such, more the imaginary thought of fucking her. They were also struck by her obvious – stupid – vulnerability. At least, they could rob the business cunt, eh? Kathleen strode forward, the sound of her heels on the cold hard floor louder and louder, muffling the sound of the three lads hesitantly, excitedly following her through the underground car park.
Suddenly, Lenny’s shoe screeched on the surface. Kathleen turned around to see the three lads following her. Their cover was blown. Now or never! “Oi luv, how’s you then, eh?†Kathleen gulped, turned again, and walked faster. Faster, faster. So did the lads, tormenting her, whistling, whistling, “Nice fuckin one eh luv? Ah come on luv, talk to us, wot you fuckin’ afraid of eh?†They were faster. Her high heels and the weight of her briefcase held her up, all her arrogance and power now suddenly worthless. She finally got to her car and started taking the keys out of her purse – nervously, shaking. But she knew it was hopeless. These little bastards had her. “Come on eh†said Lenny as he turned her around. The three of them were now in her face. “What do ye want†she asked, half in fear, half as a proud, defiant utterance. “Irish bitch eh†Robbo remarked as her accent made itself plain. Their eyes glared. Not only was she a fine looking cunt, she was an Irish fine looking cunt. “Just wantin’ to be friendly†said Lenny, “just fuckin’ friendly luv†with more menace and a snarl. “Well ye can fuck off†Kathleen replied. They laughed. “Not nice, bitch†said Robbo. Steve, trying to be tough, shouted “You fucking Irish cunt!†They got more aroused now.
“Right, grab her bag.†Kathleen dropped her briefcase and now her purse was ripped from her by Lenny, as Steve and Robbo grabbed her by the arms. She fought, tried to get away, but was held firm. Lenny ransacked her purse and dropped everything onto the floor, retaining only her large, well-filled wallet. “Nice one bitch!†“What else she got on her, eh?†Lenny asked, his eyes now running all over her. “Take off her coat.†The lads did so quickly, leaving Kathleen in her pencil skirt, blouse, heels and little perky jacket that was too small to cover her ample chest. Kathleen felt real nervous now – this might be more than just a robbery. She began to shake, ever so slightly. Without ‘orders’, Robbo swept off her little jacket. They gazed in amazement, happy amazement, at her gorgeous chest bursting forth, invitingly, the extremely low-neck, thin film white blouse, her black bra brazenly transparent through the thin white film blouse – the bra and the big breasts it encased shining all the more with the gaudy light in the garage. They noticed everything quickly – not just the sexy chest, but the tight, short, very very short and tight pencil skirt, and how sexy and pathetically vulnerable the high pointy heels were. Her curves were bursting through the skirt and blouse. Her hair was long and rich. Her eyes were a daring, tempting mix of pure sexuality so natural to this woman and despising defiance. This cunt deserved more than a mere robbery.
Whistling softly, they drew in on her. “Nice looking paddy cunt eh†said Lenny. “Ever ‘ad English cock Irish?†“Fuck off†Kathleen replied, as if trying to find strength. Robbo and Steve held her arms tight as she sort of struggled. Lenny drew closer and began rubbing his hands over her chest, feeling those bouncing breasts, squeezing, playing, buttons falling out exposing more bra and breasts. Kathleen winced, sobbed. Robbo looked downward, downward, and inserted his hand up her skirt, brushing his fingers against her shapely legs, up, up, up, sweeping the hem up, and rubbing the crotch area of her black little panties, then quickly cupping her arse.
At this Kathleen had enough. “Fuckin’ English bastards!†They were so distracted by her body they didn’t expect this fight-back! She broke free, kicked Lenny in the balls and then began running. They quickly recovered and, realizing she had no chance in hell of escape, let her run for a few seconds, happy that she was doing this – it made the fun all the greater. Hollering, whistling, swearing, they began running after her. She didn’t get far anyway; those heels and the tightness of the skirt made it impossible – her large breasts added a gravity problem when running too. Quickly they grabbed her – now more aggressive than before. Much more aggressive “Fuckin’ Irish bitch!†screamed Lenny. Robbo held an arm and a leg, skirt yanked up now, Steve her other arm. “Right!†Lenny whacked her across the face. Kathleen, still defiant, spat back at him. Another whack. Another. Another. She was being beaten now, badly, repetitively. She still looked defiant and spat at him again. “English bastard!†Lenny grabbed, her face, licked it to her disgust and mortification, and then drew back and punched her, full on, nearly knocking her out. Blood streaked across Kathleen’s lips and one of her eyes was bruised. Robbo couldn’t restrain himself anymore. The violence, the lust, the hatred, this gorgeous business fucking bitch, this Irish business whore. He tugged at her buttons. Her flimsy blouse dissolved almost instantly, the black bra and huge globes bouncing out, to be grabbed and kissed instantly.
“Let’s fuckin do her! ordered Lenny. Like hyenas, they whistled ecstatically and gathered her up violently – Lenny her legs, Robbo and Steve her arse, back, back towards her car – where the light was good. Kathleen, though dazed, knew what was about to happen. She struggled, cursed, as best she could, her heart palpitating, but her resistance only intensified their hatred and determination to rape the shit out of her – every protest and struggle by her made them hold her harder, painfully, fingers digging into her stomach and legs. She was plonked down on the ground. Robbo and Steve held arms out wide and spread, Lenny grabbed her legs. They ripped her blouse apart in a second, Lenny yanked up her pencil skirt, exposing gorgeous thighs, milky white Irish skin. Kathleen kicked, hitting Lenny in the face with her sharp heel, drawing blood. Screaming: “Ye fuckin’ Irish rich fuckin’ whore!!†He beat her again, slapped her legs, yanked the legs wide, while Robbo ripped open her panties, all of them now staring at her massive dark brown wild bush. Her face was contorted with fear and fighting spirit, Steve punched her again as her body was held more firmly, more totally, than before. Lenny began unzipping, taking out his cock, and then rammed away. Kathleen screamed at this invasion. Lenny pumped and pumped, licking and kissing her, while Robbo and Steve rubbed her head and her stomach. Lenny, then threw her down and came all over her body, pressing down on her, oppressing her, ripping the bra off from in front with a violent tear, grabbing her breasts and squeezing the shit out of them, hard, hard, hard banging her torso off the ground with each fuck, almost pulling her tits off her body. They were all so aroused now, even the sweet perfume on this bitch…. Kathleen screamed and wept with the pain, face red, sweating, terrorized, hating, trying so hard to fight. Finally, Lenny came. He whacked her across the face, drawing more blood from her lip. He got off her, and then watched as Robbo unzipped and took his turn raping her. Robbo punched her breasts, “Fuckin Irish bitch, come on luv, eh, eh?†He fucked and fucked, punching those tits, almost breaking her arms, while Steve bent over and – almost tenderly – began kissing her, licking her. Kathleen began crying, sobbing. Robbo held her legs wide and high, creating as much penetration pressure on her pussy as possible, rubbing those legs, even licking them, getting more aroused, occasionally letting her legs drop to the ground, all of them excited as her heels squeakily scratched the floor with each ‘pump’ by Robbo, accentuating the curves on her legs. He was taking his time. Finally, he came too.
Now Steve unzipped and bent down, first stuffing his face inside her cum and blood-strained pussy, wallowing in the filth, sticking his tongue inside her. Lenny and Robbo bent her arms back real wide and hard, painfully, her big breasts being raised up under the pressure, and then they began ripping the breasts, digging their fingers in, squeezing the nipples, Lenny also licking Kathleen’s reddened face. “Ya luv it don’t you cunt, don’t you bitch, ya hehe hehe!†Steve penetrated her, and then saying “Fuck off†to his mates, grabbed her tits himself, using them as leverage for deep, deep penetration. He kicked her legs wide, then raised them up very high and wide, using his fingers to push her pencil skirt right up to her waist. Then, cumming, he dropped the bitch’s legs – they fell flat, breaking the heel of a stiletto.
Kathleen was in a state of pure frenzied terror, frantic, bursting with maximum stress and shock. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. In her hysterical mind, she didn’t know which was worse – the physical pain of violent penetration and strong male arms and hands crushing her, ripping her, or the sheer degradation of being violated, raped, degraded, humiliated, hated by ravenous disgusting drunken bastards, English bastards, doing this to her, a successful, beautiful proud Irishwoman. She hated herself, she hated them, she clenched her teeth, just hoping it would pass, occasionally erupting with a curse, a rebuke, sometimes still trying to fight, kicking a leg or jerking an arm, only to be punished by a harsher embrace and “fuck off†blasting into her ear.
After Steve squirted inside her Irish cunt, they wanted more. She was roughly raised half-upright, for Steve to punch her, twice. “Go on mate, hit the Irish slagâ€, and he punched her again, bursting Katheen’s lip which spurted blood. Steve then clasped his cock, masturbating himself while watching her. She spat at him!, her face still defiant even after all this ordeal. Robbo and Lenny then forced her face onto his cock. “Suck it slag, suck it, go on ya cunt, come on Paddy, eh†Disgusted, smelling the stench of his cock, Kathleen had her face rubbed all over his cock, and then Steve forced her lips apart and shoved it in. Steve’s fingers coerced her into sucking well, while Lenny applied extra ‘persuasion’ by squeezing her nipples. So she sucked, closing her eyes, trying to wipe out her sense of taste, sucking, rolling her lovely tongue over that cock which swelled slowly like a snake, protruding deep down her gullet. “Harder.†“Bitch!†She sucked more and more, rolling, rolling, till she could hardly breathe. Then Steve unleashed a little flood, down her throat before whipping out and spraying her face, to the lads’ whooping joy and sick laughter.
“Let’s break the cunt lads!†said Lenny. He picked Kathleen up and dragged her over to the bonnet of her car, throwing her up against it, her pencil skirt and arse jutting very high in the air, the stilettos still on, though the heel had snapped off on one of them. They gathered around, mesmerized by her fine arse. Lenny felt the skirt and buttocks cheeks, almost reverently, smoothing his hands all over them, then quickly hiked the skirt up, exposing her bare arse cheeks. Greedy hands competed, slowly, then more frantically, combing her arse cheeks, widening them, fingers sticking into her anus, causing Kathleen to blanch, fingers caressing around her sodden bush in front. “Jesus†moaned Lenny. Next, he brutally ripped her skirt off which fell in tatters around her ankles, he used his legs to violently spread her legs apart, wide, pressed her down onto the bonnet, and began raping her arse, shoving it in, hard, for her anus was tight, forcing, deeper, Kathleen squirming, her mind almost bursting with the pain, and then he began jerking, jerking, jerking inside her, using his hands to finger-fuck her pussy, rolling his hands across to her tits, squeezing them, banging her torso onto the bonnet every now and then with a loud slam, banging her, up and down like a piece of meat, bashing her head off the bonnet causing more bruises. Robbo and Steve, drunk with lust, rolled their hands over her spread legs, down to her heels, rolling up again, squeezing her calves, her thighs. “Fuckin’ whore, jesus h. fuckin’ Christ lads†exclaimed Lenny in ecstasy as he jerked her harder and harder, throwing her body down on the bonnet like a savage, before he finally squirted, spreading a fire of sperm inside her innards, causing Kathleen to burst out “Sweet jesus, sweet fuckin’….†before collapsing on the bonnet. Steve then moved on her arse, only for Robbo to violently push him aside, “Fuck off, she’s mine!†Robbo took off his belt and walloped her legs, flogging her, belting her arse. Then he invaded her arse, violently and quickly using her hips and thighs as leverage, before squirting and dropping her onto the bonnet too. Then Steve, immensely frustrated, like a demented fuck jumped on her, banged her head very hard on the bonnet, provoking a screaming, begging pathetic whelp from Kathleen. “Please jesus, please, enough, please…†“Fuck you, ya Irish slag!†He raped her harder, hard, extracting his cock to suck her arse and legs before raping her again, cum and blood dripping down her legs. Meanwhile, Lenny opened her briefcase and began, almost seriously, reading her documents, while Robbo stared intently at Steve’s brutality, stroking himself and lighting a long deserved cigarette, watching transfixed as Steve brutally raped her – the bewitching sight of her legs swaying from side to side, the visible part of her arse bopping, throbbing, heels squeaking. “Ye want it don’t ya, don’t ya, don’t ya, ya bitch†exclaimed lunatic Steve as he finally squirted, squirted, using her body as a rag, prancing her tits and face onto the ruined, bloodied bonnet, beating he back, before letting loose. Kathleen, catatonic by now, slowly slid off the bonnet, falling on her back, totally nude except for one high heel still on her foot.
“Come on, let’s split, bitch is fuckin’ finished†said Lenny, bumming Robbo’s fag off him. Steve stepped over, held up Kathleen’s weeping wreck of a face, drew back, and gave her the boot, slamming her head off the car. They laughed and left, strutting, singing, and occasionally belching.
Back at the car, Kathleen passed out for four hours, until she awoke. Crying, ashamed, in extreme pain, she took an hour to get herself reasonably attired, before crawling off, barely erect, limping on the shoe with the broken heel.