MAKING A DEPOSIT

The blast of cool air that caressed the long-legged 
young woman's body was a welcome relief in the Southern 
California September afternoon. For a few seconds, she 
just stood there, reveling in the coolness. Then, she 
moved over to one of the customer convenience counters. 
There were several people in the bank, but she didn't 
pay any particular attention as she concentrated on 
filling out her deposit slip. 

Finished, she straightened up and had just taken one 
step toward the line waiting for a teller, when the 
street door suddenly slammed open with a loud bang. 
Billie's shoulder length brown hair whipped around her 
face as she whirled her head around. She heard a woman 
scream. 

Five men, each holding what Billie would always think 
of as a huge pistol, were fanning out through the bank 
lobby. Billie's heart leaped into her throat where it 
beat furiously, choking her. 

"Okay, everybody just stay still and keep calm and 
nobody gets hurt," one of the men shouted. "Everybody 
into the corner... over there. Move! Now!" 

For a second, nothing happened, then the other 
customers began shuffling toward the corner the man had 
indicated. The bank employees, herded by a sixth man 
who had evidently came in another door, flowed out from 
behind the counters and joined the customers in one 
frightened mass. 

To Billie, everything seemed to be moving in slow 
motion. She couldn't seem to force herself to move at 
all. There was an old man standing near her, and he too 
seemed rooted to the spot. One of the men, wearing a 
nylon stocking over his face, stomped threateningly 
toward them. "You heard the man, into that corner. Now, 
goddamnit!" He shouted at them. His voice thundered in 
Billie's head, echoing as though they were in a small, 
empty room. She began to shiver, her stomach whirling.. 

"Now, now, see here..." The old man began, sputtering. 

The gunman brought his hand up, viciously cracking it 
into the side of the man's head, knocking him to the 
floor, blood spurting from the side of his head. Billie 
stared down at his crumpled form, her skin tingling as 
if her body were electrically charged, every cell awake 
and tingling. 

With the same eerie slowness, the gunman moved closer 
to Billie. He was black, they all were she realized, 
and now that he was next to her she saw that he was 
huge, and muscular. His eyes, even through the veil of 
the nylon stocking, were cruel and deep. Her shivers 
deepened into body-whacking trembles. 

"That means you too, bitch," he snarled at her. Still 
she couldn't move, could only stand there, panting. Her 
nipples were hard, she realized, poking out against her 
suddenly too tight bra. They ached, feeling like they 
would burst at any moment. A tiny stream of moisture 
began to wet her panties. She stared at the man like a 
bird at a snake. 

"Move it, slut!" he snapped again, lashing his open 
palm across her cheek. Stinging pain spread over her 
face. 

Her ears echoed with the exciting sound of his palm 
striking her flesh. The trickle between her legs became 
a stream. Tiny whimpering sounds came from her throat. 
Her eyes, even as she trembled with fear, danced with 
the flame of the confusing fire raging within her. 
Gradually the thug began to realize what was happening 
to the good-looking young girl he was towering over. 

A big grin began to spread over his face beneath the 
mask, and he slapped her again, laughing slightly. 
Around them the noise of breaking glass and splitting 
wood filled the room as his companions began to smash 
open cash drawers. Neither of them paid any attention 
to the noise. 

Casually, almost contemptuously, the man ran his hands 
over Billie's body while she stood, whimpering softly. 
His hands squeezed her breast, hard, and she moaned, 
swaying toward him, her eyes closing before the wave of 
passion sweeping over her. His hands went lower, 
sliding down over her waist, reaching around to cup her 
buttocks, pulling her to him. His hot breath seared her 
cheeks and she felt his hard-on burning into her 
through their clothes. She groaned out loud and he 
laughed again, suddenly grabbing her arm and twisting 
it up behind her back. 

She cried out at the sudden pain, spinning in his grasp 
as he cruelly turned her around, twisting the other arm 
back and holding them both painfully high up between 
her shoulders. Sobbing, her arms on the verge of 
breaking, she stumbled before him as he pushed her 
toward a table against one wall opposite where the 
other captives had been herded and were watching. 

All the way, his phallus was growing in his pants, 
poking into her rump as he walked her across the floor. 
As they neared the table, he shifted his grip, holding 
both her arms with one hand. With his free hand, he 
began tearing at her clothes even as he pushed her face 
down over the table. 

Sharp, yelping sounds rose from her throat as her body 
twisted on the rough wood, her legs spread and her feet 
dangling inches off the floor. He clawed her skirt up 
over her waist and ripped at her pantyhose, tearing 
them to shreds and yanking her skimpy panties from her 
moist crotch. 

For an instant she felt cool air caressing her heated 
sex, and she spread wider arching her hips up, her head 
rolling and twisting in passion. He smacked his wide, 
calloused hand down on the upturned, white flesh of her 
ass. Once, twice, three times he hit her... and she 
cried out in pain at each blow, her nails clawing the 
table top, but she never for a moment tried to escape. 

Finally, panting, he stopped beating her and fumbled at 
his fly. She heard the sound of his zipper, seeming to 
drown out the continuing backdrop of breaking glass and 
curses. She threw her head up, mouth open, screaming as 
his hot, hard cock slammed deep into her dripping cunt. 

"Oh yes, YESS!" She screamed in delirium, pounding the 
table and throwing her head in neck wrenching circles, 
her hair swirling around her face. 

Flashes of lightening went off in her head. She began 
to come immediately, filled with the pain/pleasure of 
his cockhead bumping, pounding against the depths of 
her welcoming sheath. She couldn't stop cumming. His 
huge prick filled and stretched her pussy. She could 
feel every inch, every blood filled ridge. The inner 
flesh of her hole gripped him, caressing and milking 
his raging cock, embracing and saluting the brutal 
ravaging. 

The man knotted his fingers in her long brown hair, 
pulling her harder back against him, forcing her to 
arch her body more, opening herself even more for his 
pleasure. The pain in her scalp seemed to intensify the 
pleasure in her crotch and her body surrendered totally 
to the flood of sensations leaping and dancing within 
her. 

In her delirium, her hands tore her blouse open and 
ripped her bra off, freeing her swollen breasts. Now 
the firm, full mounds rolled beneath her as she 
writhed, her nipples painfully crushed against the 
table. 

Incredibly, the man's companions had, up until now, 
been too occupied to pay any attention to what was 
happening on the table. Only now did one of them, after 
glancing at his watch look up. 

"Okay...let's... Shit! What the...?" He laughed. "Hey 
man... finish it... Dump your load. Let's get the fuck 
outta here!" 

The man riding Billie quickened his movements. He began 
to grunt, then cried out. Billie's body bucked, a high-
pitched wail rising from deep in her throat as she 
received his seed. Hot, steaming semen gushed deep into 
her hole, bathing the torn tissues within. 

Her orgasm leaped to new heights as she bucked and 
tossed on the table, clawing at her breasts. His 
movements slowed, then ceased. For a moment he lay 
drained on top of her twitching body, then, with a 
sigh, he heaved himself to his feet. 

His cock slipped from her hole with a loud plop, 
followed by a gush of mingled semen and cunt juice 
which ran down her legs, dripping onto the floor, in 
full view of the shocked and numb captives. He swatted 
her once more across the ass, and then turned, zipping 
up his fly as he ran to the door with his fellows. 

Billie, barely conscious, began to slip off the table, 
unable to find the strength to arrest her fall. Like an 
old, discarded sack, her body sagged to the floor, 
where she lay, a sobbing, moaning heap of satiated 
flesh. 

For a few long moments the room was perfectly still. 
The unhurt victims seemingly unable to move, frozen in 
place by the orgasmic scene they had just witnessed. 
They just stared at Billie. She had fallen with her 
legs sprayed, her open pussy, oozing semen. Finally, an 
older woman moved. She went to Billie, crouching down 
beside her and gently taking the still moaning woman in 
her arms. As if that had been some kind of signal, the 
others shook themselves and began to live again. 

The police didn't take long to get there, nor did the 
ambulance they called. It was too late in any case. The 
thugs were gone, and the old man was already dead. 
Billie received the news with a loud sob and buried her 
head in the ample bosom of the old woman, who held her 
comfortingly. 

They took Billie to the hospital emergency room, but, 
except for the scratches on her breasts which she had 
inflicted upon herself, she was unhurt. A rape 
counselor talked to her there, and Billie listened 
politely, feigning an interest that she didn't feel. 

After all, she knew she hadn't been raped. She had 
wanted it... probably, at least at first, more than he 
did. From the moment she had seen those pistols, she 
had been excited. And when that man struck the old man, 
and then slapped her and called her a bitch and a 
slut... Oh God! 

In front of those people... all those people... Jesus! 
He beat me, hurt me... and I loved it. 

She realized the rape counselor, a big, older woman, 
had stopped her spiel and was staring at her kind of 
funny. 

"Uh... I-I'm sorry. I really am okay. Please... I'd 
just like to go home." 

"Sure," the woman said, shrugging her shoulders. If 
Billie didn't need her, there were surely others who 
did.