They dressed themselves, passed some bottles of water around from their packs, and then they got busy carrying out one of the hawk-headed statues, to load in their boat out there or whatever they had. Turned out the doorway wasn't too big for it after all, so moving the thing wasn't as hard as it might have been. Still took the group a couple hours.
Priyanka lay on her side on the floor, all this time, bound and gagged, naked and filthy. Sticky and itching all over with dried and crusted semen.She did not waste her strength trying to struggle, though she shivered frequently—not with cold. She wept a little, but was too angry to feel much fear or despair. At least she didn't think of her feelings as fear or despair. She didn't acknowledge those emotions—anchoring herself, with all her remaining will, on to anger, alone. On to burning, blazing, furious rage.
But unfortunately, a feeling that intense is hard to maintain, for any great length of time. The fire inside her was only simmering low and blue, by the time the men's attention returned to her.
Once they were done getting the statue out, the men came back into the temple. They drank a good deal more water, smoked some cigarettes, and ate some candy bars. Then they all undressed again.
They ungagged Priyanka and gave her some water, but kept her tied. And then each of them fucked her again.
Since she had already given herself to all of them, she had been half-expecting the men to want to move on to some new, more ghastly amusement. But it seemed the novelty of screwing hadn't yet worn off. No doubt it was a big difference, indulging themselves upon a bound protesting captive, versus how it was before, with her in charge, calling all the shots.
It was ridiculous and useless and she knew it—it wouldn't do her any good at all—but still when they pulled the gag off her and moved her into the position they wanted, she said "Don't do this. You said you wouldn't do this. I already pleasured all of you. I'll do it again if you want but not like this. Untie me, please. Don't do it like this. You fucking bastards. Why are you doing this to me?"
The only answer she got was the head of a cock pressing her opening. She clenched there, defensively. But it wouldn't do any good, keeping him out."Wait! Wait! Listen to me!" He was pushing, but only slightly—only nudging the gash, to torment her. Each nudge made her tighten again and squirm. "Will you just listen? Listen I UHHuhhnn."
She was penetrated. And slowly, slowly, savoring her, he pushed in more and more, further and further. She thought he had her filled, but then it pushed even deeper. "HUUHHNN!Bastard!"
They all took her doggy, one after the other. At least they kept it in individual turns. Some wanted to double- or triple-team her, but the leader wouldn't let them. "She'll just bite your cocks off. Besides, I like to hear her. Can't hear her good enough if you're plugging her mouth."
To spite him, after she heard him say that, Priyanka did her best to keep quiet. But it wasn't easy. She didn't manage that for long.
In fact she almost wished they had stuffed their cocks in her mouth. It would have helped her, having something to suck on. Something else to concentrate on, instead of the fucking.Instead of her poor pussy.She wouldn't have bitten them off. That wouldn't have done her any good, in the long run.
The worst part was when she came again. Most of them couldn't make her, but the leader, who took his turn last instead of first, that round—he did, somehow.
More likely she did it to herself, worrying about it too much. She was so horrified by the idea—she told herself it was impossible for a rapist to make her come, but still she couldn't stop thinking how dreadful and humiliating that would be. She knew these men could make her come because they already had so many times. And even though this was a whole different deal, none of them hurt her when they took her anew. She was still too lubricated and stretched out, from all the sex the first time. These fuckings—these rapes—weren't pleasurable, like the sex had been when it was consensual—but they didn't hurt her, either. There was none of the tearing and burning she expected. She seemed to have mostly shut down inside and gone numb. Not completely. All she was aware of was movement, pretty much—shameful, slimy heat—and the pressure of intrusion. It was bad but it could have been much worse. And she almost wished it was. It frightened her that it wasn't more appropriately terrible and agonizing.
And even though they weren't hurting her, she still couldn't endure it all quietly. The violation of it, the unfairness.Her absolute helplessness. She couldn't fight them, she couldn't kick or shove back against them, she could barely move at all. She felt so weak, and even worse, so foolish. For letting this happen to her. Letting herself get suckered. Turned into a plaything. It was all too much to bear.
They're fucking me! They all keep fucking me! I can't away! I can't away! They're gonna keep fucking me and fucking me! All I can do is take it! And keep taking it! But I can't! I can't just keep taking it!
It made her whimper, and then whine, and then, as it went on and on, the whines turned into wails.
"Ahhuuhhnn.Arrhhuuhhrrr.Guuhhhrr."
They loved these noises. But she couldn't stop making them, once they started, seeming to bubble up by themselves from her churning guts and bursting out of her.
One after another, the men took their pleasure from her, pounding her savagely from behind. Of course they'd pull on her braid and smack her bottom at regular intervals, while they did it. At least each finished quickly. When they were ready, they pulled out of her and went around to her front, to unload on her face. Except for one weirdo, who decided to pump off on the bottoms of her feet, instead.Then using his cockhead to smear the slime in between her clenching toes, afterward. It wasn't the first time a guy had jizzed all over her feet. She usually got a kick out of the sensation. It was as if they had to defile every part of her body she'd ever taken pride in, and for the rest of her days, spoil by association every sexual delight she had ever previously enjoyed. It was like she had to be punished for every whimsical indulgence she'd ever dared to make in her sex-life. But they had no right. No one had the right.
It didn't matter. It wouldn't stop them.
As her pussy got more and more used to this, she was terrified the sensations would change. Her body would adapt to accommodate them. It's one of the main ways humans deal with stress and suffering—they get used to it and adapt to it and finally start to enjoy it, if there's nothing else to do. No way to make it stop.
She was so afraid of that happening that she made it happen. Like worrying you're gonna get sick eventually makes you sick. It only happened for the leader, at the very end—but it happened. And she couldn't disguise it. She couldn't hold it in.
By then, they had her screeching at every thrust, and begging for mercy, too.
"EEE! YEEE! Please no more ... Please I can't take anymore ... YUHHH! Please just YAHHRR! Oh please oh ohohohhohhohh God ohh ..."
"You bitch. You hot damn dirty bitch."
She was a bitch, it was true. It was totally true. She was hot and she was dirty and she was a bitch and she was damned. She was damned because she was hot and dirty and a bitch. She was this man's hot damned dirty bitch. They'd made her become this—she'd let them make her. Let them take her. It shouldn't have happened. But she'd been stupid and weak and dirty. Did she deserve this? Had she brought this on herself? It felt like she had.
Because she was going to come now. She couldn't stop him making her come.
"Oh God oh no oh no nonoohhohhhnoo ..."
Ultimate humiliation. She was damned. She was in Hell. She belonged her, because she'd let the fucker make her come again.
(Unless it was those weird flowers, after all.The funny fumes in the air. That might have been the only real reason it happened. She hoped so. She would cling to this theory, afterward.)
And she felt him come right with her, inside her. He probably couldn't help himself, the way her pussy clamped and spasmed on him. She squeezed inside so tight, she felt herself cramping. His cock should have torn right off his body, at the root, if there was any justice in the world.
When she opened her eyes, she was alone. They'd all left. Had it only been a moment, since he finished with her, or had it been longer? She hadn't lost consciousness, but she'd definitely spaced out for a while.
There was a knife on the stone floor in front of her nose. They'd left it there so she'd eventually be able to cut herself free, with a bit of wriggling. Big of them.
And at the moment, she was so absolutely exhausted and demoralized, she didn't have the will left to start trying to free herself. Not now, not yet. Tomorrow.
Priyanka Chopra shut her eyes again, slumped over on her side on the floor and went to sleep right there, with her hands and feet still bound, a steady and endless run of semen trickling down her thighs from the red and swollen cleft of her womanhood.
Priyanka lay on her side on the floor, all this time, bound and gagged, naked and filthy. Sticky and itching all over with dried and crusted semen.She did not waste her strength trying to struggle, though she shivered frequently—not with cold. She wept a little, but was too angry to feel much fear or despair. At least she didn't think of her feelings as fear or despair. She didn't acknowledge those emotions—anchoring herself, with all her remaining will, on to anger, alone. On to burning, blazing, furious rage.
But unfortunately, a feeling that intense is hard to maintain, for any great length of time. The fire inside her was only simmering low and blue, by the time the men's attention returned to her.
Once they were done getting the statue out, the men came back into the temple. They drank a good deal more water, smoked some cigarettes, and ate some candy bars. Then they all undressed again.
They ungagged Priyanka and gave her some water, but kept her tied. And then each of them fucked her again.
Since she had already given herself to all of them, she had been half-expecting the men to want to move on to some new, more ghastly amusement. But it seemed the novelty of screwing hadn't yet worn off. No doubt it was a big difference, indulging themselves upon a bound protesting captive, versus how it was before, with her in charge, calling all the shots.
It was ridiculous and useless and she knew it—it wouldn't do her any good at all—but still when they pulled the gag off her and moved her into the position they wanted, she said "Don't do this. You said you wouldn't do this. I already pleasured all of you. I'll do it again if you want but not like this. Untie me, please. Don't do it like this. You fucking bastards. Why are you doing this to me?"
The only answer she got was the head of a cock pressing her opening. She clenched there, defensively. But it wouldn't do any good, keeping him out."Wait! Wait! Listen to me!" He was pushing, but only slightly—only nudging the gash, to torment her. Each nudge made her tighten again and squirm. "Will you just listen? Listen I UHHuhhnn."
She was penetrated. And slowly, slowly, savoring her, he pushed in more and more, further and further. She thought he had her filled, but then it pushed even deeper. "HUUHHNN!Bastard!"
They all took her doggy, one after the other. At least they kept it in individual turns. Some wanted to double- or triple-team her, but the leader wouldn't let them. "She'll just bite your cocks off. Besides, I like to hear her. Can't hear her good enough if you're plugging her mouth."
To spite him, after she heard him say that, Priyanka did her best to keep quiet. But it wasn't easy. She didn't manage that for long.
In fact she almost wished they had stuffed their cocks in her mouth. It would have helped her, having something to suck on. Something else to concentrate on, instead of the fucking.Instead of her poor pussy.She wouldn't have bitten them off. That wouldn't have done her any good, in the long run.
The worst part was when she came again. Most of them couldn't make her, but the leader, who took his turn last instead of first, that round—he did, somehow.
More likely she did it to herself, worrying about it too much. She was so horrified by the idea—she told herself it was impossible for a rapist to make her come, but still she couldn't stop thinking how dreadful and humiliating that would be. She knew these men could make her come because they already had so many times. And even though this was a whole different deal, none of them hurt her when they took her anew. She was still too lubricated and stretched out, from all the sex the first time. These fuckings—these rapes—weren't pleasurable, like the sex had been when it was consensual—but they didn't hurt her, either. There was none of the tearing and burning she expected. She seemed to have mostly shut down inside and gone numb. Not completely. All she was aware of was movement, pretty much—shameful, slimy heat—and the pressure of intrusion. It was bad but it could have been much worse. And she almost wished it was. It frightened her that it wasn't more appropriately terrible and agonizing.
And even though they weren't hurting her, she still couldn't endure it all quietly. The violation of it, the unfairness.Her absolute helplessness. She couldn't fight them, she couldn't kick or shove back against them, she could barely move at all. She felt so weak, and even worse, so foolish. For letting this happen to her. Letting herself get suckered. Turned into a plaything. It was all too much to bear.
They're fucking me! They all keep fucking me! I can't away! I can't away! They're gonna keep fucking me and fucking me! All I can do is take it! And keep taking it! But I can't! I can't just keep taking it!
It made her whimper, and then whine, and then, as it went on and on, the whines turned into wails.
"Ahhuuhhnn.Arrhhuuhhrrr.Guuhhhrr."
They loved these noises. But she couldn't stop making them, once they started, seeming to bubble up by themselves from her churning guts and bursting out of her.
One after another, the men took their pleasure from her, pounding her savagely from behind. Of course they'd pull on her braid and smack her bottom at regular intervals, while they did it. At least each finished quickly. When they were ready, they pulled out of her and went around to her front, to unload on her face. Except for one weirdo, who decided to pump off on the bottoms of her feet, instead.Then using his cockhead to smear the slime in between her clenching toes, afterward. It wasn't the first time a guy had jizzed all over her feet. She usually got a kick out of the sensation. It was as if they had to defile every part of her body she'd ever taken pride in, and for the rest of her days, spoil by association every sexual delight she had ever previously enjoyed. It was like she had to be punished for every whimsical indulgence she'd ever dared to make in her sex-life. But they had no right. No one had the right.
It didn't matter. It wouldn't stop them.
As her pussy got more and more used to this, she was terrified the sensations would change. Her body would adapt to accommodate them. It's one of the main ways humans deal with stress and suffering—they get used to it and adapt to it and finally start to enjoy it, if there's nothing else to do. No way to make it stop.
She was so afraid of that happening that she made it happen. Like worrying you're gonna get sick eventually makes you sick. It only happened for the leader, at the very end—but it happened. And she couldn't disguise it. She couldn't hold it in.
By then, they had her screeching at every thrust, and begging for mercy, too.
"EEE! YEEE! Please no more ... Please I can't take anymore ... YUHHH! Please just YAHHRR! Oh please oh ohohohhohhohh God ohh ..."
"You bitch. You hot damn dirty bitch."
She was a bitch, it was true. It was totally true. She was hot and she was dirty and she was a bitch and she was damned. She was damned because she was hot and dirty and a bitch. She was this man's hot damned dirty bitch. They'd made her become this—she'd let them make her. Let them take her. It shouldn't have happened. But she'd been stupid and weak and dirty. Did she deserve this? Had she brought this on herself? It felt like she had.
Because she was going to come now. She couldn't stop him making her come.
"Oh God oh no oh no nonoohhohhhnoo ..."
Ultimate humiliation. She was damned. She was in Hell. She belonged her, because she'd let the fucker make her come again.
(Unless it was those weird flowers, after all.The funny fumes in the air. That might have been the only real reason it happened. She hoped so. She would cling to this theory, afterward.)
And she felt him come right with her, inside her. He probably couldn't help himself, the way her pussy clamped and spasmed on him. She squeezed inside so tight, she felt herself cramping. His cock should have torn right off his body, at the root, if there was any justice in the world.
When she opened her eyes, she was alone. They'd all left. Had it only been a moment, since he finished with her, or had it been longer? She hadn't lost consciousness, but she'd definitely spaced out for a while.
There was a knife on the stone floor in front of her nose. They'd left it there so she'd eventually be able to cut herself free, with a bit of wriggling. Big of them.
And at the moment, she was so absolutely exhausted and demoralized, she didn't have the will left to start trying to free herself. Not now, not yet. Tomorrow.
Priyanka Chopra shut her eyes again, slumped over on her side on the floor and went to sleep right there, with her hands and feet still bound, a steady and endless run of semen trickling down her thighs from the red and swollen cleft of her womanhood.