The Dome

The Dome

By Sanderson123

Part 1: The Boys

There were four of us - Bill, Timothy, Harlan, and myself.  I suppose we’d always been interested in those sorts of things, ever since we were kids, but we kept it within fantasy.  Private fantasies between ourselves, of course: I don’t suppose most people could have guessed what we were imagining in our heads, what we were laughing with each other over, what we were egging on each other to escalate as we constructed our stories.  And as we got older, the stories got more and more graphic - I guess puberty makes people realize possibilities.  But we hadn’t realized just how perfect the possibilities were.

Now, Harlan had an uncle - the black sheep of the family, you might call him, but he kept an eye on Harlan.  And somehow along the line he worked out where we were coming from, and started making suggestions to Harlan to pass onto us.  You know the sort of thing, extra elements to add to a scenario that would make it all the more perfect.  And Harlan liked it, and we liked it, and Harlan went back for more.  His uncle had a club - a seedy, members only sort of club; and Harlan used to go along there and stay a night or two, and then come back to us with more ideas.

Anyway, we turned 18 - Bill was the last of us to do so.  So we were trying to set up something for his birthday, when suddenly Harlan came up with a new idea.

“Hey, you know my uncle’s club?  He’s having a new event on Thursday night.  Private, invited guests only.  And he says we can have first try before anyone else.”

Well, once he said that, it was obvious.  What 18-year old boy wouldn’t want to try out a private sex joint?  And this was clearly something special.

So on Thursday night we assembled round the back of Harlan’s uncle’s club.  His uncle met us with a smile, ushered us through a service entrance and down several flights of stairs, and finally paused before a metal door.

“In here, boys.  Have fun!  Just remember, you’ve got two hours”.

We went into the room - and stopped.  We looked, our mouths gaping.

In the center of the room was a large metal dome rising about seven feet from the floor.  Emerging from the dome, like spokes from a wheel, at each of the four points of the compass, was a carpeted platform about three feet above the ground.  And on each platform, lying flat on her back, was a girl.  Or rather, part of a girl.  The whole of her body was there right up to her breasts, but across her armpits and collarbone was the wall of the dome, fitted with perfect tightness to her form.  Her shoulders, arms and head were all hidden inside.

We stared and walked around in fascination, not daring even to touch.  Each girl was fully clothed and completely unrestrained - apart, of course, from the severe restraint of having the upper part of her torso fixed in the dome, and the perhaps even severer restraint - who knows? - of not being able to reach with her arms to touch any part of her body below.

The first girl was quite short, though slim, and wore black knee-high heeled boots over tight-fitting black jeans; on top she had on a simple red blouse with ruffles over her bosom.  Her breasts were large, and even with her lying on her back they swelled and pressed against her clothes.

The second girl was a little taller, and was wearing a purple Lycra bodystocking, which clung tight to her whole body.  She had white running shoes on her feet.

The third girl was the smallest and slenderest of all.  She wore a white print dress below the knee spotted with strawberries, fine white hose, and white flat ballet pumps.  Her breasts were barely visible as a rise beneath the dress.

And as for the fourth, she was clearly out looking for a good time.  Tall and slender, with a short and tight black mini-dress, a low-cut bosom through which the top of her breasts bulged.  Elegant, shapely, lightly tanned legs; no hose, but black strappy 4 inch spike-heeled sandals completed the ensemble.

“Well, Bill,” said Harlan.  “Happy birthday!”

Bill was still staring.

So aren’t you going to get on with it?”

That broke Bill out of his paralysis.  He took hold of the nearest girl, the one with boots and jeans, and started to pull on the first boot. At that the girl seemed to wake up, and started to kick violently; but Timothy and I leapt in to give him a hand, and it was easy to grab her legs and press them down while Bill eased off the boots.  Then he turned his attention to the jeans, engendering even more struggles in the girl, but he forced them down and off her legs, exposing her red panties, which had ridden down with the jeans.  They too came off.  Then he turned to Harlan.

“What about her top - how do we do that?”

“Use these” - and from a cupboard on a side wall Harlan produced a large and sharp pair of scissors.  They made short work of the blouse, leaving just a ragged rim at the top where the girl’s body entered the dome; her red bra followed, and her breasts sprung out.  And at last she lay there, panting and naked.

I could see the genius of the system.  The girl could move, struggle and kick to her heart’s content, but she couldn’t turn her body or cover herself with her arms.  She was totally exposed.  As the last piece of clothing was removed, she subsided, and lay there naked, with her splendid bosom rising and falling in an exhausted pant.  She turned out to be Indian - her skin had that sort of dusky darkness to it.

One thing puzzled me.

“Harlan, how come she didn’t make any noise?  Is she gagged?”

“No - or at least, I don’t think so.  The dome is completely soundproofed, even at the point around their bodies.  They can’t hear us, and we can’t hear them.”

We turned our attention to the girl in Lycra.  That was an easier task.  Timothy and I held her ankles tight, Harlan and Bill removed the running shoes quickly, then started to work with the scissors.  After the initial cut, the Lycra ripped apart. Her sports bra and panties followed, revealing a well-toned muscular body and a bush of dark brown hair.

Now the girl in the print dress.  She too kicked and struggled, but to no avail.  We didn’t even bother with scissors, but took hold of the light dress and ripped it from her body.  Her bra - padded, it turned out - went next; then her shoes, hose and panties.  She looked almost boyish as she lay there, apart from the swelling of her nipples, her pinched waist, and of course her cunt clearly visible through its topping of blonde hair.

Finally the girl in the sexy dress.  We took that one slowly: a nick up the side of the skirt, a slow rip apart.  She turned out not to be wearing a bra at all, but really, her breasts were so firm that she didn’t need one.  Her panties were nothing - just a tiny thong of sheer black cloth barely covering a neatly trimmed black beaver, with only a thin strap behind.  A couple of little snips, and they really were nothing.  We left her sexy spiked-heeled sandals on her - they looked good, and weren’t going to get in the way of anything that mattered.  We threw everything else aside, then stepped back and admired our work.

“Four girls,” Harlan said.  “And four of us.  Bill, you get first choice.”

Bill surprised me by choosing Miss India - I had thought he’d go for Miss High Heels, but maybe he had a thing for dark skin, or maybe it was the tits that drew him on.  He barely gave himself time to pull down his pants, then leapt on her and started plunging away.  She kicked and bucked, but he was on top of her and thrust himself in.  In and out, in and out, with those dark legs kicking either side of him trying in vain to push him off.  After no very long time he quivered, thrust, and then withdrew with a satisfied sigh.

“OK, Timothy, you next,” said Harlan.  “You get Miss Brunette here” indicating the girl with the athletic body and the heavy bush.

If Timothy was disappointed to have his choice taken away from him, he didn’t show it.  He set to work eagerly.  But unlike Miss India, Miss Brunette didn’t kick and struggle.  In fact, she didn’t move at all.  After a couple of minutes Timothy pulled off her in annoyance.

“She’s just lying there as if she were dead.  That’s no fun”.

Harlan laughed.

“Someone always tries that trick.  Here: let me handle it.”

He reached into the cupboard, and pulled out a pair of thin surgical gloves, a vibrator, a roll of Duck tape and a small pot of something or other.  He pulled on the gloves, and switched on the vibrator.  We assumed that he was going to shove it up her vagina, but to our surprise (and irritation) he instead started playing gently around the top of her slit.  The girl twisted slightly, but didn’t seem to want to get away: if anything she seemed to like it.  Why would he want her to have any pleasure?

Harlan saw our puzzled faces.  “Just coaxing her little love-button out of its hiding-place.”

At that point he dropped the vibrator and caught the base of her clitoris hard between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing tight so as not to let it go.  She bucked at the sudden shock and pain. With his other gloved hand, he reached into the pot, scooped out some red paste, and smeared it onto the clitoris.  He then ripped off a piece of tape and stuck it hard to Miss Brunette’s sensitive little organ, covering it up.  A couple of other pieces of tape attached it to her extensive pubic hair and ensured nothing was exposed.  Then he let go, stood back, and waited.

Miss Brunette fell back.  For a couple of minutes she lay quietly, and then her hips began to writhe.  The writhing turned into a bucking, the bucking into a kicking, as she tried to get some purchase to lift herself away from the terrible heat.  Finally she went wild, her torso and legs flopping and beating.  Harlan turned away, pulling off the gloves.

“She’s all yours, Tim.  Just make sure you don’t dislodge any of the tape - I wouldn’t want that chili paste to go on anything that matters.”

Timothy needed no further prompting.  He plunged into Miss Brunette as her legs and body hammered and shook underneath him - and if the shaking and hammering had little to do with his raping her, that didn’t bother him one bit.  At the height of pleasure he thrust hard into her, held his position, and then pulled back.  The girl carried on with her dance of agony as if nothing had changed - which for her, perhaps it hardly had.

Two girls left, two of us.  I knew which one I wanted.

“Harlan, how would it be if I took care of Miss High Heels?”

And to my delight, he agreed.  “Be my guest.”

I started laying into that amazing body.  She struggled a bit, but not as much as she could have done, which surprised and annoyed me.  Did she actually want this?  And then I realised.  She’d rather lay there than fight - but she knew she had to put on a show of resistance.  She knew what we’d done to Miss Brunette!

Somehow that annoyed me even more.  These girls weren’t supposed to be second-guessing us and comparing notes.  I pulled out in anger: there had to be some appropriate way of getting back at her.  Harlan came over to me.

“What’s the problem?”

“You know, what I’d really like to do is fuck her in the ass”.  But how can I - I can’t roll her over?”

“Nothing easier: just watch and learn.”

He walked over to Miss High Heels, and took hold of one of her ankles in both hands.  He forced it upwards, as her other leg kicked at him vainly to try to make him let go.  He readily evaded the kicks - and now I saw that above each girl, hanging from the dome, was a pair of shackles.  Harlan locked the ankle in, with the elegant spike heel sticking straight up in the air.  Her other leg was dangling, and he had no trouble taking hold of it and locking it into the other shackle.  Miss High Heels now lay with only her upper back on the platform, the rest of her body and legs curved upwards to the shackles above.  They were far enough apart to ensure that the legs were conveniently spread, and her cunt quivered in front of me, the inner lips clearly visible.  I stroked it thoughtfully, but I had my eyes on higher things.

Harlan pressed into my hand a small tube of lubricant.  I smeared it on, kneeled behind her on the platform, and then spread her cheeks, found my mark, and thrust in.  Hard.  Oh my god, she was SO tight.  Definitely a virgin there.  This was WONDERFUL.  And no worry about her being too passive now.  Granted she was tied, and couldn’t move far, but the instant I went in, she started shaking, pushing, straining, trying to lean back against the wall, to lean forward - anything, in fact, that would get me out.  I pushed her forward harder, then pulled back (though staying well inside her), then in, then out, in, out, in out in out in out.  And every in and every out was met with more pushing and pulling from her body.  Her legs shook and trembled in front of my eyes, though the shackles held them firm.  I spun it out as long as I could, until I could wait no longer, and with one final deep thrust in, I let myself go right inside her for the longest and sweetest orgasm ever.  I held it there until the final throbs subsided, then pulled out.

I unshackled her legs, and they collapsed back down.  She curled up, her body convulsing in what appeared to be sobbing in front of me.

“So now, that leaves Miss Blonde for me”, said Harlan.

Miss Blonde, for all her slight build, turned out to be the biggest fighter of them all.  She squeezed her legs tight together, she twisted her body from side to side to avoid his grasp.  Harlan had real trouble pinning her down, but eventually he managed to get a purchase between her legs; he grasped her crotch, placed his knees between hers, and slowly forced them apart.  He then leaned forwards; she bent her legs to try to push him away, but to no avail.  He found the spot, and pushed slowly in.  And then, before reaching full penetration, he stopped.

“Yup.  A virgin, just like they said.”

And then he thrust hard, and she wasn’t a virgin any longer.  She bucked at the thrust, and then kicked and writhed under his crushing weight as he accelerated his pace.  At last he pushed in deep and hard, shouted “Oh YES”, and then withdrew.  His prick was covered with blood.

All of us had shot our load, and we still had nearly an hour left on our time.  Timothy suggested starting right at them again, but Harlan vetoed it.

“Time enough for that, boys.  Let’s have some other sorts of fun with them while we get our strength back.”

“What other fun?”

“I’ll show you.  First, let’s get Miss Brunette going again.”

Miss Brunette had indeed quieted down; it seemed as if the chili paste might be starting to wear off.  Harlan took hold of the tape covering her clitoris, and with one mighty rip pulled it off.  Several chunks of pubic hair came out with it, as her butt leapt up from the platform The clitoris stood out red.  Harlan put on the surgical gloves again, and reapplied the chili, this time smearing it over the bare patches where the hair had been pulled out.  Then he covered the whole area again with tape.

We didn’t have to wait so long for a reaction this time.  Almost as soon as the chili touched her already hypersensitive skin, she was off again with her dance.

“OK, now for something completely different.  Which of them do you reckon has the best tits?”

There was really no competition here.  Miss High Heels’s tits were good, but Miss India’s were great.  Firm, perfectly shaped, perfect nipples, and nice and substantial.

Harlan reached back into his magic cupboard, and pulled out a bra.  Well, it was shaped like a bra with a front clasp.  But it was made of small overlapping metal plates, like large chain mail or armor.  And inside each plate was a series of small sharp studs.  He threaded the back portions under Miss India’s body, and then fitted it over her breasts and fastened it in front.

“OK, Bill, she’s yours.  All you have to do is squeeze.”

And Bill suddenly got the idea.  He took hold in each hand of the bra from the outside, and crushed it tight.  I never thought I’d see a body shake and shudder as Miss India’s did, as her legs flew into a series of useless kicking.  The metal plates and studs dug into her sensitive tits, and as Bill slowly kneaded them, they matched her shape.  The plates moved the studs across, punishing every point of the breasts.  Every big-titted girl should be made to wear a bra like that.

While Bill was having his fun, Harlan meanwhile moved back round to Miss Blonde.

“Help me pin her down, boys.  We can’t afford to have her kicking us in the next bit - and my god, will she kick.”

As well as the shackles above her head, there were, I noticed, adjustable shackles on each side of the platform.  Timothy and I pulled her legs into them, fixing them nice and wide.

In the corner of the room was something covered with a cloth.  If I’d thought about it at all, I’d have assumed it was a table, though it was a bit high.  Harlan wheeled it over, and whipped off the cloth, revealing the largest piece of equipment I’d seen yet.  It looked like a generator of some sort; and out of it came a number of probes attached to long wires.  He took one, and without any preamble shoved it right into Miss Blonde’s bloodied cunt.  A piece of tape around her thigh ensured there was no chance she would expel it.

“OK, Timothy, this is your moment.  Press switch no. 1.”

Timothy did so, there was a hum and a spark from the probe - and Miss Blonde’s body tried to leap into the air, but of course her legs were held fast.  But to one side of the dome we heard a hammering and battering.  We walked round, and saw Miss High Heels’s body shaking, and her delectable legs pounding away in utter desperation.  Harlan laughed.

“Isn’t that sweet.  The bitches were holding hands.”

“What do you mean?”

“Direct current, you see.  From the generator.  If you touch someone with direct current running through them, you get the current into you, and you can’t let go.”

Timothy turned the current off, and Miss Blonde and Miss High Heels both collapsed back.  He hit the current again, and this time it was Miss Blonde alone who was shaking.  Miss High Heels had presumably taken the opportunity to let go.

“How about we give all of them the same dose?”

Four sets of legs were easily fixed into the shackles, four probes found their spot in four cunts.  And four girls all rose into the air in agonised union as the current was let loose on them.  We played for a few minutes, and then looked at each other.

“Just time for one more round.”

We undid the shackles, and swapped girls for the finale.  Bill took Miss Blonde, Timothy got Miss High Heels, Harlan was with Miss Brunette.  And I had Miss India.

The electricity seemed to have tightened up their cunts just nicely.  We all pushed in together, and felt the struggle of resistance beneath us. We all rutted away as if our lives depended on it, and one by one let ourselves go into them.  I was the last - perhaps because, all the while I was on top of Miss India, I was squeezing and kneading that wonderful bra over her breasts, and feeling her cunt convulse and tighten around me with each squeeze.

Then there was a knock on the door.

“Five minutes, gentlemen!”

“Time to tidy up” said Harlan.

He put all the equipment away, he tore out the tape from Miss Brunette (another leap of pain).  And finally, and not without regret, I removed Miss India’s bra, admiring the mass of bruising and bleeding punctures beneath.

We opened the door and walked out.  We saw the next group already waiting for their turn: a massive, gorilla-like pair covered with tattoes, studs, and leather.

“What happens to them now?” I asked Harlan.

“The room has 12 2-hour sessions booked.  Those girls are going to have quite a 24 hours.”

“And then?”

“To be honest, I don’t know.  He gets rid of them somehow.  Kills them, perhaps, or maybe he sells them to slavery in some other part of the world.  But my guess is that they don’t look all that good after 24 hours: I don’t know if he’d ever get a sale.  More likely they’re killed.  After all, he’s been doing this for years.  Have you ever heard of any girls who’ve come out describing something like this happening to them?”

I had to admit that I hadn’t.  I still haven’t.

Part 2: The Girls

Darkness.  Utter, total darkness.

“Is anyone there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Oh, thank god.  Can you help me out - I’ve got something pressing down on my body and I can’t move.”

“Nor can I - it’s exactly the same for me.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.  I was leaving a club with a guy I’d met there, and suddenly everything went black”.

“It was the same for me - I was coming out of my college dorm.  Oh god.”

“Who are you?”

“Is that someone else?”

“And me.”

“How many of us are there?”

“I can’t tell. There’s you and me.”

“And me.”

“And me.”

“That makes four.  Anyone else?”

Silence.

“So where are we?”

“Could we have been in an accident?  A building collapsing, something like that?  Could we be under it?”

“I don’t know, but I wasn’t in a building.  I was running in the park, I brushed by someone, tripped, and here I am.”

And at that point, the lights came on, and the four girls looked at each other, and at their predicament.

They were inside a dome, each lying on their backs, one at each of the four points of the compass.  Their head, shoulders and arms all were visible and free to move.  They could turn and see each other, but the rest of their body was invisible to them, stuck through the walls of the dome.  The interior of dome was thickly padded, and at the point where their heads and shoulders emerged, a gelatinous plastic held them tight, moulded exactly to their shape.

“I can’t even get my fingers under it,” one added.  “My name’s Jessica, by the way.”

The one who had just spoken was a brunette, her medium length hair tied back in a sweatband.

“I’m Rahila.”  Rahila was Pakistani, with soft, brown eyes and long, black hair caught in a ponytail.

“I’m Samantha”.  She was the youngest: a thin short-haired blonde, probably 18 or 19 years old.

“And I’m Laura.”  Laura was the oldest of the four, perhaps 25 years old.  She had dark, shoulder-length hair, and was beautifully made-up, with diamond earrings dangling from her earlobes, and finely manicured nails.

“So what’s happened?” Jessica asked.  “Can you move your legs?”

They all nodded: it had been the first thing they’d tried on waking up.  They could move them, and twist their lower body, but they couldn’t get any purchase to move their upper back from the point where the wall of the dome was pinning them down.

“OK,” said Laura.  The thing we need to do is stay calm.  It looks like someone has abducted us or something - it’s not normal, anyway.  But there are four of us: if we work together we can figure a way ...”

“AAAAAH”.  Rahila suddenly burst out in a shocked shriek.  “There’s someone out there!!!”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re pulling on my boots.  Oh god - they’re holding me down - get OFFF - they’re taking my boots - oh god oh god they’re pulling down my jeans.  NO NO NO STOP”.

She started hammering with her hands on the padded surface of the dome, without even making an audible thud inside, let alone outside.

“STOPPP STOPPP not the BRA no, no.  OHHHH.  What are you DOING, what are you going to do?”

Then suddenly Jessica felt her own legs held down, and a blade ripping through her bodysuit and underwear.  She hardly even had time to struggle before she felt the coolness of the room outside the dome across her body.  Then it was Samantha’s turn to scream out and struggle, as she felt her dress being taken and ripped apart, followed by her bra, shoes, hose and panties.  Laura followed: her ankles were held tight, and she gritted her teeth as she realised that her dress was being slowly torn from her.  At last they let go, leaving the four now naked girls terrified and trembling, desperate in fear as to what was going to happen to them next.

“NOOOOOO.  HELPPP!!! RAPE, he’s RAPING me!!!  AEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Once again it was Rahila who had the misfortune to be the first to attract their kidnappers’ attention.  Her body was crushed by her invisible assailant, and she felt him force himself into her with virtually no preamble.  She screeched and cried, pushed at the dome with her hands, kicked and fought with her legs below, but all to no avail.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEE!!!  NOOOOO!!!!!  STOP oh STOP oh STOP oh HEEELLLP ME!! Oh, OHHH, oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

And she felt the rapist thrust in for one mighty final blow, she felt his sperm course inside her womb, and finally he pulled out of her and off her.  She lay crying uncontrollably, as the other girls turned their heads and looked on in horror, not knowing what they could do, not knowing what would happen to them next.

Jessica was the first to speak.  Her voice was quivering in fear, but defiant.

“Fuck them.  FUCK them.  If they come for me, I’m not going to fight, I’m just going to lie here like a lump of dead meat.  If they’re twisted enough to want to fuck a lump of dead meat, then that’s their problem.”

She almost immediately had a chance to put this theory into practice.  She felt a penis force its way into her, and she simply lay and let it happen.  She was dry, and it was painful, but she would rather take the pain than give them the pleasure of her pointless struggles.

Samantha and Laura watched her grit her teeth silently (Rahila was still too caught up in her own recent rape to pay any attention).  They saw her relax, as the penis withdrew unfulfilled from her.  She smiled, and breathed a relieved sigh.

Then her expression became puzzled.  She shivered slightly, and started to breathe more quickly, but didn’t seem to be in pain.  But in an instant that all changed.  She shrieked in pain, and jerked her head and hands forwards against the dome.  She held that position for a few seconds, then flopped back.  She then lay there.  Nothing happened.  And then she started wriggling her shoulders in increasing panic.  The panic got worse and worse.  And then she opened her mouth in a scream”

“It’s BURNING ME!!!! GOD!!! I CAN”T STAND IT!!! NO!!!! NO!!!!  AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AH AAH AH AAAAH AH AAHHHHHH!!!”

She shook her head from side to side in desperation.  The other girls couldn’t tell what had happened, but it was clearly horrible.  Jessica’s screams continued to echo around the interior of the dome, as Samantha covered her ears and cowered in fear.  The screaming went on and on.  Jessica hammered with her hands uselessly against the padded dome, she rocked her head back and forward, but nothing stopped the agony.  Only as her voice began to crack through sheer hoarseness did her screaming die down, but she carried on clutching and clasping the empty air.

Almost immediately it was Laura’s turn.  She too had no particular inclination to give her rapists the pleasure of her struggles, but she had seen all too keenly what Jessica had suffered as a result of remaining passive.  So when she felt the penetration begin, she kicked and shook her legs, just enough to convince them that she was genuinely struggling.  And then she felt the penis unexpectedly withdraw.

Samantha twisted her head round to see what was happening.  Laura lay there, her magnificent hair framing her beautiful face.  And then she grunted, and her shoulders seemed to be forced backwards onto the bench, as if someone outside was lifting the lower part of her body.  A minute passed, and Laura’s mouth suddenly opened wide as if to scream, but all that emerged was a keen wail of anguish, as she shook her head and arms hopelessly.  And the wail turned into a pained grunt - a series of grunts, as if something was repeatedly striking her from outside.  Her whole body seemed to be shaking.

“Laura!  What’s wrong?  What’s happening?”

Laura didn’t answer, but Samantha saw her teeth grit, as if she were trying not to burst out into a shriek, and her eyes filled with tears.  Her shoulders continued to shake for several minutes, until at last the tension seemed to ease.  Her arms ceased to stiffen, and she simply lay there sobbing.  Samantha heard her whispering between the sobs.

“BASTARDS.   Oh my god.  That perverted bastard. How could he.  Oh god, oh god, oh god”.

There was no doubt who would be next.  Samantha started to panic.  The instant she felt the first touch, she shrieked out, bucked and struggled with all her might, anything at all in a desperate last-ditch attempt to protect her virginity.  She squeezed her legs tight together, she twisted her body from side to side to avoid the rapist’s grasp.  But he eventually got hold of her, forced her legs apart, slowly broke through her virginity, as Samantha screamed in pain, humiliation, fear, and sorrow.  It hurt so much - it was far worse than anything she had ever imagined.  At last it ended, and she, like the other three, lay there crying.

Jessica was the next to have her suffering renewed.  The burning on her body had subsided, and her hoarse screams had long since died down.  But she shrieked out again, as she felt a sudden agonizing ripping at her pubic hair and genitals; she shrieked even louder as the burning resumed on her raw flesh.

There was a pause of a couple of minutes that seemed like hours, as the other three girls once again listened in horror to Jessica’s cries.  Then Rahila burst into a scream.

“No, NOOOO - NOT my breasts.  Oh no, NOOOO, NOOO, it’s HURTING SO MUCH.  Stop, PLEASE don’t, PLLLEEEEASSEEE AHHH AHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

While Rahila’s screaming continued, Samantha suddenly cried out.

“They’re tying my legggssss dooooownnnn.  I can’t stand it, I can’t TAKE it any more, WHY why WHY ohh why.”

Laura reached out and took her hand.

“I don’t know why, but we’ve got to stand it - we’re going to come out of this, I promise YOOOUUUUUUUUAAAAHHH.”

And she broke off in as the electricity coursed through Samantha’s body and into hers.  Both girls stiffened, shook and shrieked out, but they couldn’t let go.   Laura had never felt anything like this, she hardly knew such pain was possible.  At last the connection broke, and she tore her hand away, nursing it with sobs.  She barely paid any attention as Samantha almost immediately started shrieking once again.

Each of the four girls was now lost in a world of private agony.  Jessica, Rahila, and Laura each felt her legs pulled apart and tied down just as Samantha’s had been, leaving them wide open and vulnerable.  Each of them felt the electrode sliding into her vagina.  And each experienced the most horrific moment of her entire life, as the electricity burned into the most sensitive part of her womanly being.  And again.  And again.  The inside of the dome echoed with screams.

And now the electrodes were being removed, only to be replaced by the thrusting hardness of four penises.  And if the simple fact of being raped was not enough, the grinding against their already sensitive insides rapidly mounted into an agony all of its very own.  Rahila had the worst of it: her shrieks rose higher and higher as her assailant combined the rape with renewed attention to her breasts: it felt as if every inch of them was being assaulted at once.

At last it ended.  The lights inside the dome went off, leaving the four girls in utter darkness. It was over at last. They could barely speak: the only sound was of each of them quietly sobbing her personal pain.

And then the lights came on again.

THE END