Beware of Madrid parks at night

[Bryan Fury]

Warning: The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.


In the thick shadow of this small Madrid park, nestled like a poorly kept secret at the exit of the last metro station, where the feeble glow of streetlights struggled vainly against the black, impenetrable night of this late hour—around one in the morning, when the city seemed to hold its breath before plunging into the abyss of silence—Pedro, an ordinary man with shoulders hunched from long hours spent in the impersonal offices of a large downtown company, advanced with a weary step along the winding path that snaked between the dried bushes, their crackling leaves under the dry wind recalling the arid whispers of the Andalusian desert, his wrinkled suit—once-impeccable white shirt now stained with sweat under the armpits, gray canvas trousers creased at the knees, and worn leather shoes that clicked softly on the uneven gravel—still carrying the faint smell of cold coffee and accumulated photocopies from the day.

Suddenly, like a call from the forbidden depths of the night, muffled groans reached his ears, hoarse and staccato sounds that initially stirred in him a sneaky excitement, a fleeting warmth in the pit of his stomach, as he imagined them coming from a bold couple indulging in clandestine love in this disreputable corner of the park, separating the station from the parking lot where suburban workers like him left their modest cars to face the rigors of urban daily life; driven by a morbid curiosity he couldn’t suppress, Pedro strayed from the main path, his steps growing quieter, almost feline, while his heart pounded harder in his chest, a mix of adrenaline and guilty arousal swelling his trousers at the crotch, his sweaty hands instinctively clutching the straps of his worn backpack.

But as he approached, slipping silently behind a thorny bush whose branches lightly scratched his shirt, tearing a tiny thread that now dangled like a spider’s web, the reality unveiled itself in all its raw horror: these were not consenting murmurs, but the stifled pleas of a woman enduring the brutal assault of three young men, their athletic and threatening silhouettes vaguely outlined under the pale glow of a distant streetlamp, their low, mocking laughter ringing like shards of broken glass in the heavy night air, while Pedro, hidden in the shadows, felt his excitement turn into a whirlwind of horror and perverse fascination, his breath short and panting, cold sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes fixed on the scene with an intensity that rooted him to the spot, unable to move, scream, or even look away, realizing that the attackers had just pinned their victim to the ground, her elegant body still partially clothed and resisting, but already immobilized under their collective grip, the rape itself not yet begun, suspended in this palpable moment of tension where violence was about to erupt like an imminent storm.

The woman, a distinguished forty-something, dressed in a short pleated gray wool skirt that hugged her hips with professional elegance, a white silk shirt with nacre buttons still intact for now, a fitted pearl-gray tweed blazer that accentuated her refined silhouette honed by years of urban discipline, and fine black nylon stockings rising to mid-thigh, her long, shapely legs struggling with desperate energy against the rough hands pulling them apart, her patent leather black heels with red soles scratched by the fight digging futilely into the yellowed, trampled grass, while her soft black leather handbag with a gold chain lay already tossed a few meters away, its contents scattered—wallet, switched-off phone, jingling keys—bearing witness to the brutality of the abduction that had dragged her into this remote corner of the park; the three men, twenty-somethings with angular faces and eyes gleaming with sadistic excitement, dressed in tight faded jeans molding their muscular thighs and dark hoodies partially masking their features, had pinned her to the ground with brutal coordination, the burliest among them—a guy with tattoos snaking up his bare forearms and bulging biceps—kneeling on her shoulders to immobilize her from above, his heavy knees sinking into the tender flesh of her arms stretched above her head, his calloused hands gripping her slender wrists with a force that whitened his knuckles, while he pressed his chest against hers, feeling the warmth of her generous breasts through the silk of her shirt, laughing low and murmuring in a hoarse, alcohol-laden voice, "Stay still, you bourgeois bitch, or we’ll break your bones before we fuck you like a dog," while the other two, one to her right and one to her left, dealt with her legs, their hooked fingers digging into the soft skin of her thighs under the skirt roughly hiked up to her waist, revealing an intact white lace panty soon destined to be pushed aside, one of them—a skinny guy with a shaved head and gleaming piercings—violently spreading her right leg outward, bending his knee to anchor her foot in the ground, while the other, stockier with a scar on his cheek, did the same with her left leg, their hands sliding greedily along her nylon stockings, slightly tearing the fine fabric at the knees in their haste, touching without shame the intimate curves they exposed, one of them brushing the edge of her panty with his fingertips, laughing, "Fuck, look at this fancy panty, she’s like a high-class whore, but she’s still gonna get it bad," to which the woman, her long, wavy chestnut hair with copper highlights plastered to her sweaty forehead, managed to articulate between stifled gasps, her voice broken by panic and humiliation, "No… please… stop… I beg you… let me go… take my money, anything you want, but not this," her words turning into a muffled cry as the burly man clamped his rough palm over her mouth, stifling her pleas into a wet gurgle, his fingers digging into her reddened cheeks, forcing her head to the side to expose her pale neck where a vein pulsed wildly, while she struggled as best she could, her hips twisting violently to try to close her thighs despite the powerful hands holding them apart, her heeled feet striking frantic kicks into the grass to propel herself backward, her shoulders arching and contorting under the burly man’s weight to free an arm, clawing the air with her manicured, dark-red-painted nails in a vain attempt to injure her attackers.

Then, without further delay, they began the rape proper with animal voracity, the burly man momentarily releasing his hand from her mouth to allow his accomplices full use of her body, but ready to gag her again at the slightest too-loud cry; the skinny one to her right, impatient and sneering, lowered his jeans just enough to free his swollen, veined member, a long, thin penis of about fifteen centimeters, circumcised with a dark pink glans glistening with precum, prominent veins pulsing along the pale shaft dotted with sparse dark hairs at the base, hardened by sadistic excitement, and, without preamble, he jerked the fine white lace panty aside, complaining in a hoarse voice, "Fuck, this panty’s scraping my dick, they should’ve ripped it off straight away, those idiots," revealing the woman’s intimacy—her plump outer lips slightly swollen from fear and prior friction, a pale pink bordered by a finely trimmed brown triangle, her small, sensitive clitoris barely emerging from its hood, her vaginal entrance already moist despite herself by an involuntary physiological reaction mixed with sweat residue—before kneeling between her spread thighs, his hands gripping her hips firmly to lift her slightly off the ground, forcing her back to arch in a vulnerable position where her heels slipped futilely on the wet grass, and he penetrated her vaginally with a brutal thrust, plunging deeply into her non-consenting intimacy with a primal grunt of pleasure, the wet, obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh punctuating each rhythmic movement, commenting in a mocking, breathless voice, "Damn, it’s tight in there, feels like she hasn’t been fucked in ages, this bourgeois bitch," and the woman, shaken by each assault that made her whole body tremble, managed to articulate fragments of pleas, "Stop… oh God… no… it burns… get out… please… someone help me," her legs weakly struggling against the hands holding them apart, her muscles tensed to the extreme as she tried to squeeze her thighs to expel the intruder, her hips twisting sideways to dislodge the invading member, her feet kicking aimlessly in the air or against her attackers’ legs, but the stocky one to her left, awaiting his turn, tightened his grip, roughly caressing the inside of her thighs, his fingers brushing the exposed intimate lips to heighten her humiliation, laughing low, "Calm down, beautiful, you’re going through it anyway, might as well enjoy it," and to add to the degradation, he positioned himself near her head, lowering his pants in turn to free his rigid member, a shorter, thicker penis of about twelve centimeters, uncircumcised with a retracted foreskin revealing a broad, purplish glans, the stubby shaft covered with prominent veins and a dense hairy base, which he pressed against her closed lips, forcing entry despite her violent head-turning from side to side to avoid the intrusion, his hands firmly holding her cheeks and lower jaw to force her mouth open wide, thrusting slowly at first then with more vigor into her warm, wet oral cavity, avoiding being bitten by keeping his fingers dug into her cheeks to prevent her teeth from closing completely, threatening in a deep voice, "Suck well, you slut, or I’ll knock your teeth out, and if you bite, I’ll break your jaw," his hips oscillating in rhythm with his accomplice’s, the woman coughing and choking around the intrusion, tears streaming abundantly down her reddened cheeks, her scarlet lipstick smearing on the invading member, and when he reached his climax with a hoarse groan, spilling his salty seed deep in her throat, forcing her to swallow despite her gags and coughs, he withdrew with a satisfied laugh, wiping his glistening, still-wet member in her long, tangled hair, rubbing the glans against the chestnut strands to leave sticky streaks, commenting mockingly, "Here, a souvenir for your bourgeois mane, it’ll give you style," while the burly man, watching the scene with a sadistic smile, kneaded her breasts through the now-unbuttoned silk shirt, pinching the hardened nipples to elicit more muffled moans, and she continued to resist by shaking her head as much as possible despite the firm grip, her teeth occasionally grazing the skin without being able to bite due to the pressure on her jaw, her immobilized hands trying to twist to scratch the stocky man’s forearms.

After several minutes of this frenzied double assault, the skinny one reached his climax in a convulsive spasm, withdrawing from her vaginal intimacy to ejaculate on her trembling thighs, the warm, viscous semen staining the nylon of her stockings and the wool of her crumpled skirt, grumbling with annoyance, "Shit, I got cum everywhere, I should’ve kept it all inside, would’ve been cleaner," while the stocky one yielded his place between her legs, turning her slightly onto her right side to change position, placing her on her flank with one leg bent under her and the other raised high against her torso by his powerful hand, thus exposing her intimacy in an even more obscene manner under the pale streetlamp glow—her intimate lips now swollen and reddened from friction, her vaginal entrance dilated and glistening with mixed fluids—her blazer now fully open and hanging pitifully off her shoulder, while he lay almost on top of her to penetrate her vaginally sideways, his thrusts slower but deeper, his hips slapping against hers in a hypnotic, cruel rhythm, cursing in an irritated voice, "Fuck, it’s full of cum in there, like a swamp, you couldn’t hold back, asshole," directed at the skinny one who laughed and shrugged, adding as he continued his movements, "Oh well, I’ll fill her up again anyway, this suited slut," and she, her eyes filled with tears staring at the starry void, articulated in a broken, panting voice interspersed with sobs, "No… bastards… you disgust me… stop… I’ll scream… someone will come," but the burly man tightened his grip, and to silence her definitively, he positioned himself near her head in turn, freeing his massive member, an imposing penis of about eighteen centimeters, circumcised with a broad, bulbous dark purple glans, the thick, veined shaft covered with taut skin, the base surrounded by thick black hair, to insert it into her still-sensitive mouth, thrusting with a force that banged her head against the grass, his hands in her long hair to guide the movements while pinching her cheeks to open her jaw and prevent any biting, constantly threatening, "Open wide, beautiful, and suck like a pro, or I’ll hit you so hard you’ll spit your teeth," the forced, wet sucking sound mingling with the vaginal slaps, the woman choking around the intrusion, her tongue pressed against the pulsing vein, saliva dripping from the corners of her lips, her whole body shaken by this double violation that seemed endless, and she persisted in resisting by weakly turning her head despite the grip, contracting her abdominal muscles to push back the stocky one, striking with bent knees against his sides, but their collective strength kept her in place.

Finally, the stocky one climaxed in turn with a hoarse groan, spilling his seed inside her vaginal intimacy before withdrawing with a satisfied laugh, commenting, "There, now it’s well filled, no need to dirty her fancy stockings," and it was the burly man’s turn, who roughly flipped her onto her back for the final vaginal phase, spreading her exhausted legs with one hand while undoing his jeans with the other, freeing a massive, throbbing member that he guided mercilessly toward her already sore intimacy—her lips now swollen and sensitive, her vaginal entrance stretched and sticky—penetrating her with a force that arched her back in a muffled cry, "Aaaah… no… too big… stop… please… I can’t take more," she managed to moan, but he silenced her by thrusting harder, changing position one last time by lifting her hips to place her on all fours, her knees sinking into the wet grass, her skirt hiked up like a torn veil, her blazer hanging miserably, and he took her from behind vaginally with rapid, dominating movements, one hand in her long hair pulling her head back, forcing her neck to arch, while he growled, "Look at that, she takes it well, like a bitch trained for it," and to complete the humiliation, the skinny one, already recovered, knelt in front of her to force her mouth again, thrusting in opposite rhythm, their bodies filling her from both sides in cruel synchronization, avoiding bites by holding her jaw open with fingers dug into her cheeks and threatening increased violence if she tried to close her teeth, commenting with a smirk, "Suck well, slut, I’m gonna fill you up again, and this time, I’ll keep it all in your throat," the woman now only able to murmur "No… no… stop…" interspersed with gurgles and sobs, her body shaken by the final assaults despite her last defense attempts—twisting her torso to unbalance the skinny one, weak elbow strikes against the burly man’s thighs—until the burly one finally climaxed inside her, withdrawing to mark her skin with his sticky semen that ran down her thighs, staining the silk of her shirt and the grass beneath, growling, "I put it all in, don’t wanna dirty her bourgeois clothes," while the skinny one ejaculated a second time in her mouth, forcing her to swallow part before withdrawing, wiping his member again in her hair, leaving strands stuck with the viscous fluid, laughing, "You’ve got a mane that makes a good rag, beautiful."

Satisfied, they rose with cruel nonchalance, pulling up their pants with a quick gesture, exchanging back slaps and complicit laughs—"Well done, guys, she’ll remember her night walk with her mouth and pussy well filled," one said, picking up the handbag to empty the rest of its contents, pocketing a few bills before tossing it farther—then faded into the park’s shadows, their steps dissolving like fleeting shadows, leaving the woman prostrate on the grass in a state of total devastation, her body trembling with uncontrollable spasms as if every muscle had been broken by the violence endured, her skirt still hiked and crumpled around her waist, exposing her thighs smeared with viscous semen slowly dripping down her torn, stained nylon stockings, forming sticky pools on the wet grass where blades clung to her skin as evidence of her vain struggle; her white silk shirt, now completely unbuttoned and torn at the seams, hung pitifully on her shoulders, revealing her lace bra pulled down under her swollen, reddened breasts, the sensitive nipples still hardened by the cold and pain, while her pearl-gray tweed blazer lay half-torn beside her, soaked with sweat and bodily fluids; her face, once elegant with long hair tangled and plastered by sweat, saliva, and her attackers’ semen, was now smeared with dried tears, smudged lipstick, and viscous fluids dripping from her swollen, bruised lips, her mouth ajar releasing hoarse, intermittent sobs, a sticky thread of drool still hanging at the corner, her glassy, reddened eyes staring into the void without truly seeing, as if her mind had retreated far from this profaned body, her long, shapely legs still slightly spread in a defeated pose, her patent leather black heels twisted and caked with dirt, one having lost its heel in the struggle, and a musky odor of forced sex and sweat permeating the air around her, mingled with that of trampled grass; Pedro, still frozen in his bush, continued to watch her with a morbid fascination consuming him, his persistent excitement gnawing at him like a burning guilt, feeling his own hardened member painfully pressing against his pants, his breath short and irregular as he observed every detail of her broken state—the subtle tremors of her thighs, the sobs shaking her chest, the way her clenched fingers weakly clawed at the grass as if to cling to reality—a part of him horrified by what he had seen, another excited by the forbidden, struggling against the contradictory urge to approach and help her, to touch her in turn with perverse intent, or to flee before the night engulfed him too in its abyss of unspeakable secrets, but unable to hold back any longer, his primal desire taking over like an irresistible wave sweeping away all reason and morality, he waited until the echoes of the attackers’ steps had completely faded into the night, their mocking laughter reduced to a ghostly memory carried by the dry wind, before slowly emerging from his hiding place, his worn leather shoes treading the grass with a discreet crunch that made the prostrate woman start, her glassy eyes turning toward him with a poignant mix of hesitation—a deep shame at being seen in this absolute state of vulnerability, her exposed and defiled body like an abandoned trophy, contrasted with the budding gratitude at finally spotting a silhouette that might mean rescue, a weak murmur escaping her swollen lips, "Help me… please… call the police… I… I can’t move," her voice broken and hoarse, still imbued with the forced gurgles of the previous assault, her trembling hands futilely trying to pull her crumpled skirt over her stained thighs, a modest gesture that only spread the viscous semen further on the gray fabric, fresh tears streaming down her smeared cheeks, her whole body shivering under the biting nocturnal cold that stung her bare, sore skin.

But instead of offering a helping hand, dialing an emergency number on the phone he still clutched in his pocket, or even murmuring words of comfort to soothe this broken soul, Pedro, consumed by a bestial impulse he could no longer repress, approached her with a predatory slowness, his eyes fixed on the exposed curves of her body—the heaving breasts under the torn shirt, the thighs glistening with foreign fluids, the still-open, moist mouth calling to him like an involuntary invitation—his trousers already stretched to the limit by his persistent erection, and without a word, he knelt beside her, his sweaty, trembling hands first brushing her bare shoulders, feeling the feverish warmth of her skin under his fingers, then sliding down her torso to tear away the last remnants of her lace bra, fully exposing her swollen breasts with reddened nipples, which he kneaded with clumsy greed, pinching and pulling as if to test their resilience, eliciting a muffled sob of surprise and resignation from the woman, "No… not you too… please… leave me… I’m broken," she murmured in a weak, defeated voice, her eyes closing in a vain attempt to escape this new reality, but her body, exhausted by the previous assaults, only twitched weakly, her long legs tensing slightly as Pedro spread her thighs further, his calloused fingers sliding along the torn stockings to reach her still-sore, wet intimacy from the prior violations, penetrating her manually with perverse curiosity, feeling the sticky warmth and viscous residues that lubricated this new invasion despite herself, growling low, "Shit, it’s all slimy in there, but you’re still warm, huh," his breath quickening into a guilty pant as he finally unbuttoned his gray canvas trousers, freeing his swollen, veined member, a medium-sized penis of about fourteen centimeters, uncircumcised with a partially retracted foreskin revealing a sensitive pink glans, the shaft slightly curved upward with discreet veins and a base surrounded by sparse chestnut hairs, and without preamble, he positioned himself between her spread legs, penetrating her vaginally with a deep, clumsy thrust, the wet sound of flesh against flesh resuming like a cruel echo of what had preceded, his hips slapping against hers in an irregular rhythm dictated by his repressed desire, growling again, "Fuck, it’s good, even with their cum everywhere, you’re still tight," while the woman, broken beyond resistance, could only cry softly, silent tears streaming down her temples to lose themselves in the grass, her sobs timed with each assault, "Why… why me… stop… it hurts," she managed to articulate between hiccups, her body shaken passively, her manicured nails weakly scratching the ground instead of pushing him away, the musky odor of their forced union mingling with the already heavy night air, Pedro feeling every detail—the silky texture of her skin against his wrinkled shirt, the trembling of her thighs around his hips, the salty taste of her tears as he leaned to roughly kiss her exposed neck, nibbling the tender flesh as if to mark his temporary territory.

After several minutes of this frenzied back-and-forth, Pedro reached his first climax in a convulsive spasm, spilling his warm, abundant seed inside her with a primal groan, "All inside, don’t wanna dirty your stockings like those idiots," his body tensing against hers as sweat droplets fell from his forehead onto her bare chest, further staining the torn silk of her shirt, but instead of withdrawing, excited by the idea of prolonging this forbidden possession, he gently rolled her onto her stomach, placing her in a more dominating position face down, her long hair spread like a dark veil on the trampled grass, her hips slightly raised by his hands gripping them, lifting the crumpled skirt to fully expose her soiled curves, and he penetrated her again from behind, thrusting with renewed vigor into her still-sensitive, fluid-lubricated vaginal intimacy, the rhythmic slap of his hips against her buttocks echoing in the park’s silence, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips to hold her in place, feeling the tremors of her body beneath him like an exciting vibration, growling, "Like this, you’re even better, like a doll made to be fucked," while she continued to cry softly, her sobs now muffled by the grass against which her face was pressed, "Enough… I beg you… go home… let me die here," she murmured in a barely audible voice, broken by cumulative humiliation, but Pedro, deaf to her pleas, accelerated his movements, his testicles slapping against her wet skin, until he climaxed a second time with a muffled roar, spilling another viscous load deep inside her, commenting in a breathless voice, "Another one inside, don’t wanna waste it on your skirt," his whole body convulsing against hers before collapsing momentarily on her back, panting like a sated animal, feeling the warmth of her skin against his stained shirt, the mingled scent of their sweat filling his nostrils, before finally withdrawing with a wet, obscene sound, pulling up his pants with a quick, clumsy gesture, casting a last look at the prostrate woman, now even more devastated, her skirt still hiked, fresh semen streams running down her thighs to mix with the previous ones, her sobs growing weaker as if she had exhausted all her tears, and without a word of farewell or regret, Pedro headed back to the parking lot, his heavy steps on the gravel, his heart pounding with a mix of perverse satisfaction and budding guilt, leaving behind this broken silhouette in the park’s shadow, where the night reclaimed its rights over the secrets it had swallowed.

[HistBuff]

Hi, interesting story. There's a two-sentence disclaimer that all topics must have before the story begins. I inserted it for you for this time.

The story would be more fun to read if the paragraphs were shorter and quotes of dialogue each put in separate paragraphs. Thanks!

[Blue]

The story itself is good, but as @HistBuff already wrote, a better structure with more paragraphs would benefit the story.

And a quick tip for when you post another story: Follow these rules at the start, and you can't go wrong:
viewtopic.php?t=187
viewtopic.php?t=757

[SoftGameHunter]

Proving that sloppy seconds are preferable to silent strokin'. Yeah, I agree that some paragraphing would improve, and maybe a few less adjectives, but I like the casual cruelty and utter lack of empathy. He could have been the heroic rescuer, but she wasn't worth even that much.