It Takes a Village - Rube Goldberg Contest

[Darinost]

Teaser: The Maricopa County Rape Club is in session, and its latest target just can’t catch a break…
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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.

The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: It Takes a Village
Author: Darinost

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Thanks to @RapeU for reminding me in the NaNoWriMo thread that there was still time to write something for October’s contest Rube Goldberg. This one’s just a fun little rape story, but I enjoyed writing it, and hopefully y’all will enjoy reading it!

EDIT: Forgot to mention, this story would not exist without the incredible Lynsey’s Game, a classic story about a group of men collaborating to repeatedly rape and ultimately break a woman. Fans will notice more than one homage to that tale in here.

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It Takes a Village

There’s a certain saying I like to use when talking to people about my hobby. It’s one entirely of my own invention, and I’m proud to be the one who gets to introduce it into your lexicon: teamwork makes the dream work.

Okay, okay! Sorry, I had to. The actual saying goes like this: it takes a village to rape a cunt.

This was the 500th something meeting of the Maricopa County Rape Club. This isn’t our official name, of course, I think we’re technically… a book club? Is that right? I don’t remember the details, but the point is, on paper we’re a completely normal group of likeminded individuals, seventeen of us at last count, who get together once a week to discuss our shared interests. And that’s all completely true! It’s just ALSO true that our biggest shared interest is raping women. And, you know, we do more than just talk about it.

Let me back up a little. For the last ten years, our club’s purpose has been to select a candidate, spend the next year vetting her background and planning our operation, and then rape the hell out of her. You might think a year is an awful long time to go between rapes, and you’d be right, but all the setup is worth it.

There are standards every candidate has to meet too, and sometimes it takes a month or two to fully verify. Like the 50% Bacon rule: no fewer than three degrees of separation between the girl and every club member. No nominating the pretty girl who lives next door, or that ex who cheated on you. Couple years ago, we were seven months into the planning of this one girl’s gang rape, and she was… mmm! Cute as a button, curves for days, one of the prettiest little pieces of fuckmeat I’ve ever laid eyes on… and then someone discovered she was the cousin of one of Robby’s old college roommates. Had to scrap the entire plan and start a fresh round of nominations.

We’ve also got rules about minors, and that rule is “no”. Occasionally we get new members trying to weasel some “but what if” garbage into the nomination discussions, and every time we shut that shit down hard. Anyone keeps pushing, or gives us the impression they’ll try going solo, and they end up floating down Salt River. A qualified candidate has to be at least eighteen, and you’d better believe you’ll be getting side eye if she’s under twenty.

Also, she has to be… well, a bitch. Look, I’m not saying we’re doing this as a public service, or that any of these women truly deserve what we do to them. But if you spend a few months looking into someone’s background, and you’re learning about how she loves her parents and adopts shelter dogs and donates to good causes and whatever, or even just that she’s a decent person trying her best in a crappy world, it’s a real mood killer, you know?

That’s why we target women like Lana Williamson.

Lana, Lana, Lana… where do I begin? She’s a spoiled rich girl, for one thing, even if she’s in her early thirties by now. We’re talking fancy private school, brand new car for her sweet sixteen, acceptance to an Ivy League school solely because of her parents’ hefty donations, the works. She’s someone who grew up getting everything she ever wanted.

And maybe more importantly, she grew up unsatisfied and ungrateful. Lana is MEAN. She was the popular girl in the high school who decided which students were social outcasts. The college student who threatened professors with dismissal if they didn’t remember whose daughter they were talking to.

And more recently, she’s a C-suite executive for a major pharmaceutical company. She’s one of the people who decides just how much they can gouge people for life saving medicine, whose contribution to the world is making it crueler and more dystopian by the day. We’ve eavesdropped on more than a couple of her meetings as part of our surveillance, and I can promise she was never a voice of reason or mercy.

She’s a parasite, and after a year of preparation, today is the day she finally gives something back.

We had hidden cameras set up around her office’s parking garage, and we started tracking her as soon as she entered the facility on Friday afternoon. We don’t prioritize physical attractiveness when picking a target - a hole is a hole is a hole - but Lana was a real looker. Plenty of fancy treatments, top shelf beauty products, and expensive spa visits have left her pale skin smooth and rich, with golden hair that practically glows in the dark as it spills down her back in soft curls. She has a personal trainer who visits her in-home gym three times a week, a personalized meal plan designed by a Michelin star chef… so much time and money spent to make herself into a delicious fuckable treat.

Our raffle winner was Mitchell, and we all watched with jealousy through the cameras as he intercepted Lana. “Hey there, sweetheart,” he told her as he approached her car. “What do you say you and me get some drinks, see where the night takes us?”

She looked at him like he was a bug crawling up her leg. It didn’t help that he was dressed in a ratty shirt and blue jeans, a Diamondbacks baseball cap pulled down over his head to protect from the garage’s official cameras. Meanwhile she wore a crisp, professional looking skirt, blouse, and stockings that had been tailored made for her. She radiated authority, poise, and power, the epitome of the powerful female business executive, and he looked like he’d need help with bus fare.

“Get lost,” she said flatly, and made a show of pulling a canister of pepper spray out from her purse. We’d seen her ruin more than one unhoused person’s day with it, just because they’d begged for spare change.

“Aww, don’t be like that, sweetheart,” Mitchell wheedled. “I can show you a good time ALL night long, I promise.” He stepped closer. Just give me a chance and-“

The pepper spray struck him right between the eyes. And if he’d been a regular guy, even a creepy one hoping to have his way with her, he would have been rolling on the floor, clawing at his eyes after that.

But this is why we plan. We’ve had access to her house for months, and we’d snuck in earlier in the week to replace that spray with a disguised breath freshener. All Lana did was make his face smell minty fresh.

The tricky part was coming up and I watched in anticipation, rooting for the man despite my jealousy. “That wasn’t very nice,” Mitchell said in a friendly tone, and slapped the spray out of her hands, the little bottle skittering across the concrete, before producing a canister of his own. His pepper spray was the real deal, and Lana shrieked when a quick squirt struck her in the face. “See? Not much fun on the receiving end, is it?” he asked as her hands pawed at her face, trying to ease her torment.

He gave her just a couple seconds to recover, then stuck the bottle of pepper spray right in her face. “You know what would be real nice, sweetheart?” he drawled as her reddened eyes blinked at it. “If you bent yourself over the front of your car here and let me show that pussy a good time. I promise my fat hog will have you-“

I’d studied videos of her just like everyone else, but it was amazing how quick she moved. She’d taken self defense classes, and it had not been money wasted; one second he had the bottle pointed in her face, the next she’d snatched it away and turned it on him. “Fuck you,” she snarled as she emptied its contents at him.

This time, Mitchell opened his mouth so he could catch some of the breath spray where it counted. “Mmm!” he said, smacking his lips. “Very appreciated.” Then he raised the actual bottle of pepper spray that he’d concealed in his other hand and unloaded it on her.

He’d practiced the sleight of hand trick for weeks, and it was a cinch when your target audience can barely see shit because you’ve already sprayed her once, but we still cheered to see him pull it off. He could’ve just sprayed her like that from the beginning, but style counts for something, and her flabbergasted expression at being tricked was beautiful.

As she flailed and shrieked, her eyes bright red and puffy, he spun her around and slammed her upper body onto the hood of her car. She fought, I’ll give her that, but blinded and out of breath, she couldn’t stop him from pulling her wrists behind her back and securing them there with zip ties.

Mitchell put a hand on her head and pushed it down against the hood, then used his thumb to force one bloodshot eye to open and stare at the pepper spray nozzle just millimeters away. “How you feeling about that pussy pounding, sweetheart?” he asked cheerfully.

“Fuck… you…” she hissed, then squealed as he sprayed her directly in the eye, his thumb still forcing her eyelid up. He gave her other eye the same treatment, then kicked her legs apart and tugged down her skirt.

I pumped my fist in the air at the sight of her blue silky panties: I’d won the betting pool about which pair she’d have on. While I was celebrating, he was tearing them off to reveal her lovely pink pussy, and then pulling his cock out of his jeans.

“Stop!” she demanded as she kicked her legs and tried to lift her upper body. It was an order, not a request; Lana still thought she had control over her situation. “You’ll rot in jail for this! Don’t you know who I am?!”

“I sure do, sweetheart,” Mitchell assured her as he pushed her back down with one hand, the other positioning himself at her entrance. “You’re the pretty blonde fucktoy about to show me a real good time.”

He thrust his hips forward and sank into her pussy.

I’ll say this about Lana Williamson: she was a fighter. I think a lot of women who found themselves in her shoes - blind and in agony from taking most of a bottle of pepper spray to the eyes, wrists bound behind her, being pinned down and raped by a man physically stronger than her - would’ve given up on fighting back at that point, or at least hesitated at the prospect of calling down even more abuse.

But not Lana. She kicked and fought and screamed for help the entire time Mitchell raped her. If we hadn’t closed the parking garage off with some fake signs after she entered, directing customers to return in an hour and apologizing for the inconvenience, someone would’ve definitely heard her cries. And if Mitchell had let his guard down expecting his victim to meekly submit, she wouldn’t have needed any outside assistance at all.

But there was no one around to hear her, and Mitchell kept her firmly pinned as he pumped her tight snatch. “I knew you were going to be a damn good ride, sweetheart,” he told her, panting slightly from exertion as his hips slapped against hers in a quick and steady rhythm. “You act tough on the outside, but underneath? You’re a warm, velvety smooth little cock sheath. When was the last time someone squirted their baby batter into this tight love tunnel? Too long, I reckon.”

Oh, did I mention we scheduled this for a day when she was ovulating? “Don’t!” she warned, still struggling. “I’ll! Kill you!”

“Unless you’re planning to do it by squeezing my cock off, sweetheart,” he told her pleasantly, “I think you’re outta luck, and about to be outta time. You just relax and think about baby names, okay? Little rugrat’s gonna need a lotta love, growing up without a father and all. You treat ‘em extra special, you hear?”

“God dammit!” she cursed. She was fighting as hard as ever, but her movements had changed now, becoming more desperate and focused . She wasn’t trying to hurt him, or overpower him, or even to escape anymore, not really. Her only goal, as her legs squirmed and her hips rolled and her ass bobbed this way and that, was to get off of his cock. To get his pumping, pistoning dick out of her cunt before it could fire its payload into her fertile body.

She failed.

Mitchell groaned happily as he christened our new playtoy with her first load of spunk. His cock was completely buried within her, and the look of triumph on his face and bitter frustration on hers told me his cockhead was pressed right up against her cervix, spurting its hot, thick seed directly into her womb.

“See?” he said when his climax finished, and gave her butt a playful smack that drew another curse from her lips. “Just a good ride in a tight pussy, that’s all I wanted. You make sure that rugrat knows how much daddy loved breeding mommy, yeah? No kid deserves to grow up wondering if they were an accident.”

“I’ll… kill you…” she swore again, her throat hoarse from screaming.

He chuckled. “I was gonna ask if you’d be a good girl and not give me any trouble if I cut them zip ties off, but I guess you just answered that question. In that case…”

He leaned over and forced one of her puffy, swollen eyes open again, where it was greeted to the sight of a brand new, full canister of pepper spray. I’m no mind reader, and that wasn’t the worst thing we did to Lana Williamson by a long shot, but as her face went pale in disbelief, I choose to believe that right there was the moment she began to realize just how fucked she was.

Once the second bottle was empty and Lana was howling like a banshee, Mitchell calmly walked away. “Been a pleasure, sweetheart!” he called back over his shoulder. “Let’s do this again soon!”

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[JTCK]

A tough and pretty mean story — but also a really good one. You pulled off quite a feat: even though one rape follows the next, it still feels varied and never gets boring. And I’ve got to say, you fooled me more than once. Several times I thought, “Okay, that’s the end now,” and even though the competition’s theme kind of hinted at how things might turn out, the ending still totally caught me off guard.

In my eyes, a really well-done story and a great entry for the competition.

[Darinost]

A tough and pretty mean story — but also a really good one. You pulled off quite a feat: even though one rape follows the next, it still feels varied and never gets boring. And I’ve got to say, you fooled me more than once. Several times I thought, “Okay, that’s the end now,” and even though the competition’s theme kind of hinted at how things might turn out, the ending still totally caught me off guard.

In my eyes, a really well-done story and a great entry for the competition.

Thank you! I had a lot of fun deciding the different scenarios Lana would bounce between, and trying to give each its own flavor while also giving her a stable character arc of “proud and strong” to “humiliated and weak”.

The ending feels sliiiightly less mean to me than it might to other people, because I do intend to have a short follow-up. It was going to be an epilogue here, but I realized that doing it justice was going to require a few too many words, and the tone change would be jarring. It takes place a few months later, after Lana has quit her job and become a shut-in, with a surprise visit from Melody to basically say “hey you can keep slowly killing yourself over being a square peg in a round hole, or you can accept the new you and be mine.”

[RapeU]

Man, just when you think it's over she gets into worse and worse situations. The cascading series of events is perfect for the Rube Goldberg theme. This is also a jack of all trades kind of story that hits a bunch of spots at just the right amount. Really well done.

[SoftGameHunter]

Well, I didn't think there would be a party at the end. I pictured her breaking down, trying to decide if she should bother with the cops, and probably deciding against it. The usual.

On the whole, I'm very unhappy. Stories like this make it so difficult to decide which one to vote for, even with two votes.

[JTCK]

Yeah @SoftGameHunter, I know exactly what you mean. I’ve only read half of the stories in the contest, and I already can’t decide which one not to vote for.

[Blue]

@Darinost
I'm a little undecided. I really liked the first half of the story. But the second half was completely not to my liking.
As a compromise, because the beginning was really good, I'll give it two points.

[SoftGameHunter]

@Darinost
I'm a little undecided. I really liked the first half of the story. But the second half was completely not to my liking.
As a compromise, because the beginning was really good, I'll give it two points.

@Blue I'm a little curious, not as the author but just as an interested reader, what made the second half less enjoyable? To me, the whole story flowed nicely, if a bit longer than I would have chosen.

[Blue]

@SoftGameHunter
I'd be happy to answer your question.
I'm a fan of BDSM, but in this particular case, I personally didn't like reading this part in such a well-crafted story. I can't explain exactly why, but the scenes in the torture chamber don't fit with the previous ones for me.
As for the ending: does it absolutely have to be a dumpster where she's disposed of? I think she had already learned her lesson before that. And this scene, too (this is purely a personal opinion), doesn't fit with the opening scenes. Those were very surprising, but also harmonious. First the oral rape in the parking garage, then the guys who were actually supposed to rescue her. Later, the well-planned continuation in the "hotel room." Then—in my eyes, that was actually the climax of the story—the police officers who essentially finished her off.
I didn't need the scenes with Melody. The scene with the dumpster and the rest of the story personally ruined everything that had been so carefully planned and executed before.

[JTCK]

@SoftGameHunter
I'd be happy to answer your question.
I'm a fan of BDSM, but in this particular case, I personally didn't like reading this part in such a well-crafted story. I can't explain exactly why, but the scenes in the torture chamber don't fit with the previous ones for me.
As for the ending: does it absolutely have to be a dumpster where she's disposed of? I think she had already learned her lesson before that. And this scene, too (this is purely a personal opinion), doesn't fit with the opening scenes. Those were very surprising, but also harmonious. First the oral rape in the parking garage, then the guys who were actually supposed to rescue her. Later, the well-planned continuation in the "hotel room." Then—in my eyes, that was actually the climax of the story—the police officers who essentially finished her off.
I didn't need the scenes with Melody. The scene with the dumpster and the rest of the story personally ruined everything that had been so carefully planned and executed before.

I totally get what you mean — towards the end it was almost a bit too much of a good thing.
For me, the real "climax" was the Melody scene — totally unexpected and right up my alley!
Honestly, it could’ve ended there and I would’ve been perfectly happy. The extra escalation wasn’t really necessary for me personally.

But hey, that’s just personal taste — it doesn’t change the fact that I absolutely loved the story!