A Gold Star for the Strongest Ch. 02

Francesca's mind went blank. Her vision dimmed around the edges, until all she could see was the heavy scrotum pressed against her wife's innocent cunt. Yes, Emilia was ovulating. Francesca knew that, because Francesca was ovulating too. They lived together, after all. Maybe -- maybe that was why she couldn't help herself. Maybe if this had happened on a different day, Francesca wouldn't have been so stupid and weak and pathetic. But today, her body knew that she needed to please men to reproduce.

Because -- just because she was a lesbian, that didn't mean she couldn't have babies. Didn't mean that for Emilia, either. They'd talked about this. Emilia had always wanted children, and Francesca couldn't give them to her, of course, because she wasn't a man. So they'd need to get some man's sperm to put inside her, and -- Francesca had accepted that. She had. (Even if deep down it made her feel small and useless and inferior.) But they'd argued, because Francesca thought the donor ought to be someone who looked like her, so that the baby would look like a union of them. But Emilia hadn't wanted that. She hadn't wanted a brown baby. She'd wanted to choose a donor with skin as white as hers.

Somebody like the man whose penis was currently buried several inches inside her fertile cunt, seconds from cumming.

"Yes," Francesca whispered, and rubbed herself once, hard. Her vision was swimming.

Her wife's rapist grinned. "Beg me, dyke. Beg me to cum inside your wife. Beg me to fill her up with my babies."

Her mouth was dry. She couldn't do this. She *couldn't*. No matter how good it would feel, how desperately her cunt was throbbing around her fingers. She'd be betraying Emilia even more horribly than she already had, and then -- if Emilia got pregnant, if her rapist's baby started growing inside her, it would be -- it would be *her fault*.

But she wanted to.

That was the most horrible thing. Francesca genuinely wanted this man, this smug, rude, vicious piece of shit, to steal her wife's womb from her. Prove, once and for all, how inferior she was in every single way. She wanted it.

Tears were filling up her eyes. Emilia was staring at her, eyes wide, desperation etched on her face. She didn't say anything. She was past words.

"Please," Francesca whispered. "Please, sir, knock up my wife."

The rush of shame was like nothing she'd ever experienced.

The horror on Emilia's face was breaking her heart. But it was out of her hands now. The only thing that mattered anymore was what her rapist wanted.

He flashed a toothy, self-satisfied grin. "Good girl."

Francesca gasped. Suddenly her brain was full of fuzzy druglike pleasure and her fingers were rubbing her, and the man was pumping into Emilia again and his grunts were getting louder and there was nothing to stop him anymore.

He groaned aloud and Francesca saw the shaft of his cock pulse, and she knew with more certainty than she'd ever known anything that it was happening. A man was filling her wife's womb with semen. He was cumming inside her, experiencing all the pleasure he wanted --

And Francesca came too. Of all the orgasms she'd had in her life, this was by far the most shameful: and the best.

Emilia's rapist let out a long contented sigh and lay on top of her, still buried in her cunt.

"Fuck," he groaned. "That was amazing."

Francesca had to press her lips together to stop herself from agreeing with him.

Her heart was still pounding, and the sight of a man's muscular body lying on top of her conquered wife felt just as horribly, humiliatingly, perversely good as the sight of him raping her had.

He pulled out of her with a grunt, still half-hard, and stood up casually. He slapped Emilia hard across her bare breasts. "Slut." Francesca felt a twinge of pleasure between her legs.

Emilia's used pussy was leaking her rapist's semen.

He turned to Francesca, put his hands above his head, and stretched, grinning even more smugly than before. "Good workout."

Francesca was staring between his legs. His shorts were still down and his cock was dangling there, smeared with his own semen and Emilia's unwilling arousal. Proof of what he'd done to her.

He smirked at her. "Hoping your wife gets pregnant, cuck? Don't worry, I put plenty of cum inside her. And you don't have to thank me."

Francesca was breathing very heavily.

*Why* didn't she feel any calmer? The arousal should have left her by now. She should be filled with horror about the terrible things that had just happened to her wife. But -- if anything, she was more turned on now than before. Before, it had only been a possibility that the man would squirt his cum inside her wife and steal everything she cared about. That he'd humiliate her as completely as anyone ever could.

Now it was reality. Emilia would never belong to Francesca again.

Her heart was thudding in her chest. Almost unwillingly, she took a step forward.

Emilia was lying in a wreck on that bench where he'd taken her, half-naked, raped and violated and soiled. She was facing to the side and her eyes were open, staring off into nowhere. She was completely motionless.

Francesca was walking toward the man, her steps small, her head bowed, her shoulders hunched. If she was a good wife, or a good lesbian, or a good person, she'd comfort Emilia. She'd lie down and hug her and tell her that it was over, that she'd do whatever she could to make it all right.

But she wasn't any of those things. She was a defeated humiliated dyke cuck who'd gotten off to the love of her life being fucked by a man.

She fell to her knees at the feet of Emilia's rapist.

He looked down at her, looming. He was so tall and so broad and so, so strong, and she was so acutely aware, kneeling here before him, that if he wanted, his unpracticed muscles could snap her in two like a twig.

Of course she'd lost to him. She was just a stupid little girl. How could she ever have believed that playing at fitness would make her strong enough to compete with men?

The look on his face was so *incredibly* pleased and satisfied. "Finally," he said. "One of you people on your knees where you belong."

She had no idea if he was talking about her orientation, her sex, or her race, and the worst part was that she couldn't decide which one would turn her on the most.

(Of course, it might be he meant all three...)

She lowered her eyes. It... It didn't feel right, to meet the gaze of someone so superior. Now she was staring at the cock that had defiled her wife -- up close this time.

On her knees, she was at exactly the right height to be level with it. It had never been at less than half-mast, but now it was hardening again as she knelt there in front of him. She wasn't surprised. It must feel *incredible* for him, seeing such a display of submission from the woman whose lover he'd stolen.

Francesca closed her eyes, leaned forward, and kissed the tip of the rapist's cock.

The taste was overpowering. He was still covered in his own semen, and Francesca had never experienced that salty, bitter flavor before. But the taste of his seed was not so all-encompassing that she couldn't detect the unmistakable notes of a very familiar flavor: her wife's juices, mixed with the rapist's cum.

It was so, *so* humiliating.

The man's hand came down and pressed hard against the back of her head, and she opened her mouth wide to take him deeper. His cock was penetrating her mouth now, just as it had penetrated Emilia's virgin cunt. She started sucking. That was what men liked, wasn't it?[]{#anchor-2}[]{#anchor-3}

The man held her by the hair. "Well, *this* is a surprise," he said, between soft grunts of pleasure. "Had no idea you'd love getting cucked this much. You like the taste of your wife's virginity on my cock?"

Yes. She did. She wished she didn't, but she did. She was cleaning the thick sexual fluids from his shaft, sucking them off of him and swallowing them down. The proof of how he'd cum inside the woman that belonged to her. Her nipples were so hard they were almost cutting through the thin spandex of her top.

She nodded pathetically, his penis still in her mouth. What could she do but chase the drug of humiliation and pleasure? Nothing else mattered. Not her dignity, not Emilia. Her wife was lying broken and traumatized beside her, and Francesca was ignoring her to pleasure the man who'd raped her. Debasing herself willingly, when he hadn't even asked...

His cock was so deep in her throat that she could hardly breathe. She wondered: how much was he enjoying this? Did it feel better than when he'd fucked Emilia? His penis twitched, and he groaned.

"Nothing better than a dyke who knows her place.[]{#anchor-4} You've got to reward the guy who fucked your wife, or else he might not do it again. And then she'll never get sexually satisfied. You're so *smart* for a lesbian."

He yanked on her hair and pulled her off his shaft. Her lips were covered in leftover semen.

"What's your name, dyke?"

She swallowed thickly, trying to clear the fluids from her throat.

He slapped her across the face with his wet cock. "I *said*, what's your name."

"Francesca," she managed -- and then she flushed hot with shame. Somehow she'd forgotten that she had a life outside this room. But she was a person, with a name and a life and a job and interests and a wife she loved. And she'd thrown it all away so she could slobber on a disgusting rapist's used cock.

The man shoved his penis back into her mouth. "Good cuck, Francesca."

Tears spilled from her eyes. It *hurt* to be called that, it did, but that didn't stop her from wanting it. Was there anything so horrible that she wouldn't get on her knees and beg for more? Had she always been like this?

"Now make me cum."

Obediently, hating herself, she sucked harder. It was incredibly overwhelming having such a large rigid organ in her mouth, thrusting down her throat, especially with the man's strong hand controlling exactly where her head could go. She felt helpless, and it only reinforced the feeling that she could never, ever have overpowered him.

He smacked the side of her head. "Faster. I know you're useless at sucking cock because you spent your whole life pretending you were too good for this, but you'd better learn quick." He laughed mockingly. "Because this is the *only* thing you're good for."

The bottomless pit of humiliation in her gut had transformed into a desperate desire to please this man. She put all her effort into it, sucking as hard as she possibly could. Her jaw was rapidly growing tired.

(All this time she'd been training her arms and her legs and her abdomen, when she should have been training her throat muscles. Those were the only ones that were worth anything.)

Without warning, the man thrust his cock deeper into her throat and held her there. It jumped and pulsed and then there was hot, salty semen filling up her throat and overflowing into her mouth. It was *horrible*, but she couldn't get away, not with the rapist's hand in her hair.

"Fuck, yeah," he was grunting, from somewhere above her. "That's it -- there you go. Don't you dare lose a drop."

She swallowed desperately, terrified of what he'd do to her if she had to spit any out. After what felt like hours he stopped cumming, and pulled his sated penis from her mouth. She prepared to choke down the last of his seed, which was still filling her mouth.

"Stop," he said. "Don't swallow."

[]{#anchor-5}She obeyed.

"Good job," the man said, mockingly, but the praise still made Francesca's cunt pulse. "Not the best head I've had, but it looks like even a dyke can learn."

She couldn't exactly reply with a mouth full of semen.

The man's smile turned crueler. "Now. Your poor little wife must be having a time of it, don't you think? Since you decided sucking me off was a higher priority than checking on her.

"Why don't you go give her a kiss?"

Francesca was still processing the shame of the man pointing out how she'd neglected Emilia when she realized what he meant.

She... didn't make the decision to obey, exactly. Her muscles just moved at the rapist's command. They were his now, she supposed. Like everything else. Yes, she was going to do what he'd told her. She was going to participate directly in her wife's humiliation.

She'd never be able to bear to ask Emilia to forgive her for this. But Emilia would do it anyway. Her timid little wife's love for her would never be shaken, not even by this.

Francesca crawled up onto the bench beside Emilia. It had been made for big strong men like the one who'd just enjoyed them both, so their two feminine bodies fit just fine side by side. Emilia was still staring into space, unblinking. Francesca leaned down toward her mouth, and she barely reacted.

When Francesca's lips came close, Emilia tried to turn away. But -- the man had ordered Francesca to do this. And it would be so much more humiliating if she obeyed. And she was much, much too far gone to do anything but what her pathetic pulsing cunt wanted.

She held Emilia's head in place, kissed her deeply, and parted her lips. The rapist's semen flowed from Francesca's mouth into her wife's.

His hand came to rest on her head, and he held her there, laughing quietly. A moment later she heard the sound of a phone's camera going off.

Pictures. He was taking pictures. Their humiliation was going to be preserved forever.

When she'd finished forcing his semen into Emilia's mouth, the man withdrew his hand and let her up. Emilia's eyes followed her as she moved[]{#anchor-6}.

The man reached in and pushed Emilia's thighs further apart, then aimed his phone at her defiled pussy and snapped another few photos. Emilia stirred and sat up halfway.

Her rapist turned the phone around to show the latest image of her leaking vulva, grinning. "The porn sites are going to *love* you."

Emilia's eyes widened. Francesca could only imagine how ashamed and horrified she must be. But she herself... She could only bite her lip and try, and fail, to keep her fingers away from her cunt.

The man, laughing, took another picture of both their faces.

Emilia turned away and lay back down.

(Yes. Yes, Emilia been hurt and humiliated and dominated in a way she'd never experienced before. A way Francesca had never come close to achieving.

But it wasn't as if she hadn't *tried*, was it, a soft voice whispered inside her. Hadn't she done her utmost to tease and torment and overpower Emilia? She'd have done this to her wife in a heartbeat, given the opportunity, and she'd have relished that pleasure just as much as this man did. She wasn't any better than the rapist taking pictures of them, in the end.

She just wasn't strong enough to be that cruel.)

Francesca leaned down and stroked Emilia's hair. Her heart was thumping in her ears. "You're -- you're going to belong to him now." (What was she saying? What did that mean? She couldn't tell. She just -- couldn't stop saying it.) "Because -- he deserves to have you. Because he's bigger, and taller, and smarter, and -- and stronger. Because I couldn't win against him. I'll never win against him."

She heard a laugh from behind her. "That's right. Now... Why don't you be a good little dyke and tell me what locker you're using? And the combination, of course."

Francesca's heart almost stopped.

She was going to have to live with this. She'd thought she'd realized that, she'd thought she'd just been talking about it -- but she hadn't. They'd leave the gym and this day would end, and the man who'd raped Emilia would still exist. The trauma and the heartache would still exist. He'd taken pictures of Emilia half-naked and used, and *those* would still exist. He was going to post them on the Internet. He'd already ruined half of Francesca's life.

And if he got into her locker -- if he took her phone, which wasn't even locked, and her car keys, her *house* keys --

He could find out where they lived. Nothing would stop him. He could let himself in and be waiting there when they got home. And then -- then they really *would* belong to him. He'd get Emilia pregnant and he wouldn't let her abort it. They'd be -- they'd be raising this man's *children* together, if Francesca let it happen --

"No," she whispered.

Slowly, the man tilted his head. That expression on his face was so, so dangerous. "What did you say?"

Francesca swallowed. Her heart was racing faster than she'd ever thought possible. "I said no. I won't give you what's in my locker. You've had your fun, asshole. Now just -- just get out of here."

He'd humiliated her, and she'd gotten off on that. But she *wasn't* going to let him take over her entire life.

The man advanced on her, one step at a time. "You don't *get* to say those things to me, dyke." His voice was very, very soft. "Now be a good cuck and tell me what I want to know."

Francesca shook her head, trembling. "No."

(She was so, *so* scared -- )

"Three one two one eight," Emilia whispered. "Locker eighty-one."

Francesca turned to her in disbelief.

The man laughed, uproariously, for a good ten or twenty seconds. "Good girl," he said, and squeezed Emilia's ankle.

Then he tucked his cock back into his pants and his phone back into his pocket and walked off toward the lockers, whistling softly.

Francesca just stared. She couldn't even think of what question to ask. Emilia met her gaze. Her eyes were empty and cold.

She heard the sounds of the man opening a locker, and rummaging through. Hers. He was looking through her property, deciding what he wanted to keep...

Then, a minute later, he walked back through the main room and disappeared toward the front entrance.

Slowly, Emilia sat up. Francesca leaned back, taking hold of the same pole she'd used to steady herself while Emilia was raped. Her legs felt weak.

"Aren't you going to ask me if it felt good?" Emilia's voice was quiet, and utterly devoid of feeling.

Francesca blinked. "What?"

"That's what you want to hear, isn't it? That he made me cum, or something? You get off on the humiliation, don't you?"

She... She had thought about that, hadn't she? That maybe being with a man had satisfied her wife's body in a new way. But -- Emilia couldn't *actually* have enjoyed it. She was a lesbian! Besides, she -- she loved Francesca far too much.

"Did it?" Francesca whispered.

"Yes," Emilia said. Her eyes were boring holes in Francesca, and her voice was very, very cold. "Yes, it felt good. You know, I didn't *want* to enjoy it. I tried not to. I didn't want to betray you. I thought... you'd be hurt, and you'd be angry at me. But then, it turns out all you wanted to do was stand there and watch me get raped and touch yourself to the humiliation." She smiled a humorless smile. "So I wasn't trying quite so hard by the end. So yes.

"Yes, he fucked me better than you."

Francesca very nearly began to cry.

She'd *known* it was true. After all, it wasn't even really right to say that Francesca fucked at all. She -- she didn't have the equipment for it. *Men* fucked. Women... women just tried their best.

But -- but Emilia couldn't *really* have enjoyed it. Not truly. Not when she was a lesbian. She'd always been...

"But you're -- " Francesca's voice was desperate. "You're not into men. At all. So how can..."

"Yes I am." Emilia said it absently. Her gaze had not moved a millimeter. "I'm bi, Francesca. I was always bi."

There was a lancing pain deep in Francesca's heart.

She gasped for breath, struggling to find words. "But you -- why didn't you -- "

"You're wondering why I never told you? You didn't want to know, Francesca. You'd have gotten pissed off at me. It's not like you'd have enjoyed hearing that most of the men I pass on the street are hotter than you."

Francesca's eyes widened, and the sensation of betrayal felt almost like it would split her in two.

"Men... they always scared me," Emilia said. Her voice was almost thoughtful, yet her eyes still held Francesca pinned in place. "They're... they're a lot more attractive than girls, yeah, but... They made me nervous. So I never went near them. I didn't want them to hurt me." Now there was an expression on Emilia's face, one hard to decipher. It might have been contempt. "That's why I married you, you know. I figured you were safe. You'd protect me, and, well, you might not fuck as well as a man, but you're strong enough you could at least try."

How? How could any of this possibly be true? She had to be lying. Emilia loved her and desired her. She was more attracted to Francesca than anybody else in the world. It *couldn't* be.

Emilia stared at Francesca for a long, slow moment, and then she licked her lips. "Get on your knees," she said.

Francesca fell to the ground. She was far too dazed to do anything but obey.

"Crawl over here."

So she did, on hands and knees. Until she was kneeling in front of Emilia, sitting there on the bench, and then --

Emilia's hand reached out and seized Francesca's hair violently. She pulled, hard, forcing her head down between Emilia's spread thighs.

"Lick."

Emilia had never done anything like this before. Francesca couldn't even remember her grip ever being this strong. Was it -- was it adrenaline?

Emilia's voice rose. "I said, *lick*. Worship my used pussy, you worthless fucking coward."

She... She never talked to Francesca like that. She'd never dare.

With tears in her eyes, Francesca leaned forward and buried her face in Emilia's cunt.

She could taste the rapist's semen, leaking from between her wife's lower lips. Just like when she'd sucked him off, except Emilia's flavor was stronger here, more deeply mixed with the essence of the man who'd stolen her.

"I *thought* you'd keep me safe," Emilia said. Francesca could no longer see her face, but now there was anger and contempt in her voice. "I thought as long as I stayed with you, as long as I was a good partner and you loved me and cared about me, I'd never have to be afraid of men. But I guess I was wrong. Because now, since you were too weak to even *try* to save me, I've experienced the worst thing men could possibly do to me." Emilia's grip in her hair didn't loosen for one second.

"And you know what? It was horrible, and I was scared and miserable and hurting. But I'm still here. I'm not even all that broken. I guess I was strong enough to survive it, after all."

She pulled on Francesca's hair, and Francesca, unwilling, raised her eyes to meet Emilia's gaze. Her wife sneered.

"I guess I never needed you to begin with."

Desperately, Francesca tried to say something. She didn't have any idea what, but --

Emilia scoffed, and shoved her face deeper into her pussy. Francesca *should* have been able to resist. She should have been able to escape Emilia's weaker grip with hardly any effort at all. But -- but ever since that man had shoved her aside, all her useless, inadequate muscles had turned to jelly.

"So now," Emilia said, almost conversationally except for the open scorn in her voice, "what's stopping me, really? I don't have anything to lose anymore. There's no point in being scared of men when I already know I can survive getting raped. Why *shouldn't* I focus on the parts that felt good? Why shouldn't I just enjoy getting fucked by somebody bigger and stronger and hotter than you? It'd be a nice change, having sex with someone I'm actually attracted to."

Francesca started crying.

"Aww," Emilia said, holding her face against her leaking cunt, her voice dripping with contempt. "What's the matter, Francesca? It isn't so much fun getting humiliated when it's *your* life being ruined?"

Francesca just cried and whimpered and licked her wife's defiled pussy pathetically. She wasn't strong enough for anything else. She knew that now.

"Get used to it," Emilia said, and her voice was a low and deadly hiss. "This is what you wanted, Francesca. This is what you chose. You let a man rape me so you could get off on him mocking you, and you don't *get* to complain now."

That... that was sadism in Emilia's voice. She was turned on, too. Francesca could taste it on her. She'd... she'd never had any idea Emilia had such tendencies in her.

But then, neither of them had ever known that Francesca was so weak and useless that even Emilia was stronger.

"Like you said," Emilia continued, "I'm going to belong to *him* now. When we get back home, maybe he'll be waiting for us. Or maybe he'll come in at night. But he's going to be there, and he's going to fuck me, and I'm going to enjoy it, Francesca. And you can watch and listen and rub that stupid fucking cunt of yours that's the only thing you actually care about. And then I'm going to have his babies, and you're going to raise the children he fucked into me." She twisted her hand in Francesca's hair. "I guess we don't have to argue about that anymore, do we?"

No. She supposed they didn't.

"Maybe I'll fall in love with him," Emilia said absently, and Francesca whimpered as a new brand of horror seized her heart. "With his babies inside me to help it along... I managed to fool myself into thinking I loved *you*, after all. How hard can it be to love somebody so much better?"

Now she seized Francesca's hair tighter, bucked her hips against her face, and moaned. She... She'd cum. Francesca's wife had cum from forcing her to lick her defiled pussy, while she thought of bearing her rapist's children.

"I think..." Emilia's voice was soft and breathy. Yes, she was enjoying this. "I think I'll tell him he can do whatever he wants to me, as long as he makes *you* suffer."

Francesca sobbed quietly between Emilia's legs.