A college girl gets her revenge, when the campus rapist picks on her – fiction

I’d heard about the rapist; that’s why I had my
dad’s war souvenir with me that night. But I didn’t
really expect to need it. I’d been carrying it every
day since the second rape.

Dad called it ‘the equalizer,’ and Mom couldn’t
stand the sight of it. She made him lock it up; but he
slipped it to me before I left for college. “You might
need it,” he’d whispered. “Some of those athletes don’t
know what ‘stop’ means.” I’d ruffled what was left of
his hair and told him I could take care of myself.

I wasn’t so sure when the creep stepped out in
front of me. I mentally kicked myself about a hundred
times. Personally I don’t think I’m all that hot look-
ing, but I had a friend who used to go on about breast
to height ratios and buttock roundness and symmetry
and how it related to making guys hot. She claimed my
ratios were just over the ‘hot’ line, and that most
guys would rather do me than a skinny moviestar. Anyway
I’m 5’2, brunette, and young, and I date whenever I
want.

I’m rape bait, and I had dangled myself without
a damn thought. Suddenly there were dark empty class-
room buildings between me and the lighted road, and my
short cut had gone sour. He held up his switchblade;
the same narrow blond clean-shaven face the other girls
had described grinned nastily at me.

“Not a word, sister. One scream and you’re wear-
in’ scars.” He’d cut the first girl across the face
when she screamed; the others had been quiet. I didn’t
like his looks, but I had to try.

“You don’t want to do this,” I told him softly.
“It’s not too late for you to stop.”

He snickered. “Step back here in the shadows,”
he ordered, gesturing with the knife. I sighed and
obeyed, mentally saying goodbye to the cold beers and
warm friends waiting half a mile away. “Get the shirt
off, bitch.” He put the knife up to my throat.

I backed away and began slowly teasing up the
edges of my shirt. He stayed back, grinning that nasty
grin. He wasn’t a nice man. “You’ll regret this, man,”
I whispered fiercely. “My dad will hunt you down.
Probably skin you out for a trophy.” The shirt came up
over my braless tits; the night air felt good and cool.
Probably I should strip in public more often, I thought
wildly.

His free hand came out and grabbed my right tit,
squeezing roughly, then pinching the nipple. “You’ve
got lousy technique,” I hissed. “Don’t pinch it off,
appreciate it. Don’t you ever date normally? You’re not
ugly, what’s your problem?” He slapped me, then grabbed
my other tit. A real tit man.

“You’ve got the problem, not me, bitch. You all
think you’re so damn hot, turning up your nose at us
all -”

“Excuse me, have you ever asked me for a date
and been turned down? I’ll go out to lunch with anyone.
Hell, I went to the show with my German teacher, well,
after I passed his class, ya know.” I glared at him,
hands on hips and freshly pinched nipples sticking out.
Probably looked pretty hot, as I look back. He actually
looked shocked; I could see him wince. But I was too
naked and he couldn’t stop. His knife poked at me
again.

“Get the skirt off too, and the panties. You’re
the hottest girl on this campus.” He grinned tightly.
We could see each other faintly in the streetlights
glow; to a passer-by we were in deep shadow. I stripped
slowly, realizing I was enjoying watching his face
change. He looked for a moment the way any man does
when a woman strips for him. I felt sorry for him, for
a moment, the way he’d felt sorry for me. I could smell
dirt, like an open grave.

“Look,” I said, “you’ve had your feel and your
strip-show, now let me go. You’re some woman’s son,
somebody’s brother or cousin. You’ve only scratched and
raped, not killed. Stop while you can. Have pity on me,
man, I haven’t done anything to you. I promise you,
you’ll regret doing this for the rest of your life.”

He glared at me, then stepped up and pushed me
to my knees. He unzipped and yanked out his cock.
Pretty small, for a man his size, but big for little
me. He waved the knife; uncertainly I knelt and opened
my mouth. He jammed his cock in and moaned, then pulled
it back out, grazing my sharp little teeth. He pumped a
few times, then pulled out and slapped my face. “Use
your lips, bitch, you’re bitin’ me!” He pushed it back
in and I gaped, lips back over my teeth and eyes open
wide. He still grazed against my teeth, and he pulled
my head back and began to slap me.

I ducked and cried and struggled. “I can’t open
any wider! I’m just a little girl, and I’ve never done
that. You’re too big, mister!” I thought of the huge
knob on the end of my friend Jesse’s eight-inch cock,
and how easily that fit in my mouth. You’re just not
big enough, mister.

He stopped with his hand poised to slap, then
stepped back and dropped his pants around his ankles.
He sneered at me as he shoved me back, pinning my legs
apart as he pointed the knife. “Don’t do it, mister.
I’m warning you!” I cried as he began rubbing his cock
on my pussy. I was wet already from stripping, and he
had the head of his cock inside me in short order. With
a grunt he drove it in deep.

As he froze in horror I slapped the knife from
his paralyzed hand. His face went white; he made a tiny
wail as he pulled his ruined cock out of me. It was
sliced down the middle into four sections and spouting
blood. He stared in horror, making an awful a-a-a-a
noise.

“Squeeze it VERY tight,” I advised. “Otherwise
it’ll retract and you’ll, oops. Well, guess you’ll
bleed to death. Told you you’d regret it, the rest of
your life.” I was gathering my clothes and purse in
horrible haste; he was on his knees clutching his groin
in a pool of blood. His screams were getting louder; I
dressed on the run. I had my skirt on and was strug-
gling with the shirt when he stood up in the bushes and
screamed.

“You’ve ruined me, bitch!” He came around the
bushes, bareassed and barehanded, and with blood spray-
ing. I ran, topless and jiggling, with him behind me
for a few steps. I heard him fall and ran on a little
ways, looking back to see him kicking on the ground.

“Twas beauty killed the beast,” I called back to
him as I got the shirt on and ran out into the well-
lighted roadway. I crossed at the light and ran to the
bar on the corner.

Jesse and Fran and Bill were sitting at a table
in the back. I waved and went straight in the bathroom.
I went in a stall and vomited, hard. Green bile came up
and I saw stars. Tasted better than the creep’s cock
had. I sat on the stool and pulled one leg up, reaching
in deep between my legs to bring out Dad’s war
souvenir. I washed it in the sink, several times, very
carefully, and put it in my purse. I washed the blood
from my thighs and tried to make my face normal. Didn’t
work, because when I sat next to Jesse, he squinted at
me and asked quickly, “What’s wrong?”

I took his drink from his hand and drained it.
“I just met the campus rapist . . . and I think I
killed him. Be very cool and don’t start yelling. You
too, Bill.” Fran grabbed my arm and asked if I was, you
know, all right. I drained her drink, too.

“Killed him?” breathed Jesse. “How? Kung Fu?”

So I brought out Dad’s war souvenir and quietly
showed it to my friends, passing it under the table
there in the bar. It’s a homemade, well-crafted piece,
like a big hollow dildo two inches long made of
polished and lacquered bamboo. Inside are two razor
blades, crossing each other. “It’s a whore’s trick. If
you don’t pay once, next time watch out.” The rapist’s
penis had entered the hollow of the device as it rode
inside my vaginal canal and encountered the crossed
razors. I put it away and we drank several rounds of
Bloody Marys in his memory.

When we left the bar an hour later there were
flashlights around the bushes across the street, and a
police cruiser came whizzing up with its blue lights
on. We mingled with the curious crowds, staggered away
and went on with our lives.

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