The blast of cool air that caressed the long-legged young woman's body was a welcome relief in the Southern California September afternoon. For a few seconds, she just stood there, reveling in the coolness. Then, she moved over to one of the customer convenience counters. There were several people in the bank, but she didn't pay any particular attention as she concentrated on filling out her deposit slip. Finished, she straightened up and had just taken one step toward the line waiting for a teller, when the street door suddenly slammed open with a loud bang. Billie's shoulder length brown hair whipped around her face as she whirled her head around. She heard a woman scream. Five men, each holding what Billie would always think of as a huge pistol, were fanning out through the bank lobby. Billie's heart leaped into her throat where it beat furiously, choking her. "Okay, everybody just stay still and keep calm and nobody gets hurt," one of the men shouted. "Everybody into the corner... over there. Move! Now!" For a second, nothing happened, then the other customers began shuffling toward the corner the man had indicated. The bank employees, herded by a sixth man who had evidently came in another door, flowed out from behind the counters and joined the customers in one frightened mass. To Billie, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. She couldn't seem to force herself to move at all. There was an old man standing near her, and he too seemed rooted to the spot. One of the men, wearing a nylon stocking over his face, stomped threateningly toward them. "You heard the man, into that corner. Now, goddamnit!" He shouted at them. His voice thundered in Billie's head, echoing as though they were in a small, empty room. She began to shiver, her stomach whirling... "Now, now, see here..." The old man began, sputtering. The gunman brought his hand up, viciously cracking it into the side of the man's head, knocking him to the floor, blood spurting from the side of his head. Billie stared down at his crumpled form, her skin tingling as if her body were electrically charged, every cell awake and tingling. With the same eerie slowness, the gunman moved closer to Billie. He was black, they all were she realized, and now that he was next to her she saw that he was huge, and muscular. His eyes, even through the veil of the nylon stocking, were cruel and deep. Her shivers deepened into body-whacking trembles. "That means you too, bitch," he snarled at her. Still she couldn't move, could only stand there, panting. Her nipples were hard, she realized, poking out against her suddenly too tight bra. They ached, feeling like they would burst at any moment. A tiny stream of moisture began to wet her panties. She stared at the man like a bird at a snake. "Move it, slut," he snapped again, lashing his open palm across her cheek. Stinging pain spread over her face. Her ears echoed with the exciting sound of his palm striking her flesh. The trickle between her legs became a stream. Tiny whimpering sounds came from her throat. Her eyes, even as she trembled with fear, danced with the flame of the confusing fire raging within her. Gradually the thug began to realize what was happening to the good-looking young girl he was towering over. A big grin began to spread over his face beneath the mask, and he slapped her again, laughing slightly. Around them the noise of breaking glass and splitting wood filled the room as his companions began to smash open cash drawers. Neither of them paid any attention to the noise. Casually, almost contemptuously, the man ran his hands over Billie's body while she stood, whimpering softly. His hands squeezed her breast, hard, and she moaned, swaying toward him, her eyes closing before the wave of passion sweeping over her. His hands went lower, sliding down over her waist, reaching around to cup her buttocks, pulling her to him. His hot breath seared her cheeks and she felt his hard-on burning into her through their clothes. She groaned out loud and he laughed again, suddenly grabbing her arm and twisting it up behind her back. She cried out at the sudden pain, spinning in his grasp as he cruelly turned her around, twisting the other arm back and holding them both painfully high up between her shoulders. Sobbing, her arms on the verge of breaking, she stumbled before him as he pushed her toward a table against one wall opposite where the other captives had been herded and were watching. All the way, his phallus was growing in his pants, poking into her rump as he walked her across the floor. As they neared the table, he shifted his grip, holding both her arms with one hand. With his free hand, he began tearing at her clothes even as he pushed her face down over the table. Sharp, yelping sounds rose from her throat as her body twisted on the rough wood, her legs spread and her feet dangling inches off the floor. He clawed her skirt up over her waist and ripped at her pantyhose, tearing them to shreds and yanking her skimpy panties from her moist crotch. For an instant she felt cool air caressing her heated sex, and she spread wider arching her hips up, her head rolling and twisting in passion. He smacked his wide, calloused hand down on the upturned, white flesh of her ass. Once, twice, three times he hit her... and she cried out in pain at each blow, her nails clawing the tabletop, but she never for a moment tried to escape. Finally, panting, he stopped beating her and fumbled at his fly. She heard the sound of his zipper, seeming to drown out the continuing backdrop of breaking glass and curses. She threw her head up, mouth open, screaming as his hot, hard cock slammed deep into her dripping cunt. "Oh yes, yes!" She screamed in delirium, pounding the table and throwing her head in neck wrenching circles, her hair swirling around her face. Flashes of lightning went off in her head. She began to come immediately, filled with the pain/pleasure of his cockhead bumping, pounding against the depths of her welcoming sheath. She couldn't stop cumming. His huge prick filled and stretched her pussy. She could feel every inch, every blood filled ridge. The inner flesh of her hole gripped him, caressing and milking his raging cock, embracing and saluting the brutal ravagement. The man knotted his fingers in her long brown hair, pulling her harder back against him, forcing her to arch her body more, opening herself even more for his pleasure. The pain in her scalp seemed to intensify the pleasure in her crotch and her body surrendered totally to the flood of sensations leaping and dancing within her. In her delirium, her hands tore her blouse open and ripped her bra off, freeing her swollen breasts. Now the firm, full mounds rolled beneath her as she writhed, her nipples painfully crushed against the table. Incredibly, the man's companions had, up until now, been too occupied to pay any attention to what was happening on the table. Only now did one of them, after glancing at his watch look up. "Okay... let's... Shit! What the..." He laughed. "Hey man... finish it... Drop your load. Let's get the fuck outta here!" The man riding Billie quickened his movements. He began to grunt, then cried out. Billie's body bucked, a high- pitched wail rising from deep in her throat as she received his seed. Hot, steaming semen gushed deep into her hole, bathing the torn tissues within. Her orgasm leaped to new heights as she bucked and tossed on the table, clawing at her breasts. His movements slowed, then ceased. For a moment he lay drained on top of her twitching body, then, with a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet. His cock slid from her hole with a loud plop, followed by a gush of mingled semen and cunt juice which ran down her legs, dripping onto the floor, in full view of the shocked and numb captives. He swatted her once more across the ass, and then turned, zipping up his fly as he ran to the door with his fellows. Billie, barely conscious, began to slip off the table, unable to find the strength to arrest her fall. Like an old, discarded sack, her body sagged to the floor, where she lay, a sobbing, moaning heap of satiated flesh. For a few long moments the room was perfectly still. The unhurt victims seemingly unable to move, frozen in place by the orgasmic scene they had just witnessed. They just stared at Billie. She had fallen with her legs sprayed, her open pussy, oozing semen. Finally, an older woman moved. She went to Billie, crouching down beside her and gently taking the still moaning woman in her arms. As if that had been some kind of signal, the others shook themselves and began to live again. The police didn't take long to get there, nor did the ambulance they called. It was too late in any case. The thugs were gone, and the old man was already dead. Billie received the news with a loud sob and buried her head in the ample bosom of the old woman, who held her comfortingly. They took Billie to the hospital emergency room, but, except for the scratches on her breasts, which she had inflicted upon herself, she was unhurt. A rape counselor talked to her there, and Billie listened politely, feigning an interest that she didn't feel. After all, she knew she hadn't been raped. She had wanted it... probably, at least at first, more than he did. From the moment she had seen those pistols, she had been excited. And when that man struck the old man, and then slapped her and called her a bitch and a slut... Oh God! In front of those people... all those people... Jesus... He beat me, hurt me... and I loved it. She realized the rape counselor, a big, older woman, had stopped her spiel, and was staring at her kind of funny. "Uh... I'm... I'm sorry. I really am okay. Please... I'd just like to go home." "Sure," the woman said, shrugging her shoulders. If Billie didn't need her there were surely others that did.