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April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering	By : Nickamano Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 448 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: April O'Neil, the Foot Clan and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and any related materials are not owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
April wrangled herself a lift to Channel Six with Doctor Alcaraz the following morning. And she was lucky enough not to have to service either Daryl or his friend when they woke up. She had fallen asleep, drunk on her couch in her Pikachu onesie and had woken up to her coffee machine percolating away, Daryl making three mugs while Alcaraz was singing away in her shower.

She had run the risk of begging for the lift to work due to the time. Irma had suggested a bicycle and she had considered it, thinking about the work out her legs would get each morning. But then she reminded herself about the traffic and the way other cyclists worked their way through the streets taking their lives in their hands and she had thought better of it.
Only once had she risked the subway in the morning rush hour and it has assured her to never try it again. According to her ex it was called ‘chikan’ these days but at the time it was just being groped by strangers. Like a dozen of them, all crushing in around her. It still made her shiver in disgust years later.
She hadn’t even made it easy for them, jeans, a tank-top with a zipped-up bomber jacket over it. Of course, the car was standing room only when she boarded, and within seconds she was surrounded by male passengers. Within seconds of the doors closing and the train starting its journey to the next station she started to feel the hands on her.

The first was on her ass and she assumed it was accidental and leaned away from the contact. However, the hand was on her again immediately, palm cupping her buttock, fingers slipping along the underside toward the heat-point of her ass hole. She had reached behind and slapped the hand away, but two replaced it. She started to twist but an arm came around her waist and pinned her, stopping her from removing the pair of hands squeezing and stroking her buttocks. Someone from her right slid a hand under her raised arm and found the extreme jut of her boob wasn’t just the bulging fold of the jacket and she heard a groan in her right ear. Instantly two other hands joined the first on her chest while a fourth grabbed her right wrist and squeezed it hard, a silent warning and physical restriction. She could let go of the overhead bar with her left hand but then she would be off balance and relying on these men surrounding her to keep her upright, giving them even more power over her. All she could do was to hold on and hope the train got to her stop in record time.

The train journey took as long as it always did, far too long for April and a good amount of time for the gang of molesters crowding in around her. Their hands all over her, all she could do was twist her body to try and dislodge them. Which didn’t work. She tried to catch the eye of other men beyond the ‘chikan’ circle but it was no good, those men and women fell into two groups - those averting their eyes from hers, keeping to themselves, perhaps not wanting to be targeted or cause trouble for themselves and then those overtly watching, malicious lust in their eyes, vicariously assaulting her themselves. She tried shouting out for help but even before she could exhale a syllable, a hand had clamped over her open mouth stifling her effort.

The two set of hands attacked her upper and lower body separately but simultaneously and no matter what she tried she couldn’t stop them. Her jacket was unzipped and dragged wide open, hands sliding inside it for her breasts. A second set snatched her jeans open and tugged the tight fabric down to mid-thigh, revealing her thong encased crotch. Unwanted male hands all over her bared ass cheeks, more hands slipping down under the waistband and around the side of the front of her gusset to fondle and then penetrate her pussy. At the same time the hands on her boobs burrowed under the scoop neck of her tank top then inside the cups of her bra, filling sweaty palms with bare boob flesh. Almost instantly her nipples were located then snatched up, pinched, pulled and twisted.
By the time it came to an end she’d taken multiple fingers thrusting in her pussy and up her ass. One guy rough-rubbed her clit, which hurt rather than excited her. Throughout, her boobs were mauled and roughed up by at least four hands, her nipples pinched and pulled until they were hotly aching.
The worst bit was the sudden shock of feeling multiple squirts of hot cum slapping against the flesh of her thighs and buttocks. And the realisation that some of the guys had been jerking off against her and now they were using her as a literal cum dump.

They had all disappeared almost spectrally, fading into the crowds dispersing from the car and off into the station beyond. April, fighting back tears, had to use a bunch of tissues to wipe off the worse of the jizz that was already rolling down her legs and already gathering and staining the inside of her jeans. She ran out of tissues and could do nothing but drag her jeans back up and leave that vile residue on her skin.
She had walked the rest of the way to the Station feeling disgusting and filthy, and barely in charge of her emotions. She had vowed never to use the subway again.

When Alcaraz pulled to the sidewalk, he turned to her, eyes sliding up and down her body but surprisingly landing on her face and holding her eyes.

“I had to pay for a rush on your lab work out of my own pocket, so you owe me a second date for that.” He said, not asking. “It’ll probably be next month. My wife is going on holiday without me. I’ll call you and let you know when and where.”

April, tired, still sore and downbeat, just nodded her head. Responding with a nonchalant nod of his own, the Doctor hit the door release and she climbed out of his car.
He had to wait for a gap in the morning traffic before pulling away but April was already into her next gauntlet. Avoiding fans who liked to congregate outside her place of work. For her, even walking to work wasn’t without its issues. In the time she had been at the Channel Six News Station, her popularity had grown among men of all ages, though especially with impressionable teenage boys, a natural hazard of possessing her shapely figure and placing herself, all inviting smiles and alluring imagery on their TVs, tablets and phone screens. Thompson’s insistence that they make full use of all of April’s “journalistic talents” kept her shots mostly waist high with a lower studio desktop so her cleavage could be easily enjoyed by consumers. Going by the viewing figures, it certainly seemed to work.
That meant she often had fans hanging around the front of the Station looking for selfies and autographs and the like. Flattering, but also irritating when she was already late for work and had to run a gauntlet of fawning horny males. Some of them even made moves on her, asking for dates, pressing gifts into her arms. A not tiny percentage of which were lewd, many even downright disgusting, ‘articles’ concealed in gift wrap.
It got to the point when she started to take the lead from celebrity types, wearing ‘disguises’ to and from work. It worked perhaps two thirds of the time. Hoodies and shades, head down, walk fast, take the side entrance. The occasional wig in winter and her trench coat seemed to work pretty well. Summer was much more difficult. Even during the mornings, it often felt too warm for concealing clothes and wigs.

This morning, she was lucky, or at least she thought she was. There were only a couple of boys around the side door who obviously recognised her.
She had been in a hurry this morning, and depressed. Not only because of the unusable evidence, but also that it had been stolen right from under her nose. Someone had actually entered her apartment from the window, crept right past her sleeping body and snatched the papers from her table.
And then there were the two men, sharing her bed, her bathroom, leaving her wet towels on the floor and her toilet seat up. Eating her breakfast. Watching her get dressed. Making her late for work.
She had mentioned the lost papers to the men when they had finally woken up, they both just assumed that she had probably mislaid them somewhere. Alcaraz offered to mail her a second copy But April declined. There was nothing there of use anyway.
She had slumped into her bedroom and grabbed the first things to hand, a pair of jeggings, a tank top and a brown leather jacket. No ballcap, no dark glasses. She didn’t even think about how closely she was dressed to that horrible experience on the subway until the two boys, who she thought had to be skipping school for the morning, possibly even middle school, had accosted her and begged her for a selfie with them. She put on her best Z grade celebrity smile and said - “Sure boys, I’d be happy to.” They pressed in on either side of her, one of them holding up his cell phone. And immediately she felt two hands cupping her buttocks. Her face fell.

“C’mon April, smile!”
“How about you get your hands off my ass? Or should I just call a cop?”
“Ha! We wouldn’t even get a slap on the wrist, bee-atch!”
“We wouldn’t even see the backseat of a squad car! C’mon! It’s just a photo! Say cock-CHEESE-in-my-teeth!”

April ground her teeth and tried to force a smile, just wanting to get out of this early morning nightmare.

“Wait!” The boy on her left said.

Then he reached across, quickly worked her jacket zipper down and then reached in and hooked a finger into the neckline of her plain white tank-top and tugged it down. His lightning-fast action revealed the scooped cups of her canary yellow Wonderbra.

“Holy shit! That’s great dude!”

The boy busied himself snapping shot after shot on his phone, as April struggled to free herself. Finally wriggling clear of the handsy embrace, the two degenerate little perverts immediately forgot April, turning their attention to assessing the quality of their captures. April took the opportunity to hurry into the Station through its side door. The two deviants’ giddy laughter followed her until the door hissed shut and clicked as it locked behind her. Then she managed to jinx herself by muttering “Can this day get any worse?”

<><><>

The day travelled along smoothly enough to begin with. April was assigned two reports downtown, one of a local cat-grooming contest, the other an almost interesting piece - street basketball competitions between rival blocks, that was apparently sewing a rise in ‘friendly’ rivalries between groups of youths who previously preferred to shoot and stab each other. The latter was scary as this time she didn’t have Collins, or Fenwick with her working the camera she had to do it all on her own. However, both experiences proved wholly positive with almost all the interviewees being polite and respectful and friendly to her, while showing themselves open to her questions, and even managed to keep their language family friendly, for the most part.

There was a short meeting in the afternoon where Thompson announced to the assembled staff that Mr Orokuma would be visiting the station around seven that evening to speak to everyone. Therefore, all staff would be required to be present after the six o’clock broadcast had concluded for the meeting (with no overtime pay).
April found herself surprisingly excited by the news, practically walking on a cloud for the remainder of the afternoon. She spent the time editing the morning’s local interest features and then prepared herself for her time in front of the camera for her scheduled Six O’clock News program. April shared the limelight during the major news programs, at lunch-time and early-evening, with Vernon Fenwick, while Dawn Trevas and Jacob Wyndham covered the late-night broadcasts between them.

Leading up to her six o’clock shift in the Channel Six studio, April had her usual appointment with Jaime Hartman. The middle-aged lady who was the Station’s resident hair and makeup professional. Mrs Hartman was a very kindly but rather austere lady. However, she was also a mainstay of the station, well respected and generally well liked. And she had taken on a motherly role to the other women on the staff.
April didn’t know her age, fifties? She had residual good looks that made it was obvious she would have been pretty special a couple of decades ago, huge eyes, full lips, small slightly flattened nose. Dyed, coppery-brown wavy hair. She had a little middle age spread and was a head shorter than April.
At a glance she had a round shape, but April had seen her dressed up at a Christmas party the one year she had attended, and the dress she had worn revealed an absolute hourglass figure, definitely meatier than April but still a surprisingly eminent figure that she kept well concealed while at the studio.

The tricky thing about Mrs Hartman was that she was a gossip, chatting away with whoever was in her chair about whoever was not in her chair. To April it made her feel vaguely untrustworthy.
Mrs Hartman was also a wizard with hair and makeup, and on hearing of the upcoming meeting with Mr Orokuma, April asked Mrs Hartman to go all the way on her appearance.
She was out to catch Mr Orokuma’s eye, to impress him and put herself in his thoughts and attention. She wanted him to want her. It was a shame she didn’t bring the dress he had given her. She didn’t think she had ever looked better than when she had worn that dress. All she had to work with was her Channel Six uniform. And she was already wearing her best push-up bra, there was little else she could do with it.

The meeting took place in the recording studio, Irma, Mrs Hartman and the intern Lili Jane had arranged a semicircle of chairs facing the news desk. All the cameras were pushed back to the edge of the unused audience seating area. There was a small table to the left by the doors, with a couple of bottles of bubbly and a dozen plastic wine glasses awaiting the staff.
Burne Thompson led them in, Fenwick alongside him, brown nosing as always. Jaime Hartman, Lili Jane and Irma were still in the room taking up chairs on the right side of the front row. Following Fenwick, were the duo-cadre of Natalia Marazita and Safiya De Jager. The night anchors had come in early for the meeting, Dawn Trevas and Jacob Wyndam. They brought up the rear. There was a bit of a traffic jam as people paused by the door to grab a glass and fill it with champagne, filling their companions’ glasses before passing the bottle to the next in line.
Finally, the studio’s security/door guard, Carrie Herrig appeared, bringing up the rear. The tall and bulky Slavic beauty was no nonsense and tough, a part time MMA fighter. She was about to shut the door but April appeared behind her. Trying to be fashionably late. Though she immediately learned that Orokuma and his assistants hadn’t even arrived yet and she felt like a bit of a fool. Still, Thompson had saved her the last seat on the front row between himself and Lili Jane.
There were a couple of minutes delay, the little groups of colleagues chatting amongst themselves, a half dozen individual and exclusive conversations.

The two Japanese assistants appeared from the rear of the studio set, it was the young man and woman whose names April still didn’t remember, she wasn’t even sure if their names had been dropped during any moment spent with Orokuma.
As they came out in their matching business suits, Fenwick muttered something about them looking like extras from a Japanese “Reservoir Dogs”. Thompson was the only one to give a little subdued snigger.
When Orokuma appeared from the rear of the studio, everyone one fell silent, all eyes were captivated by him, an indefinable charisma that snared the room’s full attention. He came around to the front of the news desk, leaned casually against it and flicked open his jacket, before casually popping up onto the desk. He cast his eyes across everyone in the room and offered a warm and disarming smile. April felt like his gaze held hers for a moment longer than he did with everyone else.

“Good evening, everyone. And to those who have, thank you for giving up your free time for this little meeting.”

There were a couple of murmurs of appreciation from the night staff, but they lasted less than a second before Orokuma was allowed to continue.

“Firstly, I must assure each and every one of you that, following Mr Thompson’s cooperation and the hard work and professionalism of each and every one of you here, I have filed a glowing report of this station and its staff with the Kirehashi board of directors. And special thanks should be awarded to Miss April O’Neil for her kindness, courteousness and entertaining company while she showed me around and answered questions during my stay in your great internationally renowned city. So, my personal gratitude and regards to Miss O’Neil.”

A spattering of applause and a couple of pats on the back were sent April’s way who beamed back at the handsome, gallant Japanese man.

“Through my conversations with each of you,” He continued, casting his heartening smile across his audience. “I have developed a portfolio for the potential future of the station and methods of increasing revenue, broadening audience numbers, improving interest for advertisers and methods of gaining additional financial backing.”
“But I promised to share whatever news I had, good or bad. And so, your Mr Thompson has been in contact with your station’s owners. While I have heard back from my own board of directors, who have concluded that, as the situation stands, the asking price, taking into account the additional costs of maintenance of its equipment and vehicles, the relatively low standing of advertiser backing, along with salaries, pensions and benefits for all you good people is rather more than the company I represent is willing to pay. Through Mr Thompson I did make attempts to negotiate with the station owners. However, they refused to budge their price. So, as things stand, unless the situation changes, I’m afraid we remain at an impasse. So, for the time being the status quo will resume.”

“Oh, well. There goes pay rises and Christmas bonuses, new cameras and equipment and digital upgrades, for the foreseeable.” Fenwick muttered, sourly counting off on his fingers.

There were responsive sighs, and murmured of disappointment from the others. April watched Orokuma but he didn’t react at all, no lowered head, no flush of embarrassment or annoyance. Nothing. Then Fenwick tried to break the ice with an attempt at humour.

“Damn. And I was hoping to get to see April reading the news in some anime schoolgirl outfit.”

There were a couple of sniggers, and one moan. Someone toward the back row muttered a comment about racism. April flushed crimson and threw dagger eyes at Vernon. But he just stared back at her with an insolent grin. She glanced across at Orokuma whose expression had shifted slightly, perhaps something only she who was more familiar with him could read? He appeared somewhere between offended and smiling. As though he was equal parts embarrassed, offended and intrigued. Thompson broke the moment of tension with a guttural and defiantly jovial outburst.

“Fuck it!” He roared. “We’re all still here, still got our jobs and we’ve still got news to report. So, let’s get fucked on this complimentary champagne while we can!”

There was an unnatural degree of laughter that suddenly filled the studio, probably relief and tension release. Everyone started to get up out of their chairs, carrying their drained glasses, making their way over to the table of sparkling light golden alcohol for refills.
April didn’t bother, she allowed the others to form the queue ahead of her around the table, their raucous chatting interspersed with the chink of glass and plastic and the playful hiss of in-motion bubbles. She went across the studio floor to the newscaster’s desk where Orokuma was leaning, his eyes on her and a welcoming smile on his lips.
The male assistant was disappearing around the rear of the studio behind the stylish Channel Six emblazoned set partition. The female assistant was being accosted by Vernon Fenwick, he was chatting away to her, pressing a glass of champagne into her tiny hand while his eyes wandered hungrily over the compact yet slender body beneath her fitted business suit. She looked like an expressionless doll.

“What about you Mr Orokuma, will you be staying in the US for much longer?” April asked, trying to sound casual.
“I’m afraid I’m needed back home, Miss O’Neil. My job here is about complete. I am already booked on a plane first thing in the morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She said, pouting.
“I have very much enjoyed spending time in your company and would have loved to spend plenty more time with you but, unfortunately, my business back home is pressing.”
“I would have liked that. …Perhaps tonight? We could, maybe…?”
“Again, I would love nothing more. But alas, my commitments, video conferences, looking over statements and transcripts of meetings. Packing… It will probably take most of the night…”
“I understand. Hopefully you’ll be able to catch up on sleep on the plane?”
“One can but hope, Miss O’Neil.” He said, then diverted his deep brown eyes. “I think someone is trying to get your attention.”

April glanced back and saw Lili Jane, the intern was hanging around a yard shy of them, looking like she had things to say, or ask, April.

“Don’t keep the pretty girl waiting, Miss O’Neil.” Orokuma said loud enough for Lili Jane to hear.

The girl blushed, smiling coquettishly at the businessman.

“We, experienced professionals have much to teach the young.” He muttered so that only April could hear.

And with that and an affectionate squeeze of April’s bicep, he slipped away.

The starstruck intern really just wanted to gossip with April and the reporter felt like the girl was trying to impress her. She sidled in close a drink in each hand. She offered one to April, who took it and afforded herself a commiserating sip. Lili Jane was incessant in her ear, but she was only half listening she had noticed the continued absence of the male assistant. Though the female assistant was still in the close proximity of Vernon Fenwick.
Half listening to Lili Jane, April maintained one eye on Orokuma, who was chatting to both Thompson and Natalia. The weather girl seemed out to impress Orokuma. Though April couldn’t think why, whatever reason she had to suck his cock hadn’t worked… Or had it? She still had her job. But then again so did everyone else. She watched them, wondering if any evidence of her sucking his cock would show itself on their faces, but they were both all business, like characters in an oil painting, polite and smiling but there was no sign of affection or lust or even annoyance or betrayal from Marazita.

April glanced back across toward Fenwick, still chatting up Orokuma’s female assistant. She was smiling and sipping champagne, but it came across more as politeness than welcoming the man’s attention. In fact, when Vernon slid his free hand down her back and squeezed one of her buttocks through the snug fitting silky fabric of her suit pants, her smile didn’t falter. But after allowing him a second’s pleasure she reached down and grasped his wrist. Rather than just snatching his hand from her ass, she pressed the tip of her thumb into the tendons at the base of his wrist. His horny, inebriated grin immediately faltered. He didn’t make any noise of pain or protest but all the colour instantly left his face and his slick lips slackened. April wondered if it was a pressure point and that she was inflicting tremendous, bowel-loosening levels of pain on the arrogant pervert. She hoped so.
The assistant released Vernon’s groping hand gently, her smile taking on a different note. His arm immediately swung back to his side like a pendulum, as though it was numbed and no longer under his control. He gave her a polite though shaky nod of farewell and shuffled away, hesitantly returning to the table where Mrs Hartman and Carrie Herrig, the big Valkyrie-like security woman, were standing. From then on, he appeared much more reserved, subdued and for him, quiet. All flirtation power exorcised, at least temporarily.

April was barely able to take her eyes from Orokuma so she spotted the exchange of glances between the boss and his female assistant. She came over to him, politely slipping clear of Irma and pulling herself onto her tiptoes to whisper into her boss’ ear. He didn’t take in her proximity, continuing to converse with Thompson and Wyndham but gave the girl a quick nod, his arm sliding around to the small of her back as she leaned in close to him.
The next second he was excusing himself and the two of them suddenly strode out of the room. Slipping away without saying anything to anyone other than Thompson. April felt her heart skip a beat, anxiety and hurt shooting suddenly down her spine.
She wanted to catch the Japanese businessman’s attention before he walked out of her life. Though, to say what exactly? He was walking out of her life; was there really no way he could squeeze one last date in? Now that their business was essentially concluded, wouldn’t the restrictions come off? She didn’t know about him but she’d been horny for the well-muscled handsome foreigner since she had first set eyes on him. She didn’t want to let him walk out of her life, not without getting to spend at least one night underneath him. She’d be left always wondering how it would have been with him, and she didn’t want that.

Lili Jane was back at her side again, chattering away. Unrestricted verbal diarrhoea, most likely brought on by the third glass of champagne she was already halfway through. April was trying to force a polite departure from the pretty young intern, in order to catch up to Orokuma but he and his assistant were already gone from the room, no doubt heading for, or already inside, the elevator.

<><><>

“Are the boys ready with my armour?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Gedan in position?”
“Yes, Master.”
“And you have your people ready?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good.”

They emerged from the glass-fronted doors and descended the concrete steps toward the van that awaited them. Tomi hurried ahead down the steps, accelerating and swinging around to her right where her own Foot clan Kunoichi awaited her.
Gedan, already clad in full Foot clan shozoku, was already behind them at the front of the Studio. His identically clad Genin emerged from the dark, living shadows, leading his score of operatives into the building.
Half of their number scaled the exterior until they slipped into the building’s upper storeys via opened windows while the remaining ten split into threes two vanishing around the sides while Gedan led his hand-picked three Genin through the front doors. In less than two seconds the shifting mass of moving shadow was gone without a trace of them remaining.

<><><>

The Channel 6 team had moved their impromptu party to the green room, where there was more room and some comfortable sofas and coffee tables. There were a couple of people missing, Trevas and Wyndham had to stay behind. They swapped jobs on a nightly basis, one presenting the other directing and working the cameras from the booth on remote. They were the night shift so there was little to do and as experienced as they were, the two of them could manage everything between them.
Sofia De Jager was also missing. However, April, sitting with Irma and Lili, was more interested in Fenwick as she noticed him slipping quietly out of the green room. Thompson was standing chatting against the opposite wall with their giant Amazonian security officer, Herrig. While Marazita and Hartman were pouring out the last of the champagne.

“So, April spill! Did you get to fuck that hunk of a Japanese guy?” Irma asked, tipsily.
“No, but I did see him naked, and hunk doesn’t near cover it.”
“Really? Ooohhh! Details, April details!”

<><><>

Once the team of ninja had reformed into their full complement, ten of the Genin made use of the elevator shaft. They climbed up the inside of the shaft and then using tools, they forced the doors to gain access to the correct floor, and then sealed them shut once their full group had emerged. The other ten were moving in two separate groups of five, they had gained entry via the upper storeys and were moving room to room locking doors behind them. Taking away any and all opportunities to escape or call for assistance. Other than the pre-decided route for the kunoichi’s mission, of course. However, they were around to the rear of the building on the first floor. The Genin had the fun part, the Kunoichi had the hard work.

<><><>

Wyndam and Trevas, having finished their initial television news presentation, had gone and snuck a bottle of champagne from beneath the table in the studio. The others, bunch of fools that they were, hadn’t noticed the wooden box containing another four bottles. Working closely together for so long, they had developed an intimacy and that completely unlocked once that bottle had been drained.
Jacob Wyndam had been the initiator; he’d liked Dawn from the off and had been happy when he and the tall thirty-something had been promoted to the night shift. And then, when the others had been fired during corporate restructuring, there had just been the two of them to take on all the duties and responsibilities. He and Dawn had been thrust together, the two of them against the world, and that kind of professional intimacy had only helped to improve his already healthy desire for the svelte blonde.
Of course, she had been well aware of his interest and the one time he had broached the subject, learning that she was recently single. She had offered that classic discouragement of not wanting to risk their currently excellently healthy professional relationship.

“Imagine still having to work together after we’d broken up! Or if we’d had a fight or something!”

Though he couldn’t help but concede her clear thinking, he had carried around the pain of his broken heart for weeks afterwards. But this evening, the champagne and relief that they still had their jobs did the trick. They chatted about work, they chatted about the Japanese guy, and they consistently flirted with increasing openness while they grew increasingly drunk.
Wyndam slid closer to Trevas on the little couch in the rear of the studio. Nervous but putting on the mask of confidence he pressed himself against her while she was distracted with draining her glass. Not moving away from him, she put her glass on the coffee table and then with a little smile turned toward him, brows raised in mock-accusation. As though she was saying - “Oh, really!”
Pushing onwards, he leaned in closer still and kissed her. Letting the mask slip, Dawn immediately kissed him back with a drunken voracity that staggered Jacob almost as much as it made his cock ache.
She leaned into him and a hand slid across his muscular thigh, while he went straight for her handful tits, sliding a bladed hand beneath her jacket and cupping the firm orb through her silky, flowery blouse. He found her nipple already erect and pushing against the thin material of her lacy bra, catching the spongy nub between his knuckles he started to tease her. She responded with a throaty moan that vibrated through their heated kiss. Apparently very horny, Dawn didn’t waste any time. The hand on his thigh slid up to the tube of hardness bulging out the leg of his trousers.
Jacob moaned into Dawn’s open mouth, their tongue darting and playing as they danced back and forth. He deftly flicked each of her blouse buttons open and then slid his hand onto the warm flesh of her upper breast. Fingertips burrowing beneath the lace edge of her bra, he slid between silk and flesh.
Again, Dawn took things forward, unzipping his suit pants and slipping her hand inside to encircle his hot meat. Jacob countered by scooping her tit out of her bra and blouse and then ended their kiss in order to lamprey his mouth to her nipple, lips encompassing her areola, cheeks hollowing with the force of his suction. Dawn stared to moan, her breaths intensifying as the tautness of vacuum engorged and teased her nipple, the intensity of the sensation a pleasurable pulse.
He smiled against the soft elasticity of her breast, at her response and as her hand gripped tighter on his erection. He moaned into her suck-stiffened nipple, the vibrations tantalising her and making her responsive gasps ramp up to moans.
And then she screamed.
There were three ninjas standing around them, one of them had one foot up on the sturdy wooden coffee table, straight bladed sword in his hand, the tip half an inch from the back of Jacob’s head.

<><><>

April was still sitting between Irma and Lili, only half listening to the girls’ back and forth. She was still thinking about Orokuma, and barely taking in Irma’s droning ongoing complaint about the lack of music.

“…I mean, how can you even have a party without music?! Right April?”
“What? Oh, yeah. It definitely needs kicking up a notch.”
“I can find something on my phone? The speaker might not be great though.”
“Yeah, we need music, give a try.”

April could see the sneaky look in Irma’s eyes as she gazed across April toward the young intern. That little smirk combined with a telltale flush across her slim cheeks.

“You know Lili…?”
“Yeah…?”
“…If April was born in Japan with the figure she has, she’d only have one career open to her…”
“I’m almost afraid to ask…” Lili said, giggling.
“Porn flicks!” Irma squealed.
“Oh my god!” April gasped. “Irma!”

Lili set about laughing, incidentally dropping her phone on the floor and then over-balancing as she leaned forward too quickly while reaching to retrieve her phone. She landed on her knees, her forehead an inch from the edge of the coffee table. She was making drunken sounds, that might have been words, that might have been a mash up of comical laughter at April’s expense and playful scalding tossed at Irma, who was lost in her own infectious guffaws of laughter.

“It’s true, I tell you.” Irma carried on, too loud and trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. “The only time you see a Japanese girl with big boobs in, you know… in Japan… is in hentai pornography shit!”

The two of them fell apart in peals of drunken laughter, while April sat there demurely between them, blushing and embarrassed and bemused. The champagne had made her feel overly warm in her yellow jumpsuit she felt beads of sweat on her upper lip, her hair line and gathering in tiny pools between her squashed-together breasts. She assured herself that it was just the warmth of the studio and definitely not that she had drank too much champagne.

A black figure dropped from the ceiling, landing lightly on his feet and instantly becoming a statue in the middle of the room. No one else immediately noticed and April wondered if it was some kind of freakish drunken hallucination, but then the event repeated itself two more times. The three black clad figures formed a triangle in the centre of the green room, each of them facing outward.
Others started to notice them, animated conversations stuttering to a halt and heads turning then freezing in shock. Then more ninja guys emerged from the shadows in the corners of the room.
April’s heart dropped into her stomach.

Foot clan ninja.
They were here, in her work place.

Lili, suddenly sober, and sniffling rather than laughing slowly took her seat beside April, phone in her hand.
A flash of steel drew an instantaneous line through the air and then the girl’s phone was sparking in her palm, Lili squealed and dropped it. A flat piece of star-shaped metal was sticking out of the smashed screen.
April snatched out with her hand and grabbed the girl’s arm, gripping her tight. She had a strong feeling that trying to run wouldn’t be a good option. On April’s other side, Irma was frozen stiff though continually whispering prayers under her breath, and shivering uncontrollably.

Brave and stupid and breathing heavily, Thompson approached the trio of black-clad statues in the centre of the room. Plain stupid, trying to take advantage of the distraction his boss was providing, Fenwick slipped his phone out of his pants pocket, blindly thumbing the unlock and then clumsily dialling 9-1-1.
He got as far as the first -1, when a big flat metal swastika slammed into the phone, between Vernon’s fingers and thumb. it snicked his flesh, bringing up a single bead of blood on the pad of his thumb. The phone dropped to the floor, the nicked finger went into his mouth and his other hand shot up in the air in surrender.

The main doors swung open, flanked by two more black clad figures. The corridor beyond was in darkness. The elevator at the far end pinged and its doors opened. From where she was sitting frozen in place, April wasn’t in the right place to see the elevator doors. But others could and there were gasps, shocked looks and actual steps back from the held open doors, as though something monstrous was emerging.

It was a real-life Samurai Warrior who emerged from the shadows of that corridor. To April is practically felt like a movie scene. A faceless man armoured in black, preceded by a cowboy’s spurs metallic ‘ching’. Darth Vader. Though that sense wasn’t wholly accurate, the figure that finally emerged from the shadows, did possess a face, and he was wearing black and silver. April didn’t remember most of the names of the pieces that made up Samurai armour but she did remember a certain amount through her recent researches. There was a normal style helmet with a fully concealing mask, carved to resemble a demonic visage, the overall appearance very reminiscent of that of the Star Wars villain, but with the additional elements like a visor and curving brow shields. The face mask, with throat protection, completely concealed the face behind the mask. With fangs, and moustaches in silver while the rage-shaped sockets covering his eyes were polished mirrors. It created a strange and unnerving impression.
A lot of the armour was half concealed by a wide-sleeved linen coat she vaguely remembered reading about, a haori she thought. The pieces of armour, partially revealed by the coat’s open front, with its gathered pleats, looked familiar to the pictures she had seen in her researches, of small metal plates, like scales, sewn together into larger panels on top of black silk. However, in this case the black lacquered metal panels were sewn together with polished silver wire, rather than thread.

All the usual parts seemed to be there, large rectangular shoulder plates, a breast plate, with skirt-like panels suspended from the waist to protect the groin and upper thighs, and then shin armour and boots. The forearms were also covered and gloves that had metal plates sewn or riveted on along the backs of the forearms and knuckles. Growing out of the forearm plates and knuckles were hard metal barbs, each perhaps as long as her thumb.
There was no identifying crest on the helmet’s crown, just a sharp-looking though shallow barb, that resembled a shark fin. While on the black lacquered rivetted straps of the breast plate was a matt lacquered overlay of a bare foot print. It appeared to be the only crest-like sign or affiliation. That Samurai, April assumed, could only be the leader of the Foot clan.

He wore a pair of swords slid into the left side of his sash belt. All black, and featureless with square handguards, one with a longer hilt than the other.
All April could tell that he was around her height, and appeared stocky and powerful beneath the armour. There was no a single hint of flesh visible.

<><><>

Dawn and Jacob cowered as the ninja took their freedoms from them. Dawn didn’t dare fight. She had done some kick-boxing, mostly to keep herself trim and fit, but the way one of those ninja warriors had pummelled Jacob to the ground showed her she was absolutely outmatched.
Jacob had barely got to his feet to stand up to the ninja when a weighted chain whipped out from nowhere, catching him like a bola, choking him as it wrapped itself tight around his throat.
An additional loop of the same chain snared one arm and the ninja at the weapon’s other end used some illogical method of arm movement to throw another loop of chain around Jacob, pinning his captured arm to his side and then yanking him clear off his feet. He slammed down hard, shoulder striking the side of the coffee table and stunning him.

Dawn immediately threw her arms up in surrender, standing still while acutely aware of her unbuttoned clothing and on display flesh. But she didn’t dare try to cover herself.
She watched as Jacob was held down with a knee in the back. His pockets emptied of everything wallet, phone, keys, pen. His wallet was emptied of cash and then everything else was tossed aside. His phone got smashed under the matt black hilt of a sizeable knife.
Dawn was given the same treatment, her pockets emptied, cash and jewellery confiscated, and then she herself was carefully frisked. Pockets first and then each item of clothing was removed, checked, tossed aside. It didn’t stop at her underwear either. Once her outer-garments had been removed from her still yet shivering body, the search for valuables had been abandoned and the sexual assault began. Breasts and buttocks cupped and squeezed in the moments prior to her bra and panties being removed. Once she was naked two of the clack clad guys started to grope her, the one in front pinched and rolled her nipples to hardness, cupping and squeezing her handful breasts, lifting and dropping the still pert teardrops laying open hand slaps to the slopes from above and onto the outer curves, making her jump and hiss and whimper at the moments of lesser violence. While at her rear, her buttocks fared similarly, cupping, and hard squeezing, sharp spanks and spreading. One hand held her right buttock spread while another hand delved between. Fingers stroked and then probed between her swollen vulva, still residually damp from her earlier lust. She was spread and caressed, her clitoris flicked and pinched, her vagina penetrated with a couple of fingers, that delved deep. Her anus received the same treatment, finger tips stroking in little circles, probing her puckered anal mouth before a finger pushed inside, hot sensitive inner flesh dragging on the penetrating finger, as is slid in deep, and probed, hooked, caressed.
She was half expecting to be bent over and raped then and there but it didn’t progress beyond that sickening anal probing. The men’s hands belatedly released her and they ninja guys stepped away, turning their attention back to poor Jacob on the floor. The studio door opened and more ninja guys entered. Moving with a silent grace that caught her attention so that she couldn’t take her eyes of them. Pretty soon she deduced that the newcomers might well be female. They were smaller and less bulky in the body than the first group ad they appeared to move with a lithe grace that only female hips and limbs could naturally perform.

Having been identically checked over, Jacob was hog tied with plastic cuffs, the weighted chain weapon having been unwound. Another two ninjas stepped into the room and Dawn was grabbed by the upper arm, while Jacob had a slipknot of rope thrown around his ankles. He was dragged face down across the smooth floor toward the doors while she was frogmarched after him by the second ninja.
She glanced back once, noting that the female ninjas appeared to be assembling equipment from the studio and gathering it in the middle of the room. Studio cameras on their wheeled tripods, microphones, studio lights, other electrical equipment and wiring. Even the chairs.
But then the doors were slammed shut behind her and as she was fast walked along the corridor in Jacob’s wake, the ninja guy started to feel her up again, one hand gripping her upper arm, the other one squeezing a breast, pinching a nipple or sliding up and down her ass cleavage. All she could do was whimper and sob. She didn’t dare try to defend herself.

<><><>

April paid close attention, trying to remain calm by using the situation as a journalistic exercise. Or hoping to, at least. None of the ninja or their Samurai leader had spoken yet. Burne Thompson had stepped up and tried to negotiate with their captors. He had been struck across the side of the temple by one of the warriors and had dropped to the ground, insensible. A momentary tremor vibrating through the floor with the weighty impact.
Mrs Hartman had rushed over to him, but she had been grabbed and dragged aside by one of the ninja. The black-clan men spread out around the room, quickly herding the employees into separate male and female groups. The females around Mrs Hartman, the males lined up against one wall.
Each of them was intimately searched - phones, wallets and purses, watches and other devices, all taken from them valuables ransacked, everything else piled up and destroyed in a rear corner of the room, behind one of the couches.

The men were all forced to the ground on their faces, arms pulled back behind them, legs bent back until heels met buttocks. Black plastic binders, that gave April a familiar anxious shiver, appeared and then the men were all hogtied, then dragged together up against the wall.
April kept her attention on the samurai, as much as she could, while she was dragged to her feet and marched across to room with the rest of the women. The leader, she continued to assume, but he was giving nothing away. He remained still and silent. One hand gripping the scabbard of his long sword, the other was concealed inside the half-sleeve of his coat. However, as she stood there looking at him, his attention and his helmeted head turned and locked in on her. And April felt a cold shiver running down her spine.

<><><>

Dawn and Jacob were quickly manhandled into the green room where the rest of the team were being held. Dawn couldn’t help letting out little squeals of complaint and make attempts to squirm out of the ninjas hands, that were openly molesting her breasts and buttocks as she was marched along the corridor and then shoved through the door into the room. As those doors swept open and the well-lit interior of the green room was unveiled, so was her already obvious fate. She had been given a clear enough precursor of what was in store for her during her forced march, but now with the opening up of the doors it was unveiled in shocking, reviling clarity.
There were more ninjas and the group were already preparing to gangrape the female employees. All of them. Something like a score of black clad sadistic criminals, sharing between them the seven women in the room, besides herself. All except for O’Neil, which was odd. For any number of factors.

The doors were slammed shut behind them. Dawn was shoved forward in to the middle of the room where her female colleagues were spread out. Some on couches, some standing, others lying on the floor. Ninja warriors grabbed her, one of them holding her tight from behind by the upper arms, while another two, facing her, grabbed her throat and a handful of her long blonde hair and together they forced her down into the cold, smooth floor.

<><><>

April was the odd one out. Two of the Foot clan grunts hoisted her up off the couch, while another three of them took possession of Lili, and two more grabbed hold of Irma. However, unlike those two who were dragged off toward the middle of the room, April was escorted over to the back wall, face to face with the Samurai, though he was on the opposite side of the room. The initiating forced orgy spread out in the space between them. Of course, with her back to a wall, April had a perfect view of the rest of the room and what was happening. The foot clan guys spread themselves around the six other women, in twos and threes.
Though face to face with the Samurai, April remained distracted by her female colleagues. The ninja guys were stripping the girls, literally slashing their clothes off with tremendous displays of distance-awareness and accuracy. Fabric flicked and fell, girls screamed and jerked in their ninja bondage, and yet not a single drop of blood was spilled. And then, the moment bare flesh was all that remained, each was dragged down to the floor where they had been put and piled on by obviously horny ninja men.

Carrie Harrig was the exception. Even while they instigated the stripping off of her uniform, the security officer had managed to snatch herself out of the grasp of one ninja and shifted into the incoming sword cut that intended to open up her “California Highway Patrol” influenced security uniform (someone was a fan of ‘CHiPs’ but naturally intimidating as she was, no one had dared ask Carrie if it was her, Thompson or one of the owners).
The sword wielder managed to halt the incoming swing so as not to disembowel the hugely tall and powerfully build ex-MMA fighter. However, his checking of the weapon allowed Carrie to grab him and swinging him about, tossing him into his ninja partner. She turned to face the third that had been assigned to her. He came at her with fast sweeping punches, catching her below the eye and bloodying her nose. She threw a couple of swings back at him but he deflected them, however he was apparently surprised by her size and power, she was a good head height taller than any of her attackers and had broader shoulders and thicker muscles than all of them. She managed to get in close enough and grabbed them ninja guy in a bear hug trying to crush the air out of his ribs. She took two jarring punches to her head and a forearm across the throat, but she managed to pick him up off the ground and threw him down to the ground at her feet. Winding him at the very least. Unfortunately, the other two were back on the feet and coming at her from behind. And the ninja were not prepared to fight fair, or observe the rules of the octagon. Within another second Carrie was subdued, pinned down, stunned and groaning, while they took to tearing her clothes off.
Shock and sympathy turned April’s head away as the rough abuse of the blonde amazon intensified.

It felt all too familiar to April, as the room began to fill with screams and squeals and begging and pleading, sobbing. And laughter.
But then the Samurai snatched her attention once again. He seemed to glide across the space, ninja stepping aside, women dragged clear to make room for him. He came to a halt in front of her only, a couple of feet between them. April was still flanked by two of the ninja who were holding onto her upper arms.

A sudden intensifying of the all-female din caught April’s attention again and she found herself looking across at poor Lili Jane. The girl was lying flat on her back on the floor. Her wrists held over her head by one guy, the second leaning over her from the side, sucking on one small nipple while pulling and tweaking the other. The other Foot clan guy gripped the poor teenage intern by the throat, making her squeals and pleas oscillate between loud and literally choked off. The third ninja lying between her long, coltish and splayed thighs, and was apparently struggling to work his erection cock in between the girl’s no doubt raw and tight unlubricated labia.
To her right, pinned down on the third couch was Mrs Hartman. The oldest of the women had been shoved onto her hands and knees. One ninja was lodged in under her, a second was standing behind her buttocks, one knee on the back of the couch the other braced on the floor. The third ninja was up at her face, squatting down and staring into her tear-filled eyes. He had one hand around the back of her head with a fistful of her curly brown hair; the other was busy unfastening the front flap of his ninja suit to get his cock out. The older woman’s whimpering moans and pleas were already louder yet more controlled than most of the others. She was staring wide eyed into the covered face of the ninja, her mouth open wide, eyes bulging with pain and glistening with tears.

“Oh! You’re too rough! Ohhhh, that really hurts, please…!”

Cheeks flushed and already streaked with tear tracks, Mrs Hartman managed to twist her head around, looking back at the ninja behind her. He had a grip on his erection and was obviously trying to force it urgently in her back door. And by her reaction he wasn’t being too gentle or patient about it.

“Please just, hold still for a bit…please, just give me a second to get used to it… Ohhh!”

He didn’t, gathered his strength and then hammered his hips forward, grunting as he got a good few-inches inside her. Her head whipped back to face the other ninja but her eyes were squeezed shut, teeth clamped, lips drawn back. The sodomiser dug his fingers harshly into her meaty buttocks and staring down between her cheeks, jabbed forward again. This time his hips slapped audibly against the pliant cheeks of her ass, while she cried out in pain, arching her back, mouth gaping eyes snapping open again. Two of the ninja around her laughed.

Hands came around April’s front, grabbing her jumpsuit collar, high up at her collar bones. Hands belonging to her flanking ninja, Another hand came round and snatched up the tongue of her chest-to-crotch zipper. It hummed, purring erotically as the ninja drew it down. The fourth hand, perfectly timed, reached around and flipped open the flap of her belt, unbuckling the thin white leather to make room for the still descending zip. The only thing holding the garment shut was the triple hook and eye affair behind the zipper at her solar plexus, the weight of her breasts bellied out the sides above the straining hooks while below that same mammary weight separated the unzipped sides right down to the waist band of her plain white thong panties. The lower spread of the garment, from midriff to crotch revealed the subtle flex of her tanned and toned abdominals, the smooth dip-shadow of her navel and the little provocative swipe of white of her thong’s waistband. With another deft move of one hand, one of the ninja released those three tiny steel hooks and her top burst open, her natural H-cups achieving the release they always demanded, their buoyant weight forcing aside the front of her jumpsuit as they settled into their natural, age-defying jut.

There were a couple of gasps from further back in the room, it seemed all eyes had been turned her way for the unveiling. Even her male colleagues hogtied, face down on the ground were twisting and staining their neck muscles to try and get a look at her naked tits.
April groaned in shame, her cheeks feeling like hot coals. The way her arms were pulled toward the middle of her back of course, dragged the front flaps of her jumpsuit well away from her torso. Revealing all, concealing nothing.

The Samurai unleashed some short breathy statement in baritone Japanese that, to April, sounded like an expressive pronouncement of rapture, even amazement. She felt herself flush hot, somehow warmed by the complimentary nature of the men’s reactions in spite of her forced strip and no doubt coming rape. Once the moment had passed, the momentary glamour evaporated, she felt her arms suddenly released, the collar and shoulders of her jumpsuit grabbed and the garment peeled down to her waist. She felt, and probably from a distance, looked like a peeled banana. After a passing heartbeat, the two squatting ninja dragged it further down past her knees. Then they went to work on her comfortable boots. She stared back at her own reflection in the Samurai’s hated-sculpted narrow eye slits. She could see how fear-wide her own eyes were and she could see that she was quivering uncontrollably.

The Samurai was once again muttering to himself, his voice augmented, either through the mask or through some digital filter within it. More Darth Vader, though he didn’t have that precise sound. The flow and tempo of the rapid-fire Japanese at least sounded hungry; words of a man impressed by what he was seeing. What was being unveiled for him. April had to lift up her foot in order to have her right boot dragged clear.
She couldn’t stand much more of seeing herself in that dark chrome reflection, and she turned her attention to the other two halves of the room on either side of the Samurai’s flared silver-on-black helmet.

She regretted it at once. It was weird seeing Irma in a sexual situation. She had seen her naked before, in the shower, during sleepovers and the few times they had shared hotel rooms while on work trips. But this was different, this was Irma sexualised and it was not something April had ever chosen to envision. She was actually much more nicely figured than April had ever considered and for a moment she felt a fresh shame, though the mousey looking Jewish woman did insist on dressing like a stereotypical librarian. She was small and slender and pale, but she was fit and somewhat toned, not gym toned but there was obvious effort put into keeping trim and smooth. She bore no tubby belly, no thunder thighs or chicken wings, and her boobs, though surely no more than a B-cup, appeared perky. There was a substantial fluffy brown bush covering her pubis, but April would have been more surprised by seeing a landing strip or Brazilian.
She was kneeling between two Foot clan ninja, their pants already opened, rectangles at the crotches of their loose-fitting trousers unbuttoned, flaps dangling to unveil the erect cocks that were already receiving the thirty-something’s attention. Her head was tilted backward, her hands encircling both their shafts while her lips were parted and her tongue extended beneath their cock heads as she jerked both of them off into her waiting mouth. Her spectacled eyes were wide with terror. That was due to the Japanese knife held at her throat.
To her right lay Safiya De Jager, sandwiched on her back. A man beneath her, man on top and a third man to the side making use of her turned head. A ninja cock violating each of her three holes simultaneously. The wet choking sound was the loudest, slick throaty hacking, that drowned out any noise from her vaginal or anal raping.

The weather girl, Natalia Marazita was occupying the couch that April, Lili and Irma had been pulled up from. Like Mrs Hartman she was sandwiched doggie style between three ninja guys. One of them behind her, thrusting away in her pussy, a two-handed grasp of her tense little buttocks, while the other two, for the time being April assumed, shared her mouth. One thrusting balls deep, making her gag and choke noisily for a dozen rapid throat raping thrusts, while she was made to jerk off the other, then they swapped. A dozen-swap, a dozen-swap.
April felt her thong being grabbed, stretched out and rolled down her thighs and calves. Not wanting to think about being just as naked, she kept her eyes glued on the other girls already getting it.

In her opinion, the woman getting it the worst - still - was Carrie Herrig. Though April’s view had mostly been blocked by the Samurai, she knew that Carrie had continued to try and protect herself and defend her body with violence. It was as natural for her as, apparently, it was natural for Mrs Hartman to cooperate wither ninja rapists, to offer reluctant though full collaboration with her obviously painful and shaming triple cock abuse. April caught a second long glimpse of the makeup artist. Her throat was bulging, balls deep and held there, ninja hands holding her head pressed to his crotch while she slapped weakly at his bulging thighs, behind her the sodomiser was giving her slow withdrawals followed by brutal hammering inward thrusts that pummelled her flesh cheeks with his hard bony hips. The guy under her was barely visible but appeared to be taking his time, giving her casual little hip-trusts while he played with a dual handful of her surprisingly sizeable boobs.

Carrie Herrig was still trying to fight. Even after she had been brought down to the floor. April saw her take a sword hilt to the base of the skull which surely slammed her brain against the inside of her skull, obviously dizzy and looking a little green, she crumpled lolling, flat on her back. The second ninja darted in and quickly got her arms behind her back and into some kind of agonising armlock. From there, she couldn’t free herself no matter how much she jerked and struggled. The man who had punched the back of his sword into her skull came around to the side of her and put her into an arm triangle choke, his other hand fisting in her short-cropped platinum mane.
It was obviously all over but she was still fighting, snarling and spitting like a steroidal animal, using her impressive strength to try and shake the two smaller men free of her bombastic body, but the third ninja crouched low in front of her, almost face to face. He punched her in the belly and she laughed and spat at him, then he punched her in the cunt and she gasped, her expression changing in an instant; her ruby red face going pale, her expression blanching. He punched her in her left tit and then swiped an open palmed slap right across them both. Her tits were huge, bigger than April’s though doubtlessly silicon. April understood that there was a certain expectation in the MMA circuit just like in Pro-Wrestling. Carrie might have retired three or four years earlier but she still had the body and the drive and the aggression, she had made a fabulously impressive and intimidating addition to the studio.
But now she was utterly defeated and she was the only one who hadn’t yet accepted it. The ninja beat on her some more but she just gritted her teeth and tensed her neck muscles, taking his body and crotch shots with blind Valkyrie stubbornness.

He finally broke her when he drew a ninja dagger and pointed it at her face. Her determination melted and turned to terror as the tip of the blade slowly went in for her eyes. She crumpled, fighting back sobs but admitted defeat, sagging in their constricting arms. After a second the ninja pinning her arms behind her back released them while the triangle choke was loosened up a hairsbreadth. Moaning and sucking in fresh air, Carrie proved her cooperation by reaching to her collar and starting to unbutton the tan short sleeved blouse with its black breast pocket-flaps, gold security badge and epaulettes. She was down to the last button, pulling the flaps up out of her muscle bulged trousers when the ninja, proving a point, obviously whipped out with his long-bladed ninja knife and slashed expertly down the cleavage of her jutting sports bra. Carrie let out a little squeak of horror as the wheeling flash of mirror-bright steel and then the Spandex of her under garment was overwhelmed by the outward pressure of those colossal tits and split wide open, bouncing free and coming to an impossibly buoyant halt, like only surgically augmented tits could.
The ninja with the blade paused, staring but only for a couple of seconds, then his knife was sheathed and his hands went for her utility belt. She hadn’t once made a move for any of the defensive or offensive objects on the belt. He unbuckled the thick black leather belt and skimmed it across the room. Then he was snatching at the button and zipper, and peeling the snug fitting sandy trousers down the smooth bulging muscles of her tanned thighs.

That was all April had the opportunity to see. Following her own economic stripping, she was whipped around to face the wall, her back to the room. Hands grabbed hers, positioning her with her palms on the wall, her body bent over ninety degrees. Soft ninja boots kicked her legs apart. The two ninja stood on either side of her, one arm cinching the back of her neck, one hooked around her ribs, the other two hands cupping and caressing her breasts. Though with surprising gentleness, at least for now. There was a noise close behind her, clinking and chinking sounds of metal, the scrape of leather. She didn’t know how it would be done but she was picturing the Samurai loosening or removing parts of his groin armour, somehow freeing his cock.

She remembered an ex who had always loved to come to her place and fuck her straight after his Taekwondo classes. Still all hot and sweaty and smelling increasingly ripe, despite the sensual barrage, it had actually made for some pretty amazing sex once it got going, he was always really charged up and aggressive and rampant, and he always took her hard and somehow always managed to snatch multiple orgasms out of her. She assumed, looking back, that it had been something about the sheer masculinity of him in that moment. That he had brought up in April some kind of hardwired caveman-era lust for powerful maleness; that she was turned on by his hypermasculinity. Maybe imbibing his ramped-up testosterone and other male hormones had affected her like an aphrodisiac or something.
However, before she got to all that fun stuff, there was always the difficulty of his training outfit, the sash belt with its ritualistic knot, the double flaps of the kimono-style jacket and its additional inside fastenings, then the drawstring pants, and finally the sporty jockstrap protective-cup underwear. It was always a frustrating hassle for them both to get all of that loosened, untied and out of the way, just to get at his raging, rampant erection.
Fuck knows what kind of complicated affair Samurai armour must be to remove.

Finally gloved hands with hits of ice-cold metal along with the textured leather, encircled her narrow waist, and she felt the powerful presence of that Samurai leader closing in right behind her.
There was a heat between the tops of her thighs, but she couldn’t tell if it was his erection - degrees of an inch from her flesh, or if it was her own body readying itself for intercourse.

A loud and definitely fearful gasp to April’s rear, cut through her own nervous anticipation. She knew that voice, partially due to the recognisable hint of Eastern European in the security officer’s accent.

“Are you crazy?! Not that! You’ll fucking KILL me, idiots! It won’t even fit, not the both of you. I’ve never had anything up my butt, not even a finger…! Stop! I said NO! You’re gonna do me a permanent fucking injury! Fucking Christ! Don’t…”

Carrie Hennig interrupted her own outrage with a sudden agonised groan, that quickly rose to an ear-splitting shriek. She was obviously getting in hard. Ninja revenge. April turned her head and managed to see back over her shoulder to confirm the queasy reality that the security officer was being thoroughly punished for her efforts to fight off the horny men.
One of them was crouching in front of her face, both hands around her thick corded neck, his erection pressing against her uplifted cheek and right eye. He was squeezing her neck, when he wasn’t slapping her across the ruddy cheeks. Occasionally stuffing her wide-open mouth with the full length of his cock, whichever he felt like doing in the moment. She also had a guy beneath her, his hands crushing her full, beachball tits, pinching and pulling at her nipples with deliberate torturous cruelty.
The third man was over her arched back, leaning over her buttocks and hips, his spread legs outside of hers. Both his hands were gripping her hips, fingers digging into her meaty flesh. He was using his grasp like handlebars as he bounced his hips up and down from above her.
It was hard to see, given the angle but, from her pained and protest-filled yelling, it appeared that both the ninja were probably enjoying her ass simultaneously. Two cocks stuffing and over-burdening an orifice that had never had anything pushed up it before? It must be sheer burning agony for the poor defeated woman.

Unable to watch the woman, who had always been so impressive and intimidating to April, utterly beaten down in such a brutalising sadistic and demeaning way, leaving her sobbing and pleading like a blubbering child, April turned her head away. Of course, her attention couldn’t help but snag onto the fates of her other female colleagues.
The room was now a din of assorted groaning and squealing. The odd desperate plea or agonised scream. And the ubiquitous heavy slap of flesh on flesh. There was also the increasingly heady aroma of sexual intercourse, sweat and natural lubrication, sweat and musk, flowing, mixing and tainting. Natural and chemical perfumes mixing in with the natural body odours, filling the room while the rapid motions, the friction and body heat was literally heating up the ambient air. April caught sight of Safiya and Natalia who were close together.

De Jegar was sitting astride a ninja, riding his cock while he harshly spanked her taut little buttocks again and again, enforcing the rapid pace of her self-rape. The other ninja guy who had taken possession of the editor, was standing in front of her, forcing her to jerk his cock into her face. The crown never more than an inch or two from her parted lips.
Marazita was laid on her back over one of the couches. None of the couches had armrests, and they had the Hispanic woman stretched out lengthways, with her head hanging over the end of her couch. Again, she was being shared between three ninja, continually one stretching out her throat, cock head embedded and cruelly blocking her airway. The second was kneeling on her ribs, liberally fucking her tits, though she didn’t have nearly enough acreage to make it easy on either of them, he was also holding her legs up, both arms wrapped around her calves, keeping her legs doubled over, out of the way for the third ninja. He was having to lean forward awkwardly his head almost smacking the tit fucker in the back. With a deliberately slow pace, he was sawing in and out of her shaved pussy, even as April watched her flopping hands became fists, her hips and thighs started to tense and buck and then shiver. The ninja, looking down, suddenly slammed hard into her like a battering ram, bottoming out. It kicked off a shocking gusher from Natalia. Letting out a muffled squeal around the cock that was continuing to choke her, the brown skinned bottle-blonde violently climaxed all over his raping shaft. Laughing at her unwanted, shaming pleasure, the ninja slowly pulling back and continued with slow, shallow thrusting pace.

Gloved fingers grazed April’s vulva, pressed in and spread them. That rough texture against her sensitive flesh snatched her back to her own dire circumstance. The solid spongy heat of the Samurai’s cock head lodged urgently between her labia, readying her for her own rape.
She felt enough of his actions to picture what he was doing. Taking his erection in one gloved hand he was working the underside of the fat swollen crown up and down between her inner lips, teasing the hood of her clit with the ridges and folds of his rolled-back foreskin, making her feel every millimetre of contact with electric jolts and tingles of unwanted pleasure. However unwanted, April knew well enough not to feel shamed or wish to blame her body for its natural reaction to stimuli. She started to feel warm reactionary trickles somewhere inside her. Her body was lubricating itself in preparation for the Samurai.

At the same time as noting her body’s natural response, she also realised that she was starting to moan, heavy breaths that were becoming increasingly laboured. The hands on her boobs, knuckles trapping and pinching her already stiffened nipples were adding fuel to the fire of her intensifying yet unwelcome pleasure.
It was a bomb but in slow-motion, like an image from an eighties action movie. It had already detonated, a ball of fire, like a miniscule sun inside her and was already beginning its exponential grow. She knew it was going to take over her fully, to swell and envelop her in unwanted ecstasy. But at the moment it was running in action movie slow motion. However, it was there. And it was unquestionably expanding.

The Samurai paused in his up and down caress of pussy-lip seduction. The heavy, hot crown lodged securely between her swollen labia, pressuring the entrance to her pussy tunnel, but it didn’t go anywhere.
His hands moved though, the leather gloves with their wired-in armour plates slid across the tense cheeks of her buttocks, smoothing the toned flesh until ass turned to hips and that was where his hands gripped. Grasping her tight, holding her still and steady to receive his most intimate weapon. At the same time his cock head, searing its warmth with hers, so the mouth of her pussy felt engulfed in waves of mutually offered heat, asserted a tiny amount of inward pressure, opening her up a miniscule amount, pressuring her vaginal muscles. It was a threat of what was about to happen though at least for a dozen of April’s rapid heartbeats it remained no more than that.

Of course, April was intimately familiar with the lusts of men and she expected, at any moment, that he would slam his entire length into her pussy with all the violent misogyny he could muster. But he didn’t, he took a deep readying breath and then slowly began to add pressure to her tunnel mouth. Pushing into her inexplicably slowly. In fact, April assumed, given his motions, that more than once he gained too much progress, as he would ease himself back a hairsbreadth or two and then assert himself all over again. It felt like some silly minute dance. One-step-forwards, two-steps-back.

Was he teasing her? Deliberately drawing out her own anguish? Or was he merely savouring the moment?

April considered her situation. Not for the first time, perhaps not for the tenth, she was being sexually assaulted, taken advantage of. And yet she was not feeling as frightened as she thought she should feel. Helpless sure, abused absolutely. But actually scared? She didn’t feel particularly scared, she felt nervous, apprehensive about what would happen to her afterwards; if they would kill her after they’d had their fun.
However, while there was sexual interest in her, while it was ongoing, she felt essentially safe. Maybe if some freak necrophile-cannibal-type grabbed her… but men who were turned on by her body and weren’t bothered about asking consent before using her for their sexual gratification? She no longer found that particularly frightening. Though she didn’t know what that meant, or if it was a good thing or not.

The erection inside her was finally sliding in deeper than degrees of an inch, past the halfway mark now. She had no idea of how long the rapist’s shaft was. She could tell that it was pretty thick. Not soda-can thick, but it was fatter than any of her dildos. She was almost surprised, given previous experiences, even recent ones like Daryl and Alcaraz, but this Samurai he was taking his time, appearing to maintain a total control of his lust. And now that his gently short thrusts had worked along half of her pussy tunnel, her body’s responses had gotten her reasonably well lubricated. And he was sliding much more easily inside her, still stretching out her walls, and still building up frictional heat. And, of course, that was feeding the sensual bomb still building up inside her.

She absolutely didn’t want to be enjoying this bent-over rape at the hands of a Samurai and two ninja; those guys still keeping her in position and making full use of her naked pendulous breasts, but her body was responding in a certain way and as he was being slow and mostly gentle. It was almost natural that her body was reacting positively to his attentions. He was also strangely silent, they all were. Other than a few grunts and a bit of laughter, there as very little groaning or cursing as they fucked away inside their naked hostages, no vocal compliments paid to April’s body or her skills, not that she was being given any opportunity to show them. From the Foot clan guys grouped behind her, there was just the machinegun-rapid slapping sounds of flesh on flesh. Some of it might be the slap of hands on buttocks or faces, perhaps. April couldn’t see or note any difference.

The women on the other hand were making plenty of noise. Whimpers and moans of pain, more than a few squeals and pleas, some sobbing. Some of it might even be recognisable as pleasure, but there was only a slight difference between those sounds, and it could be hard to tell.
A couple of them were obvious, either by accent or what April knew was being done to them. Carrie Herrig was still making audible complaints about the sharp pain of having two erect cocks thrusting in and out of her anus simultaneously -

“AH! YOU BASTARDS ARE FUCKING KILLING ME! YOU’RE TOO DEEP! I THINK YOU’RE RIPPING MY ASS OPEN! PLEASE, ONE OF YOU TAKE IT OUT!”

While Mrs Hartman’s guttural raw voice was also audible amongst the groans and moaning complaints of the others -

“Please… not so rough. I can… take you just fine! I can make it feel really good for you! But… you don’t have to be so rough… Please!”

Then there was also a loud wet rhythmic gagging that April could only think must be Irma, switched from her mouth open to receive scrotal contents from the two Foot clan guys. To them making different use of her mouth with a - by the sounds of it - hard and deep throat-fucking.

“ACK! AUCK! AUCK…! ACK! AUCK! ACK! AUCK!”

Of course, hearing the suffering of her friends and colleagues did reassert a degree of fear in April, fear for them and how they might struggle to come to terms with their own sexual exploitation. But not for her, that was something she had managed to develop mental defences to, though she had no idea how or when. It was just something that she accepted as a part of her life and she was able to shake off whatever psychological harm other women seemed to suffer. It felt as much a source of sadness as something to feel relief about.
She had even talked to therapists about it after high school and throughout her college years and they had concurred that she must have an indefinable inner strength and resilience that they saw as rather impressive, though sad.
She had even been approached by a therapist at one point who was hoping to study her ‘inner fortitude’ for his Master’s thesis. However, it had just been a veiled attempt to seduce her. And resulted in him being thrown off his course for unethical practices.

The Samurai finally began to relinquish his self-control. And, by the feel of it, three quarters of the way into her pleasurably pulsing vagina, he dug his gloved fingers into her hips and hammered those last few inches into her body. She felt the cold bite of armour against her clenched buttocks and the backs of her thighs. He pressured his hips against her buttocks and the backs of her thighs while grinding little circles with his groin, working the hot crown of his balls-deep cock against her cervix. That slow-motion explosion inside her core was still expanding, and beginning to accelerate its growth, while the luscious throbbing ache throughout her nipples was adding its own fuel to the expanding fire.

She distracted herself, deliberately trying to fend off her own guilt-ridden pleasure, and found herself considering another perspective, once again putting on her journalistic cap.
She might be well equipped to deal psychologically with what was being done to her. But what were the chances of surviving after they had had their fun? There was little in ways to identify them. All these Foot clan men were covered from head to foot, meaning there was no easy or conclusive way to pick out identifying characteristics. So, there shouldn’t be any need for them to silence their victims. Also, the men had all been all tied up. If murder was on the cards surely, they would have killed the men already?
Then again, what could have happened to her down in the sewers if the mutant hadn’t shown up? They had intended to leave her down there. Not outright kill her, but almost certainly their intention had been to leave her to die. So maybe she should be a little more worried?

The Samurai’s cock seemed the perfect size for her tunnel, bottoming out against her cervix with each firm thrust, while its girth touched and stretched every part of her. In fact, the broad coronal ridge, slicked up with her own juices, was scraping against her G-spot with each in-and-out stroke. It was giving her little trembling jolts of succulent pleasure, each adding their own mini-blazes to that slowly building inferno within her. She could feel that bomb even in her extremities now, shivers and tingles of sensual joy, every part of her was alive with rising pleasure.
She hated that fact. But maybe she should be embracing it? Take the good where she could find it? That was the optimists’ way, wasn’t it? And she had always wanted to be an optimist.

As the Samurai’s thrusts increased in speed, they also started to take on more aggressiveness, the head slamming into her cervix, uncomfortable rather than painful, yet still somehow feeding into that rising pleasure.
At the same time, a moment after that impact at the core of her vagina, his balls swung to slap her pubis just beyond her clit, the impact sending little vibrations through her flesh to tantalise that favourite little nerve cluster.
She squirmed, letting out an involuntary moan that she immediately hated. An illicit reveal that she was enjoying her own assault. She shook her head, instinctively choosing to try and embrace the violence, the lack of consent, the unspoken threat of consequences should she or any of her colleagues choose to fight. She had already seen evidence of what might happen if she tried to escape this fate. What had been and was still being done to poor Carrie Herrig more than enough.

The Samurai started to grunt and groan as he increased his thrusts, his hands kneading the taut flesh of her hips and waist. Sometimes he would slide his leather clad hands around to her ass cheeks, caressing and squeezing on them, laying occasional slaps that made April respond with little breathy grunts.
The sensation of her building orgasm, his caresses on her flesh and perhaps even more, the rapid harsh thrusts he was subjecting to her stretched-out and, thankfully now, fully juiced up pussy. It all added fuel to the fire.
And then her orgasm peaked very abruptly. April had her head bowed and her eyes squeezed shut but that only added attention to the multiple caresses going on about her body, which now felt like a singular erogenous zone. The thrusts, the tingles, the hands squeezing her breasts and tweaking her nipples, the gloved hands stroking and spanking her buttocks.
It also highlighted the din around her, the smells and sounds, the heat of the room, that seemed to feed her own rising body heat.

She knew there were only eight women in the room but it felt like exponentially more. Every whimper and gasp and groan and squeal and sob, all intermingling into a noisy sexual din.
She found herself picturing a Roman orgy - torn togas revealing Mediterranean flesh, white tiles, silk drapes, potted plants and the flickering glow of torches. Blood red wine passed about in ceramic amphorae. A sunken bath. And everywhere the eye could see, gleaming, oiled olive flesh, rampant, thrusting and writhing bodies, dark curls tinted with beads of gem-like sweat, and erupting spurts of cum both pearlescent and clear.
The moment was enough of a mental aphrodisiac to speed up her slow-motion bomb blast and it detonated, filling her and launching her into a world of incomprehensible sexual ecstasy.
There were no more background rumbles of guilt and self-accusation; in that moment nothing mattered but the joy that engulfed her. It didn’t matter that the intercourse responsible for her orgasm was not through her choice - pleasure was pleasure, and April embraced that sun-fire explosion of unadulterated bliss.

<><><>

When April came back into herself, the tingling heatwave that had overwhelmed her remained in aftermath. Little teasing dances of sensual electricity inside her, tenderly sulphuric and focussed somewhere beneath her palpitating abdominals.
It took another second or two for her awareness to filly coalesce but with that awareness came the two remaining ninja. The Samurai, having satisfied himself, had apparently handed April over to the other two Foot clan guys. She was still standing up, bent over with her hands against the wall, but her knees had sagged, and she was as much being held up by their hands on her body than by herself. One of the men was behind her, one arm under her hips the other had fingers inside her, fingers working hard at her G-spot while the side of a finger was grinding against her clitoris. The other guy was kneeling below her both hands and his mouth attached to her boobs. Lips encircling the areole of her left breast, while his tongue whipped back and forth and in quick circles around her spongy nipple.

April hesitantly righted herself straightening her sagged legs and locking her arms, but at the same time she felt something wrench, something in her gut, like the twist of regret or shame. She recognised it and it did shame her. She was feeling a deep humiliation. Humiliated because she had specifically been chosen. Picked out to be raped by the boss of all of these Foot clan lowlifes. Not that it made her feel special or anything, but all the other girls were just pulled to the ground by the foot soldiers and ganged up on, made use of. More than one of them having all three holes filled with ninja cock. But not April, she had been separated from the others, chosen to be victimised exclusively by the most powerful, the most high-ranked, the most ‘lordly’ of them all. A peasant girl chosen to be concubine to the King, while the rest were shared about by lowly soldiers.
Despite the issue of consent, she had been singled out as special and she had successfully satisfied the King. He hadn’t killed her afterwards, or beaten her. He had been satisfied with her performance. Only now, that speciality was being taken away from her. She had been handed over to minions after all, no longer special, just another set of holes for the lowlifes to take their pleasure from.
But why should they be allowed to? She was the special one! Picked out, separated from the herd. And now she was having that specialness cast aside thrown down along with the rest of the rabble, to have her holes stretched by people that by definition - of her having been singled out by their master - shouldn’t be allowed to share her sexual gifts.

Of course she hated the realisation immediately, even as she recognised it. It created in her a feeling of superiority, that she really didn’t deserve to feel. She was no better than the other women who worked at Channel 6. She really was just another sexually attractive body, to be thrown down and raped by monstrous criminal types. She needed to be the same as the others, so she could share in the collective grief and humiliation of being involved in this terrible gangrape orgy. If she had been singled out in the eyes of the other women, not allowed into their collective circle of victimhood, she wouldn’t be able to stand that.
And yet her body reacted to the humiliation in that annoying way it so often did. It fed into her lust, made her tingle hotly, made her pussy throb and her own lubrication flow, mixing with the Samurai’s seed even as it drooped and dolloped out of her body; hooked clear by the ninja’s probing, masturbating fingers. Then taking a downward trajectory, following the curves of her swollen vulva, sticking to her skin and dribbling down the top of her inner thigh before gravity took it and pulled it from her, splatting it onto the ground beneath her spread legs.
How could she get turned on by her own humiliation, being dominated, being forced to accommodate the desires of forceful and demanding men? It was all so shameful, which turned her on even more, a vicious cycle of lust and depravity.

Even as she was partially lost in her thoughts, the physicality of lust and depravity took over her again.
The ninja guys were all over her. Four hands and two mouths feeling like half a dozen. Mouths suckled and chewed her nipples and suctioned love bites onto her buttocks. Hands snatched tight onto her breasts, fingers pressing into their softness, digging in and pulling downwards, as though trying to force her to the floor. They could have just asked.

“Ah! Please…! You don’t have to.” She whined. “You’re hurting me!”

They ignored her of course. It was as though they didn’t even have enough interest to speak to her. That they didn’t even regard her as human. They just shoved her around as they liked. Which they did, pushing her onto her hands and knees. Hands sliding down the wall as she was forced down. Her knees buckled under the male pressure and she slid to the ground under their assertion, legs bending until her knees found on the floor. Her hands following to protect her back.
Next, she was dragged backward a foot from the wall and a ninja slid around her body, to put himself between her face and the wall. The other clamped his hands on her buttocks, one claiming her at either end. Ass and face. It was obvious what they intended and all April could do was obey.

For a few seconds she was turned into a human drum, cock-drumsticks thumping against her face, lips, cheeks, eye sockets; and also buttocks, cleft, anal mouth and vulva. The smell, the heat and hardness of their erections against her skin had an unwanted effect. And when the cock at her face stopped its thumping and pressed against her full lips, she didn’t even hesitate to open her mouth and let him push his way inside.
He kept it shallow for a while allowing April, for once, to make full use of her tonguing skills. She was only half focussed however, because the other guy was now teasing her pussy with the hot crown of his cock. Spreading her vulva, picking up lubricant without caring for its origin, then stroking up and down her pussy lips. She reacted with a little jolt in her hips every time his blunt cock head brushed against her clitoral hood so he started to focus his assault there.
Her physical response was then accompanied by little throaty ‘yip’, and her lips involuntarily clamped around the upper third of her oral rapist’s shaft. She somehow managed to keep her teeth clear of that fleshy invader, though she wasn’t sure how she accomplished that particular feat.

The two rapists went balls deep at the same time. April could picture them eyeing each other across her back; maybe an exchange of nods, maybe a count down with folded down fingers - three, two, one, thrust! However they accomplished it, a cock drove suddenly along the avenue of April’s tongue, smoothly driving through the arch of her throat entrance and lodging itself a couple of inches into her gullet. But the familiar discomfort was obliterated by the feel of the rod spreading her labia and then filling out her pussy tunnel with a single hammered balls-deep stroke. She groaned all over the cock plugging her airway, incidentally giving the ninja some rampant hummer-action.
The guy with his hands digging tight into her hips rammed his length all the way, the hot friction of cock flesh against pussy walls sending a thousand erotic tingles dancing merrily through April’s loins. His fat crown punched up against her cervix which dissipated a little of those delightful tingles with a wave of a hot ache. But then he was immediately thrusting back and forth with increasingly rapid hips jabs, though not quite hitting her cervix, which added more and more of those illicit tingles to the wave of her already rising orgasm.

She deep-sucked the cock that was also thrusting away between her slick, pursed lips. She worked it hard, flicking and teasing with her tongue. It was all automatic for her really. She probably should have done nothing but take it, but she felt programmed to use her lips, her tongue and suction when there was a cock in her mouth. It was an automated response. So she sucked away, on some level enjoying the heat and fullness, and the stiffness of the shaft as it slid back and forth. All so familiar and, at least on some semi-conscious level, rewarding.
The pussy rapist was getting down to it by this time. Gripping her waist tightly and slapping his hips into her cushioning buttocks, his crown bashed her cervix again and again, now that he had changed his angle slightly. That discomfort however was adding its own illicit tingles to her experience. It was the sugar and the spice combined. The sweet and the sour, complementary. And the bubble-gum sweetness of her impending orgasm was expanding rapidly.
She didn’t even experience the men’s climaxes into her as, again, she was snatched away by her own orgasm. It swept over her; all-over body shakes and internal lightning-tingles soon eclipsed by that euphoric bubble that overtook everything. And left her heavenward.

This time, once the forced joy of her climax had dissipated and had April belatedly come back into her awareness, she thought for a split-second that she had gone blind. Even aware that her eyes were wide open, the room around her was pitch black.
There were screams and whimpers rising in the pitch darkness, as expected as they had been for however long this had been happening. However, this time they began to bear a different mood to the well-established sexually tortured soundtrack. Now it was intermingled by assertions more like fear and confusion.
There was a sudden thud, a grunt and a then she felt a hot splash beside her, to her left. It practically stung her skin. She thought it was maybe one of the Foot clan guys had, having pulled out, sprayed his cum onto her. But the splash had hit her side, breast and upper arm. Wrong angle, and it felt like too much.
She blinked and finally realised that she wasn’t blind at all.
The lights had gone out.
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April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering