Motherly Love:

Chapter XII:

Anne looked on in horror as her rapist stepped through the door. Him. The monster who'd harmed everything about her. Spoiled her pregnancy, spoiled her giving her most precious gift to her husband.

The one who'd made her want to just quit the whole fame thing and go work at a 7/11 somewhere for the duration.

He was not alone, and whatever else the beast in question was, he was no racist. Of the ten people with him, two were East Asian of an identity she couldn't parse and with her slowly backing into the house and gazing in terror and fear she missed that Alfred, as she'd learn her original rapist was named, was circling around behind her and the rest of them filing in. Only one other than Alfred was white, the bulk were black, and there was one Indian, the dot-Indian, with big bushy Christopher Lloyd eyebrows and a bushy beard. As the other men stepped in around her, she was now flushed and red from head to toe, almost. She was nude in front of ten men, one of whom had known her intimately and indeed largely ruined the life she'd had beforehand.

Also nude before nine strangers. Each of whom got a very good look at her flushed body, the heat emphasizing her tits, and her shock meant that she didn't even bother for a pretense of modesty.

They also all clearly enjoyed the view, and the shock meant as they walked in and the tenth man, the pudgy Indian with the big ass bushy eyebrows locked the door behind them all, her hyperventilating white-faced form stepped back, slamming against the form and the boner of her existing rapist. His grin and arms around her felt detestably, damnably real and Hathaway started to scream only for him to jerk her by her chin to look at him.

The scream died as a whimper and she remained hyperventilating and frightened, more cornered animal than human being. The beast started to lick along the side of her face and tears freely fell down it, as she whimpered and cried and flailed, trying to turn away, only for him to reach around and cup her tits, kneading them both and then shoving her toward one of the black men, who quite eagerly forced Anne to her knees.

"You're mine, bitch."

The tears continued to flow as he whipped her face with his cock, and he smiled, saying: "This is what you're made for, bitch."

He grinned and looked at the other men.

"Anne Hathaway is nothing but a cock-loving slut, boys. She'll do whatever you want, whenever you want!"

As she looked up, crying, his cock slipped in her mouth and she passively let him skull-fuck her without any resistance.

"Yeah, I knew she was."

He soon came inside her mouth and she swallowed, staring at the ground.

The nightmare was real. Then a sudden sharp blow to her head brought blackness as the men crowded around her and picked up her unconscious body, moving it, some getting ropes, others deciding to get creative and quite literally drawing and marking her in the most direct senses. They looked very forward to when Anne woke up and began to do rocks paper scissors to see who'd get her pussy and ass first....

______________

In his own bed her husband blinked. Wait, perhaps he should look back at what changed with Anne and why she went from merely reading stories involving rape fantasies to get in the mood to being so desperate about them.

Anne Hathaway wanting a rape fantasy with him had been so unreal he hadn't quite wanted to. He kicked himself in hindsight for turning her down but it seemed so fundamentally wrong when her mindset clearly wasn't right.

He soothed himself to sleep by considering he knew where her diary was and how to get into it.