Baptism by Fire

by Coolville©

I could hardly breathe, captured there, in a mass of sweating, pressing flesh. Yet I needed
so desperately to breathe - and breathe hard, sucking great gulps of air into my body to
fuel my futile resistance. Only my head was free to move, and I stretched it upwards,
trying to find air in the narrow space between the crowd and the ceiling. Until a hand
entwined itself in my long hair and pulled it hard. Exposing my throat. I could only stare
up at the flicking neon lights. I was completely immobile. Unable to flee. Unable to resist
them...

Long before that moment there was a girl, in another country, in another world. I grew up
in a God-fearing community, in the ample bosom of the American mid-west. Being the
insecure kid on the block, the girl that the others made fun of in high school, the quiet,
overweight loner whose few friends were more pathetic than myself, I turned to the
church. I took strength from the friendship I experienced with the others I met. While the
other kids were sinking deeper into an abyss of sin, I looked upwards to my smiling God.
I had found my place.

My local church had connections with various missionary organizations and, after high
school, after 4 years at a Southern bible college, I received my calling and promptly
signed up for missionary work, in order to bring God to the heathen masses in far away
places.

It was a daunting challenge for this insecure girl from Nowhereville to embark on such a
journey - traveling to the other side of the planet to other cultures and to teach them to see
the light. But I steeled myself with my beliefs.

I had a choice of destinations. Far flung places that all had exotic names. Without really
knowing why, I chose Japan. Something about a race of suicidal workaholics sounded
like a suitable challenge. I knew I could teach them a thing or two about American
salvation.

I had never experienced culture shock before, but it hit me like a sledgehammer. The
noise, the constant mass of people hurrying from A to B, the non-stop babble of a vowel-
based language.

I did my best to adapt to the environment. I made some friends at the Mission's office in
Tokyo - all Americans, all wide-eyed and optimistic. The little office was a little oasis of
Christianity in a world of sin and decay.

My little room in an apartment in the suburbs was a half-hour journey from the office. I
discovered rather quickly that I dreaded the journey twice a day. The mass of people on
the overcrowded trains were an affront to my personal space. All those people, heathens
the lot of them, pressing up against me, forcing the air out of my lungs – it drove me
insane. The smell of the crowd, the humid air. It was too much. At the beginning I tried to
hand out leaflets with The Message printed in Japanese, but nobody was interested. Most
of the passengers were men in suits and they all read strange little comic books.

I was more than shocked and disgusted when I saw one of the comic books, looking over
a man's shoulder. Pornography! Filthy, sinful images of women tied up and ravaged by
monsters with enormous phalluses. I had never imagined such filth in my life and here
were thousands of men reading these horrible books every day.

I dropped handing out leaflets and concentrated on the ceiling, praying to my God to save
their souls and praying that the train would arrive at the station.

Every evening when I arrived home I immediately washed my missionary uniform -

white blouse, black polyester skirt and beige pantyhose. Even my bra was scrubbed
thoroughly. I tried to get the images from the comic books out of my head by reading the
Bible and praying constantly.

I started to notice things I hadn't picked up on before when riding the train back and
forth. Your body is in constant contact with 5 or 6 others the whole journey. Briefcases
and umbrellas jab into you. I began to notice that the men always looked at me. A white
girl on the Tokyo trains is a rare sight. I learned my first Japanese word, 'bishoujo', which
I found out means 'pretty girl'. I quickly learned 'hentai' and 'oni'. Pervert and demon and
I used them frequently.

I grew to despise the trains and the unavoidable glances at the comic books. The images
haunted me. Always white girls ravaged violently by Japanese men. I felt nauseous at the
thought of them.

My worst fears were realized on a busy Monday morning in August.

I fought my way onto the train, almost lifted off my feet my the crowd. I ended up at the
end of a carriage and, like every day, I took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling,
praying and trying to avoid seeing the contents of the books being read around me.

I was surrounded by serious looking men in suits. One of them was an older man, about
50, and he was standing in front of me, almost face to face. I noticed that he was looking
at me and I tried to ignore him.

When I heard the standard 'bishoujo' I spat 'oni' right back at him. He looked like a little
demon with those dark, expressionless eyes. My rebuttal had little effect. Instead, he just
smiled - leered is more like it - and snorted in an attempt at a laugh.

He mumbled something to a passenger pressed up against me on the left, a man reading

one of those wretched comics. He glanced over his book, looked me up and down and
nodded and laughed. I couldn't understand them but I knew that whatever they were
saying wasn't friendly or polite or even halfway decent.

Another man on my right joined their conversation. I tried desperately to ignore their
cryptic words and piercing eyes. They were devils, all of them.

It didn't quite register at first. It was outside my realm of imagination but I quickly
realized what was happening. The man in front of me reached up and, with his greasy
little fingers, grabbed my breast. He squeezed and held it right and reported back to his
new friends about how it felt.

I was the most vile act I had ever experienced and I could do nothing but let my jaw drop
and look down to see his hand holding my breast. He leered at me, challenging me to
react. 'Matte!' was the only word I could muster. Stop. My voice was a question mark.
Never had a man's hand violated my body like that.

He just laughed and squeezed harder. His other hand snaked up and grabbed my other
breast. The wire in my bra pressed painfully into my skin.

This vile little creature was asking for it. I spit in his face, my saliva dripping down my
chin. Anger clouded his eyes and I suddenly feared his reaction. He mumbled something
under his breath to the others. They, too, regarded me with anger and disgust.

Suddenly I felt my arms being grabbed my invisible hands. I realized that two other men
behind me had been following the conversation. I couldn't see them but I fought to free
my arms but they were pinned roughly behind my back.

The demon in front of me let go of my breasts and, in a lightning movement, he suddenly

ripped my blouse open. The buttons flew up and disappeared in the crowd.

I was shocked and, when I started to scream, another hand quickly covered my mouth to
muffle me. I could taste the sickly sweet sweat on the anonymous hand. I tried to bite it,
but it was too large. I writhed and squirmed viciously, trying to escape the grasps of this
pack of wolves, but each movement was quelled by more hands forcing me to stand still.

I prayed incessantly for my God to intervene, but my pleading went unheard. I looked
down at my large, white breasts forced into the chaste bra. The man before me was
looking at them, too. I felt hands untucking my blouse and snaking up my back to undo
the bra. No matter how much I resisted, their grip only tightened.

Despite the thick straps of the bra, the demon yanked hard and they broke as he ripped off
my bra, letting it fall away. In a flash his hands were all over my large, fleshy breasts.
Kneading them roughly, grabbing the nipples and pulling them hard so they extended
away from my body.
The other men watched him abuse my pure skin and this only encouraged them. I cried
silent tears as unseen hands began sliding forcibly over my body. My skirt was pulled up
and my pantyhose were ripped and shredded. My body bucked and twisted as the pack
forced my legs open. My thighs muscles were no match for their combined strength.

My spread legs made my body shrink lower in the midst of the men, allowing them better
access. I couldn't look at them. I couldn't stand the sight of their sweating faces, their
intense, lust-filled eyes, their panting, open mouths.

They spoke little now, knowing what they craved. I could hardly breathe, captured there,
in a mass of sweating, pressing flesh. Yet I needed so desperately to breathe - and breathe
hard, sucking great gulps of air into my body to fuel my futile resistance.

Only my head was free to move, and I stretched it upwards, trying to find air in the
narrow space between the men and the ceiling. Until a hand entwined itself in my long
hair and pulled it hard. Exposing my throat. I could only stare up at the flicking neon
lights. I was completely immobile. Unable to flee. Unable to resist them.

I gasped as a hand reached up and found the elastic of my panties. In a second, they were
gone, falling to the floor. I felt air rush up between my legs, carrying with it two hands,
ten fingers, which all began to probe me in my most sacred place. I could only mutter
'No' in a non-stop staccato. That word being my only feeble resistance now.

My flabby buttocks were being splayed open from the invisible men behind me. The
demon in front had one hand on my breast and the other tangled in my pubic hair,
wrestling with the others' finger to be the first to find the entrance to my vagina. No man
had ever seen or touched my vagina before this day and now 5 or 6 strangers were
forcing their way in.

Images of the comic book drawings flashed before my eyes and I could do nothing to
make them vanish. Girls tied up, girls being groped and fucked... did I really think that
word? Fucked? I gasped at the thought that these demons would maybe.... No...

I twitched when I felt a finger, then two, slide up inside me. Inside me. I was horrified to
feel that I was wet, that my own body had deserted my will and was lubricating itself,
encouraging my attackers in their pursuits. I was disgusted at myself and wondered how
that could happen.

The man in front raised his glistening fingers up in front of my face and laughed
mockingly at me. He forced me to look at them and then rubbed my juices over my face.

He muttered something that sounded like a command. He was the oldest of them, as far
as I could tell, and the others complied.

I felt my body being forced over backwards, supported by three men. Demon reached up
and grabbed my hair, pulling it and my head roughly forward. He grabbed my face and
forced me to look down between us. I saw my stomach and my bushy pubic hair and then
I saw it. He had taken his penis out of his pants. It looked as angry and aggressive as the
man himself. It was pointing right towards my vagina. The first penis I had ever seen.

I shook my head vehemently. I pleaded with him with my eyes. But he was far from
caring.

A hand pushed my ass forward and the demon grabbed his angry cock and thrust it
forward. I resisted but it was futile.

I felt the head of his penis thrust roughly against the entrance to my vagina and gasped.
Hands kneaded my breasts and ass as I felt the demon thrust hard. The breath was
knocked out of me as his penis, encouraged by my own juices, slid inside me.

I had no experience with such matters so I didn’t know if his penis was large or small. All
I knew was that it hurt. It felt so huge, forcing its way up inside me.

I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip, not wanting to show any weakness. When the
man felt some resistance deep inside of me, he grunted loudly and rammed his penis into
me. I didn’t know it then, but he ripped through my hymen like paper wall.

He kept at it, fucking me with short, stabbing strokes. He grabbed my face and forced me
to watch. It was the most graphic, most disgusting, most bizarre sight of my young, naïve
life.

His penis was slick with my lubrication and with blood. He grunted harder and then
withdrew suddenly, grabbing it and jacking his hand up and down its length in a rapid,
blurring movement. I didn’t know what to expect and was surprised to see him cum.
Great white ropes of his seed spurted out and splattered against my pubic hair and fleshy
stomach.

It was strangely fascinating, despite the horror of the situation. I had never seen anything
like it. Never imagined how it would look.

I didn’t have a chance to let it sink in. A few more sharp Japanese commands and I was
bent over forwards. My arms were held out to the sides and my head faced the floor. My
large breasts dangled obscenely. Another man wanted his turn.

I felt another penis fumble behind me and then it entered me. I still tried to resist them
but noticed that it no longer hurt. This penis was larger and longer, it seemed and my
filthy, sinful body still produced liquid in order to accommodate the stranger. That irony
confused me.

As the man started to ram into me, my breasts flopped back and forth, slapping my chin. I
tried to lift my head to avoid the heavy flesh striking me, and I saw that I was staring
straight at the demon’s shining penis, now half-hard, dangling out of his zipper. I turned
my head to avoid looking at it, only to see another hard cock being jacked off to my left.
Whipping my head to the right, there was another cock. They were everywhere. I lowered
my head to avoid them all and the demon’s cock slapped against my forehead.

My body convulsed as the man continued his fucking. Another hand reached around my
front and, to my surprise, started rubbing the top of my vagina. A sharp jolt of something
nice shot through my body. He was rubbing my clitoris. I pushed the somewhat pleasant
sensation out of my mind and tried to think of something else, anything else.

With a splat, I felt hot, searing liquid strike the side of my face. When I turned to see
what it was, I received a faceful of sperm from one of the other men. Turning away to
avoid it, I received another faceful from the right-hand side. These men were cumming
on me and I could do nothing to avoid it.

The man behind him started to orgasm and he, too, pulled out and shot his seed over my
ass and vagina.

I felt the train slow as it approached a station. When the doors opened, the group of men
let go of me and, in a flash, they were gone. I crumpled to the floor, stunned. The tears
had stopped long ago. I stared out into space until I became aware that I was exposed. I
covered myself up as best I could, trying to avoid the eyes of the strangers who stared at
me.

A man helped me up and off the train at the next station. The police were called, then the
embassy. The men were never found. I doubt if anyone even looked for them, given the
fact that I couldn’t give a description.

I never returned to the Mission. I had wanted to change the world and the world ended up
changing me. It took time, but gradually I managed to strengthen myself. In my attempt
to bring God to the heathen masses, the masses ended up giving me a crash-course in
Self. I abandoned my American God as he had abandoned me and began the long road to
self-discovery.