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She bawled because her mother had warned her about "bad men" and some long-forgotten feeling that Mommy would be disappointed that Liane had allowed herself to get into this situation. And she bawled because she was bawling. Because she desperately wanted to not cry. To not show them how much anguish they were succeeding in causing her. Not to give them the satisfaction. Not to let them see that they were causing every bit of heart-rending sorrow, self-loathing and humiliation that they could have hoped for. But she wailed it out, a song of victory to her rapists’ ears, too weak of character to stop herself. Weakness. Too weak to make herself fight back. Too weak to stop crying. Too pathetically weak to do anything but lay there crying, praying for him to finish.
But then the sun on her closed lids was gone and something brushed her lips, and someone was barking "Open up, bitch" and she opened her eyes to find a man on his hands and knees over her head, cock dangling at her mouth. Too cowed to resist, and hating herself for it, she parted her blubbering lips and let him plunge into her face. He shoved it in until she was gagging and then started brutally fucking her head making her violently gag and retch, banishing all her other miseries with a simple, horrible struggle for oxygen.