Story Title: What A Rapper Wants, A Rapist Gets
Author’s Name: JD
Content Codes: M/F, M+/F, rape, cons, inter, racist, viol, first,
oral, anal, ws, impreg
Celebs: Shakira, Michelle Trachtenberg
Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by
people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing
on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The
author does not condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you
feel rape in the real world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and
whistle dixie. While I’m
disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other
bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. I do not know
Shakira or Wyclef Jean or Michelle Trachtenberg and everything I have
written is purely fictional, means no harm, and again is solely a work
of fiction. I make no profit from this story. Please read the story
codes above to ensure that you are not going to be offended by, or
otherwise dislike, the content..
In late 2005 an agreement was reached for the Columbian superstar Shakira to remake Haitian-American rapper Wyclef Jean’s 2004 track ‘Dance Like This’ as ‘Hips Don’t lie’. The agents and record company suits did most of the leg work in setting up the collaboration, seeing it as a great cross-audience appeal money-maker. Shakira was a little nervous at first, as she held an opinion of many Rap artists as being violent and greedy. Her manager kept on telling her that this was horseshit, being media mis-representation to sell records. Shakira was assured that Wyclef Jean cared as much about charity as herself, and was setting up similar projects to her own back in his native Haiti.
Wyclef, for his part, had always made it known he was happy to work with just about anybody if there was likely to be money in it, although even he was quietly relieved most people had forgotten his work with Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. He took a call from his own manager on speakerphone while breaking in then twenty year old starlet Michelle Trachtenberg over his desk.
“What’s up?” he asked, before being interrupted by a high-pitched cry,
“Oh god! It’s tearing my ass apart!”
“Shut up, slut.”
“Uh, Jeez, Wyclef you want me to call back?”
Michelle’s passionate moans continued to be broadcast over the speakerphone. An hour previously she’d never even seen a black cock, and since she’d had it down her throat, smacking her cervix and now reaming her tight butt so hard that each thrust lifted her feet from the floor to kick against air. She gripped the far side of the desk with one hand, and frigged her oozing twat with the other
“Nah, s’cool. What you want?”
“Okay… Um, Goddamn…”
“Spit it out, fool.”
“I’ve set up a single with you and Shakira. She’s about the biggest selling Latin American singer to make it in America. It’ll be a joint single, video, the works. Got a big budget from the company on this one. You want in, right?”
Michelle screamed suddenly, a wild cry of pleasure and pain as her cunt clamped on her fingers and she came again. The sudden spasms went all the way to her butt and set Wyclef off. He sprayed the small-titted beauty’s innards with his sperm, before yanking it free and jerking the last drops over her perfect little buttocks. She was still moaning as she slid backwards off the desk and landed on her gaping ass. Wyclef slapped her face with his dick and told her to get cleaning. Michelle’s eyelids fluttered for a few moments, and then she began lovingly working on his sticky cock.
“Sure I’m in, man. You got it all set up and I never pull out at the last moment. That’s one hot bitch, and all the girls want a piece of me, ain’t that right slut?”
“Jesus, Wyclef!” his manager was aghast.
Michelle nodded while slurping cum from Wyclef’s cock, eyes wide with passion. She’d gone black, and would never go back. Her mom was probably still looking for her near the expensive store Wyclef had picked her up outside. He hadn’t even recognised her as anybody famous, Buffy not exactly being his kind of show. Any white girl who had her top up while he was still getting in the crib was his kind of fuckmeat though, and when she pointed out she was pretty famous it’d just been the icing on the cake. Still, once he was done he kicked her out without a shower and got back to business.
Events moved quickly, and soon Wyclef found himself introduced to Shakira on location. He wanted her almost immediately. The way she looked, the way she talked, the way she smiled. Shakira found Wyclef Jean amiable, although she was a little annoyed by the size of the entourage he brought to the multi-day shoot. She assumed the large group of similar men would delay things, but while she noticed them lecherously eyeing up the backing dancers, she quite failed to notice Wyclef’s interest in her was anything but innocent.
Wyclef just assumed she was playing hard to get. The video shoot was professionally done, with the mere sight of the rotund female director often enough to drive thoughts of lust from the minds of Wyclef and his posse. Shakira simply did as she was directed, dancing sexily for the camera and staying ‘in character’ off camera. Wyclef found himself with painful boners crushed down by his pants, and bulging through on some shots. He became convinced Shakira wanted him as much as he wanted her, and towards the end of the last day of the shoot he decided to set it up.
“Hey, Shakira. I think we’ve done a real good job here. You were hot shit, know what I’m saying?”
Shakira didn’t like profanity in any of the several languages she spoke, seeing it as crass and ill educated. Still, out of politeness she replied without showing offence,
“Thank you, Mr Jean. I have enjoyed working with you.”
“You want to come back to my trailer?” Wyclef referred to his on set accommodation.
“C’mon babe, don’t you want a piece of this?”
Wyclef rubbed the outline of his cock through his pants. Shakira gasped, and then slapped him hard. The rapper rubbed his face in shock as the enraged Columbian stormed away, and then spat on the floor. Wyclef wasn’t about to be disrespected like that by any man, woman or child alive, and as some of his entourage who’d witnessed the encounter snickered he turned on them for a furious rant.
“You think that shit is funny, motherfucker? We goin’ to get that bitch and teach her respect, goin’ to teach her place. I’m going to fuck that bitch up the butt so hard she can’t sit down until Christmas!”
“You’re right Wyclef, bitch be whack. We’ll help you learn her good!”
“Okay, this is how it’s going down…”
“Miss Shakira?” Shakira was about to leave the set when a black man approached her. She had put her anger of several hours before behind her, but still felt a tinge of anger as the man addressed her.
“What do you want?” she asked, “An autograph?”
“My name is Richard Duvall, I am the senior manager of Wyclef Jean’s charitable organisation for children in Haiti. Wyclef feels very badly about how things ended up and his appalling behaviour. He is distraught, distraught I say, because he wanted an opportunity to discuss a joint charitable event with you, for the children. He would also like to apologise in person.”
Shakira looked towards the door. The later afternoon Los Angeles sun streamed through the window into the dusky interior, almost making her white dress shine. She badly wanted to just walk away, but she was at heart a good and kind woman, and decided not to let her personal dislike stand in the way of helping those who needed it most. She followed ‘Richard’ back into the building and realised she was being led to the room used as the director’s office during the shoot.
The director had been finishing up paperwork when Herbert, the old black security guard, had brought in several members of Wyclef’s entourage. Her confusion turned to fear as they stuffed a rag in her mouth, and moments later the fat woman was tightly bound and stuffed into a side cupboard. By the time Shakira was led into the room by the well dressed black, Wyclef was stood in front of the desk with only four members of his entourage in the room.
Once they’d seen her enter, the remaining members outside the office dragged ice boxes of beer, bags of snacks, a ghetto blaster and a big mattress outside the door, ready to be brought in at a moment’s notice. Shakira was completely unaware of them, or of the director’s useless struggles barely feet from her. Thin chipboard separated the fat woman from her sight, and so she had no warning of the violent, brutal assaults planned on her hot body.
“Well, I’d like to apologise for suggesting what I did.”
“I accept your apology, Mr Jean. You must understand that I find the idea of sex before marriage sinful. I wish there was a way to have my voice heard and help people without having to act provocatively, but there is not. So I apologise for provoking you to lust.”
Shakira’s English was Spanish accented but otherwise flawless. Wyclef fought off a smile as he realised Shakira had just indicated she was still a virgin. Catholic too, he figured, so probably utterly repressed. ‘course, some of the boys had said the best think about sticking it to Catholics was how they wouldn’t abort.
“Well now, I accept your apology too, so we’re cool. Get down to business then. There’s a big problem in Haiti with two things, children living in poverty and terrible crimes like rape. You know about these things?”
“Oh yes,” Shakira nodded compassionately, “there are much the same problems in Columbia. You have a project to help the children? You want my help with it?”
“We need your help with the rape,” said Richard, “Can’t do it without you.”
“I don’t quite follow,” Shakira’s brow knitted with confusion.
“What my man here means, Shakira, is that you are absolutely essential. It was wrong of me to try getting you to come back to my trailer earlier. Very selfish. I decided I had to share a lot more.”
“Sharing, yes, sharing is good,” Shakira was not happy with the way the conversation was going. She was surrounded by muscular black men, and did not like their expressions one bit. They reminded her of the way her family priest had looked when he glanced upon small boys.
“I think we should discuss this project another time. I have much to do.”
Wyclef spread his hands calmly and stepped towards her. Shakira took half a step back and felt the hard body of a man behind her. His thick cock pressed against her ass and she gasped. When the sultry Columbian started to turn Wyclef rabbit punched her in the gut, just below her ribs. He was a big, powerful man, he worked out. Shakira folded up instantly, and all she could hear then was zips being pulled down. The strong smells of sweaty cocks filled her nose as Wyclef pulled her forwards by her hair.
“Please,” she managed to gasp, “In the name of God, let me go!”
Shakira’s terrified pleading amused the men, and they were soon joined in laughing by another fifteen bringing in the beer, snacks and mattress. Shakira’s further pleading was cut off by Wyclef spreading her lips with his purple helmet. The taste on her tongue brought it home to Shakira that she was being orally raped, treated like a street whore gutter slut by a powerful black man, and that his friends were not just there to watch.
Rough hands groped Shakira’s ass and breasts through her dress as Wyclef stretched her throat with his big black bitchtamer. His girth was such that her jaw began cramping painfully while her lips were tightly stretched around the hot throbbing cock. Shakira began choking almost immediately, and Wyclef felt her sharp teeth against his sensitive shaft,
“Don’t you fucking dare bite down, bitch or I’ll get my 9mm out and shoot you in the fucking head!”
He didn’t have a gun in hand, but he didn’t need one. Shakira’s prejudices about violent black rappers reinforced the threat for him. Shakira’s powerful gagging squeezed Wyclef wonderfully as he strained his muscular buttocks and forced the last few inches between Shakira’s lips. Wyclef’s wrinkled nutsack slapped into Shakira’s chin audibly, and a few of the onlooking entourage cheered. The innocent but very hot Latina’s beautiful face being speared by a thrusting black tool was the hottest thing many of them had ever seen.
The man who called himself Richard Duvall was already too excited by his part in luring Shakira to her erotic facial rape. He stood beside Wyclef and stroked his cock fast. Shakira’s eyes focused on the wet slit of cock, and then suddenly a thick wad of jizz splashed her cheek. She ground her eyes shut as Richard blasted her face with his load, and added his thick potent sperm to the drool flowing freely from the corners of her mouth. A very little made it into her eye and stung terribly. Shakira cried fresh tears as Wyclef increased the speed of his hard throat fuck.
Shakira could feel the hands tugging at her shoes, and she lost two inches of bent-over height as they were pulled off and thrown away. Nobody liked the idea of one of the heels kicking out at them. More hands were inside her dress, dragging it from her petite frame and lustfully groping her dusky skin as they did so. She was stripped to silky panties and bra by the time Wyclef felt his balls ready to shoot.
“You ready, you stuck up slut? You gonna drink it all, bitch!”
Shakira slapped her hands against Wyclef’s legs with all her feminine might. He barely noticed. The rapper wrapped her hair around his hands and gave her the entire throbbing length again. As Shakira gagged on cock he spermed her throat, shooting long streams of his come straight down into her belly. A high protein rapeshake. Shakira couldn’t breath, with her throat plugged. She felt pubes tickling her nose as her lungs burned. Wyclef loved the way her eyes bugged out. It was the surprised expression of a disrespectful whore learning her place.
Shakira clutched at her throat and coughed when he pulled out. Strands of saliva and come hung from her mouth, while she squeezed her bloodshot eyes closed. Wyclef and his buddies watched the Columbian beauty getting her breath back until she was ready to risk a scream. Then another guy plugged her sore throat with his thick black cock. Wyclef watched as the singer was pulled down onto her knees on the mattress and forced to suck the dick of every single one of his entourage, as well as that of old Herbert who kept smiling and muttering “Goddamn” under his breath.
Shakira had often secretly thought that any girl who knew more than two or three men intimately throughout her entire life was a terrible slut, and yet in the space of two hours she lost count of the number of cocks that passed her lips. Her jaw ached and her eyes stung and she felt sick to her stomach with all the sperm that hadn’t been blasted across her face or into her hair. Some of the men tried to outdo the others, slapping her face from side to side with their shafts and calling her a whore. One held her eyelid up and came straight into her eye, and another made Shakira sneeze by blowing his load up her nose.
They all had a pretty decent beer buzz going by the time Shakira gagged on Herbert’s grey-haired old pecker. He told stories of raping Charlie’s girls in the ‘Nam, of the day his unit caught a sniper and she lasted months back at base. He fucked Shakira’s cum drenched face for ten minutes, pulling out only to have her use her tongue on his balls, and then stood back without blowing his load.
“Ain’t you goin’ to come old man?”
“Patience is a virtue, Mr Jean.”
“My Nigger!” laughed Wyclef, slapping Herbert on the back.
Shakira remained kneeling, arms crossed across her tits and face down towards the mattress. Her spirit was broken, and her throat terribly painful. She tried to pray aloud, but could not make the words. Sperm bubbled on her lips as she hissed and winced, and when Wyclef ordered her bra and panties removed, she didn’t even struggle.
“Bend the whore over that cupboard,” he ordered, “She about ready to become a real woman!”
Shakira was pulled to her feet and forced to bend over the cupboard the director was bound in. There was a small gap along the top, and she thought she saw movement inside. Before the throat-raped Latina babe could think further, she felt her stomach churn again. There was another cheer as she vomited sperm over the cupboard, where it quickly drained down the gap. The vomited fluid seemed to burn Shakira’s throat badly, for it was mixed with bile and digestive fluids.
Wyclef’s boys splashed some beer over the pool, washing it down into the cupboard and masking the smell. The man himself let her get on with retching, so she’d be free to concentrate when he bust her cherry. Herbert had claimed her panties, and sat to one side sniffing them merrily. Richard started laughing suddenly, wild and braying. He’d just remembered where they tied the director. Others helped themselves to more food and beer and argued over music.
Shakira hoped her torment was over, but as she looked around she saw only men jacking their cocks back to hardness. She’d been saving her virginity for years, for her long time fiancé Antonio. She decided he would not want her now, not defiled over and over by so many men. A last spark of defiance made her close her thighs together when Wyclef probed his fingers into her shaven pussy (she didn’t like to shave, but it was necessary with some of the costumes she had to wear).
“Shit! Bitch still ain’t learned her place! Bent over, drooling come, and she shuts her damn legs! Grab ‘em!”
Shakira’s legs were strong, for she was young and fit and danced for hours. It seemed for a moment as If she might even be stronger than the pairs of black hands prying her thighs apart and slapping her ass. She grunted and struggled, but in vain. Soon Wyclef Jean’s cock was pressing against her pussy, and then just inside at her hymen. Shakira managed to croak a last defiant cry…
…and then Wyclef tore through the barrier of her innocence and forcibly ended her true virginity. Wyclef moved his hands from her ass and reached around for her breasts. He mauled them roughly as he forced more of his length inside her. Shakira wanted to scream at the sudden pain, Wyclef’s raping cock was like a knife being forced into her pussy. Blood stained his shaft as he roughly opened her up.
“Goddamn! She’s tight! If her ass is tighter I ain’t sure how I’m going to get in!”
“Brute force ought to do it, Wyclef.”
That got a laugh. Shakira’s legs kicked out against the cupboard as Wyclef lifted her from the floor and used her weight to press down against his cock. He wished he’d thought to have the boys bring a mirror. It would be great to bounce the bitch on his shaft and make her watch. Teeth gritted, he completed the painful business of stuffing his entire length up into her. Shakira was crying silently, rivers of tears cutting through the drying sperm caked on her face. If this was sex, she couldn’t understand why anybody would want do it.
Wyclef twisted around, showing the room Shakira impaled on his dick. He gripped her breasts tightly, flesh squeezed between thick fingers, to prevent her full weight pressing down. Shakira shook her head from side to side. Those caught by dislodged sperm cursed angrily and swore they’d fuck her up twice as bad for it. Wyclef turned back to the cupboard, slammed Shakira face down in the remaining mess, and pulled his cock almost all of the way out.
She banged her fists hard on the cupboard as he gave her the length again, but all in one go. Her labia were splayed wide around the violating cock, and her cervix bruised from the impact. Wyclef Jean raped Shakira’s cunt good and hard, fucking her like it was going out of style. Once he was done, he’d told the boys they wouldn’t have to take turns. She was surely capable of taking on five guys at once. Just as Shakira felt things couldn’t get any worse, Wyclef’s relentless pounding began to feel good.
His shaft rubbed against her clit on every stroke, and Shakira’s shame was complete. Pleasure In agony, pleasure in total degradation. Gangraped by blacks and liking it. Wyclef pulled out so suddenly, she almost lost her footing. Her cunt gaped wide, leaking blood and forced arousal. Wyclef pressed his black shaft between her trembling buttocks, and rubbed as much of her juice around the hole as he could. It was going to be like putting a fence post in a pencil sharpener, he thought.
Shakira wasn’t familiar with the concept of anal sex. She avoided porn of all kinds, and nobody had ever had cause to mention it. She couldn’t even understand what Wyclef was doing with her dirty hole, until he pressed forward. The penny dropped as her sphincter fought. A new agony, worse than anything she’d felt during the rape so far, began. There was just barely enough bloody pussy juice splashed around to prevent Shakira’s asshole tearing as Wyclef worked his purple crown into her rectum. Shakira’s ass was finer than most any other bitch he’d fucked.
“Oh Shit! This bitch is amazing! She squeezing down so hard it almost hurts me!”
Shakira managed to wail, a thin keening agony that couldn’t come close to expressing the pain and shame of having a huge black cock forced into her virgin ass. She thought she might pass out, or vomit again, but instead all she could do was grip the cupboard as Wyclef Jean opened her up until she took him all. He pulled back hard on Shakira’s hair, grinding his cock inside her incredibly tight, hot ass. It was almost a shame how loose the Latina’s butt would be once everyone had had a turn, but what the hell.
Wyclef slowly buttfucked Shakira, enjoying the simple pleasure of a helpless girl impaled on his cock. He would definitely be doing it more often with bitches who didn’t want it, at least, if he could find more bitches who didn’t want it. The suffering was a total power trip, even better than fucking sluts who did want it. As Shakira’s muscles loosened he raped her faster, withdrawing and thrusting back in as she continued to wail. Her dusky skin seemed pale in comparison to the log ploughing her ass, and he felt his balls tightening up in his sack.
“Time to get a bitch pregnant!”
Wyclef Jean didn’t give a damn that his cock had been up Shakira’s filthy asshole, the health issues of shoving it right back up her cunt mattered nothing to a rapper mid-rape. The tugging on her hair ended, and she felt his greasy thumbs pressing into her ass as he re-entered her cunt, and Wyclef amused himself by pulling her anus wide and spitting in the hole. A few thrusts in Shakira’s cunt was all it took then, and Wyclef Jean painted her battered cervix with his sperm. Even through her red haze of agony, Shakira felt him stiffen and shake and heard his groans. She guessed his meaning, and cried a little harder.
As soon as he was done, Wyclef tossed Shakira bodily onto the mattress. He didn’t need to issue an invitation before the nearest men swarmed her, twisting the singer into positions that pleased their lusts. Very quickly a pair of them had her crushed between their dark skinned bodies as they penetrated her pussy and ass. They raped her roughly in tandem, finding a rhythm that pleased both of them and even brought more shameful pleasure to Shakira. When they came inside her they were replaced, and so it went on for hours. Shakira was raped repeatedly in her cunt and ass, and had to suck the occasional cock too. When they thought her too loose, she had two dicks at a time forced in her holes. Her breasts were rendered black and blue by rough tit wanks and spunk ran heavily from her body.
Herbert waited his turn, discussing music with Wyclef as they watched the show. He’d been a Jazz Sax player in his youth, but gave it up. Shakira wasn’t able to hear their talking, all she could hear was the slap of flesh on flesh, the wet noises of rough penetration and the endless and inventive abuse they heaped on her. There was nothing like rap lyrics for degrading women. Sometimes she came close to climax, and hated it while at the same time wishing for a break from the pain.
She was breathing shallowly when the entourage had finished with her. Many of the men had been back for seconds, but they were by then too drunk or tired or thought her too messy to continue. Shakira was drenched in spunk, her face was barely recognisable under more recent facials and her thighs and ass were almost totally white thanks to the caked mess. She lay on her back, legs wide, arms up behind her head where they’d been left. It seemed as if every single ounce of pride and joy had been raped from her body, leaving her a husk of a woman.
It was Herbert’s turn.
The old security guard knelt between Shakira’s thighs and rubbed her clit with his hand. There was so much mess in the way it was only years of experience that allowed him to find it, but as a ‘nam vet he didn’t seem to mind the sperm of so many other guys. He rubbed Shakira’s clit skilfully, and watched her eyes focus, while her chest showed faster breathing. Slowly, gently, then faster, the old negro brought Shakira’s body to the brink of a powerful climax. Her pussy twitched, expelling more semen onto the mattress.
Herbert entered Shakira, sliding his long cock all the way to her core with ease. He fucked her twitching pussy quickly, weight on his arms as he lent over her. He had witnessed her total degradation, but he wanted more. Herbert wasn’t going to be happy until Shakira was raped to orgasm. He pumped faster, grey haired balls slapping wetly until Shakira’s eyes grew wide and she somehow found the strength to arch her body from the bed. Herbert came at the same moment, giving her the potent sperm he’d been saving for hours.
Shakira fainted. Herbert almost did. They pulled him to his feet while a few of the guys took camera phone photos for souvenirs. Wyclef had considered filming the gangrape for a sex tape release, but never got around to organising it. The last of the beer was gone, and he realised he needed to piss. He aimed his flaccid cock at Shakira and let loose, quickly followed by the others. She came around to the sensation of being drenched by the beer piss off a whole gang of black men, but all she could think of was the shameful pleasure.
Shakira told nobody afterwards. She took the threats of them being able to get her whenever, wherever very seriously. Psychologically damaged, she was dropped from her record company when a entertainment news show exposed her as turned to whoring for a black only clientele. Another record company picked her right back up, even though she was obviously pregnant by then. Wyclef Jean expected a paternity suit, but was as shocked as everyone else when the DNA test matched a sample on file for Herbert, who’d passed away weeks before.
Michelle Trachtenberg, who’d recently had Wyclef’s baby secretly aborted, had a call to come round to his place in a catholic schoolgirl uniform. She managed to source one that looked perfect, down the last detail, and the twenty year old even put her hair in pigtails. She stepped through to Wyclef’s office expecting just the rapper, and saw instead twenty naked black men and a banner declaring the “Herbert Memorial Gangbang.” The little slut loved every hour of it finding pleasure in pain and degradation.
As for the director, they kind of forgot about her – but what the hell, you did too.
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