Battle of the Sexes

Battle of the Sexes

Angi and Mike Dawes trudged up the dirt path, eyes hopeful for the first time in days as they eyed the faint structure in the distance. From this far away, they couldn’t tell what it was, exactly, but any kind of structure - any shelter from the rain - was more than welcome. It had been nearly a week now since they’d last slept in a bed, safe from the elements. That felt like a lifetime ago to the weary couple – Mike especially.

‘How far do you think?’ Angi gasped out, bone tired and close to collapse.

Her small frame was kept in shape from all the walking they did, but she still tired easily. Her smaller body just didn’t have the same energy that Mike’s larger one did. Mike tried to match his pace to hers, but sometimes he forgot (like now, when he was so eager for sanctuary) and she had to work extra hard to keep up with him. She never complained. She was selfless in nature.

‘Half an hour,’ Mike replied.

He realised he’d been pushing her limits and slowed to take her hand. She melted into his side and ducked her head to smell his jacket. He kissed her long curly mouse brown hair lovingly.

That hair was Angi’s pride and joy. No matter how rigorously they travelled, she still managed to keep it in pristine condition. She said that if everything else in the world had to go to hell, at least she could keep this one thing the same. Her hair was a symbol, in a sense. As long as she kept it perfect, nothing could harm them.

Mike was content to let her have her way. If they only had access to a small amount of water, he would allow her to bathe and wash her hair, neglecting his own blond locks if he had to. He kept his hair short anyway. It was less hassle that way.

‘I hope they have beds,’ she said into his side, soft velvet voice muffled by his thick flannel jacket.

‘Me too,’ he whispered in her ear, his tone teasing, his meaning clear.

Angi giggled. ‘How very Misogynist of you.’

‘Hey now, don’t get all Feminist on me.’

‘Never,’ she said assuredly. She looked up at him with her warm brown eyes.  ‘I love you.’

‘And I you,’ Mike replied, leaning down to kiss the freckles across her nose.

She scrunched her face up adorably and pulled back. ‘Your beard tickles.’

‘I’ll shave it when we get there, if I can.’

There was an age difference between them. Mike was twenty-seven, while Angi was only just nearing the end of her teenaged years at nineteen. Neither of them cared.

Mike had saved Angi from certain death when she was fourteen and her family had been caught smack dab in the middle of a Sexes war zone. After that, he had kept her safe with him, protecting her and taking care of her. They had bonded, naturally, and their love for each other had developed over time.

Angi had willingly given Mike her virginity at the age of fifteen, a little over a year after he had saved her life. She refused to apologise for this. In better times, maybe things could have been different. Unfortunately, they didn’t live in those better times. They had long since passed.

What point did social conventions have in a world like this? A world overrun with chaos, war and cruelty - a world that so completely resembled the visions of a post-apocalyptic future she had read about in her early teens. And in only a few short years. Would things get worse? Could they?

Angi didn’t like to think about it.

When they finally reached the hopeful structure, it was with a weary relief. The building was like most buildings these days; run down and dirty. It was still better than sleeping outside. Mike held the door open for Angi and then followed her in.

The inside was no better than the outside. It appeared to be a bar, circular tables laid out in a haphazard way, a stage to the far left, empty at the moment, and with a long, worn looking counter dominating the wall directly before them. The room was quiet and devoid of life.

Mike approached the bar and knocked on the wood. ‘Hello?’

‘Give me a minute,’ a gruff voice called. A few seconds later, a bearded old man appeared through an opening in the wall behind the counter. Mike noticed the hinges where a door had once existed. Instead, in it’s place, was a large dirty cloth which the old man brushed aside as he entered. ‘Yeah?’

‘Do you have rooms available?’ Mike asked.

The old man eyed Angi. ‘Depends,’ he said.

Angi got a bad feeling in her stomach. She didn’t like the way the old man was looking at her. ‘Mike,’ she whispered, ‘forget it. Let’s just go.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I don’t want to stay here.’ She looked at him pleadingly.

Mike glanced at the old man who watched with a blank expression. ‘Uh, never mind. We’ll find someplace else. Sorry for the trouble.’

Mike put his hand on Angi’s back as he led her towards the exit.

‘Now hold on,’ the gruff voice of the old man called out.

Before Mike could open the door, it opened for him, and three large raven-haired men stepped into the room. They blocked the exit, with the same blank expressions on their faces as the old man. Mike pulled Angi away from them, looking for another way out. His eyes scanned the room desperately.

‘Boy,’ the gruff voiced man said as he came around the bar. ‘We just have a few questions for you. Simple enough. Don’t panic now.’

Angi felt her heart race. This wasn’t good. She curled into Mike’s side in a fruitless attempt to hide.

‘What questions?’ Her protector spoke with the old man.

‘Your girl there, is she Feminist? Are you one of them fucked up Feminist sympathizers?’

‘No. She’s not. I’m not.’

‘Of course, you could be lying,’ the innkeeper said.

‘I’m not,’ Mike repeated. ‘But how am I supposed to prove that to you?’

‘I guess you can’t.’

Mike tugged Angi closer.

‘Relax now boy. We won’t hurt you. But we can’t let you leave yet. Not until we know for sure. Still, it’s not too bad, is it? You wanted a room, didn’t you? I’ve got just the thing. It’ll be ready for you by midnight. It’s… occupied, at the moment. While you wait, have a seat.’

The three silent men came to usher them to one of the tables – close to the stage. Mike cautiously seated Angi and then himself. He wasn’t comfortable with the situation, but it was obvious these men were dangerous, and he had no choice. Angi sobbed beside him. He pulled her chair close to his and put his arm around her shoulders.

‘No need to be afraid girl,’ the innkeeper spoke behind them. ‘You are what you say you are, and then no harm will come to you. We just have to make sure. You understand. I’ll bring you over some water.’

He left them alone.

‘I don’t want to be here Mike.’ Angi whimpered.

‘I know honey,’ Mike replied, ‘but we don’t have a choice. Just keep your head down and don’t say anything. I promise, everything will be okay, just do as I tell you.’

‘Are they?’

‘I think so.’

Angi shuddered. Misogynists.

‘Here you go.’ The old innkeeper placed two glasses down on the table. ‘Drink up now.’

Mike gave Angi a look. She raised the glass to her lips and drank reluctantly. He copied her a moment later.

‘Fantastic. We have a great show planned for tonight.’ The old man leaned down to look Angi right in the eye. ‘I really hope you enjoy it.’ He smiled, revealing dirty yellowed teeth. His laughter as he strolled back to the bar sent shivers down her spine.

The old innkeeper stopped by the bar to talk to the other three men. As they spoke, Mike listened, and was able to at least learn their names. The old man was named Roger. The other three black haired men were his sons.

The first son – Alan – was the largest. He towered over everyone else, his gut distended with a beer belly. His black hair was greasy and thick atop his head. His face was an angry red and spotty. He might have been at least reasonably handsome, if he took care of himself.

The second son – James – was the handsomest, because he clearly did take care of himself. His dark hair was styled with gel at the front. His face was clean and unblemished and when he smiled (which he did often) his bright white teeth dazzled.

The third and final son – Brent – was completely unremarkable, the classic middle child. He possessed neither the extreme ugliness nor the dazzling beauty that his brothers supplied. Instead he seemed to fade into the background, quiet and unnoticed.   

As the evening rolled on, more and more men arrived, cluttering up the bar until it was over flowing with men (and a very few women). Angi curled into Mike’s side, attempting to be invisible. The men looked at her funny, making her skin crawl. Some made rude comments in her direction. Mike covered her ears and sat still, anger evident in his stiff posture, though he was unable to act on it – doing so wouldn’t help them one bit, it would only lead to him being beaten to death, and Angi mostly likely being raped and kept as a slave.

The crowd began to quiet as night descended. The old man, obviously the figurehead of this particular sect of Misogynists, claimed the stage with a gleeful expression.

‘Alright men.’ His gruff voice demanded silence. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’ He looked directly at Angi as he spoke his next words. ‘Bring the bitch on stage.’

Angi felt her muscles tense and her heart leap into her mouth. Only Mike’s hold on her kept her from trying to run. She cast a fearful glance at her lover, but he didn’t look at her. He looked at the stage. She followed his gaze. A beaten, bloody, and naked woman was being marched up onto the slightly elevated platform.

Angi’s heart sank back into her chest with relief. A moment later, guilt overwhelmed her. So perhaps she wasn’t to be tortured (at least not yet, a small part of her pointed out), but this poor woman certainly was. By the looks of things, she had already been put through hell. 

The woman’s fierce blue eyes had been blackened. It would have been difficult to tell their colour, if not for the fact she had the most strikingly blue eyes Angi had ever seen, so bright they even shone through the purpling bruises ringing her eyes. Blood dripped from her full red lips (perhaps swollen from the beating).

She was forced into a chair on the stage and tied securely, her legs spread, arms flat to the chair. The position revealed all, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her large full breasts stuck out proudly, nipples erect (probably from the cold). A tuft of blonde hair crowned her puffy pussy lips. The crowd of men jeered and laughed.

‘Nice tits bitch!’

‘Looks like your twat could use a good fucking!’

‘Want to suck on my cock you Feminist slut?’

The naked woman kept her expression hard and even. She didn’t react to the words, almost as if she didn’t hear them. Her eyes remained focused on some distant point.

Roger smacked her around the temple. Her head jerked to the side, but she didn’t cry out or react in any other way. The old innkeeper grabbed her by her long blonde hair and pulled her head back. He spat a thick, slimy green glob of saliva into her face, much to the crowd’s amusement.

Angi was beginning to realise she didn’t want to watch this.

‘Don’t look away,’ Mike whispered in her ear, as if sensing her desire to close her eyes. ‘Watch, or they’ll think you’re a Feminist sympathizer and kill us both. Or worse.’

Angi tried hard not to cry. Or worse indeed - she might find herself up there, naked, tied to a chair, about to be raped and humiliated in front of all these Misogynistic men.

‘Shall we teach this Feminist whore a lesson?’ Roger called to the crowd. They roared their approval.

His three sons stood at the back of the stage. Roger gestured, and Alan came forward, carrying a pair of clippers. He stuck them in the woman’s face and they buzzed to life. Again, she didn’t react. Her eyes remained fixed, heedless of the buzzing razorblades in front of her face, or the disgusting greenish saliva dripping down her cheek.   

Alan grabbed her blonde hair and began to shave her head, ripping out chunk after chunk of her beautiful golden locks. Angi could sympathize, imagining her own beautiful hair being destroyed in such a manner. And yet, despite this new form of humiliation, the woman remained silent and motionless. It didn’t seem to bother her, that her head was being shaved bold in front of this hungry mob of cheering Misogynists, who all took great pleasure in seeing her hair – a strong symbol of her femininity – sheared from her head.

Alan wasn’t very thorough. He left hanks of hair still in place, some short, others long, though by this point most of her head was stubble. All in all, it was a mess. That was probably the point, Angi realised.

James stepped up next. He untied the woman from the chair and dragged her by what was left of her hair over to a bench like contraption on the far left of the stage. He forced her over the bench and nudged her legs apart.

The woman was close to Angi now. For the first time, her eyes moved, locking on Angi’s. There was real hatred in those eyes, hatred so intense Angi had to look away. Mike turned her face back to the show swiftly. The woman stared ahead again, once more devoid of expression.

James unzipped and pulled out his impressively large, hard cock. He grinned at his audience, teasing the woman’s slit with his cock head. The crowd cheered and he plunged in. He fucked firm and fast, unmerciful. His hips slapped solidly against the Feminist woman’s buttocks. He gripped her by the waist roughly, fingers digging into flesh.

Angi wanted to vomit. She’d never seen anyone raped before. It was a more horrible sight than she could have ever imagined. What made it worse was the woman didn’t even fight. She remained as devoid of life as ever. Was it some kind of protest she was making? Refusing to give them the pleasure of reaction? It was the only explanation Angi could come up with.

As James fucked the woman, his hands alternated between gripping tight to her hips, and the occasional hard spank across her backside. Angi noticed red welts for the first time, stripping the woman’s back and buttocks. She had been whipped prior to her public degradation. James aimed his sharp spanks towards these already injured areas, no doubt dealing intense pain to the woman.

Angi was confused when James pulled out before climax, but the action was quickly explained, as he forced his slick erection into the woman’s anus with a furious grunt. The bench rocked and shuddered as he continued to pound into her, raping her anal passageway.

‘Yeah!’ the crowd cheered him on. ‘Fuck that cunt in every hole!’

‘Rip the little bitch in two!’

Angi saw James climax. His face scrunched up and he started to buck robotically in short bursts as he shot his seed into the woman’s ass. A short moment later, after he regained his wits, he pulled out and stepped back, zipping up with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Suddenly, with no provocation Angi could see, James lashed out with a boot, kicking the defenceless woman between the legs. The kick caught her by surprise, and she cried out this time, falling to the floor, landing on her hands and knees. The crowd laughed and James raised his hands in celebration.

Pig, Angi thought. She was no Feminist. She certainly didn’t agree with either of the two extremist groups. But still, this woman was a defenceless human being, and she didn’t deserve to be treated like this. And it was only going to get worse.

The innkeeper Roger dragged the woman back to centre stage. When he produced a metal ring with straps attached to it, the crowd roared with enthusiasm. He forced the ring into the woman’s mouth and tied the straps behind her head. This left her mouth stretched open painfully. Next he whipped out his wrinkled old penis, while Alan copied him, standing on the other side of the beaten Feminist. A few men stood and climbed up onto the stage. They surrounded her and pulled out their cocks as well. Each male began to masturbate as the women kneeled at their feet.

Angi didn’t want to watch, but she had no choice. One by one, the men began to grunt out their orgasms. They aimed their dicks at the woman’s face and covered her in thick creamy semen, getting some of it into her forced open mouth.

It felt like it went on forever. Some men ejaculated early and left the stage, only to be replaced by others. It seemed like every male in the room had a go. In the end, the woman’s face was just a mask of dripping, stinky sperm.

Angi only remembered Brent when he stepped forward. He’d been forgotten in her mind, as he stood quietly, motionless, at the back of the stage. Now he came forward and shared an eager look with his father. Roger nodded permission.

Brent pulled out some rubber gloves and put them on while his brothers moved backstage. He wiped cum from the woman’s eyes, rubbing the excess off on her tits. He did it so tenderly, but despite this, Angi felt a chill of fear. She was beginning to realise that Brent was the most dangerous of the brothers. And speaking of the brothers - they had returned, carrying four sloppy, rusty buckets. They set them down near Brent and moved away, sharing amused grins.

Angi didn’t need to see into the buckets to know what was in them. She could smell it from where she sat - the terrible, revolting smell of shit. Brent reached one gloved hand into the nearest bucket. He pulled out a stinking turd, dark brown in colour, and held it before the Feminist eyes.

This finally produced a reaction.       

The woman bucked, trying to escape, her eyes locks in horror on the brown excrement in Brent’s hand. Alan and James grabbed her back the shoulders and forced her back down. Roger took hold of her head and kept it in place. The crowd was silent in anticipation. The Feminist struggled uselessly.

Brent crammed the disgusting piece of shit into her mouth, smiling in a twisted fashion. The crowd erupted in cruel laughter. Angi felt sick. Brent was forcing the whole thing into the woman’s mouth. He reached out for another, and repeated the process, shoving turd after turd into her mouth, rubbing the excess off on her chest and face. He only used shit from the same bucket. Eventually, he stopped, apparently running out. He kicked the bucket over as he stood and indeed it was empty.

Laughing, the other brothers and Roger let go of the woman, and she simply collapsed on the floor, eyes glazed and this time ultimately defeated. Tears welled. Her face was covered in shit and sperm. Her hair had been hacked horrifically. She had been raped both vaginally and anally.

And the final insult, Roger called up three of the women from the crowd. They didn’t appear to have any sympathy for the Feminist. They obeyed their Misogynistic men, it appeared, and enjoyed it. The women each picked up a bucket, and then dumped the contents all over the Feminist lying prone below them, covering her entirely in liquidised shit and piss.

Mike’s hold on me had become stiff and hard. I could feel my body shaking. Horror contorted my face, and I couldn’t make it go away. I feared these pigs would notice, and do to me what they had done to the poor woman on stage.

But before that could happen, a brilliant, blinding white light entered the inn. Cries of alarm rose up. Mike pulled me down before gunfire erupted. Men screamed. I could hear crashing, splintering wood, grunts of pain, crying in my ear, and still the white light blinded everything.

I don’t know how long it lasted.

The next thing I remember was the light vanishing as quickly as it had arrived, with a tunk kind of noise. Then there was a hard firm grip pulling me up. My eyes swam with black and white spots. I couldn’t tell who had hold of me, but it didn’t feel like Mike. I was shoved roughly into something. My hands found metal. I rubbed at my eyes.

‘Angi?’ I heard Mike. Then there was a thud and I heard him cry in pain.

‘Shut your mouth pig!’ A harsh female voice growled.

As my eyes cleared, I could see clearly. I was locked in a cage. Mike was in one next to me. Opposite me, I could see a bleeding James, unconscious. All around me, in fact, I saw men locked in cages.

An engine roared to life and suddenly we were moving. What was going on?

‘Angi,’ Mike whispered, looking at me with despairing eyes, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Mike? What’s happening?’

‘It’s Feminists,’ he said. I noticed blood trickling from his mouth. ‘They have us.’