Story Title: Raping Amy (Winehouse)
Author’s Name: JoanDoe
Content Codes: M/F, drugs(Alcohol), beast(dog), ws, vomit, racist,
bond, inter(racial), scat, rape, anal, viol, sick, animal cruelty,
Celebs: Amy Winehouse (She’s a British singer, has released two
outsanding albums and won & been nominated for major awards in
Britain. I think she’s famous enough for CSSA, but again if she’s not
made any impact over there I understand if you reject the story for
not having a famous enough celebrity.)
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 Amy
Winehouse 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.
Robert ‘Rab’ Dennison was on the extreme side of the Scottish National Party. Where others justifiably wanted Independence for Scotland, and for Englishmen to stop seducing all too willing Scots lasses, he wanted all of the English dead. He grew up idolizing Adolph Hitler, and saw the vile little Austrian’s ethnic, social and political schemes as being the epitome of good thinking. His Scottish Nationalist and Nazi influenced viewpoint held that the English and the Jews needed to be exterminated, and that English Jews were the lowest of the low. The mad soap-dodging bastard was off his nut, even for a Glaswegian.
He was a big bastard, was Rab. A full six foot & eight inches in height and built like shaved bull with it. His shoe size was widely believed to be higher than his IQ, but on account of his 300 pounds of muscle nobody ever repeated this to his face. Even without the criminal record, the swastika tattoos down his arms and across his shaven scalp would have rendered him mostly unemployable. He’d done time for everything from racially motivated violence to aggravated shoplifting, and the screws reckoned he’d be back inside within the month after his most recent release. In time for his 30th birthday, they joked, to the shaven headed man-mountain.
Rab had grunted angrily, and left to meet his 44-year-old mam – she started young – who stood with his newest young brother in a buggy at the gates. She gave him the customary hug, and told him his younger, smarter brother Davie (he had a lot of brothers) had a job set up for him driving vans – delivering, transportation, general movement of goods from one area to another. It was as a direct result of this employment that Rab happened to be driving through Glasgow in the early hours of the morning, when he saw an exceptionally drunk girl being violently ill into the gutter.
Not an especially out of the ordinary sight in any city of those isles, even with the sheer volume of vomit the poor girl was hurling. On this occasion though, Rab was sure he recognized the girl from somewhere. Thinking it might be a friend of his mam’s, he pulled the grey van up to the curb and climbed through the driver’s door, from the tight confines of the cab. The sickly yellow of the street lamp gave everything the same tinge, whether Rab’s prison-pale complexion or the girl’s swarthier, olive skin tones.
She was down on her knees and by then, dry-retching painfully. Tears ran down her cheeks as she spat a little more bile into the noxious pool. Rab bent over and wrapped his hand into her thick dark hair; he pulled back and looked at her face. The girl was so wasted she couldn’t even make out his face, but he recognized her. She’d been in The Sun, which he could read with maybe a little help – he reckoned it an Aussie paper rather than an English one. Rab had said he’d do her when he saw the paparazzi shots, and then his cell mate had said she was definitely English, and he reckoned her family at least were Jewish. Said she probably was too, cos didn’t it work that way?
Her name was Amy Winehouse and she was now in very deep trouble.
Rab was disgusted; the sight before him totally re-enforced his twisted worldview about the degeneracy of the Jews and the English. He never even considered that a far greater number of Scots lasses would be in a similar or worse state across the never-fair city. He spat in her face and shoved downwards, sending Amy face forwards into her own puke. She threw up again as she raised her face from the steaming pool, too drunk to have more than the vaguest understanding of her situation. Rab turned to leave her lying in her filth, when a thought struck him.
It wasn’t an original thought, and it was about as vicious, wrong and fucked up as Rab himself. He figured this famous ‘Sassenach Jewess,’ could serve as an example for the cause. Rab wrongly believed all those he considered degenerate races to live in filth, so leaving her in a pool of vomit was nothing, after all. He was going to teach her a real fucking lesson. Amy scrabbled instinctively at her hair when she felt the tug, and then Rab dragged her round the back of the van.
The young singer pleaded incoherently as she became almost abstractly aware of the pain in her scalp. There was so much alcohol in her blood that she couldn’t even remember why she smelled so badly of puke. Rab opened the back of the van and climbed inside, pulling Amy Winehouse with him by her hair. He left her on the hard metal floor and exited the van, closing the doors and heading back for the drivers side.
The van sped off through Glasgow, leaving only a pool of puke in the gutter to say the twenty three year old singer had ever been there. Her supposed minders only noticed she’d gone when they finished fucking a couple of strung-out junkies behind the bar. They started to argue over whether to call the record company, the police, or a national newspaper first. Any other night the papers would already have been there to cover the drinking spree, but bigger stars were in town.
Lulled by motion in the back of the speeding van, Amy crossed the line from bare consciousness into alcoholic stupor. Her bladder relaxed and a heavy stream of piss washed down between her thighs. Her shot black skirt was drenched as the yellow pool around her grew. The rank smell reached Rab’s nostrils and he growled. ‘Couldn’t the Jew bitch even be housetrained?’ He thought – if ‘thought’ isn’t too strong a word for Rab’s basic mental processes.
The van skidded to a halt at the locked gates of a currently disused ‘industrial site’ owned by wee Davie. Rab had a key for it, and before long the van was parked up by one of the big metal sheds. Amy was snoring by the time he had her hair in his grip again. He dragged her through the foetid pool of piss and into the metal shed, a torch in his free hand. Amongst all the dis-used industrial equipment and trash that was too expensive to dump legally, he found a length of cord and a nearly used up roll of duct tape. Rab bound Amy’s wrists tightly to the bolted metal leg of a workbench, and left her fingers loosely clasped.
The filthy floor was hard and cold, but the drunken singer was still far too out of it to notice or wake. She lay on her back with her mouth open slightly and her rich dark hair spread like a halo around her head. Rab pulled off her shoes and tossed them away behind. He flipped up her wet black skirt and tugged down Amy Winehouse’s lacy black panties. They were still drenched with her piss as he pushed them into her mouth and wrapped the last of the duct tape across. He didn’t realize that if she vomited again, she might choke on her own puke.
He left her there, shoeless, gagged & bound, skirt up around her waist and pussy bare, and went home. It was late, he was tired, and if he never got around to going back she could starve to death for all he cared. It might be fun to beat her to death, but that took effort and he wasn’t in the mood. He never thought about raping her, even after he saw the neatly trimmed bush above her slit. He was the master race, a proud Scot – to fuck an English Jew would be miscegenation at the very least.
Night turned to day and the sun was soon up illuminating the city of the soap-dodgers, Glasgow. Amy Winehouse slept right through it all. She didn’t throw up again, and she didn’t wake during the night despite the coldness and hardness of the floor. A pretty twenty three year old girl, possessed of great talent and beauty, abducted and tied up by a mad near-giant Scotsman. Aye, the world could be a shit place sometimes.
What Rab hadn’t realized was that Davie’s old metal sheds occasionally attracted Jakies, tramps and Junkies looking for a bit of piece and quiet; there was a man-sized hole cut in the rear chain link fence and one such socially undesirable individual climbed unsteadily through it once the sun was up. His name was lost to time and the alcoholic destruction of his synapses, but he was widely known as Malkie. The skinny black and white dog on the length of string was just called Bobby. His parents hailed from Jamaica, and before the drink he’d had a promising career in the navy. He stank like a Calton whore and muttered nonsense to himself almost constantly.
The purple tins clinked in his plastic bag as he stumbled into the same door Rab had used, with Bobby following obediently. He booted the door shut behind them and entered the shadowy darkness of the shed. Barely aware of which city he was in, Malkie didn’t notice the semi-naked girl lying bound on the floor nearby. Bobby caught the scent and twitched his nose in Amy’s direction.
Malkie knew there was a battered couch that smelled almost as bad as him, and headed straight for it. Bobby tugged on his string, so the old black tramp let his dog go wondering. He was chugging trampfuel from the first tin by the time Bobby, trailing his string, was sniffing curiously at Amy’s face. His tail wagged slightly and he began licking at the spattered puke around the duct tape. Amy stirred slightly at the hot wet tongue licking her face, but remained sleeping. Most of the alcohol had passed through; she was going to have a bitch of a hangover from the remaining toxins.
The curious dog left Amy’s face wet with saliva as it moved down to her bare crotch. There was a pool of urine there from where she’d drunkenly wet herself again in the night. Bobby sniffed at the folds of the sleeping girl’s pussy, detecting a scent he liked amongst the urine. He pushed his wet nose forward until it nudged into Amy’s labia, and then began to lick.
The sleeping singer shifted slightly, as her dreams suddenly took on a more erotic tone. As Bobby eagerly lapped at Amy Winehouse’s snatch, she dreamed of a lover eating her out. She groaned into her gag and moved her legs wider. Bobby took the cue to push his tongue in deeper, tail wagging as Amy’s juices began to flow. Her labia became engorged with blood, and her little clit stood out. The little red tip of Bobby’s cock emerged from the end of his furry sheath as the scent of the sleeping girl’s arousal grew.
She tried to move her hands down her body, but they were still tightly bound to the metal leg of the table. The restraint, and also the noise, and pleasure, of the licking brought her round. Her head pounded with a hangover, though the previous night’s massive bout of vomiting meant her stomach felt less queasy. She could taste urine in her mouth, and realized immediately the horrible gravity of her situation.
She raised her head to see the black and white dog wagging his tail, while ihis nose was buried between her thighs. Amy couldn’t believe how good the dog’s hot tongue felt in and on her pussy, but despite moaning into the gag she fought to close her legs, for decency’s sake. Bobby was having none of it, and fought back with his lesser canine strength, before growling and nipping the tender olive flesh of Amy Winehouse’s inner thigh lightly.
She yelped, muffled by her panties and the gag, and spread her legs again. She saw through fear-wide eyes the dog’s red shaft poking half out of his sheath. She was utterly disgusted at how good it felt to have a dog, a base animal, licking her most private area. No man had ever given her such good head. The muscles moved beneath the tattooed skin of Amy’s arms as she strained and struggled with the bindings around her wrists, and yet part of her didn’t want to escape Bobby’s tongue.
A few seconds later, Amy’s eyes rolled back in her head as the dog brought her off. Her body shivered with the hangover-defeating pleasure that crashed through her. It was the strongest and wettest climax of Amy Winehouse’s life. Her juices splashed into Bobby’s face so hard that the dog shook his head and sneezed twice before continuing trying to lick it all up. Malkie arrived, purple tin in hand, drawn by the muffled moaning.
“Holy shit!” he offered, immediately staring down at the tin as if it was responsible for an erotic hallucination.
Bobby’s snout was buried in Amy’s folds, giving her no respite from the pleasure. She blinked away tears of ecstasy from her eyes to see the big black tramp standing over her. The humiliation was so soul destroying that she clenched her eyes shut and hoped that he’d go away. When she opened them, he was still standing there, staring. She asked him to help her, though even she couldn’t understand her words through the gag. She repeated it twice, before Malkie even realized she was trying to speak.
He couldn’t make out the words, but even his alcohol-washed brain could take a good guess from the context.
“Aye, I’ll help you!” he slurred in reply, “I’ll help you get the fucking of your life from Bobby here!”
The drunk stumbled away from Amy Winehouse’s line of sight, ignoring her muffled pleading, and came back with two sandbags he’d found, one each arm. He pulled Bobby away and managed to force them both under Amy’s back. Her shoulders and head still touched the ground, as did her feet, but the bag forced most of her torso and crotch up. Bobby was in again as soon as Malkie was out of the way. The black tramp began to strip off his own foul smelling clothes as black and white dog pushed back in between Amy’s legs.
She looked up through the valley of her breasts to see the dog jumping forward into her. His legs dropped either side of the sexy singer’s waist. She saw Bobby’s wide brown eyes and jaws flecked with drool and her juice as his nose moved between her breasts. She felt his rough, dirty, fur moving against her smooth olive skin and then the heat from his thick red shaft as he humped it at her crotch, looking for the hole. The flat red tip was oozing dog precum as it rubbed against Amy’s clit, almost getting her off again then and there.
“What are ya waiting for, Bobby? Can you not see from her eyes how much she wants it?” asked the tramp, humiliatingly, just before the humping dog found his mark.
Amy Winehouse squealed into her panties and the tape over her mouth. The dog’s thick cock was hotter than she had expected, and thicker, but moved freely in her incredibly wet post-orgasmic cunt. Bobby’s beast cock expanded and lengthened with each thrust, until he was stretching the tattooed girl out as much as any human male. The dog’s head lolled in her sweaty cleavage as it hammered into her with canine lust. Bobby could feel the female’s hole tightly around his shaft, and their mutual heat.
Malkie had stripped completely naked, and his eight inch uncut black cock stood up proudly above his heavy balls. The smell from his crotch was absolutely vile, as it would be for any man who’d lived on the streets without a bath as long as Malkie had. Amy’s fingers were twitching, while vivid red lines on her wrist showed her struggles against the cord. Still, the rough dog pounding was reaching deep inside her; she came wetly again, spraying his furry stomach with sticky girlcum, as Bobby forced his growing knot into her tight hole. A fierce mix of pleasure and pain burned like an inferno in her crotch.
Even as the new orgasm ripped powerfully through Amy, the gloomy light was blocked out as Malkie knelt down, with his legs on either side of her restrained arms and his ass crack right over her nose. The unwashed smell overpowered even her doggy-induced orgasm, it overpowered the sensation of Bobby’s knot expanding and stretching her more than anything ever had as the happy dog performed short sharp thrusts inside Amy Winehouse’s cunt. She tried holding her breath for as long as she could, to avoid the smell.
Malkie wasn’t even aware she was suffering; he just pulled up Amy’s black top and bra, and left them loosely around her neck. Bobby didn’t mind having his furry face pressed against her bare skin – in fact, he even started to lick pleasurably at the sweaty flesh. Malkie slapped his fat black shaft between Amy’s breasts, gripping one mound in each hand. He began to fuck her tits, marveling at how good the firm flesh felt against his cock.
In the foetid enclosed space that had almost become her entire world, Amy Winehouse felt the rough hands on her breasts, and the thick shaft pressed between them. Her face was darkened with the effort of not breathing, and her lungs burned, but before too many seconds passed she was forced to draw air in through her nose. The urge to vomit rose, but she fought it down hard – knowing her mouth was gagged.
Bobby’s thrusting suddenly stopped. He barked and whined as he began firing hot dog semen deep inside the knotted bitch. He licked at the end of Malkie’s thrusting cock, surprising the tramp and simultaneously bringing on his own sticky climax. As Bobby pumped his incredibly hot dog cum through Amy Winehouse’s cervix and into her uterus, the tramp sprayed his own load across his faithful pet’s furry muzzle and tongue.
Amy couldn’t believe how hot and how good the dog’s spunk felt inside her vagina and uterus. Even with Malkie’s big black ass pressing down onto her face as he jerked his own load out, the dog’s dick stuffing her, and it’s thick seed, felt as good as its tongue had. Amy Winehouse decided then and there that if she ever got out of this mess, she was going to quit drinking and buy a dog; a big dog.
The tramp was still in shock as Bobby happily licked his cock free of cum. He watched with even more surprise when the dog turned, and hooked a leg over Amy Winehouse’s flat stomach. The dog was now facing away from the girl, with his knot still inside her. She moaned into her gag as he tried to tug a couple times, but Amy’s tightly bound wrists prevented the dog from dragging her around the floor, while her tight snatch prevented him pulling loose.
Malkie finished off his purple tin with his semi-flaccid shaft lying on Amy’s chest and then started to stand up. A brutal and completely unexpected blow with a length of metal pipe put paid to that. Malkie’s dropped down onto Amy’s face as he was knocked silly. He muzzily tried to push himself back up while blood poured down from the back of his head. Rab stepped closer and brought the pipe down hard against the tramp’s fractured skull with another blow, and then another. Blood flew as her cracked open Malkie’s skull like a melon.
Bobby barked angrily, and tried very hard to pull loose. It hurt both him and Amy Winehouse, who could only hear what was going on, and still the knot failed to come out. Malkie died after the first blows, with bits of his brain and skull stuck to length of pipe. He sprayed piss across Amy’s body and his own slumped chest, while his bowel voided watery alcoholic shit across her face. She closed her eyes and wished she were dead as the mess washed thickly over her pretty features. She spluttered through her nose, fighting for breath as watery shit filled her nostrils.
Amy Winehouse was in danger of drowning in a dead man’s voided waste
Rab dropped the gory pipe and pulled Malkie’s corpse off of her. He tossed the dead man aside like a rag doll. Amy was able then to twist her face to the side and let her nostrils drain out, though she still spluttered through her nose. Her stomach was heavily like white water rapids, and she amazed herself by holding in the puke. Rab was incredibly aroused by the act of murdering the black tramp. Even as he stared down at the filth that bathed Amy Winehouse’s face and upper body, he could feel his cock throbbing.
“English Jew bitch,” he sneered, “fucking a dug and sniffin’ a nigger’s arse! I killed your nigger an’ Ah’m gonna kill your dug, too!”
Bobby was still growling fiercely, and trying to twist around enough to sink his jaws into the towering skinhead. Rab pulled a knife from his coat and leaned down between Amy’s thighs. She saw the flash of the metal, and then heard Bobby’s high-pitched scream of animal pain. Rab had severed his cock completely, leaving the knot, shaft, and sprayed cum gripped inside Amy Winehouse. Dark blood pumped from both sides as Bobby stumbled forward, yelping all the way. The singer felt the blood spraying against her inner thighs, although she was too busy fighting the urge to vomit, with shit dripping down her face, to pay attention to what the hot liquid might be.
Rab went after the dog, fueling his violent arousal by driving the blade into the back of Bobby’s neck. The dog squealed again, unable to comprehend the pain in his body. In a few seconds he had gone from mating with a hot, tight, bitch to being unable to stand. Another brutal stab of the knife, and the darkness claimed the faithful dog for good.
Rab was breathing heavily as he drew the dripping blade back from the blood-drenched fur. In his head he replayed scenes from his favorite movies, Braveheart, Trainspotting and The Passion of The Christ. He was a soldier of the pure white Lord, he thought, killing the subhuman beasts. God Was a Scotsman, he decided. He saw the swastikas tattooed into his flesh as the righteous opposing force to Amy’s degenerate tattoos of whores. His previous misgivings about miscegenation were long forgotten in his hate-fuelled lust.
Basically, he was as crazy as any imbecilic nazi nationalist scumbag fuck.
He was back to Amy Winehouse in an instant, kicking off his pants and revealing a huge, thick, ten-inch cock. It felt as hard as the bar he’d murdered the tramp with. He could see the dog’s severed shaft had partly drained of blood, and Amy’s inner thighs were coated with that blood and the dog semen that had seeped around the lump of flesh inside her. Amy was shivering, in a state close to shock.
She looked up when the huge Skinhead hooked her legs onto his shoulders though. When he’d killed the tramp, she had thought for a fleeting second that he was going to rescue her. Now as he gripped the bloody knife in one hand and prodded the head of his cock at her ass with the other, she knew she was going to be raped again. She still had no memory of how she had come to be tied up in the first place. Amy Winehouse could also feel her weight pressing down on her shoulders and neck at that angle, and there was no give at all in the floor.
Rab tore into Amy Winehouse’s arse with all the brutal strength in his huge frame. Her sphincter seemed to have even less give than the floor, and split bloodily around the invading meat. Rab laughed as Amy screamed into her gag, and spat needlessly down onto her filth-covered face. Her breasts rocked on her chest as he forced himself into the tight confines of her rectum, while blood flowed freely down her shaking buttocks and along his shaft.
He wished he could hear her scream properly, use her trained lungs to belt out a true rendition of the suffering she was in – but it was too risky after the tramp had found her. Rab grunted, felt something give deep inside, and then he was buried to the balls in Amy Winehouse’s arse. He could see how Jew whores made such effective temptresses, with the incredible hot squeezing around his cock. Amy’s views on Judaism were pretty far from her mind as she felt the thick shaft poking deep inside her, with the dog’s severed dick still stuffed in her cunt.
Rab pounded Amy Winehouse’s arse raw for ten minutes. He pummeled her guts with his cock as if they were a punchbag. The internal pain grew with every thrust while shit dried and caked across Amy Winehouse’s pretty, pain-contorted, face. There was absolutely no pleasure in the brutal anal rape for Amy, not even the illusion of it. There was just the rough sawing of merciless cock against her tender bleeding flesh. The 23-year-old singer was crying and calling for her mum like a child, through the gag.
Rab felt only indescribable pleasure building. The earlier murder, and cruel slaying of the dog had combined in his sick mind with the knowledge that he was raping and hurting an English Jew to drive him to incredible psychological heights. He still gripped his knife tightly in the hand he had across his chest, holding both Amy’s legs up on his shoulders, while the other he used to grope and fondle her piss drenched cleavage. He was very rough with her tits, leaving bruised handprints as he squeezed the flesh and slapping them hard while he anally raped her.
Still, no great pleasure or cruel torture could last forever, and Amy Winehouse’s eyes opened again as Rab brought his knife down into her belly button. At the same moment as the cold metal tore into her guts, he came deep into her arse. He very nearly stabbed himself in the cock, and felt the metal tip touching his spurting shaft. He was so angry with himself that he yanked the blade free and began to stab Amy Winehouse’s breasts in a furious frenzy. He brought the blade down again and again as she groaned and squealed into her gag. Her lifeblood splattered across them both on each stab as Rab’s cock continued to twitch and spray in Amy’s arse.
“How d’ye like that, ya poxy English Jew Whore?” screamed Rab, as Amy’s olive skin ran red with blood.
He felt her piss spraying across his already bloody top and brought the knife down straight into Amy’s right eye. Her body juddered uncontrollably, milking the last of the cum from his prick, as he left the handle sticking out from her shit smeared face. Amy Winehouse felt grateful for death as she followed Malkie and Bobby across the dark river, and the incredible chest pain – like being repeatedly punched in the tits – faded into an almost relaxing sensation.
Rab was panting hard, sweat pouring from his body. He was still buried balls deep in Amy Winehouse’s arse, but with the passing of his climax a lot of the insanity and rage had drained out with his seed.
He thought about what his Mam would say, because he knew somehow in his big, hateful, and empty head that this brutal crime would come out someday. He’d become a beast!
He started to cry.
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A/N: As stated in the disclaimer above, I do not know Amy Winehouse and everything I have written is purely fictional, means no harm, and again is solely a work of fiction. I do not hate Amy Winehouse, any more than the writer of any story in which someone dies hates them. I sure hope Amy never reads this, because I’m pretty certain she could track me down beat me to death over several hours.
I wish her all the best in this harsh, unforgiving world. It is a sad thing that men like Malkie and Rab really do exist, and yet there is far more careless cruelty from those who live within the mainstream. Perhaps none of you will understand this, or me, but then perhaps some of you should have heeded the warning not to read this story if you didn’t like the codes. Finally: I love dogs (only not in the rural sense) and fuck racism!