The group of girls giggled and chattered as they made their way through the dimly lit underpass, the sound of their laughter echoing off the damp walls. Lisa, the youngest of the group at fourteen, walked slightly ahead of the others, her short black skirt swishing around her thighs. She wore a light sweater that hugged her slender figure, a lace bra peeking out from the neckline, and purple tights that showcased her long, shapely legs.
As they walked, Lisa's friends noticed two men following them, their eyes fixed on Lisa's swaying hips. The men exchanged lewd comments and gestures, making the girls uncomfortable.
"Hey, sweet thing," one of the men called out to Lisa, his voice dripping with sleaze. "You look like you're ready for a good time."
Lisa's cheeks flushed, but she remained oblivious to the men's advances, her mind still focused on the conversation she'd been having with her friends.
"Come on, Lisa," one of her friends hissed, grabbing her arm. "Let's get out of here."
Lisa sensed the tension in her friends and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening as she saw the two men closing in on them. She quickly covered her bottom with her bag, her skirt riding up to reveal the smooth curve of her cheeks.
The men continued to advance, their eyes never leaving Lisa. At the end of the underpass, they cornered her, their rough hands grabbing her delicate arms.
"Let go of me!" Lisa struggled, her eyes wide with fear.
The men laughed, calling her a "tease" and a "frigid bitch." They tore at her tights, pulling down her skirt and ripping off her panties. Lisa cried out, her hands covering her exposed body.
One of the men pulled out a knife, running it gently over Lisa's skin. She whimpered, her hands shaking.
"Please, stop," she begged, her voice trembling.
But the men ignored her pleas, instead playing roughly with their fingers in her holes. Lisa felt dirty, used, and violated.
When they were finished, the men left Lisa, bruised and bleeding, on the cold concrete floor. She sobbed, her hands covered in blood from the cuts she inflicted on herself.
Lisa struggled to stand, her legs weak and shaky. She pulled up her tights, her skirt, and her sweater, trying to cover herself. She stumbled out of the underpass, her body aching and her mind racing.
She went home, locking herself in her room. She cut her hands with a blade, the pain a reminder of her violation. Lisa cried herself to sleep, her dreams haunted by the men's laughter and rough touches.
When she woke up the next day, Lisa looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes filled with sadness and shame. She knew this wouldn't be the last time she was violated, but she also knew she couldn't stop it. Lisa was a beautiful, timid girl, and everyone who saw her wanted to possess her.
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