Out of the light and into her hands. She could not stop it, she could not control it, the music possessed her completely yet occasionally it must have...taken pity on her and let her be — for a moment. She would drift as if on the wings of fallen angels… Then the music would come back for her and shake her soul, wring all that it could from her clumsy fingers — testing her, pushing her. Dark chaos full of wild magic would take her mind and in the flood fill it with a language she had never known,. I picture her - in my mind’s eye a tall slender girl with coffee-colored skin dressed in her Sunday best, hair braided and pulled back in a neat pony tail. Her assailants are big, very dark (hey, my imagination is racist as Strom Thrummond, don’t judge me) with cocks that would make a horse jealous. She is semi-conscious in their arms and easily manipulated. They tear her dress from her, exposing demure white panties and a plain bra. Large, stubby fingers mash against her crotch, grinding the. More

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