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Skeezers 'R Us

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2006-02-03

"There. "
A deep, hoarse voice, from a huge, dark man sitting in the passenger seat of a long, plain white panel van. He pointed at a building across the street from where the van was parked, idling quietly at the curb.
"Those two. "
Sunday, a little after noon. Church was letting out; all the sweet, rich white people, all dressed up in their Sunday best suits and dresses, done with service and streaming out of the old, red-brick chapel, their scrubbed pink faces flushed with the love of the Lord; scrambling down the steps, anxious to be the first to get to the parking lot to leave to be early and get a good seat for Sunday brunch; or standing around in small groups, chatting happily with friends and acquaintances. Laughing children took the time to play, scampering to and fro, running from each other and hiding from old women wearing too much makeup trying to catch and kiss them.
The huge man nodded in the direction of two women stepping off the church steps. "Headin' ta th' Land Rover parked over'n the corner by the trees. "
The other men in the van shifted in their seats to see. Nine heads swiveled: four shaved bald, one with a big, puffy 70's style afro, the others either short and nappy or dreaded-out. Ten altogther, counting the big man in the passenger seat. The vans' suspension creaked and groaned under their weight. The driver puffed on a joint and cracked his window for a better look at the women his partner was pointing out: a chunky carrot-top in her mid-to-late thirties, with huge jugs bouncing around in a tight black turtleneck, a white silk scarf tied around her shoulders. A big, round ass that was packed into a pair of shiny black slacks that looked painted on, tapering around her ankles. Feet wrapped in dark leather sandals.

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   Wavy shoulder length hair pulled up and pinned at the back of her neck. The other woman was older by a couple of decades but looked similar in the face. The younger woman's mother, maybe. Probably. The driver grunted and nodded in appreciation. The older bitch still had it goin' on. Slim and graying, but with a nice rack filling out her white silk blouse; a tiny waist, nice hips and long, shapely legs sheathed under a tight, dark blue skirt with a slit up the back. Nylon stockings and high heels. Fuck me heels. A small, tasteful string of pearls hanging from her neck, matching earrings. Her ass swished as she walked.
, he thought. I'll give the bitch a motherfuckin' pearl necklace she'll never forget.
Yeah
"Yeah. " The driver croaked, letting out the hit as the carrot-top pointed her keys and tweeped the sparkling gold Land Rover unlocked.

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   "They'll do. " He smiled, wickedly, flashing a mouthful of gold teeth. "Two for one. The man'll dig it. "
"Sweet ride," grunted the brother with the 'fro, from the back. The nappy/dreadlocked brothers all nodded, whispering and giggling. Stoned. Excited with the hunt.
"Shi-i-it. " Drawled the huge man. "Stupid rich bitches. This is like shoppin' for skeezers at Nordstroms. "
The guy with the fro, chiming in: "Skeezers 'R Us. "
More stoned giggling from the back of the van.
The big guy, bloodshot eyes wide and white against his black skin, peering out of the windshield at the gathering storm clouds on the horizon.

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   "S'gonna rain. "
"Yeah, big time. " The driver took another hit, passed the joint across. "Supposed to be a thunderstorm comin'. " He chuckled, sleepy-eyed. Dead stoned. "A big one. Good for us. "
The men were quiet again. Went back to waiting. Toking out. Pot smoke drifted lazily out of the open window into the warm spring air. The Land Rover eased out of the parking lot and drove right by the van. The women looked like they were arguing. The driver smacked the the van into gear and pulled out into traffic, settling into the flow a couple cars behind the Rover.

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"S'time, boys. Let's check the shit out. "
***
Here we are again, Rachel thought. Home sweet home. Except, it's not. Not anymore.
Rachel pulled into her parents' - her mom's - long driveway, and pressed the remote for the garage door just as the first big, fat raindrops began splatting down on the 'Rovers' windshield. Rachel drove towards the house without speaking. The sky had turned a dark gray under the cloud cover. Her parents - mom's - house, the home she'd grown up in, that had always felt so bright and cheerful and alive loomed ahead like a dead thing. To Rachel's eye, it looked empty and forlorn. The garage door opened and she eased inside, parked, and turned off the ignition. Took a deep breath and sat still. Her mom unsnapped her seat-belt and glanced over at her. Outside, thunder boomed, not far off.

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   Rachel peered at the rear-view mirror. Behind them, rain started pouring down, flooding the street, sluicing off the open garage door in torrents and streaming into the garage. Beating down on an old, white van that stopped and parked under the tall fir trees across the street. In seconds it was so dark and raining so hard she could barely see the van.
Weather matches my mood, she thought.
"Thanks for coming to church with me today," said Brenda. "You didn't have to. "
Rachel turned her attention away from the rain. Bit her lip, nodded. "I know mom. I wanted to. "
Brenda took a deep breath, twisted slightly towards Rachel. "Sweetie, I'm okay. Really. " She sat quietly, calmly.

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   Hands clasped in her lap, watching her daughter carefully. "You know, you don't have to stay. "
"Mom. . . "
Brenda hurried on, the words coming in a rush. Cutting Rachel off. "I'm glad you and your brother were able to be here for your father's funeral. But its been two weeks. Kyle's already gone back to Denver. You've got your family waiting for you at home. They need you. And. . .

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  I think I'm ready to be alone for a while. " At Rachel's frown of concern, Brenda tried a smile. "Look, why don't you stay the night. We'll make dinner, maybe rent a movie. But tomorrow you're going home. "
Rachel tried again. "Mom, I don't mind. . . "
Brenda shook her head. Firmly. "No. That's that. I appreciate everything, sweetheart. Really.

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   I'm glad we were able to go through this together. But tomorrow you go back to your own life, and I'll go on with mine. " She smiled to take the edge off her words. Patted her daughter's knee. Shifted in the leather seat and opened the door. "Now, I think I want to go lie down for a bit. "
Rachel barely heard the splash of her mother's feet hitting the flood of water as Brenda stepped out of the car. She watched her mom disarm the alarm system, open the door to the house and disappear inside. She took another deep, defiant breath, finally let it out in a whoosh.
"Shit. " She said, out-loud, to no one. "Fine. "
Frowning, Rachel grabbed her keys and her bag. Opened her door. Followed her mom up the short set of steps to the house, annoyed by the soft swish-swish of her pant legs rubbing together.

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   Been gaining a lot of weight lately, time to hit the gym again. Or stop with the late night ice cream sessions. She locked the car with the remote and whacked the button on the wall, activating the closing mechanism for the garage, then stepped inside the house, shutting out the sound of the storm. She didn't notice the doors to the van open and the swarm of men in ski-masks moving quickly across the street towards the house, or the masked man in dark coveralls, slipping under the closing door into the garage behind her; didn't hear him over the boom of the thunder and the pounding rain. She stepped into the kitchen and shut the door, concern for her mother distracting her.
So she didn't see the man creep up on the steps after her. Didn't see the big, scarred hand that pressed the button on the wall.
Didn't hear the sound of the garage door, ratcheting open again.
***
The driver drove with traffic, carefully, keeping far enough back to not be spotted, close enough not to lose sight of the gold SUV. Traffic cleared and he pulled up behind them, just for a second. Checked the bitches body language through the hatchback window. Looked like they'd stopped fighting, stopped talking altogether. Outside, the storm was brewing, heavy gray clouds turning darker and darker overhead. Lightning was already striking on the horizon, to the south. The Rover signaled and turned north, heading onto the freeway.

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   Took the off-ramp cutting east, towards the lakefront.
In the back, Afro-boy noticed where they were headed, and whistled. "Shit, man. Houses out here be 'spensive like a motherfuck. Ain't no way nobody not gonna notice us, ten brothers hangin' in a mu'fuckin' van. "
"Don't worry, bitch. Already thought 'bout it. " The man-mountain in the passenger seat leaned over, rooted around on the floor under his seat. Came back up with two magnet signs, advertising a local cable company. Stolen off a cable truck a couple days ago. Flashed them at the guys in the back, who snorted with muffled laughter. Rolled his window down and slapped one on the door panel. Made sure it was right-side up, then handed the extra sign to the driver. Took the wheel as he did the same. "There.

 

   Nobody gonna think twice about us bein' parked on some street, or in those bitches driveway. Know what I'm sayin'?"
Afro-boy nodded, impressed.
Man-mountain and the driver glanced at each other, rolled their eyes. The driver went back to driving, thinking about the surveillance pictures the man-mountain had taken of the bitches' house, the whole bitches' neighborhood. Big, expansive, private lots. Houses set way back from the street. Amazingly, no security.
A nice, quiet place for nice, rich folks to live, in their nice, expensive, secluded homes.
He grinned, showing his rotting teeth. Glanced at them in the rearview mirror and almost laughed out loud. Just a few more runs with payoffs like this one would have, he'd get his shit taken care of, just like his partner: shit capped in gold.
***
Rachel flipped on the kitchen light, dropped her purse and keys on the counter by the espresso machine she and Steve had bought her parents last Christmas, when they'd been on their coffee kick. Before her father had gotten sick. Rachel frowned and looked around at the familiar clutter. Brenda had already disappeared.

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   She faintly heard the soft sounds of a body getting comfortable on a bed, coming from the master bedroom, just past the family room, down at the end of the hall. A flash of lightning lit the windows, illuminating the sheet of water pouring down, obscuring the backyard. The storm was getting closer, almost on top of them. Rachel opened a cupboard, pulled out a long-stemmed glass. Found an open bottle of wine in the fridge. Poured herself half a glass of the cool, amber liquid. Drank it down, poured another. Carried the glass and the bottle into the family room. Set them both on the coffee table and collapsed onto the sofa. Took another sip. Put her feet up on the table, pressed her knuckles into her eyes and ground her head back into the cushions. Groaned and stretched, feeling the wine already numbing her system. She bend backwards into the cushions, arching her spine until it cracked.
God, that feels good.
Lightning.

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   A big, bright flash. Out went the lights. Barely one o'clock in the afternoon, and the house was pitch dark inside.
"Shit. " Rachel huffed. She rolled her eyes in irritation, let her arms plop onto the couch. Stared up into the dark, towards the ceiling. Where the ceiling should be, anyway, since it was too freakin' dark to see it now. "Shit shit shit. "
She sighed, frowning, and waited for the lights to come back on, her eyes wide open. Staring up at nothing but dark space.
Another flash, immediately followed by a boom of thunder that shook the house.
Rachel froze.
Someone - something - hideous loomed above her. Leering at her.

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Grinning.
Rachel screamed. A pair of big, strong hands clamped hard over her mouth, cutting off her screech. She tried to push the hands away, but more hands found her wrists, pinned them to the top of the couch. She panicked, fighting. Kicked out and knocked the coffee table over with a crash.
A deep voice, whispering, "Dammit, get her! Hold the bitch down!"
She heard the crunch of glass as something big and heavy fell on her, knocking the wind out of her. She grunted and kicked. More hands, wrapping around her ankles.
"Got her!"
"Flip her over and hold her so I can get the ring in her mouth before the cunt bites me. "
Rachel fought, kicking and squirming and gnashing at the hand covering her face, but she had no chance, one against the five men holding her squirming body.
"Dammit! Hold her down! Yeah. . . now get her head up and open her mouth.

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   If she bites, I'll kill one of you motherfuckers. "
More lighting now. One crashing burst after another, like an awful strobe light. Rachel got insane, distorted images of her attackers with each of the flashes. She knew - knew - what was going to happen to her. Without a doubt. Knew she going to be raped. Was maybe even as good as dead. She thought of her mother, asleep in the other room. Had she heard the men? Had she called the police, or were the phones dead, like the lights?
She fought with all her strength. Screamed into the hand covering her mouth. Kicked. Felt her sandaled foot strike something soft and yielding. Heard a grunt of pain, got a small twinge of satisfaction.
"Fuck!" Someone muttered.

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   "Bitch kicked me!"
The hand left Rachel's mouth for a second, and she was backhanded across the face. Her lip split and blood seeped into her mouth. Stunned, she was easily rolled over, forced to kneel on the couch, her butt up in the air. Arms circled her waist. Another flash of lightning lit the room. Strong hands tangled in her hair, jerking her head up. The man holding her waist twisted her scarf, knotting it tight around her throat, and yanked, cutting off her oxygen. A hand slipped down her belly, under the waistband of her pants. Probed at her crotch. Someone dry-humped her ass. The men laughed and grunted. Thick fingers jabbed deep into her nostrils and pulled up. Flesh tore. A blast of pain made her eyes water. More fingers, prying her jaw open.

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   She gagged and moaned as something hard and rubbery was shoved into her bloody mouth. Wiggled into place, bracing her jaws wide open.
"There. . . just like that. . . there. Got it. "
"God-damn, man. She's got a big fuckin' ass. "
The man choking her slapped her ass, making her grunt. He twisted the scarf tighter, the edges of the material biting into her straining neck. She moaned feebly.

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   Rachel's eyes rolled up into her head as a deeper blackness began to take hold.
"Shit man! Don't kill her - let up on that a little! I ain't fuckin' no dead bitch, an' she ain't worth anything. . . "
"Fuck man, I ain't gonna. . . "
"Shut the fuck up! You know the rules. Man won't take 'em if we hurt 'em too much. Just get her pants off so we can have some fun. "
The pressure around her neck eased. A little. The fingers ripped out of her nostrils. The men didn't bother taking off her clothes. They just wanted them out of their way.

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   Easier to just rip everything apart, and took less time then removing them piece by piece. Actually made some of the guys hornier than if she was full-blown naked anyway. Her turtleneck was yanked up over her chest, around her armpits. Fingernails scratched at her heavy, swaying breasts, tugging the cups of her bra until they stuck under her tits. Her thin leather belt was undone, the snap to her pants torn open. She heard the rip of the zipper, felt the pressure ease off her backside as the pants were pulled over her butt and down her quivering thighs. They were left bunched around her calves, good as tying her legs with a rope.
"Ahhh, shit - look at that ass. . . " The man behind her sighed. Her panties were pulled away from her butt; Rachel heard the material tear, felt cool air on her skin.
The huge man in front of Rachel unzipped, reached into his coveralls and pulled out a thick, meaty black cock. He smacked it against her forehead, rubbed it on her cheeks. The mask he wore hid his upper face, but the bottom was cut away.

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   He smiled, revealing rotting, pitted teeth. He grabbed her by the hair to keep her head in place and pushed the tip of his massive, flaccid dick into her pried-open mouth.
"Time to fuck, bitch," he growled, and shoved with his hips.
Rachel's jaw popped. She gagged as his cock was forced down her throat; smelled old sweat and smoke and rancid, foul body odor. Behind her, something big and hard was rubbing the crack of her ass, probing, poking at her dry cunt. Rough hands squeezed her tits, fingers pinched her sensitive nipples. The men around her joked and laughed, kept up running comments on her body.
Helpless, Rachel began to cry.
***
It was Rachel's scream that woke Brenda. Amazingly, she'd dozed off quickly, exhausted from lack of sleep. The last months had been hard. She'd taken care of her husband while he wasted away, until she just couldn't do it anymore. Then she'd spent the last few weeks living at the hospice. Her kids had come, and tried to help.

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   They meant well, she knew. Especially Rachel. But now. . . now that everything was over. . .
Brenda just wanted to rest.
She walked into the empty house and followed the familiar route to her bedroom without even thinking. Didn't turn a light on until she'd flopped, fully dressed, onto her bed. Then she switched on the small light that sat on her nightstand. Lightning flashed outside, and the light blinked off.
Brenda sighed. Knew the power was out.

 

   That was fine. She'd flip the circuit breaker after a nap. Or Rachel could. That's what she was here for, wasn't she? To help? Brenda sighed and rolled over, digging into her covers, and listened to the rain patter against her windows. Let the steady, quiet rhythm lull her to sleep. . .
And then the scream.
Brenda snapped awake, sat up in a rush, her head feeling thick and groggy. Had she been dreaming? Was that really a scream? Then her motherly instincts kicked in, recognized the voice.
Rachel.
Realized the lights were out.
.
She must've hurt herself
Brenda rolled over, stood up. Absently patted her hair as she opened the bedroom door.

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"Rachel? Sweetie? You okay?"
Brenda froze, staring at the mountain of a man standing in front of her. Over the crash of thunder, she heard the vague sounds of a struggle down the hall. Realized what was happening in an instant. Her eyes popped open, took a breath, but didn't get a chance to scream. A hand the size of a small ham clamped around her throat, and she was pushed back into her room and onto her bed, carried half off the floor like she weighed no more than a child.
"Find some pantyhose and tie her down," the man-mountain rasped.
He forced himself between her flailing legs. Lay on top of her. Crushed her with his body. Spittle ran from his mouth, dripped on her face as she gasped for breath. Lightning lit the room, one continuous flash after another, followed by deafening booms of thunder. Brenda's arms were yanked at right angles over her head, pinned to the bed. Masked men in coveralls unceremoniously pulled out her dresser drawers, spilling the contents, tossing her clothes until they found her underwear, her lingerie. One of the men found a pair of silk stockings, held them up for inspection.
The man-mountain nodded.

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   "Yeah. Perfect. " The silken hose was tied to the headboard and a post at the end of the bed, then to each of Brenda's wrists.
"Get me a ring and open her mouth. . . "
"No-o-oooo. . . " She moaned around the hand clamped tight over her face.
Her high heels scuffed the floor. She lost a shoe as she kicked and bucked under the man crushing the breath from her. Fingers pinched her nose. The man-mountain let go of her neck, let go of her face, and Brenda gasped for breath, opening her mouth wide. His hand quickly pressed down and pulled at her chin.

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   Fingers pushed past her lips and pried open her mouth even further. Someone forced something hard and rubbery in past her teeth. She bit down hard, but the rubbery thing kept her from inflicting any damage. Got a bruising punch in the kidney for her trouble. Brenda's eyes flew open and her knees came up with the burst of pain, locking around the man-mountain's waist. He wiggled the rubber ring, wedging it in tight. The thing covered her teeth, left her mouth open in a wide, vulnerable circle.
The man tying her finished. The man-mountain laughed down at her. Mocking. "Old bitch still got teeth. " Brenda felt the silk stockings bite into her wrists, felt her fingers go numb.
"Not anymore. " The man that tied her climbed onto the bed, kneeling right above her head. Unzipped his fly.

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   He leered down at her, his bloodshot eyes partially hidden behind his mask. "Wanna see what I got for you, you old fuckin' cunt?"
He pulled his cock out, let it flop on her face. His meat was warm and heavy; big enough that it covered her face from the top of her head to her jaw. Brenda squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, back and forth, moaning. His cock flopped off onto the bed, twitched like a dying fish.
The huge man on top of her grunted. "Spread her legs. "
Two men behind him grabbed her ankles, yanked her legs wide.
"Let's see some titty. "
The man on top of her eased off, then ripped open her blouse. Lighting flashed, pulsing like a strobelight, making everything move like a slow motion nightmare. Big, rough hands moved over her body; played with her tits, rucked her skirt up around her hips. Suddenly able to breath again, Brenda screamed. The men laughed. A hole was torn in the crotch of her stockings, from front to back.

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   The seam of her panties was pulled out and ripped in half. Brenda heard more zippers open. Saw more big cocks point her way. Big hands circled her waist, pinning her hips in place, down on the bed. The man-mountain spit on his hand, reached down and pushed a wet finger into her snatch.
She screamed again, wiggled. Tried in vain to avoid the cock slapping her face. Tried in vain to kick, break her legs away from the men holding them. Screamed as the finger slipped into her, knuckle by thick knuckle, finger-fucking her. Screamed as someone took her by a throbbing wrist and pried her fingers open, forced her to cup and stroke another long, thick, limp dick.
Annoyed, the man-mountain looked up at the guy cock-slapping Brenda's face. "Shut th' bitch up, man. Damn! Quit playin' with it and stick that shit down her fuckin' throat. "
"Heh. " The cock-slapper laughed, shifted his hips so his ass was directly above Brenda's face.

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   He bent and grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her head back into the mattress, turning her face straight up. He levered the tip of his cock into her gaping mouth, eased it inside. Brenda gagged and her entire body quivered as the hot, sweaty meat slipped in, inch by inch. She tried to bite down but the rubber-ring only compressed enough to make her jaw hurt. He ignored her, didn't stop, pushing and thrusting deep into the back of her neck, until her eyes were bugging from the pain and her stomach was heaving. Bile and spit burped up around the sides of his shaft, lubricating him, making it easier to force himself down her constricting throat, until finally his balls rested lightly on her forehead, his curly black pubic hair poking her eyes.
"Ahh, yeah. . . " he sighed.
Then he started to bounce, slowly. Up and down. Never moving his cock more than a few inches, keeping it buried.
The man-mountain pulled his finger out of Brenda's twat with a wet pop. He unzipped his pants and his cock sprang out, a foot-long mass of hard, black flesh and throbbing veins.

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   He pressed it against her pussy lips. Rubbed. His cock getting longer, harder. Getting lubed up. He groaned with pleasure, grabbed his dick in hand and jabbed the tip into her pussy. Ripped into her. Brenda screamed with the last of her breath, the sound like a feeble croak around the dick fucking her face, and her body spasmed. The man-mountain laughed and caught her around the waist with his hands, pushed with his legs and ass, letting his weight drive him forward, deeper into her, until his dick was rammed tight into her cunt. He unbuttoned the top of his coveralls and slipped them over his shoulders, letting them fall to the floor. Exposing his naked, hairy chest. He let himself fall on top of her, enjoyed the feel of her silk shirt bunched against his skin. He grabbed her breasts, snapping one satin strap off at the seam, where the strap met the white, lacy material of the cup; and engulfed a rubbery pink nipple in his thick, slobbery lips. She squealed with pain as he chomped down on her tit and wiggled under him, exciting him. He grinned at her pained face, tearing at her nipple, his gold teeth gleaming in the flashes of light.
"Awright bitch.

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  " Whispered into her ear as his partner slow-fucked her in the throat. "Time to split your shit in half. "
He slowly eased his hips back, pulling gently out of her snatch.
He grinned. Squeezed her tits, holding them tight, bracing his huge, flabby arms straight, using her breasts for leverage. Crushing away what little breath she was able to draw from her blocked throat. Held her down, and slammed all twelve inches back into her cunt, as hard as he could.
Brenda felt something inside her tear. Pain shot through her abdomen. She whimpered and thrashed against her silken binds, scissoring her legs and kicking out as the man-mountain chewed her tits and fucked her, hard and fast. Pain, like she'd never known, not even when she'd delivered her babies. At least then she'd been drugged, the pain numbed. Sweat began dripping off the cock-slapper's balls, off his ass, onto her face. Her chest and belly grew slippery with the man-mountain's sweat and slobber as he licked and bit at her tits. Blood oozed from her torn pussy, smearing the inside of her legs and her crotch, staining her torn panties and nylons.

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   One of the man holding her ankles pressed the heel of her stockinged foot against his throbbing member. Ground his crotch against the silky material. Then the man-mountain grunted like a bull and jerked hard. Started pounding her, his belly smothering her, grinding his fat ass in a hard, desperate circle.
Barely a minute, and the rapist was ready for his release.
More than. He'd been waiting for this bitch, waiting to fuck this pussy for days, until his balls were swollen and heavy and sore. He'd caught his first glimpse of her as she was leaving a funeral, along with the other bitch in the living room. Did his homework. Followed them home, tailed them for weeks. Told his partners, who already had a man set up to buy her, and her daughter, too. Half the money had already been transferred, getting everything in motion. Which is why he and the boys had been waiting that morning. Followed the bitches to breakfast, then to church.
As soon as he saw the old bitch at the funeral, he wanted her.

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   Would'a probably come for her even if they hadn't found a buyer. And today - when he saw her walking down those church steps, with her skirt swishing around her knees, saw the shadow of her lacy bra through her blouse - man, he wanted her like F'n crazy. Had enough with the blue-balls. He needed to fuck.
Now he had her.
And he was ready to fill her with a big fucking load of hot, white cum.
The veins in his neck stood out like cords as he fucked her and he bellowed as he came, squeezing Brenda's breasts so hard she thought he was going to tear them off. The pain from his massive cock ripping and tearing in her suddenly eased. He pumped into her again and again with short, hard thrusts, shooting her full of hot cum; the thick jets of warm semen burned like salt for a moment, then soothed her torn insides. She felt the cum ooze and drip out of her twat and down the crack of her ass. His arms trembled and he collapsed onto her belly. Brenda felt his cock slowly wither and go limp inside her.
Then he shoved violently away and stepped away from the bed. The next man in line, the one who had been jacking off with her foot, stepped between her legs to take his turn. Brenda groaned as his cock slipped into her, painfully filling her again.

 

  
Tears leaked from her eyes, blending with the sweat from the man face-fucking her. He was breathing hard now, his thrusts coming faster. His cock was hot and throbbing, felt like it was on fire in her mouth. He turned, levering a leg over her chest, and kneeled over her neck. Grabbed handfuls of her hair and pulled her head forward. Sharp pain shot down her spine and the coarse denim of his coveralls scraped her bruised lips as he rammed his cock faster and faster. It swelled in her mouth, cutting off her air again. He tore at her hair, slamming her head forward to meet each thrust. He let out a low growl deep in his throat and came, just as the new man started fucking her pussy. He held her face against his hairy crotch, his orgasm shooting a long stream of hot, salty cum down Brenda's throat.
Outside, the storm kept raging. No one in the house even noticed when it passed.
***
Rachel lay face down, spread-eagled on the bed, on top of her mother. Arms and legs tied tight, her clothes now mostly gone except for her bra and her scarf, which the man fucking her ass had wrapped around her face, using it like a horse bridle. The men had been there, in the house, raping them over and over, for hours.

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   Seemed even longer, like days. Except for the pain, Rachel found that she almost no longer cared about the rape. The men had all taken their turn, using each of them as they wanted. Ate food from the refrigerator. Drank her mothers wine. Got stoned. Slept. Fucked them some more. She'd been raped on the couch off-and-on until the old grandfather clock on the wall said it was past eight in the evening. If no one was using her, she was tied like a pig about to be slaughtered, with her hands bound tightly to her ankles, and then gagged until the next round or rapes began.
It was rare that she'd been left alone for long.
They'd dragged her into her mother's room, bruised and beaten, not long after ten that night. The men let them both use the toilet, then tied them down to the bed good and tight. Her mother was spread-eagled across the middle of the bed, flat on her back, feet almost touching the floor. Rachel on top, facing her.

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   The men had strapped a big, black dildo around her waist, and forced her to use it to fuck her mother while they took turns raping her in the ass. Rachel watched Brenda's tears run down the side of her face, tried desperately to ignore the warm touch of Brenda's flesh against hers. The men dug around in the closets, found her mother's cameras. Laughed and took pictures, videotaped everything. Played the rapes over on the television while they taped more.
Eventually they finished. Showered, pulled back on their coveralls as the first hint of sunlight filtered through the pulled window blinds. Rachel listened as they spoke, tried to make sense of what was going to happen next.
The man with the gold teeth stepped to the edge of the bed, grinning. Held up a syringe. Squirted liquid from the wicked, gleaming needle.
Brenda silently closed her eyes. Rachel jerked frantically above her, again trying to pull her wrists free, to fight.
The rest of the men crowded around. Strong hands and the silk bonds held them still, no matter how hard they struggled.

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The man grinned. "Time to go to sleep. . . "
Pantyhose twisted around Rachel's forearm, at the crook of her elbow. A hand smacked her arm. Veins popped out. Rachel felt the bite of the needle and began to weep uncontrollably. Felt the rush of warmth as the drug flooded her system. Faintly heard her mother gasp around her gag as she was stuck as well. The needle was yanked away, and a small trail of blood dripped from the wound.
The room began to spin. Grew hazy. Rachel felt her eyes droop, the lids too heavy to keep open.
Then she felt very little at all, for a very long time.

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***
Unconscious, Rachel and Brenda were stripped completely naked, bagged and tied. The driver backed the van into an empty bay in the garage. The women were carried out and dumped unceremoniously on the cold steel flooring, covered with old blankets. The men took what they wanted from the house, scavenged the cash and cards from the purses on the counter. Loaded up as much as they could, and piled back in themselves, except for the man-mountain. He pounded the drivers' door as the van pulled out of the driveway, headed back to the abandoned warehouse where they'd unload the packages for transport and get all the stolen shit ready to fence.
He jingled the keys to the Rover, opened the door. Turned on the ignition, eased the seat back and settled in for the drive to the hack-shop, running calculations in his head. Figuring the two bitches, all the shit to hock, and the Rover. . . It was a nice haul. Better than he expected. He figured they should clear maybe a mil, mil-and-a-half on this job, easy.
Once paid, everything sold, he'd divvy up the cash.

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   Then they'd all go their separate ways for a while, lay low again until the next order came in.
Or somebody caught his fancy again.
***
Brenda woke, sleepy-eyed but clear-headed, for the first time in. . . how long? Days? Weeks? She wasn't sure.
She tried to sit up. Made it about half-way before something stopped her. A small burst of pain in her belly. A jingle of chains. For a second, she thought she was still at home, tied to her bed. She looked around, realized she was still tied up in a bed, but not her bed. Or her room.
Wasn't in her house at all.
It was warm, even though Brenda could hear the buzz of air-conditioning, feel cool air blowing from an overhead vent.

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   She glanced around. The mattress was comfortable, covered with a cool, white satin sheet. Thin gold chains around her wrists and ankles tied her to a solid iron bed frame. The room was small with a high ceiling, brightly lit. Video cameras mounted high in each corner, LED lights glowing red. Other than the cameras, the room contained nothing but the bed she was chained to. One doorway on her right, a few feet away, covered with a transparent silk hanging. Brenda herself felt clean, smelled a subtle, flowery perfume. Dressed - if you could call it that - head to foot in pure white silk and lace, with lots of skin still showing.
She shifted on the bed, her silk lingerie whispering against the satin sheet. Brenda was horrified to discover she felt slightly. . . aroused. Felt kind of.

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  . . tingly. All over.
Felt wet. Down there.
Brenda pulled on her chains, yanking hard on the slim bands of gold. Heard something over the jangle of chains against the iron bed frame.
Then she froze.
Voices, from out of the room, getting closer. A hand, sweeping back the curtain in the doorway. A man and a young boy stepped into the room, both dark-skinned, the man with a thick, black goatee covering his chin. Both dressed in. . .

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   robes? Arabic? They stared at her blankly, like she was just another piece of furniture, the man speaking to the boy in another language. Foreign. Pointing, jabbing his finger at Brenda's tits, at her crotch. The boy listened intently, his small, round face slightly flushed.
Brenda tried to speak, couldn't. Her mouth was still propped wide open. Only managed a series of weak grunts. The man slapped her across the face, violently knocking her head to the side. He raised his fist again, shook it at Brenda. She understood immediately, gulped spittle and blood, shook her head, wide-eyed. Kept quiet. Didn't want to get hit again. The man turned his attention to the boy, spoke something, rapid-fire. Then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.
The sound of his footsteps died away.

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   Brenda turned her eyes on the boy, pleading. He stared back. She glanced quickly at the open doorway, but the man appeared to be gone. She tried to catch the boys' eye, looked from him up to her chained wrist. Again. Imploring him with her tears.
The boy broke into a wicked grin and hit her; pounded her in the stomach full-on, with a closed fist, putting all the strength of his small body into the blow. Shouted at her as she gasped for breath and tried to curl up in a protective ball. The chains held her in place while her body convulsed, flopping around on the bed. Eventually, the pain ebbed.
Fresh tears dripped down Brenda's cheeks.
A burst of scolding from the boy. Wagging his finger at her. Then he stripped. Let his robes drop to the floor.

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   Naked, hairless except for the dark black mop on his head, he climbed on top of her, between her splayed legs, his small, brown cock sticking straight out over her belly. His little hands grabbed at her tits. Squeezed until she screamed - an animal sound, pouring out of her until she was hoarse. He laughed, his voice high like a girls, and lay on top of her. He weighed almost nothing. Brenda felt his little cock poking and probing, felt it slip inside her.
When her body responded to him almost immediately, she gasped. He pulled the cups of her lace bra down over her breasts. His little teeth found her nipple, bit hard, drawing blood. Pain shot through her, bringing shivers of pleasure; pleasure that in turn caused fresh tears of shame and humiliation. Brenda's back arched as he entered her, pushing her breast hard against his mouth; without conscious thought her legs spread wider for him, scissored against his sides, his buttocks.
This can't be happening, she thought. The boy grinned, staring at her with her brown nipple caught in his white little teeth, stretching it. . .

 

   Fucking her. Pumping her with his little cock.
Another flash of pleasure, blinding her senses until all she could hear was the soft sound of her low moans of passion over a child's sweet laughter; followed by a warm explosion in her crotch, and a flood of moisture that trickled out of her body. . .
***
At the other side of the hall, in his private rooms, the boy's father was sitting in front of a series of color video monitors, watching as his son punished his new toy, a small gift for his birthday, a tiny pittance spent to celebrate his son's first day of manhood; then watched happily as he fucked the woman. Watched as the drugs the woman had been injected with took hold. Watched her respond to his son, clamping her stocking-clad legs around his slim body.
Smiled the smile of a proud man. He himself had picked out the woman's clothes, the finest in the Western world's lingerie: the lace brassiere, the garter belt, the silk stockings. Her jewelry. He prepared her himself. Just like his father had for him. He remembered his first time, his first toy. Remembered his own father's pride as he slowly, methodically broke the woman to his will.

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That seemed such a long time ago now.
Once he was certain nothing was amiss, the man turned from the rows of streaming video, camera angles flickering from room to room throughout the mansion, the entire property, and let his son have his private moment. He stood and stepped into his own room, stripping off his robes as he moved. Tossed them aside and stood naked, admiring the thick curves of the woman in front of him, gagged and tied face down on the torturers' rack. Ready to be taken. His manhood stood out from his body, hard and thick. Pulsing with need. From a shelf overflowing with his favorite tools, he selected a small, supple riding crop.
Rachel saw him in front of her. Whimpered. He yanked her head up by her hair so her face was level with his cock, grinned down at her. His eyes were alive, dancing with evil lust. Her body was already covered with bloody welts. His son's work.
Teaching.

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   Always teaching.
He showed her the riding crop. Brought it down hard, cracking it across her shoulders.
Rachel screamed into her gag. Her body quivered with pain from the new gash as fresh blood flowed. The man moved behind her, fingered her pussy. She was wet. Hot. He knew that she would be: the new sex drug was working perfectly. He liked them better this way: begging, crying, in pain; always in pain, but unable to control the responses of their bodies to the administration of the pain.
The man ran the tip of the crop lightly down the side of her naked, sweaty flank. She flinched, trying to slip away from the probing leather. He grabbed his cock, stroking himself, rubbing her pussy. Slipped snugly inside her soft, wet folds. She was a perfect fit.

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"You are mine now, woman. " He raised the crop again, and smiled.
Always teaching.
 
~ Fin ~


Can't be. . . can't. . . please. . .

Epilogue
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