Rape Toys

By Llabmik

Chapter 1 – Naked Ambition

Lola, the weather girl for channel 69, was making a career move in her favourite position: on her back with her legs spread. Between her naked thighs, Melissa, the station manager's daughter, was licking Lola's achingly erect clit with skill and true tonguing stamina.

Some things require a woman's touch. Flushed and gasping, nipples erect, Lola's body shook with orgasm after orgasm. Melissa's sweetly sucking lips and deftly flicking tongue were done with the flair of the dedicated carpet muncher. Perspiration dripped from Lola's sweating torso onto the station manager, who was underneath her, pumping away enthusiastically. Occasionally, his daughter licked dutifully on his plunging penis as it pumped in and out of Lola's cunt from behind. This was done out of mere affection. Men weren't really her cup of tea.

Mommy had taught Melissa everything she knew about cunt licking, giving her lots of practical experience from a very early age. Mommy didn't really like men, but she did like daddy's money, dutifully producing one child to bond herself forever to his fortune. Melissa had spent as much time as a baby sucking mommy's clit as she had her nipples, imbibing mother's milk and cunt juice in about equal quantities. Mommy had died of cancer a while back, but her other perverted parent lived on.

Melissa's daddy was a priapic horndog whose name was legendary even in an industry that seems over-blessed with priapic horndogs. Frank groaned ecstatically as he unloaded inside Lola, massaging her tits with more enthusiasm than skill. He could feel the implants that made lovely Lola's cleavage legendary among her viewers. He and his lovely daughter worked as a team, welcoming with dripping loins any ambitious slut eager to fuck her way up the ladder.

Lovely Lola wanted to be the news anchor. Unfortunately, they had just hired Star, a buxom blond beauty with a superb track record. Although new to California, Star was already extremely popular, her ratings were sky-high. Smart, savvy, well educated, her dynamite five foot six form, great legs combined with a 38D bra size, made her formidable competition. For those who could lift their eyes from her celestial cleavage (definitely Star quality!), there was a pretty face with a shrewd brain behind it.

As she got onto her knees to suck Frank hard for round two, Lola mentioned something about her ambitions to Frank. Frank was cheerful as he slipped his dripping dick between her full lips.

"Sounds like a great idea! Maybe we can send Star on a special assignment. We could use you as her stand-in while she's away. We'll talk about it later. It's hard to talk with your mouth full! You don't mind if Melissa gets on her back on the floor between your legs, do you? My little girl just loves cunt juice and I think she's down a quart."

Frank loved putting an ambitious fuckslut through her paces. He put both hands encouragingly on Lola's bobbing head, gently guiding it up and down, pumping his hips to bury his dick deep. Lola began working hard to swallow his whole sausage, breathing on the outstroke. Her big boobs bounced pleasantly as she laboured, her pretty heart-shaped face buried in his thick pubic tangle. Frank coaxed her along with typically fatuous management advice.

"Don't get too distracted by Melissa. Stay focussed."

To shut him up, Lola layered on another pleasant sensation. She began humming as she bobbed and gobbled while, between her legs, on her back like a mechanic servicing a car, Melissa sucked and slurped. Frank laughed. Oh What A Beautiful Morning certainly seemed appropriate.

For the truly ambitious, it's not enough to suck up to management. You have to nobble the competition, too. It was a busy morning for Lola as she implemented phase two of her master plan.

Once more, making a career move in her favourite position, Lola was struggling hard to breathe as the heavy biker pumped away on top of her, pounding his full bulk into her naked body with each brutal thrust. Never the sort of gentleman who rested his weight on his elbows, Big Bill liked making his fuck bitches sweat and gasp beneath him.

Naked, on her back with her legs spread, Lola moaned prettily and scrubbed her super-inflated tits against Big Bill's barrel chest. The bed squeaked rhythmically as his plunging penis slapped wetly into her cunt.

Afterwards, as Lola laid, breathing deeply, dishevelled and smelling like a cunt, Big Bill squeezed her monster melons (everybody loved doing that) and gave her a bit of professional advice. Normally a strong believer in the four F's (Find 'em, Feel 'em, Fuck 'em and Forget 'em), Big Bill had a soft spot for Lola. She was definitely his sort of totally amoral bitch.

"This Star babe looks pretty competent. Before we make her disappear, we should mess with her, so she starts fucking up a bit on air. Then, when you take over from her, you'll look like a big improvement."

Lola was grateful.

"You'd do that for me?"

Big Bill grinned.

"My pleasure!"

A dirty little tramp's work is never done. Lola, deeply into the dick-lick, knew how to express her gratitude. She got down on her knees and assumed the spigot sucking position between Big Bill's legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. The split-arse mechanic went to work on her second piston job of the morning: sucking, licking, deep-throating, humming and prepared to swallow – unlike many men, Big Bill had never promised a woman that he wouldn't cum in her mouth.

On the other hand, he never promised that he would. At the last moment, Big Bill pulled out and squirted a huge load of bull gravy all over Lola's pretty, heart-shaped face. When he was done cumming in her face, she used her slim fingers to massage his musky man milk into her skin.

"It's good for the complexion!"

Big Bill wasn't impressed.

"So, when a guy kisses you, how many other guys' sperm is he sucking down?"

Lola gave him her really, utterly, totally sincere look. She cast her eyes modestly downwards, batted her long eyelashes coyly and gave her voice a touch of pure cornpone.

"You're my very first one, Bill! You're the only one for me! I'd die rather than go out with another feller!"

They both exploded in laughter.

"I'm probably not even your first one today!"

Chuckling and shaking his head, Big Bill put on his clothes and left, having rivals to slice open and people to beat.

Lola played the tape from her visit to the South American whorehouse one more time, as she lay exhausted on the bed, soaking up the wet spot. Lola loved watching the hard-humping harlots fucking and sucking over the security cameras. The sight of the bare bummed bed beasts, each chained to her bed by an ankle cuff, opening their holes to play grease the gut-stick, was always uplifting. She had a nice selection taken from the security cameras, but she had a particular favourite and this was it.

Bambi, the weather-girl before her, was pulling the train for a group of visiting Japanese businessmen. Kidnapped by Lola's biker buddies and shipped off to South America, Bambi was a big attraction. A pale, willowy, longhaired blond, she was now fucking professionally eighteen hours a day, seven days a week.

After the Japanese businessmen had finished their gangbang, Lola had dropped by for a friendly little visit to her former colleague. As she strapped on a huge dildo, Lola waved cheerfully to the security camera.

On the bed, watching the video of her vacation, Lola giggled. She loved this bit. She turned up the sound.

"Bambi, assume the position. Stand with your hands against the wall, legs spread."

A dishevelled, thoroughly fucked-over Bambi had been sullen as she got up from the sperm-soaked mattress while Lola greased up her monster dildo. The chain clamped to the metal shackle encasing Bambi's slim ankle clinked musically as she assumed the position against the wall.

"I can't believe you did this to me just to get my job."

"Perhaps this will make it clear to you."

Lola parted Bambi's pale white buttocks. Bambi grunted as Lola enthusiastically rammed the huge ribbed dildo up her asshole. Everything jiggled as Lola, naked in high heels, reamed her long and hard with quick brutal thrusts of her hips.

"Tell me you love me, Bambi."

Since disobedience had serious consequences, Bambi gritted her teeth and obliged.

"I love you, Lola."

"Louder, slut."

"I LOVE YOU, LOLA!!!"

On the bed, Lola giggled, her fingers diddling her stiff clit pleasantly. On TV, the vacationing Lola kept Bambi groaning and yelling out endearments for a good long time. When she was done and Bambi's reamed rectum was burning painfully, she pulled out the dildo and had Bambi kiss her on the nipples while expressing her gratitude for all that Lola had done for her.

"I guess that, for the next little while, every time you shit, you'll be thinking of me!"

Bambi said nothing. The raw hatred on her face said it all.

Lola had pressed the button to summon one of Bambi's handlers. When he arrived, she pointed accusingly at Bambi.

"She called me names and wasn't very co-operative."

Bambi stared at her in wide-eyed horror, holding up her hands defensively and backing away from the gorilla pimp as far as her chain would allow.

"She's lying! I did everything she asked!"

The muscular pimp grabbed her wrists with one hand, jerking them out of the way. His other hand moved like a striking cobra, slapping Bambi viciously across the face with a sound like a pistol shot. His palm print flamed a bright red on her cheek as Bambi was hammered to the floor by the force of the blow. Reaching down, the pimp wrapped his hand in her silken hair and jerked her back to her feet. A man who loved disciplining a naked whore, he hammered a fist scientifically into her solar plexus. Her breath whooshed out. He shoved Bambi onto the sperm-soaked mattress.

While she rolled helplessly on the soggy mattress, doubled over, clutching her belly, whooping and gasping for breath, he raised an admonishing finger.

"In future, you, a worthless whore, will speak with respect to Miss Lola!"

On the bed, Lola laughed in delight as she ejected the cassette from her VCR. It was one of her all-time favourite vacation videos.

Chapter 2 – A Rose Ripe For The Plucking

Star was walking down the street in the late evening, on her way back to the studio, chatting amiably to a cameraman. The sharp-eyed cameraman spotted the biker gang and quickly pulled her into an alley.

"A pretty woman like you doesn't ever want to be even a remote blip on the radar for those guys. Trust me."

"OK. I always trust guys who say 'trust me'!"

They laughed quietly together as the thunderous sound of the massed Harleys crescendoed mightily, reverberating powerfully in the alleyway. The sound gradually faded as the biker gang moved on. The cameraman looked at her seriously.

"Really. Don't mess with them. I think they kidnapped the last weathergirl, the one before Lola. She just disappeared one day and nobody's seen her since. I don't have any evidence, but I think it was bikers."

Star nodded dubiously.

"Could be anybody, George. There are lots of crazies. Some of the details on those news stories I do are too gross to even mention on the air. It's really scary sometimes. There was the Hillside Rapist last year. He wasn't just raping women and killing them afterwards. He was carving off their breasts and keeping them in plastic freezer bags in his fridge."

Star shuddered delicately. Her 38D tits shuddered right along.

"Yum! Yum! Fortunately, we can leave that sort of detail to the tabloids."

For a few minutes they walked in silence, contemplating the grim world of violent mayhem that was their bread and butter. Star perked up.

"Frank just told me that he's sending me on a special assignment. He's calling it Iraq-na-phobia."

George groaned as Star chattered on brightly.

" It's about whether we are doing enough about Iraq. I'm supposed to interview this childhood friend of Saddam Hussein who's living in the States."

The cameraman raised his eyebrows.

"That is a scoop. I thought all of Saddam's childhood friends didn't survive. They've all had little 'accidents'."

"As long as you consider a bullet to the brain or being hung from the nearest tree accidental! This guy survived, probably because he's nowhere near Iraq. I'm supposed to get the inside scoop."

"That's great!"

"Lola's taking over for me and Frank's airhead daughter Melissa is taking over as weathergirl temporarily."

"At least Lola's got two brain cells to rub together. I don't know about Melissa."

"You admire her brain cells? I think everyone else watches Lola to see her two tits rub together."

"You say that like it's a bad thing! It's not like you're under-endowed yourself."

Star preened briefly.

"And, unlike Lola, mine are real."

The cameraman nodded approvingly.

"Lots more jiggle."

Star punched him in the arm.

Later, at the airport, Big Bill fired the opening salvo in Phase Two of Lola's master plan.

The blond bimbo was next.

Big Bill watched with interest. The bitch looked bored and impatient as she waited in line to go through airport security before boarding her plane.

Big Bill loved the newly heightened airport security. There was something inherently pleasing about watching a proud beauty being forced to stand with her arms out and her shapely legs spread while the wand scanned her, running just an inch from her firm, toned flesh. The superb blond in her form-fitting navy blue jacket and skirt with a tailored blouse, sheer stockings and expensive high heels was the very picture of stylish elegance. Star obviously spent a lot of time at the gym toning her professional assets.

The exquisite blond anchorwoman stepped up to the security guards with brisk self-confidence. An experienced traveller, she obviously knew the drill. Star put her purse and carry-on luggage in the tray and stepped through the archway. Big Bill grinned as the sensor beeped strongly. The blue-eyed bitch, looking disconcerted and confused, held out her arms and spread her legs for the wand.

The wand beeped as it passed her jacket pocket. He sniggered as the blasting cap was extracted.

Instantly, Star was surrounded by guards and hustled off, protesting volubly. A hard-faced matron greeted the guards and escorted the indignant beauty into an interrogation room. It looked like Star was going to enjoy the dubious pleasures of a strip search. If she mouthed off enough, and Big Bill felt that this was an excellent possibility, she'd talk herself into a full body cavity search.

Regretting only that he couldn't watch, he assumed his travel guide persona and went to greet the new arrivals (or fresh meat, as he preferred to think of them). According to the travel agent who had arranged him to be their 'guide', they were a yummy selection of cheerleaders on vacation, looking for the hotspots. Big Bill felt sure that he could oblige them, another group of young heifers to be cut from the herd. By nightfall, after an introductory beating and gangbang, they'd be playing sucky-fuck for the customers in the biker gang's whorehouse.

A short while later, the hard-faced matron eyed a greatly chastened Star with some sympathy. Stripped to her filmy black bra and thong panties, Star licked her lips nervously. Her firm breasts with their perfectly formed nipples and her smoothly shaven cuntlips were clearly visible. The matron had a theory that women who shaved their cunts loved getting laid. It looked like Star was keen, not that the matron thought this was bad. Her own cunt was shaved as smooth as a baby's bum, not that it was on display at the moment.

"I suppose that you want me to remove my bra and panties next."

The matron laughed.

"I don't think so. I can see that you haven't got a hand grenade hidden in there."

Star flushed a bright scarlet, thoroughly humiliated.

The matron had inspected Star's exquisitely crafted jewellery, top of the line Toshiba laptop, Gucci handbag and run every inch of her expensive, fashionable clothing through her envious fingers. She eyed the obviously shaken anchorwoman and smelled a rat. The hard-faced matron knew her scumbags. Star simply didn't belong to the club.

"Did you piss anybody off recently, Star?"

"I'm an anchorwoman. Some of my male colleagues seem permanently pissed off."

"And the rest probably want to get inside those see-thru panties!"

Star laughed ruefully.

"You got that right. In addition to that, I probably piss someone off with every newscast."

The matron winked at her.

"Do you want a tip? Although I'm not sure you need it."

Star was surprised at this sudden display of friendliness, but the matron had made up her mind.

"Uh, sure."

"Only put out for the right people. Putting out for the wrong people is a loser concept. Trust me on this. You don't have to experience it yourself!"

Star giggled.

"I think Lola, the weathergirl, has the same philosophy! If it looks like it'll do her an ounce of good, she'll spread her legs and do the nasty."

The matron, a big TV fan, loved this insider info.

"Really? She looks so prim and respectable on the air."

"The make-up girl can do wonders!"

They both had a good chuckle. The matron gestured at her clothing.

"Put your clothes back on, Star. We'll have to talk about who could have planted that blasting cap in your jacket pocket. You aren't stupid enough to knowingly walk around an airport with a blasting cap in your pocket. Bombers are mainly men. Some guy set you up."

After Star had dressed, they sat down and discussed men, two women of the world who saw eye-to-eye on the perfidious male sex. Courtesy of Lola and her buddy Big Bill, lovely Star was going to get a lot of first-hand experience.

Having missed the last flight of the day, Star was lugging her laptop and luggage back to her car in the car park. Her high heels clicked hollowly in the deserted parking garage as she walked as quickly as she could, a nervous nookie all alone at night.

She never heard them coming.

Suddenly, a hand cupped the back of her pretty head and the sharp point of a slim ice pick was inserted two inches into her left nostril.

"Don't twitch, bitch, or I'll ram it into your brain. I've sharpened the tip of the ice pick to a very fine point so I can punch through, stir vigorously and whip your brains into a fine puree."

Star froze, holding her laptop with one hand and her luggage with the other. A two-man team, her attacker's partner was squatting behind her. His hands ran down the sensitive back of her legs. She wondered if these were the Tag Team Rapists, so-called because they took turns holding the ice pick. They were famed for the silence of their attacks on unsuspecting victims, seeming to materialize out of nowhere.

"Step out of your high heels."

The man behind Star unbuckled her ankle straps. He cupped a hand under the back of her knee and lifted gently. Helpfully assisted, balancing carefully, aware of the cold sharp spike quivering deep inside her, sheathed by her nostril, on the very verge of penetrating her brain, Star stepped out of her black fuck-me pumps. The concrete felt cool under her stocking feet.

The man behind her stood up and took over the ice pick. Star started to speak. She gasped instead as the ice pick was given a quick warning twitch inside her nostril.

"Shut the fuck up, cunt! Nobody likes a mouthy bitch."

The man in front unbuttoned her blouse. She shivered as she felt the fabric slide smoothly against her skin as he untucked it from her skirt. He eyed her see-thru bra as he resumed control of the ice pick.

"Nice nips!"

Star felt her skirt lifted. The rapist's fingers were cool against her flesh as they insinuated themselves into the waistband of her pantyhose and tugged slowly downwards. She quivered in fear as she felt the nylon dragging against her bare skin as he peeled her pantyhose delicately down her smooth thighs and heart-shaped calves until it was nestling around her ankles. He cupped the back of her knee and lifted.

"Step out."

Balancing carefully, Star pointed her toes prettily as she stepped out of her pantyhose. She had small, perfectly shaped feet, toenails nicely buffed and polished. Both the rapists could feel her, quivering like a frightened sparrow in their grasp.

"Nicely shaved cunt, bitch. We'll be taking a lot closer look at your snatch very soon. Just be patient."

The one holding the ice pick nodded. She felt his beery breath puff against her cheek as he whispered agreement.

"Yeah! Very soon, bitch."

His partner in crime pried the laptop and luggage from Star's slim fingers and put them carefully for future reference on the garage floor. Star clenched her fists at her sides, her manicured fingernails digging into her sweating palms. He undid the cuffs of her white silk blouse and slipped it off her creamy shoulders. He dropped it. It fluttered like a wounded butterfly to the cold concrete floor of the garage.

He undid her 38D bra and, for the second time, Star was showing her firm breasts and perfectly formed nipples to total strangers. Star sobbed quietly as they took turns giving her tits a good squeeze, fondling them gently, rolling her perfect nipples between their fingers, teasing them erect.

They switched position on the ice pick once more. Star felt the hands run through her silky blond hair as they switched around cradling the back of her head and then exchanged grips on the ice pick's handle.

The one in front unbuttoned, unhooked and unzipped her skirt. It fell to her feet.

Star shuddered as she felt her thong being daintily peeled out of the crack of her ass. It came out from between her dimpled, tightly clenched butt cheeks with obscene reluctance. Her filmy thong panties, a sight usually reserved for the most intimate male friends, slid down her legs and fell on top of her skirt.

"Spread 'em, bitch."

Shaking badly, her bare breasts quivering delectably, Star spread her legs. Between her legs, she felt questing fingers caressing her cuntlips, parting them gently. She whimpered as a middle finger wormed its way into her fuckhole.

"Hey! What's going on here?"

It was the hard faced matron fumbling for her gun. The Tag Team Rapists disappeared like smoke, ducking down and moving soundlessly behind the vehicles. The tough policewoman started to pursue, radioing for back up.

"Don't leave me!"

Poor, naked Star's frantic, pathetic cry halted her in her tracks. The hard-faced matron came back, holstering her gun. She watched protectively as the naked beauty scrambled to put her clothes back on, hampered by the fact that the rapists had absconded with her bra and panties. She shook her head sympathetically.

"I bet that I'm seeing more of you these days than most of your friends do."

Star laughed and then burst into tears.

Chapter 3 – The Bee-Sting Rapists

Big Bill had phoned ahead to the local chapter of his biker gang to arrange a reception for the lovely Star, based on information supplied by the ever-helpful Lola. The community-minded local bikers had a youth outreach program aimed at troubled teenagers. Their helpful guidance counsellor met the Bee-Sting Rapists at the back door to the apartment building and showed them how to bypass the lock. For this job, teenage viciousness and stamina were definite assets.

"They're in the basement laundry room. Do your worst!"

The youthful gang of rapists grinned and thundered eagerly down the stairs.

Star had met Yvonne, a statuesque raven-haired firebrand, when she had done a story on Yvonne's courageous one-woman crusade against some neighbourhood drug dealers. This had made her a marked woman and Yvonne had been forced to leave town rather hurriedly. Star had helped Yvonne to establish herself in another city and liked dropping in when she visited.

Star had finished her interview with Saddam's former friend. She had a while to kill before her return flight the next night. After her experience with the Tag Team Rapists, who had eluded capture, she was afraid to be alone and felt that a visit with a strong-willed woman like Yvonne would be just the thing to hearten her flagging spirits. They were enjoying a chat while Yvonne did her laundry. It was a weekday morning and the laundry room was deserted except for them. Most people were at work.

Star had been none too pleased by the police response to her rape experience. The bad guys had gotten away. Despite her insistence that the men had left no DNA evidence, medical personnel had inspected her intimately.

"It wasn't worse than those guys with the ice pick, but I really hated it."

Yvonne nodded sympathetically.

"Gynaecological medical procedures can be wonderfully invasive."

"Tell me about it. They saw more of my pussy than those rapists did! I'm surprised they didn't dust it for prints."

"I'll suggest it to them."

Star gave her a playful shove.

"Don't you dare!"

They laughed together. Yvonne shook her index finger at Star.

"The cops are fucking useless! They couldn't protect me from obvious scumbags like the neighbourhood crack dealers. They couldn't even get them off the street, when they were brazenly dealing crack in front of everyone. I had a really scary meeting with Pablo the Columbian that should never have happened if those preening, smug bastards were doing their job. I had to leave town because he was promising to cut off the tip of my tongue for starters and to beat and rape me as long as I lived for finishers. Those fuck-ups in blue couldn't do anything because I didn't have proof, like he was going threaten me in front of a roomful of disinterested witnesses with the video cameras rolling!"

Yvonne was preaching to the converted. Star was withering in her scorn.

"The only cop I was glad to see was that policewoman and she'd just finished making me feel like a piece of meat and made me miss my plane. The rest were just a bunch of guys who wanted all the juicy details."

Yvonne didn't mind hearing a few juicy details herself.

"So they stripped you naked. Did they get inside you?"

Star shuddered.

"One of them got his fuck finger inside me and was wiggling it around when the policewoman arrived."

"That would freak me out completely."

"I think it made me screw up my interview a bit. All I could think of was them squeezing my boobies like they were testing watermelons at the market and that guy sticking his finger into me."

"Well, who could blame you? I'm surprised that they didn't send someone else to do the interview."

"I insisted that work was the best tonic, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe I should take a break."

Yvonne looked at her shrewdly.

"You have a pretty competitive position. Is there someone nipping at your heels?"

Star nodded glumly.

"Yeah, Lola the weathergirl."

"Maybe you could change places! Ever feel like becoming a weathergirl?"

Star snorted derisively.

"That'll be the day!"

They sorted the dirty clothes. Star pointed at the large pile of soiled panties.

"How many of these do you have? It seems like a lot."

"I change them several times a day. It perks me up and makes me feel a lot cleaner all of a sudden, especially when I'm on the rag, like last week. You're looking at the aftermath."

"Looks more like the afterbirth!"

Star giggled. She was definitely starting to feel much better. Visiting with Yvonne had been a good idea.

As they finished sorting, the Bee-Sting Rapists poured into the room like a plague of locusts. The last one in put a CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign on the door and locked it behind him.

Star went pale.

"Oh shit!"

With knifepoints pricking the hollows of their throats, Star and Yvonne stood stock-still, afraid to open their mouths, as their blouses were unbuttoned and pulled down, trapping their arms behind them. White plastic ties that could only be cut loose fastened their wrists together behind their backs. Star tried to pull her chest in as the cool knife blade slipped into the valley between her breasts, blade out, slicing the cups apart. The rapists grinned as her firm breasts, capped by perfectly shaped, unblemished nipples, jiggled loose. Yvonne's sagged a bit more, but still had a satisfying heft to them. Her big cherry nipples drew appreciative fingers.

Star stood perfectly still, a drop of blood trickling down her taut throat from the prick of the knifepoint, as her exquisite nipples were licked obscenely and her firm breasts squeezed a lot harder than melons at a market. Teenage horndog fingers groped and pinched crudely between her legs.

After an intimate grope fest that left black, finger-mark bruises on their breasts and buttocks, Star and Yvonne were frog marched over to the laundry tubs. The drains were plugged. The cold water taps were opened full blast. They each stood facing of tub gradually filling with ice-cold water. Their legs were spread and an ankle taped to each of the front legs of the tub they were facing.

A fist wrapped itself in Star's golden hair and she was bent forward over the water, tits aquiver. Her perfect nipples shrivelled to perfect little acorns as they kissed the freezing water.

Next to her, Yvonne's cherry nipples kissed the cold water and shrivelled to tight rosebuds. The leader grinned sadistically.

"Take a deep breath, ladies."

Star and Yvonne, their pretty faces an inch from the water, obligingly inflated their chests. While the rapists enjoyed their discomfiture, the two beauties stared at their reflections in the water, holding their breath. When they couldn't hold it any longer, faces flushed, lungs burning, they expelled the air from their lungs, preparatory to gulping in a fresh breath. Their pretty heads were instantly pushed under.

While Star and Yvonne were busy struggling to breath underwater, their slacks and panties were jerked down to their knees. It was time for the Bee-Sting Rapists' trademark move.

Fingers parted Star's smoothly shaven cuntlips. Between her parted legs, long needles, sharp glittering slivers of surgical steel, were removed from their sterilized wrappings. Star and Yvonne had their heads jerked out of the water briefly so that everyone could watch their big boobs judder and shudder as they coughed and wheezed with savage violence. They were plunged back under and the long surgical needles were jabbed viciously and repeatedly into their fuck holes, stitching in and out from near to deep down one side and from deep to near back the other side of their love canals.

Their bent over bodies jerked violently and the water in the tubs churned. Their muffled screams emerged distantly, faint but clear, from under the water in the tub. Their faces were lifted out of the water once more as they sobbed, sputtered and coughed. They were plunged back under as the eager teenagers dropped their drawers and got down to business. Shriek after shriek emerged from under the water as a convention of one-eyed milkmen forced their way into Star and Yvonne's aching fuck holes to make a delivery.

Their contorted faces were lifted out of the water periodically, just long enough to keep them going. After a few frantic tit-shaking gasps, they were plunged under again. Teen pile driver after teen pile driver jabbed between Star's cuntlips, rammed in deep, pumped agonizingly in and out of her sperm-soaked slit, and deposited a rich load of man milk.

Next to her, Yvonne's inner thighs were slick with slime as thick, throbbing, cunt-cleaving ramrods reamed her savagely, again and again.

The horndog teenagers, at the peak of their sexual stamina, loved the feel of a hot, swollen cunt sheathing them, twitching and clamping down on their throbbing erect male members, its sensitive nerves hard-wired to the pleasure centres of their brains, as the cunt's owner screamed and squirmed, impaled helplessly and struggling hard.

It was a pitiless penile pounding. Turgid rock-hard pistons plunged in, pumped in and out, spat peckersnot deep into their gut holes and withdrew, to be instantly replaced by another, a nightmare of endless penile penetration. Their bruised and pin-punctured prick pockets were swollen grotesquely. The relentless, cunt-pounding onslaught continued mercilessly.

At last, they were done. The two quaking, battered beauties stood, coughing, wheezing and whimpering, bound before the laundry tubs. The leader grinned as he picked up a handful of Yvonne's dirty, blood-spotted panties.

"Open wide, ladies."

He jammed the dirty panties into their mouths and taped them in place. Another loop of duct tape was wrapped around their heads to blindfold them.

Star stood, shivering and quivering in pain and shock, sucking on Yvonne's filthy panties, wondering how many skid marks and how much menstrual blood was on them, as the last rapist shut the door behind them. The Bee-Sting Rapists high-fived each other, whooping and hollering excitedly as they ran down the street outside the apartment building.

Outside in the hallway, the CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign on the laundry room door confused the apartment superintendent. He hadn't ordered any repairs. Had the owner requested them and not told him about it? He pushed open the door.

Two beauties, naked, helpless and blindfolded, legs spread invitingly, stood before him. They were slightly the worse for wear, but better looking quiffs than a working stiff like him was ever likely to attract. One of them looked like that pushy bitch from apartment 6D. He tiptoed out and locked the door behind him, leaving the CLOSED FOR REPAIRS sign in place. Excitedly, he phoned a few friends.

A half hour later, Star moaned in fear as she felt her creamy smooth buttocks parted and oily fingers slipping in and out of her back passage, greasing the way. These were a different set of rapists, silent, not as hectic as the teenage rapists, smoothly insistent, in love with the back door.

Strong male hands, calloused hands used to manual labour, pinched her nipples and twisted them savagely as she was reamed long and hard. She shrieked into Yvonne's tasty, saliva-soaked panties. It seemed to take each one forever to cum compared to her teenage assailants. Each act of anal rape was slow, dogged and brutally insistent, a savagely relentless anal pounding culminating in an explosively sticky finish deep in her bowels.

Next to her, Yvonne sobbed in rhythm to each buggering thrust as each brutal butt fuck stretched her corn hole achingly wide. The greased sausages rasped in and out of her burning, bruised rectum as she blubbered hoarsely, the snot running liquidly in two commingled streams from her nostrils and dribbling in long gooey strings onto her heaving bare breasts.

At last they were done. His friends crept silently away. The last man to leave, the superintendent, snipped the plastic tie holding Star's wrists together before he left. Battered and exhausted, it took her a while to free herself and Yvonne. Together, they summoned the elevator. Most of the tenants were still at work so no one noticed as, half naked, supporting each other; they staggered along the hallway to Yvonne's apartment.

They locked the door behind them and collapsed.

Chapter 4 – Defiant Damsels

"I'm not going to the police!"

Yvonne had a very low opinion of the guardians in blue as they had so signally failed to protect her from the drug dealers or, indeed, to deal with the drug dealers at all in any effective way. If they couldn't handle something that was happening so openly, they didn't stand a chance against a team of rapists quietly fucking over a couple of women in a locked laundry room.

"They're just a bunch of posturing macho assholes!"

Star thought of the humiliatingly intimate inspection and swabbing that had been her experience after the Tag Team rape attempt and was inclined to agree. As a news anchor, she had been exposed to an awesome amount of arrogant police bullshit.

"The only problem is that we need medical attention! God knows what sort of diseases and infections we've been exposed to. If any of them had AIDS, the disease certainly had a direct connection to our bloodstreams with all those needle jabs. Who knows how clean the needles were?"

Yvonne's pretty face twitched, a study in sullen resentment and helpless outrage.

"I know a nurse. She'll help us."

She picked up the phone.

Much later, Nurse Amanda had finished her work. Cleaned up and pumped full of antibiotics, Star and Yvonne were still quaking pathetically. Amanda administered a much-needed sedative to help them cope. She spoke as reassuringly as she could under the circumstances.

"You're probably right not to go to the police. You don't need any more male abuse! Take my word for it. They have enough DNA evidence on the Bee Sting Rapists. Of course, it doesn't do any good if they can't capture the bastards! You have to have a suspect before DNA evidence does any good. None of the victims developed AIDS, although that can change at any time. Just get as much rest as you can."

Yvonne looked at her beseechingly.

"Can we stay with you? I don't feel safe here. I won't stay long, only as long as it takes to get a new, more secure apartment."

Amanda looked at the two bruised, dishevelled victims compassionately.

"Of course."

Star was hugely relieved.

"I just need a few days to recover and then I'll catch an airplane home. Phoning in sick isn't approved of, but screw that 'the show must go on' crap."

Amanda nodded approvingly.

"No job is worth dying for!"

A few days later, the hard-faced matron greeted Star as she stepped off the plane.

"Lucky you! You get an official escort to your vehicle. It turns out that airport management thinks it's bad publicity to have an anchorwoman attacked, peeled naked and almost raped on airport property."

Secretly, Star was hugely relieved.

"I'm impressed!"

The matron winked at her.

"So am I. I didn't think management was that smart!"

"This is the same management that had me strip searched?"

"That's them! Real publicity conscious guys all of a sudden!"

They laughed together, chatting amiably on the way to the car, a complimentary porter carrying her luggage. Star got in the car and drove home. The automatic door opener closed the garage door behind her as she turned off the engine.

They got her as she stepped out of the car.

"Welcome back, bitch!"

Star felt like her heart had been stomped. She began to pant as she went up on tiptoe, feeling the cold metal shaft of the ice pick go up her nostril and a hand cup the back of her head.

"We have a little unfinished business, cunt."

The Tag Team rapists took turns with the ice pick as they put Star through the now-familiar strip routine. She was 'encouraged' to step out of her black fuck me pumps. Her expensive silk blouse fluttered to the floor. Her breasts were un-cupped. Her skirt dropped to her slim ankles. Her panties and pantyhose were peeled down her shapely legs.

Sandwiched on tiptoe between the two, much taller rapists, the five foot six inch nude beauty was groped, fingered and fondled. Her 38D breasts were hefted and squeezed. Her perfect nipples were tweaked and tugged. Her bare buns were stroked. Questing fingers dipped between her legs, caressing her smooth shaven cuntlips.

Star gasped as she felt her cuntlips spread and a fuck finger crudely wormed its obscene way into her prick pocket. A beautiful babe that's just been jabbed in the cunt, half drowned, team creamed and, later, team reamed, may be pardoned an understandable mistake. She possibly thinks that she can handle a couple of guys who, according to the police reports, just want vaginal and anal sex with her featured as the naked meat in the sandwich. She may not be exactly overjoyed at the prospect, but she thinks she can handle it.

Of course, the cops always hold back a few 'details' so they can have the connoisseur's pleasure of being able to distinguish the copycats from the originals.

Star foolishly thought that these might be very considerate rapists as they put on condoms and squirted an oily liquid on them to lubricate.

The rapist in front of her dropped the ice pick and grabbed her slim wrists, grinning hugely. Star felt her bare buttocks parted. Her eyes grew huge as the choke rope was wrapped around her throat from behind. The Tag Team Rapists, in a beautifully co-ordinated and very well practised movement, penetrated Star from back and front, simultaneously opening her fuck hole and ass hole wide.

Star suddenly became very aware that it wasn't a lubricant they had squirted on their condoms.

She opened her mouth to scream and the choke rope pulled tight. Her blue eyes bulged and her pretty pink tongue protruded. The rapists sniggered as their sausages slithered in and out of her burning, swollen love tunnels.

"Do you like the jalapeno hot sauce in your holes, whore? We mixed in a few other chemical irritants to really increase the burn. We like our fuck holes hot and lively."

The Tag Team Rapists, older experienced men, liked taking their time and fully enjoying the moment, grinding their victim pitilessly. As they worked with hard, savage thrusts, the scabs were scraped off the recent wounds inside Star's cunt. The fiery juice coating the plunging condom seeped into her cuts and was rubbed in deep. Star's cunt flamed in incandescent anguish.

"Are you having a good time yet, you scum-sucking, sewer slut?"

Her naked body writhed and squirmed, crushed between the two ravaging rapists. Her big breasts were squashed, and her nipples rubbed hard, against the front rapist's hairy chest. Her bare buttocks rhythmically slapped the backdoor rapist's washboard abdominal muscles.

"Filthy fucking cunt doesn't look too snooty now, does she?"

Foam flecked her ruby lips. Her bloodshot eyes bulged. Every time lovely Star tried to scream, the choke rope tightened and the only sound that emerged was a croaking, gagging rasp. Sensitive, caring men, the Tag Team Rapists were always considerate of the neighbours.

They kept her strangling and squirming for a long, long time, savouring every tremor of her writhing nudity. Her inflamed holes clamped tightly around their plunging penises.

In the fullness of time, they both unloaded and pulled out. Star curled up on the cold concrete floor, sobbing hysterically, both hands clamped in agony over her flaming, grotesquely swollen genitals. The backdoor rapist looked down at her and smirked smugly.

"On TV, the bitch looks like ice wouldn't melt in her mouth. Now she looks like a nicely whipped pussy. Here's a little something to remember us by, since we're taking our DNA evidence with us."

He bent over, jammed a squirt bottle up her nostril and sprayed their special jalapeno hot sauce formula up her nose. Star's pretty head exploded in agony. She coughed and sneezed, rolling on the floor helplessly, her eyes watering as the powerful irritant ignited her sinuses.

"Have a nice day, cunt."

Chapter 5 – Cunt Catching

The bikers were having a good time taking Yvonne's furniture under the bitch's very nose. Hiring the cheapest help you can find is not always the best idea.

Yvonne watched as the heavyset movers carried her furniture out to the van. The movers looked like a tough lot. She had never seen so many tattoos in her life. Her new apartment had much better security, although it was much pricier. It was the first time that she had been back to her old apartment. She shuddered briefly as the gangbang. memories flooded back.

"Feeling cold?"

Yvonne smiled.

"Not really, just having some bad memories."

The biker bitch was all wide-eyed innocence. Dresses in her 'straight' clothes, navy blue pantsuit and matching high heels, Nikki looked stunning, quite the professional apartment hunter, able to hustle up whatever a client wanted on short notice. It helped that Yvonne wasn't going anywhere really. Nikki showed her pricey apartments and promised deals that she would never have to deliver on.

They watched as the last of her furniture moved into the van. Nikki smiled radiantly.

"Let's check the van to make sure that everything is packed so that it won't shift."

Yvonne was grateful to have found someone who was so obviously competent. They stepped into the back of the van with the chief mover, a heavyset bruiser who had been introduced to her as Chuck although his friends knew him as Big Bill. Yvonne watched in admiration as Nikki handled the controls that raised the ramp at the back of the van.

"You do that like a professional, Nikki!"

Nikki simpered prettily at Chuck.

"Chuck taught me how."

Watching them together, Yvonne thought privately that perhaps it wasn't all that Chuck had taught her. Inwardly, she shrugged. It didn't matter how Nikki got her the great deal on the movers and the apartment. Nikki glanced around at the loaded furniture and tugged professionally at a few ropes.

"Good job, Chuck!"

Big Bill handed Yvonne a clipboard with a complicated form on it. Nikki pointed to the bottom of the clipboard.

"All that says is that they loaded your stuff and it was OK when it went into the van. Just sign where it says 'signature'."

Yvonne took the pen from the top of the clipboard. She was peering in confusion at the bottom of the form, trying to figure out where to sign, when she felt her co-ordination taken out.

The clipboard clattered to the floor as Yvonne dropped to her knees. Mouth agape; looking like a clubbed fish, Yvonne stared up in stunned amazement at Nikki, who held a small spring-loaded sap in her hand. An impatient teacher, Chuck firmly took the sap from Nikki's fingers.

"You didn't hit her hard enough."

He clipped Yvonne expertly across the back of the head. She pitched forward, arching prettily, tits first. Hitting the floor hard, she lay still.

"Like that."

Nikki giggled as urine stained the crotch of Yvonne's jeans.

When Yvonne regained consciousness, she was on her knees behind a motorcycle. Her wrists were tethered to the top of the sissy bar on the back of a Harley. Since the rapes, Yvonne had taken to wearing clothes that covered her completely: pants to cover her sexy legs, long sleeves, baggy tops to hide her breasts, high necks, no make-up. Her turtleneck sweater, jeans, bra and panties were all thrown in the ditch at the side of the road. All she had on were tennis shoes and white athletic socks. Nikki looked back at her from atop the Harley, her arms wrapped around Big Bill's waist.

"Time for Sleeping Beauty to wake up and meet her Prince."

Yvonne coughed as Big Bill revved the engine, blowing exhaust into her flinching face. A helpful hand reached between her legs, cupped her genitals and lifted upwards. Frantically, Yvonne scrambled to her feet. She stood, swaying queasily, her beaten brains pounding inside her skull.

"There's nothing like a run in the country to clear your head."

The engine of the Harley roared thunderously and Yvonne found herself trotting along behind it, stumbling desperate to keep up. Tits bouncing, bare bum dimpling prettily, Yvonne stepped through the lonely countryside, surrounded by a pack of revving Harleys. The bikers took turns zooming in to give her a quick goose.

Yvonne was tough, but she was no track star. The bikers kept her jiggling along at a brutal pace. Yvonne tripped, scrambling frantically to stay on her feet. On the back of the bike in front of her, Nikki was full of helpful advice.

"Try and stay up, fuckhead. If you fall, we'll just keep going and scrape your tits off on the road."

Panting hard, Yvonne was soon swathed in a glistening sheen of perspiration. Yvonne squealed and leapt forward, tits aquiver, each time a Harley roared up alongside her and questing fingers pinched between her pumping thighs.

Yvonne was whooping and wheezing painfully for air, her sweating torso heaving, a stitch in her side, when Big Bill's Harley pulled to the side of the road. He stopped and cut the engine. She sank in exhaustion to her knees on the grass, her bound hands in front of her, still tethered to the Harley. She threw up. To Yvonne, it felt like she was trying to toss up her toenails. Nikki grinned.

"Time for a nice fuckslut rest to help you get your breath back."

Yvonne was still gasping and wheezing, trying to suck air into her oxygen starved body, when she was flipped onto her back. Strong hands gripped her slim ankles and her legs were opened for business. The first rapist pimp-slapped her briskly in the face and jammed his thick, seven-inch gristle into her hot, unlubricated fuckhole. No gentleman, the rapist leaned his full weight on her, compounding her breathing problems. Yvonne panted and squirmed underneath the severe penile pounding, sobbing gratefully as he unloaded his scum inside her and pulled out his pile driver.

Her relief was short-lived. The next rapist pistoned his fist into her bare belly. Yvonne jack-knifed up as the breath whooshed out of her. Her breasts mashed against the chest of the rapist as he threw himself on top of her, crushing her back to the ground and encunting her in one brutal, well-practised motion. Her naked body writhed frantically against his as he pumped her burning cunt hole hard.

Yvonne was still struggling to breath as he finished. She was flipped over onto her belly. A couple of hard shots to the kidneys had her arching up nicely as her ass-hole was opened for business. Her bare buttocks were prised apart and Yvonne felt the rock-hard member slither into her nether orifice like a snake into a mouse hole. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head up to keep her nicely arched, her breasts jiggling freely.

A pair of snakeskin boots stepped into Yvonne's range of vision. A woman who's getting her asshole reamed sometimes has trouble focussing on the world outside of her burning rectum.

He lifted her chin with the pointed toe of his boot. Yvonne's bloodshot eyes lifted skyward to take in the features of her old buddy Pablo. He grinned gloatingly down at her.

"Remember me, sweetmeat?"

Yvonne's voice shook with each reaming thrust, fear etched on her sweating face.

"I remember you, Pablo. I ran away. I'm no trouble to you anymore."

Pablo wasn't the 'forgive and forget' kind of guy that women love to take advantage of. He preferred his sexual relationships violent, with him as what the law enforcement community calls the 'perp' (i.e. the dominant one driving the relationship). A deeply caring man, Pablo believed firmly in corrective discipline.

Pablo treated Yvonne to his version of 'tough love'.

"There's an example to be made. Red-hot defiant cunts like you have to be chilled, sweetmeat. I can't let you get away with bad behaviour."

Yvonne's hard humping anal intruder finished at last with a grunt and a squirt. He withdrew and Pablo assumed control. He untied the rope from the sissy bar of the bike and led an exhausted Yvonne over to a tree stump. He kicked the backs of her knees, forcing her to kneel facing it. Helpful hands guided her arms around the stump and tied her wrists to a root at the bottom of the far side of the stump.

It was time for Mr. Relationship to bond with his bitch. He kicked her legs apart and knelt between them, unzipping. It says much for the level of abuse she had recently experienced, that Yvonne merely looked resigned as yet another rectal rapist parted her cheeks and Pablo's long, thick dick stretched her aching asshole wide.

As he pumped away in the slow steady rhythm of someone who's settling in for a good long stay, Pablo pulled a pair of needle nose pliers from his shirt pocket. He held them in front of Yvonne's scrunched-up, sweating face. Her eyes stared at the steel needle nose, mystified, as he threaded an iron ring onto the snout of the pliers, sliding it back to where the steel jaws hinged. That done, he grabbed Yvonne's long black hair and jerked her head back.

He tapped impatiently at her teeth with the steel jaws of the pliers. Since it was a question of having her teeth shattered or opening her mouth, Yvonne reluctantly opened. He reached in, gripped her tongue firmly with the pliers and pulled it out. He slid the small iron ring along the jaws of the pliers and onto her tongue, pushing it down to the base, rolling up her tongue like a napkin in a napkin ring.

Pablo loved having a beautiful babe impaled on his dick, screaming and squirming. He pulled her tongue forward until it was resting on top of the stump. Nikki, who loved watching anyone scream and squirm, helpfully placed the point of a drywall nail on top of Yvonne's tongue.

Nikki loved the anticipation in a victim's eyes. Yvonne, believing foolishly in the sisterhood of women, looked up at her pleadingly as Nikki dithered playfully, trying to make up her mind where to position the nail exactly. The surrounding crowd of bikers, connoisseurs of anguish, waited, enjoying the spectacle, while Nikki fiddled with the nail, finding the artistically exact spot on the wet pink tongue stretched out before her. Yvonne moaned piteously in fear. Grinning hugely behind her, Pablo kept humping away, crushing a tit with one hand while he held her tongue in place atop the stump with the other.

At last, Nikki was satisfied. She nodded at Big Bill.

Careful of Nikki's slim fingers holding the nail, Big Bill delicately tapped the nail in while Yvonne squealed like a boiled pig. With her ringed tongue securely nailed to the top of the stump, Pablo released his grip on the needle nose pliers.

Taking out a whetstone, he placed it suggestively next to Yvonne's tongue on the stump. He held his switchblade in front of Yvonne's eyes and pressed the button. She flinched as the gleaming blade popped out. He carefully placed a drop of oil on the whetstone and began to sharpen his knife, slowly and carefully. The scrape of the razor sharp blade on the whetstone was done in time to the burning ream of her rectum. Pablo felt small spurts of warm urine bathe his balls as Yvonne began to pee in fear with each scrape of the blade and each thrust of Pablo's hips. From the feel of things, if her asshole hadn't been plugged, she'd have been shitting herself too.

Pablo, a man of iron constitution and good self-discipline who loved prolonging the moment, kept pumping. His throbbing, erect member slid smoothly in and out of her hot, wide-stretched shit chute, lubricated by blood from Yvonne's slowly tearing rectum. That was all right. He loved stitching them up afterwards.

Helpfully, Big Bill heated up the end of a tire iron with a blowtorch. Pablo tested the blade's sharpness by jerking out a curl of Yvonne's black hair, tossing it in the air and trying a slice of his blade. When it cut the curl in half cleanly and effortlessly before it hit the stump, he was ready.

Yvonne shrieked maniacally as he sliced off the tip of her tongue, clamping her buttocks tight around Pablo's spurting penis. It felt like a line of fire as the blade bit into her tongue. Nikki picked up the bloody tip of Yvonne's tongue and tossed it deep into the woods where only the scavenging insects could find it.

The remainder of Yvonne's tongue sizzled like a cooking steak as Big Bill applied the red hot end of the tire iron to it, cauterizing the wound. With a horrible gargling scream, Yvonne jerked her tongue from the nail. Holding her head down, Pablo erupted in a deeply satisfying orgasm, flooding her bowels with DNA evidence, bonding beautifully with his new bitch.

She blubbered and bawled hysterically as her tongue swelled, sealing the iron ring encircling it permanently in place. Yvonne clamped her hands over her mouth as she was released from the stump.

Pablo gripped her by the hair and trotted her over to the trunk of his stretch limo. His driver popped it open. The trunk was lined with plastic, so any bodily fluids that leaked from Yvonne wouldn't stain the valuable vehicle. Pablo muscled her into the trunk and hog-tied her.

He loved the expression on a mouthy bitch's face after he had tongue-clipped her. The look of shocked horror in their eyes as they tried to talk back to him, making sounds like a severely retarded person with a huge speech impediment talking through a mouthful of hot rocks, was deeply satisfying.

Yvonne screeched hoarsely as he parted her butt cheeks and stitched the tear in her rectum without anaesthetic. While his fingers worked with needle and strong black thread, he chatted amiably with his new pet. He talked about the dangers of unsafe sex with people in the drug trade, commiserating with her that she probably wouldn't live long enough to find out whether she had AIDS or not. He breezily informed her that these weren't dissolving stitches so he'd have to remove them in a few days, cautioning her on the problems involved in keeping the anus clean and avoiding horrible infections. He slammed the trunk shut and sat briefly on the bumper, enjoying her muffled hysterical sobs, a Hallmark moment for the Columbian drug dealer.

He really liked Yvonne. She had the two things he looked for in a playmate: good looks and a high threshold of pain.

Chapter 6 – Scream Time

Lola, the current weathergirl and anchorwoman wannabe, loved the way the Arab had shaved his genitals as she spread her legs and felt his thick, uncircumcised, one-eyed snake slither into her warm, wet cockpit. She rubbed her twin beach balls ecstatically against his hairless chest as her hips pumped lewdly around his tightly clamped cock. She stuck her tongue in his ear and whispered exciting obscenities into the moistened, sensitized orifice.

The Arab unloaded so powerfully that she could almost taste it. Lola smirked smugly as yet another conquest gazed adoringly at her breasts. Those implants had been worth every penny she paid for them.

Lola gazed at him innocently.

"You wanted to know about Star?"

It was the Arab's turn to smirk smugly, thinking rather pathetically that he was a wily rascal deceiving a wide-eyed naïf.

"We, in the Arab community, wish to thank her personally for the fine interview she did of Saddam's childhood friend. It is so important that his dark side be shown."

It was news to Lola that anyone thought that Saddam had a light side. The Arab smiled ingenuously at her, not a very good actor really.

"You don't happen to know how she tracked him down, do you?"

"No, I don't."

His face fell. Inwardly, lovely Lola smirked. A past master at baiting the hook, Lola had been playing men for fools since puberty. She put on her best bimbo-esque manner as she helpfully gave him the inside dope.

"If you want to thank her though, you could catch her as she comes off work after the late night news. She always stays a bit late to wrap up and to start preparing the next day's stories. She works for about an hour afterwards and then she leaves alone. She does a lot of her own research. The way she found Saddam's childhood friend is a mystery to the rest of us. She likes protecting her sources."

The Arab's eyes took on a feral gleam. Coyly, Lola wrapped her fingers around his dripping member, examining it for signs of life. His tumescent member thickened under her expert ministrations.

"Care for a BJ? One for the road?"

"You have to ask?"

The Arab gripped her head as it began to bob between his legs. It was his lucky day. The Arab terror world desperately needed a few quick wins after Afghanistan and the embarrassing ease with which the Coalition forces had flattened Iraq.

Some women pursue active sex lives. Others have active sex lives thrust upon them.

Star hadn't bothered the police about her latest team cream, convinced that they were useless. They had done nothing concerning her first exercise in coerced sex as far as she could see. She had been worked over twice more, much more intensively, since then. Deeply depressed, despairing of getting any help, she had phoned in sick for a few days, trying to recover on her own. She had signed up with a security service and had the security on her home tightened so much that it squeaked.

She spent a lot of time showering.

To make matters worse, she had argued fiercely with her boyfriend, a professional football player. Until now, he had been delighted to go out with a well-educated, classy lady in a position of power and responsibility, very different from the usual type of football slut that hung around the pro players. Now that Star was damaged goods, possibly infected with AIDS and who knows what else, his enthusiasm for her had waned spectacularly.

The fact that the traumatized beauty didn't have the sense to go to the police infuriated him. A physically tough man, he had scant sympathy with her distaste for the medical swabbing and intimately invasive inspections that seemed to her to lead nowhere. He had no patience with people who wouldn't do the simple and obviously right thing because they were scared little ninnies. He unwisely said exactly that. Star promptly terminated the relationship.

"Are you okay?"

Star looked up from her desk. Charlie, the lighting director, was staring at her with a concerned expression. The good news was that he was a caring male. The bad news was that he was gay. The most favourable thing that he had ever said about women was that they were 'horrid, bleeding, scheming little beasts'. This pronouncement was inevitably followed by a disdainful shudder of the most complete disgust and horror.

Star thought that she must look very bad indeed if even Charlie was worried about her. She resolved to stop being stupid and get help. She smiled bravely at him.

"Just a bit down on my luck."

"Did you have a little tiff with the boyfriend?"

Star could tell that this was something he could relate to. She nodded.

"Among other people."

Charlie was sympathetic.

"Lots at once, eh? Everyone's jealous of us people in showbiz. Don't let the boyfriend worry you."

Charlie spoke confidently.

"There's lots of fish in the sea for people like us."

The idea that she and a screamer like Charlie were twin souls caught her unprepared. She started to giggle. Charlie giggled too. For some reason, it sounded much more feminine when he did it. They both started laughing uncontrollably, wiping the tears from their eyes.

"See? Ole Doc Charlie can tell that you're on the road to recovery."

"Thanks, Charlie."

Satisfied that she was all right, Charlie was re-assuring.

"Just talk it over with a therapist. You just have to get it out. Once you do that, you'll know exactly what to do. A therapist doesn't really do anything. They're just a sounding board, so you don't fuck up your personal and professional life by giving live ammo to the people that you deal with every day."

Charlie had some surprising news for her.

"I, for one, am glad that you're back. That Lola is impossible as your replacement. I think Goth girls take her make-up course. She thinks that she can wrap all the men around her little finger. This is one man she can't play for a fool."

Star smiled.

"You must be a revelation to her, Charlie."

Charlie nodded emphatically.

"See! There are advantages to being gay."

"I never thought of it like that. Thanks for the tip. I'll try it out. I think a therapist is just what I need."

"I don't want to discourage you, sweetie, but therapy made me the man I am today! I didn't even know I was gay until I started going to bed with my first therapist. He was wonderful."

Star's jaw dropped. Charlie grinned.

"Just joking! Seriously, you don't have to get a hunk with ten inches of rock hard gristle, just get one that listens."

"Um, thanks!"

Charlie wandered off. Star tidied up, studying the stories and making corrections. The Eleven O'clock News was in half an hour.

The elevator doors opened. A handsome blond man in an expensive three-piece pin-stripe suit carrying a briefcase stepped out. Next to him was the hard-faced black matron who had strip-searched her at the airport. Everyone in the newsroom stared, for the man was Ernest Mannheim, the leader of Aryan Masters, a white supremacist group. Seeing him with a black cop was a surprise. What was more surprising was that he looked pleased with the situation.

Even for a hard-faced matron, Shivonne looked unhappy. She glanced at Ernest and took a deep breath, inflating her blue shirt nicely.

"We have to speak to you, Star."

She paused significantly.

"In private."

Wondering what this was about; Star led them to a deserted conference room, soundproofed so that any sessions wouldn't be audible in the broadcast studio, and shut the door. Ernest (Dirty Ernie to his friends) took in her beauty with the eyes of a predator that eats its young.

"Unbutton your shirt, nigger. Open it wide and show the white cunt what you've got."

Star's jaw dropped as Shivonne, her eyes cast shamefaced at the floor, quickly unbuttoned. Shivonne looked at her pleadingly as she spread the front of her heavy police shirt, revealing a very nice set of naked knockers. Star's stared in horror at the belt around her waist. Dirty Ernie was smug.

" I see you recognize the remote control Stun Belt that you featured in one of your newscasts a few weeks ago. It works just like you said, delivering an 8 second, 50,000 volt blast to the left kidney, paralysing the victim completely while it does so."

Stun Belts were used on prisoners in American courtrooms on occasion. The police loved using these things as they could be hidden under the prisoner's shirt, out of the view of court spectators and nosey reporters. She thought wonderingly of the prosecuting attorney who had lightly dismissed it's use as 'a spanking' when she had interviewed him regarding a prisoner who had dared to interrupt a female judge while she was pompously pontificating and been fried in open court as a result. A 50,000-volt jolt was hardly a 'spanking'. Only a lawyer or a politician could come up with a concept like that.

Star bolted towards the doorway. Earnest smoothly stepped into her path, blocking her. He held up the remote control and pressed the button.

Shivonne's face contorted hideously. She grunted and went rigid, her bare breasts aquiver, nipples erect, as she silently absorbed the pain. Star, horrified, stopped in her tracks. Earnest was delighted.

"The nigger gets a blast every time you don't do exactly as you're told."

He smirked at Shivonne.

"I guess we'll find out how much of a nigger-lover Blondie here is. I think that my pet nigger-bitch should give Blondie some advice on the value of co-operating."

Shivonne's voice shook as she pleaded.

"Please, Star! Do as he says. I can't take any more."

Ernie wrinkled his nose and inhaled deeply.

"I love the stink of a sweating Jungle Bunny."

He stared at Star's 38D bust line.

"Unbutton your blouse, cunt. Show Uncle Ernie what you've got."

As she unbuttoned, Ernie was in redneck heaven. This was playing out exactly like Big Bill had said it would.

"Open your blouse wide."

Her see-through bra did nothing to hide her tits. She spread the front of her blouse and flashed them at Ernie.

"Turn around, Blondie, Let's see your back."

Star experienced a frisson of horror, feeling the fabric slowly pull across her skin as he untucked the back of her blouse. He opened his briefcase and pulled out another Stun Belt. He wrapped it around Star's bare belly and exposed back. He buckled it snugly in place.

"They're all the rage, Blondie! All the dumb cunts are wearing them."

While Star quivered in terror, he helpfully tucked the tail of her blouse inside the waistband of her skirt, giving her bum a friendly fondle in the process.

"Button up, fuckmeat."

It took two tries for her fumbling fingers to get the buttons right. She misaligned them the first time and had to undo them and button up again. Ernie helpfully tucked the front of her blouse inside her skirt, reaching between her legs for another friendly grope in the process. Her toes curled as he ran his fingers over her cuntlips. She stared fearfully at the second remote control in his hand.

"I like giving all my cunts a taste so that they fully understand the concept of consequences."

He pressed the button.

Like Shivonne, Star grunted and went rigid, quaking as 50,000 volts burned into her left kidney. The amperage and pulsing of the electronic blast was carefully calculated to paralyse the victim in a world of pain. Star's gut churned with liquid fire as her tummy muscles knotted and cramped agonizingly. She seemed to be frozen forever, helplessly absorbing the brutal punishment, although it was only eight seconds. She gasped as the current stopped.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to deliver your newscast while I wait here, watching on that monitor. Then you come with me and we'll discuss what sort of stories you'll be writing about the Aryan Masters."

He gripped her jaw with one hand, forcing Star up on tiptoe. He stared intently, his madly gleaming blue eyes boring into hers. He reached under her skirt and slipped a small transmitter inside her panties. He clipped the attached microphone to the elastic waistband, facing out.

"With this, I can hear everything you say. If you say a suspicious word to anybody, the nigger fries and you fry too."

A determined knocking on the closed door interrupted them. The urgent voice of the script girl came through.

"Star! It's almost time to go on!"

Ernie nodded at the TV monitor fastened to the wall.

"I'll be watching."

Star quivered as he ran his fingers around inside the waistband of her panties.

"I'll be listening."

He glared at Shivonne.

"Get behind the door, you topless whore."

Shivonne obediently stepped behind the door, to be out of sight when it opened. He slapped Star on the rump as he opened the door.

"Knock 'em dead, nigger-lover. Come here when you're finished. Tell everyone that I have a hot story to give to you and you alone."

Star nodded and scooted out the door. He shut it behind her. He looked sternly at Shivonne.

"Drop your pants to your knees, slut. Spread your legs as wide as you can to hold them at your knees."

Shivonne unbuckled her heavy belt with its bullet-less gun. He had removed her bra and panties earlier. She was bare-ass before him as she spread her legs, holding the waist of her pants tight between her parted thighs.

"Assume the position against the door, Officer Coon."

Shivonne rested her sweating palms against the door and stepped back.

"You have to keep me amused like a good dark meat whore while I listen to the evening news."

Shivonne grimaced as she felt Ernie's finger worm lewdly into her fuckhole. He knelt down, placed a palm on either ass globe and spread her light brown butt cheeks. Her buns quivered as he spat a slimy goober onto her exposed rectum to lubricate it. He licked his fuck finger and opened her heinie hole with it, spitting on it repeatedly as he pumped it in and out.

He stood up and unzipped. His white sausage tube slithered into her anal passage, pale as an albino cave snake that had never seen the sun. He gave her a blast from the Stun Belt. Her buttocks clamped down so hard that she expelled his sausage like a greased turd. Surprised, Ernie laughed as Shivonne shuddered in the cruel grip of the Stun Belt. He kicked the back of her knees, dropping her to the floor. He booted her onto her back and knee-dropped onto her taut, cramping belly.

The air whooshed out of her. Greatly excited, he placed his throbbing member between her ample breasts as she wheezed for air, squeezing them tight around his dick. He pumped hard and sprayed a generous load of man milk into her face.

On the TV monitor, Star was giving her worst performance ever, mumbling nervously through the news, burbling on about the President's Bush, blushing prettily as she realized what she had said and then stuttering as she fumbled to correct herself. Unfortunately, it now sounded like she was talking about the President's Tush.

Ernie shook his head grimly. He kicked Shivonne hard in the belly as she tried to pry herself up off the floor.

"Button up, zip up and buckle up, bitch. Tough as it is for a nigger bitch scumbag whore, you have to try and look respectable."

He held up her Stun Belt's remote control.

"Do you want another taste or are you going to get a move on?"

Shivonne hustled to make herself presentable, huffing and snuffling, wiping his cum off her face with the sleeve of her shirt, pulling up her pants, putting her uniform back together.

The newscast was over. The News Director had just looked at Star and shook his head unbelievingly.

"I'll make it up to you!"

He snorted sceptically and went to talk to Lola who gave Star a smug smirk as she chatted earnestly with the News Director. Deeply fearful, unable to think properly, Star promptly reported in to Dirty Ernie.

"That was pathetic, you useless cumslut. You must have fucked your way to the top. The only thing about you that probably works is your cunt and all you probably do there is spread your legs."

"Let's go."

As they left the newsroom, everyone made a big point of ignoring Star. Charlie exhibited that loyalty to a fallen comrade for which media people are so justly famous. He spoke loudly to the script girl as Star walked past.

"Even that bitch Lola would have done better!"

Star's face burned a bright red.

They went down to the parking garage. Ernest stared in surprise down the barrels of the AK47s that suddenly surrounded him. The Arabs were nervous.

"You can keep the nigger. We want the white bitch."

"What about my Stun Belt?"

"Stun Belt?"

Ernie was patient with the ragheads. To him they were an inferior race, slow on the uptake. He spoke slowly and loudly, like one addressing slightly deaf, badly retarded children.

"She's wearing something called a Stun Belt. I want to keep it. You can have the bitch. She's useless to me anyway. They'll probably fire her after that performance."

The Arabs were confused.

"What's a Stun Belt?"

Ernie addressed Star briskly.

"Unbutton your blouse and show them the goodies, cunt."

Star found herself flashing her tits to a leering audience for the second time in one night.

"How does it work?"

Star grunted and quivered rigidly, everything jiggling nicely as Ernie pressed the button on her remote. Urine spattered from between her legs onto the garage floor. The Arabs were fascinated.

"Excellent! We'll take it! Is the policewoman wearing one too?"

Ernie nodded, dismayed at this development. Stun Belts cost money and were a bit tricky to come by since, theoretically, they were only sold to law enforcement personnel.

"On second thought, we'll take her too."

"Hey, that's not fair! They're mine."

The Arab was reasonable.

"Our kidnapping them is just as fair as your kidnapping them."

The Arab gave the loudmouthed redneck a sweet smile.

"We can take something else too."

"What's that?"

"Your life. Just say the word, any word."

Looking thoroughly pissed off, Ernie shut his lips tight. As Ernie's hand reached out to hand over the remotes, Shivonne's foot kicked out. The heavy police boot sent the remotes and their batteries flying. The hard kick unbalanced her.

Outraged, Ernie grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the side of his van. She slumped to the cement floor, lights out.

At the same moment, a red dot blossomed in the middle of the Arab's forehead. His brains sprayed out the back of his head, splattering over the white wall behind him.. His buddies, conditioned to a world of sudden violence, grabbed Star and ducked down, eyes scanning wildly for the shooter.

Ernie grabbed Shivonne by the back of her shirt and her belt. He heaved her inert body into the back of his van, giving a quick thumbs-up to his sharp shooting buddy who had been lurking in the shadows as back up.

"Good work, Henry! That stupid raghead never saw it coming!"

A dedicated survivalist, Henry laid down quick bursts of covering fire. As the Arabs ducked down from the hail of bullets, Ernie started the engine. Henry dived into the passenger seat as the van started to roll, quickly picking up speed. They drove off, careening wildly, tires squealing, as they exited the parking garage.

The Arabs stared in dismay at their fallen comrade. Having been drilled pitilessly in one of Khaddafy's terrorist training camps in the Libyan Desert, Achmed quickly assumed control. He ignored the dead body.

"This is just a minor setback. We have the bitch. The mission is still on."

He raked Star with a predator's gaze. With his hawked nose, coal black eyes and seamed skin, baked by the burning sun, he seemed to her a wild desert animal.

"Bend her over the hood of that car."

Star felt her breasts crush against the cool steel as they gripped her wrists, pulled her forward and stretched as her torso over the hood.

"Spread her legs."

Strong hands gripped her slim ankles and pulled them apart. She felt Achmed slip his fingers inside the elastic waistband of her panties and pull them down her thighs. Achmed gripped her by the hair, jerked her head up and pressed the barrel of a revolver against the middle of her forehead. Breathing heavily, she stared upwards at it, slightly cross-eyed.

"I'm going to put this gun barrel where I can't miss."

He removed it from her forehead. Achmed parted her cuntlips with his long fingers. He placed his forefinger along the top of the barrel so that the front sight wouldn't scrape too atrociously until it was buried deep. He eased the barrel into her love tunnel.

Her flesh crawled, feeling the gun barrel part her cuntskin as he wormed the cool steel into her hot fuckhole, pushing it in slowly and steadily. She gasped as the mouth of the barrel went beyond the length of his forefinger and began to scrape delicately against the exquisitely sensitive female flesh deep inside her tool tunnel.

"If I pull the trigger, it will gut you completely. You'll die slowly in great agony."

The large calibre gun went in as far as it could go until the mouth of the barrel was tapping her cervix. He kept the barrel moving slowly inside her, twisting and stirring, keeping her continuously aware of its hard invasive presence. It took Star several tries to form the necessary words.

"Wha...."

"What d..."

"What do you want?"

"How did you find Saddam's childhood friend?"

Star gulped as he jammed the O of the barrel hard against her cervix. The information poured out of her.

"One of the researchers, Kirstie Benton, actually located him. You'd have to ask her."

"Where is this researcher?"

"Kirstie likes working late. She's still at the station. Her number is on my cell phone."

"I want you to phone her, get her to come here and bring her file on Saddam with her."

He twisted the gun barrel hard. Star was pathetically eager to please.

"No problem!"

Her cell phone was extracted from her purse, Kirstie's number was located and the cell phone held to her ear.

Kirstie was excited. Fresh out of university, she had hired on as a researcher for the news. Busy surfing the 'net for new info, she had missed the evening newscast and Star's disastrous performance. Her VCR at home recorded the newscasts. She replayed them the next day while she ate breakfast. Now Star was calling her to bring the file on her Saddam research, actually waiting for her in the underground parking lot for the info. Kirstie zipped the info and dumped it onto a diskette.

They took her as she stepped out of the elevator. A quick clip across the back of the head with a sap and she collapsed to the floor like a sack of cement. Her unconscious body was handcuffed, each wrist handcuffed to the corresponding ankle. She was gagged with duct tape and loaded on her back into the trunk of the Arabs' Mercedes.

Blindfolded, on her knees with Achmed's gun barrel worming slowly inside her fuckhole for encouragement, Star was giving blowjobs to the security guards. In addition to a nice bribe from the wealthy Arabs for looking the other way, they were being treated to some celebrity meat. Her blouse open, her big bare boobs bobbing in time to her dipping head, Star was busily stroking, licking, sucking and swallowing security guard sperm as they stood in line, feeding her their dicks for a quick knob gobble.

When she had gulped down the musky man milk of the last security guard, her hands were cuffed together behind her, her lips taped shut and she was loaded into the trunk of the Arabs' Mercedes. Her face was jammed into Kirstie's crotch. As the Mercedes pulled out, Kirstie slowly came to with her pretty face buried in a dark, wet, smelly place. Completely disoriented, her taped lips pressed against Star's bare cuntlips, Kirstie sobbed and whimpered in terror.

Chapter 7 – Homecoming Queen

As his Lear jet sped its way to Bogotá, Pablo felt the sense of relief and contentment that a person always feels as he comes home. The number one cause of death in Columbia for men over the age of 10 is murder. It was an environment Pablo felt totally comfortable in. A man with a knife or a gun was something a person could handle, quickly and with deeply gratifying violence. Invisible, lethal germs and getting old and feeble were much scarier concepts.

Next to him, his new tongue-clipped bitch was considerably less euphoric. Strapped naked into her seat with her legs spread wide, Yvonne tugged futilely at her bonds as she watched Mellita the mouth whore work, topless on her knees. Her big soft breasts bobbed, swaying rhythmically as her full red lips sucked Pablo's thick knob like a lollypop. She ran her tongue skilfully along the sensitive underside of Pablo's penis, making him hard and cruel. She hadn't been with Pablo long, but Yvonne recognized this as the prelude to another Scream and Squirm drama with her making a return appearance as the Shrieking Victim.

Pablo held up some tablets and a glass of water.

"I want you to swallow these down. If you don't I'll cut off your nipples."

He held a wickedly sharp pruning knife with a hooked blade an inch from her eyes.

"I've already sliced off the tip of your tongue and clipped an small iron ring around it. Your nipples would be much easier to harvest."

He gargled a bit at the back of his throat and spat a thick, green wad of phlegm into the glass of water.

"Water is bland, so I though that I'd add a bit of flavour."

Yvonne looked a bit sick as he placed the pills in her mouth. Her Adams apple bobbed as she gulped them down along with the slimy snot water.

"Just some uppers to keep you wide awake and lively."

He gave a few moments to allow the drugs to work, watching her carefully for the tell-tale signs. When Yvonne flushed and her pupils dilated, he wrapped his hand in Melitta's long black hair and lifted her bobbing head from his lap. Yvonne was surprised when Pablo spoke a few words in Spanish to the tongue tart and Melitta scooted over and dipped her head between Yvonne's parted thighs. Melitta's muscular tongue felt warm and comforting as she licked Yvonne's labia and playfully teased her clit out of hiding. Yvonne's cuntlips were soon engorged, wet, red and fully distended. Her stiff, diamond cutter clit was throbbing on the very verge of orgasm when Melitta lifted her head and stopped.

Pablo was gratified at the way his new tongue-clipped bitch began gibbering in inarticulate horror, making loud, pathetic pleading noises, eyes bulging as she saw the gleaming pruning knife delve between her parted thighs. She tried frantically to close her legs. Her groin muscles strained like taut steel cables, her inner thighs aquiver, but her knee straps held firm. Digging deep with the point of the razor sharp pruning knife to get at the very root of her love nubbin, he deftly excised her erect clit.

Yvonne screeched like a fire siren. Pablo grinned as he deftly threaded the thick black thread onto the sewing needle and began stitching shut the bleeding gap where her clit used to be. He loved a bitch with a high threshold of pain. He grinned into her shocked, pasty face as she sobbed miserably.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble, you fuckfaced mouthy cunt. You'll be opening your holes a lot. That's about all that you're good for these days. I wouldn't want you enjoying yourself."

He tugged at her pretty ears. He liked giving his tongue-clipped bitches a future to dream about.

"Tomorrow, I'll be slicing these off. Don't worry. You just have to keep your hair brushed forward and hardly anybody will notice."

He didn't think that she'd actually complain when he 'forgot' to do this, but she'd always wonder if he would suddenly remember his promise every time he stuck his wet, slimy tongue in her ear, one of his favourite habits with a fucktoy. He continued stitching her up.

As Yvonne screeched out raw, haunting cries of anguish and despair, the Lear jet started the landing approach.

At 10,000 feet, trapped in a druglord's personal Learjet, only the perverts can hear you scream.

On another continent far to the North, in the secret Montana survivalist bunker of the Aryan Masters, Shivonne awoke groggily to a rhythmic pumping between her legs. She groaned with pleasure, and then the memories came flooding back. Her eyes popped open. Ernie's face, up close and very personal, grinned back at her. Shivonne was spread-eagled; buck naked except for the police cap on her head and the gleaming black police boots on her feet, hanging by her wrists from the ceiling, with her ankles spread wide and shackled to the cement floor. Her lips were duct taped shut. A tasty, urine soaked sponge was sealed inside her mouth. Shivonne's eyes blazed furiously. She hated Montana Neo-Nazis.

"Ready to party, nigger-bitch?"

Ernie thrust hard and deep, his pasty white sausage tube slithering in and out of her smoothly shaven fuckhole. He cradled the back of her head with his hand and pressed her head towards him so that the tape sealing her lips was pressed against his ear hole. He intimately savoured every gasp, groan and grunt. Truth to tell, Ernie greatly preferred dark meat, enjoying the feel of Shivonne's large soft breasts pressed against his bare chest and her tight cunt enfolding his erect penis in its warm embrace. He nodded to Henry.

Behind her, Henry removed the glowing red branding iron from the brazier. He moved the branding iron slowly towards Shivonne's back, letting her feel the searing heat as it slowly inched closer to her bare skin. She began to writhe and squirm frantically, much to Ernie's delight. With the sizzle of raw steak freshly tossed onto the grill, Henry jammed the red-hot swastika against her back. Shivonne screamed shrilly into Ernie's ear through her piss-soaked gag. Her naked body arched against him in a delightfully violent agonised spasm. He grunted ecstatically and almost lost his load as her squirming nakedness writhed frantically and her cunt clamped down hard. The smell of roasting fuckmeat filled the air. Ernie smirked at Henry.

"I like my niggers well done. Could you cook her a bit on the other side, Henry, ole pal?"

"No problem, Ernie. Just let me heat the branding iron up again."

Ernie prided himself on his stamina when it came to raping over the lesser breeds. He cunt-reamed her patiently while Shivonne sobbed, her nakedness quivering delectably against his. He loved breaking tough black bitches with a high threshold of pain.

The glowing red swastika was, at last, ready. He touched it tenderly against her shrinking flesh, and then pressed hard for an extra deep sizzle. Once more, Shivonne screamed and squirmed, impaled on Ernie's plunging pole, her hot bod pressed snugly to his. She shivered feverishly against him. Ernie massaged her firm buns enthusiastically.

"I'm in the mood for a bit of rump roast, Henry."

"Just let me heat 'er up again, Ernie."

Henry put the swastika branding iron back into the red, glowing coals. Ernie kept punching his rock hard manrod into Shivonne's soft pink feminine depths.

"No rush, Henry."

There are limits to even the toughest bitch's resistance. Henry felt a hot shower of Shivonne's urine bathe his balls as she lost bladder control, quaking and moaning in fevered fear and pain. Her fear sweat commingled pleasantly in his nostrils with the smell of well-cooked meat and fresh piss. He breathed deeply, enjoying hugely the traditional stench of the torture chamber.

Henry removed the glowing swastika from the embers. As she felt the heat mounting against her buttock, poor shivering Shivonne lost bowel control, squeezing out a series of turd snakes that slithered out from between her quaking buns, down the back of her quivering thighs and plopped onto the floor. She ground her pelvis hard against Ernie's as the swastika hissed and sizzled against her exposed ass cheek.

"One more cheek to go, Henry."

Henry re-heated the branding iron. Shivonne shook like a leaf in a windstorm, waiting for the searing pain. As she felt the heat of it drawing near, she tensed her buns, clamping down hard on Ernie's diamond cutter pounding between her legs. As Henry touched the glowing red swastika to her tightly clenched buttock, Ernie grunted ecstatically, fire-hosing cum into her cunt. Shivonne bucked violently as he came and, at last, she fainted.

Still spread-eagled, Shivonne came to, coughing from the smelling salts, her back and buns on fire, throbbing agonizingly, white-hot pain that just wouldn't quit. Her well-reamed cunt burned between her legs. White, sticky cum dribbled down her inner thighs. She opened her eyes. Henry's smirking face was inches from her own. She glanced down and found that he was unzipping his thick, stiff, heavily veined, cunt-reaming tool.

He squatted down and picked one of her turds up off the floor. Shivonne threw her head back and screamed, jerking violently as he stood close and rubbed it into the swastikas burned into her flesh. His hands massaged her burning back and kneaded her throbbing buttocks. She crushed her warm, soft breasts against his chest as she frantically arched away from his pressing hands. His purple knob had a glistening, milky dewdrop on the tip. He pressed it urgently against her bruised and swollen cuntlips, his slick knob parting her tender female flesh with ease.

"A good infection will make those swastikas really stand out."

Sobbing brokenly, she whimpered as he jammed his thick, veined sausage into her cunt and came almost immediately, adding to the thick white jism oozing from her swollen slit and dribbling down the inside of her thighs.

He unshackled her and hustled Shivonne over to the Pig Pens. The newly constructed concrete survivalist bunker was a full facility, including breeding pens. The Pig Pens were being slowly populated with 'genetically superior' (Ernie's term for good-looking) members of the lesser breeds to be bred (Ernie-speak for fucked) to provide servants for the Master Race. The Pig Pens were divided up according to Ernie's somewhat skewed view of the universe with separate sections for Asian, Black, Semitic and White Trash Breeders. The men of the Aryan Masters were encouraged to 'purify' these lesser races by mating to produce as many 'half-breed' slaves as possible; half-breeds fortified with good ole Aryan DNA. This was a popular program with the redneck horndogs who ordinarily wouldn't have a chance at top quality fuckmeat.

Although hosed down regularly, the rutting Breeders in the Pig Pens smelt like dripping cunts. Each Breeder reeked of the cathouse, emitting a hormonally overripe combination of dead fish and overheated cat piss. There was no mistaking their role in the Aryan Master universe. They looked like whores. They smelled like cunts. They talked like fear-trained guttersluts. They fucked like minks.

Wearing only her police hat and black combat boots, Shivonne was trotted to her stall at the beginning of the Black section, next to the Semitic section. She stared unbelievingly through the railings at the row of nude beauties lying on their backs, masturbating shamelessly, their bare bums parked in slimy pools of cunt juice and cum. Henry unlocked the gate to Shivonne's stall. He pushed her in and kicked her to her knees.

From all around her came the sound of guttersluts groaning in orgasm. He shackled her ankles to widespread ringbolts set in the cement floor. A heavy chain was padlocked around her neck. The other end was padlocked to a ringbolt on the floor by a few short links, forcing her to bend over and rest her forehead on the floor with her legs spread wide. He took a hose and sprayed ice-cold water over her exposed crotch until Shivonne was shivering, her nipples erect from the cold.

"Reach between your legs and masturbate. From now on, you're a Breeder. Fucking is all that you're good for. I want you wet and ready to open your fuckhole to your masters at any time. If you're awake, you have four options: you're either whacking off, being fucked, squeezing out a new servant for the Master Race or screaming in punishment."

He adjusted the security camera so that it was focussed on her crotch.

"Every Breeder masturbates for the camera. The guards monitor the cameras closely. If your stiff clit isn't clearly visible, if your cuntlips aren't fully distended, if you aren't wet and ready, a warm wet willing wench waiting to be fucked, with her mind firmly focussed on what's between her legs, you'll be punished. Unless you want the soles of your feet branded, get those fingers stroking, bitch."

He slapped her on the rump, hitting the brand dead centre. Shivonne squealed in pain.

"NOW!!!"

Shivonne started frantically massaging her clit. He waited until she had teased it out of hiding and it was stiff and erect for all to see. He gestured at a row of water bottles.

"Suck on those if you get thirsty. Conversation is forbidden. You speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?"

Shivonne nodded.

"Yes."

He slapped her rump hard. Shivonne gasped.

"Yes, MASTER!! Understand, cunt?"

Shivonne barked out her reply like a marine recruit on parade.

"YES, MASTER!"

Unlimited access to the Pig Pens was one of the privileges of membership in the Aryan Masters, a privilege Henry made full use of. Henry pulled out his dick and went to the next stall where a dark haired Jewish girl with big breasts was sweating in ecstasy, on her back, legs spread wide, fondling herself shamelessly. He had personally selected Daphne's revealing costume: thigh-high, black, seamed stockings with spike-heeled fuck-me pumps and long elbow-length opera gloves. Her black, studded dog collar, chained to a ringbolt embedded in the floor, completed her fetching ensemble. Her long black hair was fanned out, spread like a carpet beneath her bare back and buttocks. She gasped as Henry unceremoniously plugged himself in and started humping her warm, wet fuckhole, enjoying the feel of her large erect nipples rubbing against his chest.

Daphne went into action reflexively, a thoroughly trained Breeder. Her tongue snaked into his mouth. Her wet cunt squeezed his dick tightly. Her small, gloved hands caressed and fondled him skilfully. Henry grinned as her humped her hot hole.

"Lucky you! I'm in a Semitic mood, cunt."

Stroking herself all day was easy. Daphne had more difficulty accepting that, to the Aryan Masters, she and the Arabs were lumped together indiscriminately as 'Semitic'.

"You smell like a whore, Jew-girl."

"I am a fucking god-damn whore, master."

Daphne had been one snotty, smart-assed bitch in high school, a gorgeous honour student humiliating slow-thinking rednecks like Henry by her very existence. In high school, she had only looked at him pityingly, like he was some sort of moronic sub-human. He had overheard her suggest to her friends that she was going to tell the Biology teacher that she had discovered the Missing Link, looking at him significantly. Their derisive giggles still lingered in his memory.

When she moved back to town after graduating Summa Cum Laude from university, Henry had delighted in stalking and capturing her to serve in the Pig Pens. He loved putting the once-proud beauty in her place.

"Wrong again, fuckhead. You're lower than a whore. Whores get paid. You get nothing."

"I get paid in peckersnot and the privilege of conversation with you, master."

He fucked her at every opportunity. Daphne wasn't exactly a smart-mouthed brainiac anymore. Spending every waking hour with her heavy lidded eyes glazed with lust, she diddled herself to orgasm after orgasm when she wasn't putting out for Henry and his buddies. This had definitely dropped her IQ a few points and kept what remained of her mind firmly focussed on what was throbbing between her legs.

Despite the fact that he and his buddies spent a lot of time fucking her stupid and pounding respect into her, Henry hadn't quite liked the sound of Daphne's last statement. Determined to carve the snot out of her, Henry studied her pretty face carefully for any sign of insolence. He saw none, but slapped her hard on principle. Her long hair flew as he slapped her forehand and backhand. Her cheeks flamed red as she stuttered her apologies, eyes brimming with tears.

"Thank you, master. I'm extremely sorry if I, a worthless grovelling second-rate fuckslut, gave offence. I won't let it happen again."

Henry grunted in satisfaction as he unloaded inside her. Henry stood up and zipped up. Daphne dutifully went back to masturbating, his semen seeping from her slit to pool on the plastic mattress underneath her sweating buttocks.

On his way out, he paused to watch an extremely pregnant Eurasian beauty squatting over a bowl, squeezing out thick moist turds under the watchful eyes of a handler. The fucksluts of the Pig Pen were only permitted to pee and poop at specified times. Any deviation was punished. Henry supervised his high school buddy Daphne a lot, testing her bladder and bowel control daily, making her beg and plead for the privilege of voiding her bladder and bowels while everyone watched, listened and wrinkled their noses.

The pregnant ones often had a big struggle to hold in their piss until permitted to empty their child-compressed, foetus-kicked bladders. After almost a year in the Pig Pen, being fucked over 24/7, the Eurasian girl knew the drill. Every trace of dignity and self-respect had been carved out of her.

The Eurasian beauty's lovely face dripped sweat as the gravid girl squatted like a sumo wrestler. Her hands were clasped together, fingers interlaced behind her head, elbows pulled back to lift her heavy breasts, her bulging belly hanging out in front over her shaven cunt. She looked up pleadingly at her handler.

"Please, master! I know that I'm a worthless, knocked-up, butt-stupid bitch, unworthy of the smallest consideration. Although you have graciously allowed me to shit myself in front of everybody, I still need to piss quite badly. May I? Please? Please? Pretty please???"

Her handler kept her waiting, squatting like a toad, the surrounding men looking down on her, smirking and sniggering at her obvious discomfort and distress. Her pretty toes curled as she strained to contain herself, while he carefully considered her request. Her bulging belly moved as her unborn slave-child kicked and squirmed restlessly inside her. As her foetus bounced, pounding her bladder with its tiny fists like a boxer working a punching bag, the Eurasian beauty licked her lips and her sweating face took on a look of ever more agonized concentration.

An expression of pure bliss suffused her features as, at a word from her handler, she was finally permitted to empty her bursting bladder. Yellow rain splattered noisily into the basin beneath her. The ring of men surrounding her laughed derisively.

She brokenly expressed her gratitude.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for having mercy on a valueless cumslut, master!"

It was always pleasant to see a pretty girl who knew her place. Henry chuckled in delight and went off to consult with Ernie about their plans for world conquest. He had lots of ideas for fucking over the lesser breeds. Perhaps they could recapture Star and add her to the White Trash section. In his opinion, that bitch definitely needed the snot carved out of her. A long session in the Pig Pens was definitely indicated. He wondered if they could track down those fucking Arabs for a good ass kicking. Perhaps they could kill two birds with one stone. He felt pretty sure that Montana Neo-Nazis could beat the ragheads and take their women.

He wondered what fucking a belly dancer would be like.

Chapter 8 – Bound to Please

Pablo lounged in his van by the side of the road, lazily taking in the sights. The Columbian drug dealer was back in the United States, having generously donated his tongue-clipped bitch to a charity fuck-a-thon back in Columbia. Serious money was riding on her as the fluffers worked on their knees, hardening cocks to open Yvonne's fuck-hole for a long series of brief, brutal invasions.

Pablo was confident that Yvonne would cum up with a winning performance. If she succeeded in fucking a thousand men, Yvonne would be allowed to keep her fingers and toes and a local hospital would get a generous donation, a perfect win-win situation. Thus, he made sure that Yvonne was properly motivated and also that medical personnel were working to keep her at it. Eager for the donation, teams of handlers were pumping her full of amphetamines and antibiotics to keep her going, keeping her fluid levels up by scooping up the cum and making her swallow it, icing down her swollen labia, monitoring her progress, ensuring that the naked, clit-less, tongue-clipped bitch on her plastic-covered, frequently-hosed-down mattress was humping hard for charity.

Back in the good ole USA, land of opportunity, Pablo was looking for some tender American meat to amuse him. The women in Columbia, a land of ultra-violence and quick death, tended to be tough. The gently raised, parentally pampered and thoroughly spoiled American Beauty was a much more tender flower. He derived great pleasure from uprooting these flowers and plucking the petals, one by one, from the rose.

It was Jennifer's misfortune to saunter past Pablo's parked van in a halter-top and shorts. It was even worse luck that she chose that moment to fix an undone shoelace.

Unaware of Pablo, watching in deadly silence behind her in the van, the twenty-five year old American-born Asian beauty bent over to tie up her running shoe. As the back of her shorts pulled down slightly, Pablo was treated to the sight of the word slut tattooed in small black block letters just above her tight oriental buns.

It was a warm, bright, sunny spring day. Small, colourful birds fluttered in and out of the dense branches of the trees lining the street. They landed and puffed out their small feathery chests, warbling beautifully as they sought to attract a mate with skilful trills, cheerful chirps and carefully preened plumage.

Pablo used a more take-charge approach to mating.

After a quick glance to make sure that no one was paying attention, partially hidden anyway by the body of the van and the trees, Pablo eased open the door. Sensing movement behind her, Jennifer tugged the knot of her shoelace tight and hurriedly straightened up. Pablo clipped her across the back of the head with his spring-loaded sap. Her shoulder length black hair with burgundy highlights fluffed prettily, as if ruffled by a strong breeze. He caught her as she fell. He lifted her, putting an arm around her shoulders like one helping a drunken friend, and smoothly muscled her unconscious body into the van.

He drove off, a powerful predator fresh from the kill, eager to feast. He pulled into a secluded nook and got down to business.

Her unconscious body lay facedown on the floor of the van. He untied Jennifer's running shoes and peeled off her white socks, revealing small perfect feet with carefully buffed and polished toenails. He ran his hands up her slim legs, feeling the firm youthful muscles, massaging her pliant flesh, enjoying the feel of her smooth, unblemished skin under his palms. He squeezed her tight buns through the fabric of her shorts, raised her arms and tugged off her halter-top. He unhooked her white bra and flipped her over.

He pulled off her 34B bra and was delighted to see erect nipples pierced with small silver rings. The navel on her smooth flat belly was also pierced with a silver ring. He removed her delicate earrings and nipple rings. Heavy-duty steel rings would replace them. On a hunch, he opened her mouth. Sure enough, a silver barbell pierced her tongue. With growing excitement, he pulled down her shorts and panties. Her smooth cunt was pierced with small silver labia rings.

Pablo was in love.

He hogtied her, peed on her panties and jammed them into her mouth. As Jennifer's eyes fluttered open, he taped her lips shut. As his urine trickled tastily over her tongue and down the back of her throat, she squealed in distress. He slapped her hard in the face.

"Shut up, bitch! You speak only when spoken to."

Jennifer stared at him, her brown eyes huge, the imprint of his hand burning on her cheek. Excited, he pulled out his rock hard dick, gripped it firmly and pumped it briskly. Gripping her painfully by the hair, he quickly came in her face. He tilted her head to one side and ran his fingers firmly along the underside of his penis from the base to the tip to squeeze out the last drops off cum into her ear hole. Then he relaxed beside her, slipping a couple of fingers up her cunt as he rubbed his thick, sticky peckersnot into her pretty face with his other hand.

"There's lots more where that came from, cunt."

He wormed his thumb into her asshole and froze her very soul with a chilling prediction.

"With a bit of excruciating surgery, you're going to make the perfect fucktoy."

Meanwhile, Star and Kirstie were enjoying challenges of their own.

Each stood, barefoot, handcuffed and hooded, between two sturdy posts which would hold and support a victim during her ordeal, facing tall mirrors to enable the victim to view her own torment. The posts between which each prisoner stood were five inches in diameter and were set in the floor three and a half feet apart. The two sets of poles were at right angles to each other, so that each victim could see what was done to the other as well as seeing her own torment in the mirror. The poles were equipped with brackets, holes and cleats so that their interrogators could tie them to the poles in a delightful variety of deeply vulnerable positions.

Achmed and Mohammed did Star first. A well-practised team, they uncuffed her wrists. Each took a wrist firmly in hand and attached it to a leather cuff on a rope fastened to a pulley on top of the post on either side of her. They pulled the rope through the pulley, shortening it until Star's arms were pulled wide apart and she was standing up ramrod straight. They cleated the ropes to hold her in place.

Working quickly and expertly, the two men pulled her feet apart and roped her ankles to the bottoms of the posts. After she was spread-eagled between the two poles, the kneeling men ran their hands up over Star's calves, working under her dress to caress her inner thighs and, finally, delving between her spread legs to stroke, fondle, pinch, and finger their helpless victim's panty-less pussy and bare buns.

They pulled off her hood. Her pretty toes curled as they groped the goodies, feeling her up. Star groaned and moaned into her gag. Her body writhed and squirmed under their probing, intimately invasive hands. Achmed grinned.

"Let's strip her for action."

A few snips of the scissors and Star was spread-eagled stark naked, the most intimate and sensitive portions of her delectable flesh exposed and vulnerable. Achmed nodded at Kirstie standing barefoot in her t-shirt and jeans.

"Let's see what the other young lady has to offer."

Kirstie's long blond hair flowed out the back of her hood to her waist. Her flesh had crawled as she listened in horror, imagining the torturers' hands stripping her and fondling her own flesh. Now it was her turn. Nevertheless, she felt a frisson of excitement. She never imagined that being an Internet researcher could be so dangerous.

In no time, she too was spread-eagled between the posts. They removed the hood from her head. The first thing she saw was a nude, totally exposed Star, eyes bulging, panting hard. The news anchor had really first class tits and perfect nipples. A shy, intensely modest person, Kirstie wondered if she could measure up as she felt the scissors snipping away her clothes. She wondered anxiously what the two metal rods sticking out of the pot of boiling water were for. Nothing good, she felt sure. Flickering torches, the only light in the dark dungeon, made for spooky illumination of their nude sweating bodies.

She saw the glint of anticipatory pleasure in Achmed's snakelike eyes. Mohammed's dark eyes glistened fiercely as he drank in her lithe beauty. Pale pink nipples capped apple size breasts. A golden wisp of pubic hair did nothing to cover her tight slit. She had a runner's legs and the flat muscled belly of the dedicated fitness addict.

Kirstie cringed as she recognized the feral cruelty of the two men. A shudder of horror ran through her body like an electric current as she realized that they were looking forward to abusing her. It was going to be fun for them. A small shiver of delicious anticipation flickered beneath her feeling of absolute terror. This was a LOT like some of her secret sexual fantasies: the public humiliation, the hard cruel men possessing her, breaking her to their will. She scanned the savagely expectant faces of the men surrounding her, ostensibly there to learn interrogation techniques from the masters, and understood that they too were looking forward to watching her suffer.

Kirstie's cheeks reddened as it sank in that she was fully exposed in a room full of men. Totally naked, completely vulnerable, she couldn't cover or protect herself in any way. All she could do was steel herself, bluster bravely and to try to give them as little as possible. Other people's lives were depending on her. The people she had contacted over the Internet had wanted guarantees of confidentiality, guarantees that she had personally given. The proud beauty, young and idealistic, seeing herself naked in the mirror, tried to reassure herself that she had what it took to protect her sources from these evil men. The mirror was angled up slightly so that, as she looked into it, it looked like she was a pair of tits and a cunt.

Kirstie's blue eyes grew huge as Achmed and Mohammed donned executioner's hoods and several video cameras were produced. Fucking over a famous American news anchor while the cameras rolled would be a publicity triumph for the Arab terror machine. They would be spitting in the face of American Homeland Security and President Bush's War on Terror, which was beginning to look a lot more like a war of conquest in search of Arab oil. After all, Osama was still free and Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11. While Iraq's Weapons of Mass Destruction didn't exist, their possession of the second largest oil fields in the world was an established fact, well known to George W. Bush's financial backers (which include, curiously, the Bin Laden family! This may help explain why, at the war's peak, there were fewer American troops chasing Osama in Afghanistan than there are policemen in Manhattan).

Two cameras were focussed on Star who was obviously to be worked on first. One was on Kirstie to record her reaction and capture every detail of her nudity, from the small birthmark on her left breast to her fine wisps of almost transparent pubic hair.

Kirstie's long blond hair was tied around a steel ring attached to a rope over her head. The rope was pulled up. It felt like the roots of her hair were pulling out of her scalp as she was forced to hold her head up, achingly erect. The video camera captured the panic in her flushed, fine-featured face.

Star lowered her head in shame. Her hair swung forward, partly covering her face. Achmed's mocking voice dripped with false sympathy.

"Is the famous American anchor woman a bit camera shy? Awww, poor baby!"

Achmed wanted the anchor bitch's features clearly visible to the cameras so that they could capture every twitch and flinch; the pulsing arteries in her flushed face, her bulging baby blues, all of the tears and each dribble of snot. He wrapped a wide leather collar around her throat, forcing her chin up, compelling her frantic, bloodshot eyes to stare out at the cameras. He buckled the row of straps along the back of the collar to eyeball popping tightness.

"Now, let's see what you have to offer."

Star struggled as Achmed, who had moved behind her, reached under her arms, grabbed a breast with each hand and snuggled up close. As she struggled to pull away, Star felt something long and hard rolling against her back. With a shock she realized that it was Achmed's erection. He was huge. Star wondered why she'd not noticed it before. Feeling his erect penis against her bare buttocks, she squawked frantically, desperately trying to plead through her gag.

He began fondling her tits, gently at first. Embarrassingly, her nipples hardened and stood erect under his expert manipulation. He grasped her breasts and mimed milking a goat. His violence increased. Before long, he was crushing and squeezing her succulent snoobs. He whispered mockingly into the struggling beauty's ear as he tugged at her titmeat, a stage whisper for the cameras.

"Stupid goat girl! Big-shot know-it-all American pig-dog news anchor! See how helpless you are! We Arabs are not so weak and powerless after all! I can do what I wish to you, in your own country! You are no longer a smart-mouth newswoman blabbing foolishly about things you know nothing of! You are now a lowly animal, fettered and displayed before your betters. Your private areas, your udders, your cunt and, the part of the body that you think with, your asshole, are completely unprotected and available to all."

His audience sniggered appreciatively. Hefting her breasts, Achmed mugged for the cameras.

"This stupid woman must be half camel - a two humper! What big milk bags you have, not that anyone but the depraved Israeli's would drink cow's milk. If these udders were full, you'd have enough to start feeding the children your country has forced into starvation in Iraq and Afghanistan, not that they would sicken themselves by sampling such worthless offal."

The cameras focussed on her crotch as Achmed jammed a thumb and forefinger from either hand deep into Star's honey pot. Star shrieked as he pinched the pink painfully on either side of her love tunnel and pulled outwards, opening her cunt agonizingly wide for the viewers.

"The American Beauty is a pretty rose, eh? As everyone can plainly see, this unmarried female is not even close to being a virgin! Let's heat her up and see what sort of performer this shameless whore is."

Stepping back and grabbing a torch, he dipped it between her legs, skilfully cooking her inner thighs and cunt to a bright red with no blistering and no destruction of the pain receptors transmitting the agony to her brain. Star shrieked high and hard. Strong gloved hands prised apart her tightly clenched buttocks, exposing her rectum and the crack of her ass to the flickering flame of Achmed's torch. He roasted her armpits to a bright red and then allowed the flames to lick up her belly and toast her titmeat.

"Everybody thought that remark of the Iraqi Information Minister about grilling American bellies in hell was a joke. This stupid American, with her hot red belly being cooked in the flames by an Arab devil, isn't laughing."

Red faced and screaming, tears streaming down her congested face and snot streaming from her congested nose, Star shrieked even higher as her slapped her reddened asscheeks. Her eyes bulged as he wormed a finger into her incandescent asshole and rubbed her bright red belly.

"Pretty funny, eh?"

Kirstie stared bug-eyed at Star's sweat-slick form writhing in the light of the torches, the firelight flickering beautifully on her glistening naked body. She did seem to be a sinner being roasted in hell by hawk-nosed demons. Achmed looped a rope around each of Star's knees and passed it through a waist-high hole in the corresponding pole. He loosened her dainty ankles and pulled firmly on the ropes attached to her knees, spreading them wide. Attempting to ease the pressure on her hips, Star splayed her legs sideways as he lifted her toes from the floor. Displayed obscenely, hanging by her slim wrists, her chest compressed by the strain, Star was breathing in short fast pants, her tits aquiver, moaning in fear and pain, her lovely blue eyes pleading desperately.

Thoughtfully, Achmed placed an inverted bucket under each foot so that Star was able to achieve some support on tiptoes, just enough to cause her calves to cramp agonizingly in short order.

She screamed as the first rapist penetrated her, rubbing painfully against her toasted tits and burning belly. She screamed even higher as her rosy red buttocks were parted and a greased dick slithered into her roasted rectum.

Star fainted, only to be awakened, shrieking wildly, by the next penetration. Hanging naked in the firelight, Star alternated between fainting and screaming as the men lined up, back and front, for a series of agonizing violations.

Kirstie's bowels contracted as Mohammed ran his finger thoughtfully along her exposed slit.

"Achmed says that you are more sensitive than the famous anchor woman and so must be handled more delicately."

Like Achmed, he plunged his thumbs and long, strong fingers into her cunt. He pinched either side, pulled outwards and opened her vaginal passage wide for the cameras. Kirstie whimpered as he exhibited her most intimate orifice to the cameras.

"What shameless hussies these American women are! Not a virgin in sight! Another goddamned media whore! Creatures of the war-mongering arch-fiend George Bush, pious hypocrites, cursed by Allah!"

He put on an oven mitt and pulled one of the steel rods out of the boiling water.

"We know exactly how to treat such depraved bitches. Water boils at 100 degrees Celsius, or 212 degrees Fahrenheit as you Americans say. A rod kept in boiling water for very long heats to exactly the boiling point of water, allowing for a controlled scald."

Kirstie shrieked insanely as he rammed the scalding hot rod up her cunt as far as it would go. As she jiggled and quaked for the cameras, he kept an eye on his watch, a master chef timing the cooking of the cuntskin lining of her prick pocket carefully. He pulled the rod out and put it back in the water. He waited patiently while Kirstie screamed her brains out. When the noise died down a bit, he pulled out the second, smaller steel rod from the boiling water and wormed it into her asshole. Red-faced, her voice screeched even higher, sounding barely human. She jerked frantically but futilely against her bonds. A small trickle of blood dripped from her nostril onto her bare, bouncing breast as her blood pressure sky-rocketed.

Mohammed grunted in satisfaction as he withdrew the rod from her rectum.

"A much smaller burn than your friend, but I think you'll find it just as effective."

The eager rapists lined up front and back and began to open her hot holes with their uncircumcised dicks. Kirstie shrieked wildly with each thrust, struggling dementedly sandwiched between two hard humping rapists. Their penises were gripped tightly as they slithered in and out of her badly swollen fuckhole and aching asshole. Each deep reaming thrust burned agonizingly between her legs.

Much later, Achmed and Mohammed got down to the nitty-gritty of interrogation. Ice cuts the pain of a burn. Profoundly grateful for having ice rubbed over their burns and all raped out, they caved in completely. There was no pious nonsense about a newswoman protecting her sources while often giving away that same source by the very news she reported.

Achmed rubbed ice over Star's belly, buns and breasts. In Kirstie's case, Mohammed lovingly inserted small ice chips up her cunt and into her asshole. At the smallest hesitation, the ice was removed and a quick, brisk rub of their burns had them once more pathetically eager to please, imploring, wheedling, whining, praying, begging, and giving them all of the nitty and every bit of the gritty. Beaten bitches, they gave up names, addresses and telephone numbers. They eagerly surrendered their bank accounts and PIN numbers. They screamed, slobbered and sobbed out descriptions of their co-workers in the smallest detail: hangouts, hobbies, habits, moles and scars. Big, flowery descriptions flowed from their eager-to-please ungagged lips. They would have confessed to the Lindberg kidnapping, burying Jimmy Hoffa and helping Hitler to escape the bunker if it had been asked of them. By the time they were done, Achmed and Mohammed had everything important down two different ways.

Achmed and Mohammed ball-gagged and hogtied their two naked bitches. As they were tossed, squealing like pigs, into the portable dog kennels that would be used to transport them, Achmed chatted amiably with Mohammed.

"They'll heal. We broke the bitches with no permanent damage so we can make a few bucks peddling their asses on one of the Middle East meat market. Celebrity skin and blond bitches bring top dollar."

Mohammed nodded and grinned.

Chapter 9 – Fire Siren

"I'll do anything you want! Anything!"

Naked and helpless in the dentist's chair, slender arms taped to the armrests and slim ankles taped to the footrest, her small breasts bounced as Jennifer writhed frantically. Pablo grabbed her by the hair and jerked her forward, holding her bent over with one hand as he carefully poured the gasoline onto her hair with the other. He put down the gas can and lovingly worked the gas in with both hands. Not quite satisfied, he poured on some more, taking his time, repeating the process over and over until he had made sure that each hair was soaked with gas from the root to the tip. The strong reek of petrol filled the small room.

"No, please! I'll do anything!"

Pablo grinned playfully he flicked on his lighter and began slowly moving it towards her face.

"Then hold still while I light up your hair."

"No! Please! Fuck me! I've got a nice tight cunt. I thought you liked those cunt rings."

Pablo looked thoughtfully at her crotch, halting the progress of his flickering lighter. He rested a hand on her neatly shaven mons veneris. Invitingly, Jennifer opened her legs wide. He tugged tentatively at the small silver rings piercing her labia.

"Why don't you have a clit ring?"

Jennifer licked her lips nervously at this horrifying concept. She gasped and smiled weakly as he painfully wormed a couple of fingers into her dry cunt.

"You don't seem too eager. You're dry as a bone, too dry for my bone!"

"Well, uh, how about a BJ? I give great head!"

"Really? I bet I can tweak up your performance!"

He touched the lighter to her hair.

Jennifer's bare body bucked wildly, screeching like a madwoman as her hair whooshed into flame. She bobbed and weaved, her naked buttocks bouncing on the seat as her head turned into a bright crackling torch. Pablo watched patiently until all her head hair was burnt away, and then calmly tossed a wet towel over it, smothering the flames.

She stared at him wild-eyed, her sweat-slick torso heaving, her head glowing a bright, bright red where her hair used to be. She shrieked in pain as he ran his hands over the hot sensitive surface.

"Now you're nice and smooth, bald as a billiard ball, no eyebrows, no eyelashes."

He held up a mirror so that she could see the unfamiliar denuded, red, swollen face staring back at her. Deeply in shock, she had the absurd thought that her burgundy highlights had just been turned into a complete waste of money.

"Maybe I should start up my own hair salon to handle snotty little bitches like you. I could call it 'Hot Heads'."

He grinned at her.

"Since you volunteered, I'm going to make you queen of the BJ. Of course, if you want to deliver the perfect knob job, those teeth have to go."

Jennifer tugged futilely at the tape holding her wrists and ankles, trying to arch her nakedness up and out of the chair over the back. Pablo pushed down on her shoulders, forcing her back in place. As her bare buttocks kissed the leather seat once more, he immobilized her head, taping it firmly to the headrest. He adjusted the bright light so that it was close to her face and shining painfully into her red-rimmed eyes. He worked a bony knuckle into her eye socket and twisted painfully. Involuntarily, her mouth gaped open and he gripped a front tooth hard with the pliers and jerked it out.

Once the first gap in her teeth had been created, she could no longer keep the pliers out by clamping her jaw shut. Frustratingly, the growing gap allowed them in to do their brutal, bloody work, time after time.

She fainted repeatedly while he worked, urine spurting from between her legs, shitting herself messily as she squirmed and writhed, her bare body bucking and heaving helplessly in the chair. Snot dribbled in long sticky strings from her nose onto her bobbing breasts, mixing with her tears as Jennifer sobbed and bawled brokenly.

At last he was done. He untaped her head. Her lips were badly swollen and her eye was rapidly swelling shut into a beautiful shiner. Her bare bum slithered in her own slime on the chair seat. She stank of blood, sweat, piss and feculence. Without her teeth, Jennifer would forever be forced to speak like an elderly retard. She wailed in misery.

"You bazdhard! Why bid you do zsis do me?"

He looked at her with wide-eyed innocence.

"Well, jeez, Chiquita, you said that you would do anything for me!"

Rape Toys by Llabmik (cont'd)

Chapter 10 – Radical Feminism Takes a Dive

Anna Trevelyan arched her back and moaned as Betty licked between her legs, flicking her tongue wickedly over her clit.

Since moving to the States from England, Anna's sexual activities had been exclusively lesbian. It was well in keeping with her position as an Associate Professor of Philosophy specializing in ethics, epistemology and feminist philosophy. Feminist philosophy produced the best muff divers, in Anna's learned opinion, an opinion based on extensive research. The slim blue-eyed blond groaned in yet another orgasm, her brown nipples boldly erect, their colour contrasting strongly with her sensitive pale skin, untouched by the sun.

Betty beavered busily between Anna's athletic legs with deliciously sucking lips and obscenely probing tongue. Her knowing fingers, buried in Anna's dripping cunt, massaged her G-spot. She hadn't quite mastered the art of breathing through her ears, so carpet-munching Betty snuffled noisily as she worked, her nostrils flaring with each panting breath. Each puff of air fluffed the small damp triangle of neatly trimmed hair on Anna's pubic mound. Anna's cunt juice dribbled down her chin onto the rapidly growing wet spot at the centre of the mattress.

"I haven't made you late for your interview, have I?"

Anna grabbed Betty's head by the hair, forced it down between her legs and humped her distended cuntlips against Betty's dripping face. She could tell that the naughty little minx was hoping that she had made Anna late – a typical ego-trip female trick.

"There's plenty of time, my dear. I set the clocks ahead so it won't be a problem!"

"What!"

Anna laughed.

"It's nice of you to try so hard to make me late, though. I really appreciate it!"

Betty's jaw dropped. Anna spoke to her sweetly.

"Maybe we can have a re-match and you can try to make me late delivering my lecture tomorrow."

Betty threw a pillow at her. Anna sniggered archly.

"I have to shower so that I look respectable for this Lola person who is interviewing me by video-link from California. While I'm doing that, why don't you be a good girl and change the sheets."

Betty threw the other pillow at her. Anna ducked deftly and hurried into the bathroom. She poked out her head.

"Sorry! Really, I'm very grateful that being a good girl isn't in your nature."

Betty giggled good-naturedly.

"You look so prim and proper and so very English, but you're quite the sly little minx yourself!"

"Maybe you could turn all the clocks back before I think to turn them ahead next time!"

Anna could tell by the rueful expression on Betty's face that she had nipped Betty's next scheme in the bud. Happy to have out-witted yet another in a sea of scheming academic females, Anna hummed cheerfully as she stepped into the steaming shower.

 An hour later, Anna was in the TV studio looking at the monitor. She couldn't believe the tits on the woman. They couldn't be real. She noticed that the cameramen religiously kept Lola's silicone mountains in every shot. Lola shifted her snoobs and smiled.

 "Hi! I'm Lola from Channel 69 News. You're Anna Trevelyan, the expert on feminist philosophy?"

 Anna nodded, trying to keep her eyes up.

 "Yes, I'm an Associate Professor in Philosophy. As well as feminist philosophy, I also specialize in ethics and epistemology."

 Lola nodded knowledgeably.

 "Well, episiotomies are painful so lets talk about the relationship of ethics and feminist philosophy. Don't you think those two things are mutually exclusive?"

 Anna blinked.

 "Uh, I said epistemology…"

 Lola held up her hand to stop her. She spoke firmly.

 "I don't care how you Brits pronounce it! It really, really hurts and this is a family program. Let's stick to ethics and feminist philosophy."

 Lola bounced her tits and gave Anna a coy wink.

 "I realise that, like most feminists, you probably prefer women, if you know what I mean, but what's wrong with men? It's not really ethical to discriminate against them. Let's face it; being anti-male is the core of feminist philosophy. Do you think that sort of discrimination is somehow OK?"

Anna breathed deeply.

Challenged, Lola breathed deeper.

Letting her breath out slowly, Anna decided to play to her strengths. An experienced lecturer, she began to speak calmly. Within a few minutes, even Lola began to realize that she was being made fun of in a dry, archly British way. She made a referee's timeout signal with her hands. She held up a sheet of paper.

"While you've been blathering on with all that fascinating academic stuff, I've been reading your background and I know where you went wrong."

"Pardon me?"

"It says here that you went to Cheltenham Ladies College before you went to Oxford. That sounds like a girl's school."

"Well, yes. It's exactly what you would think – a very distinguished college for young women. The Queen and Prince Philip… "

Lola waved her hand dismissively.

"Whatever. The point is, you think that it's a man's world and here you are hanging out with only girls during your formative years. If you think that it's a man's world, you should understand men."

Lola spoke confidently and somewhat patronisingly. She knew men from prostate to testicles, not that that's a huge distance. She leaned forward to show the camera a bit more cleavage.

"Trust me, honey. Unless you know what's lurking inside the 12-year-old male reptile brain, you can't understand them later on! You have to start knowing them up close and really personal from a young age. Then you don't have to worry about all this philosophy stuff. Your parents weren't doing you any favours by denying you a co-ed education."

Anna smiled warmly.

"So you've been extremely intimate with twelve year old boys?"

There were audible snorts from the camera crew. Lola reddened and scowled darkly at them. Anna was reasonable.

"Lola, this is a taped interview. I know that you're going to edit this part out, so just let me have my say and then we'll both look good. I suggest you cut everything from your foolish remarks about episiotomies up till now. If you try to edit it yourself in any other way, you will look stupid in front of millions of people. So I'll say my little set piece and, when I am done, you nod approvingly. Otherwise you will look like a fool. Understand?"

Lola swallowed and nodded. Anna smiled and began.

"What ethics and feminist philosophy are about is fairly obvious. Epistemology is the study of the origin, nature, methods and limits of knowledge…"

 A short while later, Anna, who was by now feeling distinctly pleased with herself, ended her speech.

 Lola jiggled her tits, gave her a thumbs-up and spoke the lines that were soon to become famous coast to coast.

 "Right on, sister!"

 A short time later, Lola was on the phone.

 "Hi! Double-D? It's Lola. Remember me from when you were visiting Big Bill?"

Lola listened and then nodded.

 "Well, I can't help you there. Star's sort of disappeared. On the other hand, I have complete contact info on a really snotty but not bad-looking English bitch that lives out your way…."

Chapter 11 – Ringmaster

Pablo rapped out the code knock on the hotel room door. His pets, Melitta the Mouth Whore and Jennifer the Pain Pig, stood obediently at his side, smiling prettily, chests inflated, like good little bitches. A heavyset bruiser opened the door, gave them the hairy eyeball and ushered them in.

Jennifer's young life was now totally dedicated to sex and violence. Thick hard penises were pounded into her brutally and punched in and out savagely, unloading their slime into and onto her tender young body. The motivational beatings that accompanied Pablo's performance appraisals were wonderfully educational, robbing her of all self-respect since; according to her extremely demanding new master, she didn't even make a very good whore.

Pablo introduced Jennifer to the Mouth Whore of the Month club. The circle of heavyset men sat in their chairs, watching cold-eyed as Pablo stripped her. A whore's clothes never take long to remove. Pablo simply pulled the little bows holding together the two thin wafers of flimsy, clinging fabric, one covering her front and the other her back. Since, under Pablo's tutelage, she wore no underwear, Jennifer was instantly ready for action, flashing her gash and jiggling her tits for them, a thoroughly broken, fear-trained fuckslut.

Graciously accepting a Scotch and Soda from his hosts, Pablo explained the routine to his pet pain pig.

"The rules are simple, slut. Your hands are handcuffed behind you. You go around the circle sucking off each of these men in turn. The quality of a mouth whore is measured by how many times she can go around the circle until she fails to produce a result. If you don't measure up to the minimum standards, I remove your clit to help you focus on your art."

The bad news just never stopped coming. Jennifer swallowed hard as he pulled out the handcuffs, twisted her arms behind her back and cold steel was cinched tight around her slim wrists. In a small, lisping voice, the toothless mouth whore had just one teensy-weensy little question:

"How many timeth izza minimum?"

Pablo threw his drink in her face. A wet face slaps better. A man with rich experience in pimp-slapping a whore, Pablo aimed for the middle of her cheek. There was a sound like a pistol shot as Pablo hit her hard, fingers spread to amplify the force of the slap and leave a red hand-mark burning on her cheek. Jennifer staggered awkwardly in her high spike heels. The circle of men grinned, stiffening visibly. They all loved watching a bitch getting worked over.

When Jennifer regained her balance, Pablo slapped his pet pain pig vigorously backhand and forehand, cupping his palm for deep bruising on the forehand stroke and aiming his knuckle carefully on the backhand stroke, fanning her face with a savage flurry of vicious slaps to make sure that he had the dumb cunt's attention. Her knees gave way. To keep her from falling, he played a quick game of 'purple nurple' for his appreciative audience, pinching her nipples hard and pulling her up and towards him. He breathed his words into her flaming, flinching face.

"Nobody likes a bitch that's even thinking of giving up as soon as she performs the minimum! I want the most from my sluts. You keep going until you fail, fuckface."

Her ears ringing, her vision blurred by tears, Jennifer nodded numbly.

Silently, squatting naked in black nylons and high spike heels, Jennifer began going around the circle, squatting like a toad, legs splayed wide, exposing herself shamelessly in front of each man, giving head to a group of very well endowed gentlemen who believed in burying their over-sized members deep. This only permitted her to breath on the outstroke, so poor Jennifer was soon panting prettily. She came to dread the moment when each one gripped her by the ears, rammed his jumbo jackhammer down her throat and pumped lustily, almost ripping her aching ears off in his enthusiasm. At that point, her mind melting with fear, she worked furiously to get them off as quickly as possible so that she could resume breathing normally.

Mission accomplished, she would straighten, her belly queasy with a fresh load of wiggling sperm. She would totter, in a whore's sexy saunter, to squat obscenely in front of her next customer. The high spike heels were awkward to walk in, hobbling Jennifer nicely, forcing her to adopt a hip grinding whore's walk when she moved. They were also impossible to remove unless you had the key to the small padlocks that held the ankle straps firmly in place.

She soon settled into a hard-slurping grind of licking each thick penis erect, sucking strongly on the knob to stiffen it, massaging each tumescent member with her toothless gums. Taking a deep breath, she gulped hard as a rock hard piston was jammed down her throat, wiry pubic hair scoured her lips and hairy balls banged against her chin. Her gasping, choking face was humped hard until the queasy moment that filled her stomach with powerful squirts of oyster juice. After that, she tottered over to squat obscenely, legs splayed wide, in front of her next customer.

Squatting and sucking like a wet vac, Jennifer at last failed to run the flag up the flagpole. Instantly the central link in her handcuffs was clipped to a chain hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the circle of chairs. Her wrists were pulled up behind her, higher than her shoulders, forcing her to lean forward from the waist. Pablo gestured to Melitta.

"Show the dumb cunt how it's done."

Insolently, Melitta the mouth whore strolled over to the limp dick that had defeated Jennifer. Sucking his hairy balls into her mouth, she hummed a bit to tickle him. She turned her head sideways and sucked the underside of his stiffening member into her mouth. Humming like a vibrator, she rubbed her warm wet tongue against the underside of his now throbbing member from side to side, working her way up towards the purple knob. A milky dewdrop glistened on the tip. Melitta sucked his entire dick deep into her throat and he instantly bathed her tonsils in bull gravy. She gulped it down like a total pro and turned smugly to Jennifer.

"That was easy. You really are a loser."

She winked slyly at Jennifer.

"Spread your legs and I'll give you a little consolation prize and a quick lesson in carpet munching to boot."

Melitta's voice vibrated with warm sympathy.

"Come on, honey, it'll feel good and you'll learn something useful."

Jennifer stared into Melitta's warm brown eyes, grateful for the smallest drop of decency and understanding.

"OK"

She lowered her head and spread her legs. Melitta licked her labia. Waves of warmth suffused Jennifer's loins as Melitta teased her clit out of its hood, stiffening it to throbbing erectness between Jennifer's parted thighs. Jennifer's dark brown eyes glazed with lust. She groaned on the very verge of orgasm.

Melitta stopped abruptly.

Jennifer's lips turned from a frustrated moan into a silent 'O' of horror as pleasure merged with pain, agony with ecstasy. Working between her legs, Pablo dug deep with the sharp point of his pruning knife as he excised every trace of Jennifer's love button.

As Pablo used a cigarette lighter to sear the sound, Melitta looked at her pityingly.

"Jennifer darling, the useful thing you learn from this is not to trust anybody!"

Jennifer passed out, the circle of men laughed coarsely and Melitta went back to work.

Chapter 11b– Out Of The Frying Pan...

Recovering in a high security military hospital used by spies, CIA agents and their ilk, Star thankfully blessed the Homeland Security forces. They had busted those Arabian asses in fine style. The debriefing had gone very well, she thought. Talking about her experiences had a healing effect mentally. When she got out, some psychotherapy was definitely indicated.

In a room down the hall, her troubles were being viewed from a very different perspective. The professionals of Homeland Security were watching through a one-way mirror as some of their colleagues sweated an Iranian bitch. The young student was hooded and had assumed the position. Stark naked, she was leaning forward against the wall with her legs spread. Her back was towards them. They could all see her smooth shaved cunt as she waited alone in the room. She had been waiting for quite a while, nude in a cool room. Her brown nipples were tight and puckered. She was quivering with fear and shivering with the cold. Her big tits trembled delicately and her goose-pimpled skin had a bluish tint. Dr. Dan Dakota (a.k.a. the Spin Doctor) addressed his white-coated colleagues.

"Gentlemen..."

He gave a perfunctory nod to Dr. Georgia Washington as the door to the interrogation room burst open suddenly. The Iranian bitch's boobs bounced as she jerked in surprise. Her breath started coming in short pants. Dr. Dan continued as the interrogation team ran their hands over the bitch's bare bod, patting her down, feeling her up, letting her know who owned her ass.

"... and Lady, we have a problem. If news of this leaks out, we have a P.R. nightmare. The fact that these people are continuing to operate successfully within the continental United States is very bad news. September 11 ^th was bad enough. Not being able to find Saddam's weapons of mass destruction, weapons that the President assured everyone actually existed, is not good either. The situation in Iraq is deteriorating daily, making us look bad. That these people could actually kidnap, rape and torture a media newsperson in our own country is intolerable. The fact that the Arabs sent the info they had tortured out of their prisoners in a long, encrypted message to their colleagues over the Internet before we could effect a rescue would make us seem slow and stupid if it becomes known. This could adversely affect our already damaged credibility and (ahem!) our budgets."

Dr. Georgia Washington leaned forward as everyone watched gloved fingers dip between the Iranian bitch's legs. The bitch whimpered as strong fingers parted her cuntlips and probed intimately. Knowing Dr. Dakota, delightful possibilities blossomed for the only female observer.

"What do you suggest, Dr. Dakota? I smell cover-up!"

The statuesque black-haired beauty's dark eyes flashed as the bitch's buns were parted and she was probed anally. Dr. Dakota nodded sanguinely.

"Exactly! You've been giving Star a warm sympathetic ear."

She opened her mouth to speak. Dr. Dan eyed Dr. Washington with the cool contempt he awarded all women, brusquely interrupting her before she managed to get a single syllable out.

"There is no need to report. We were eavesdropping and heard everything. It turns out that she's new in town, has just broken up with her boyfriend and has practically talked herself out of her job. Mentally, she's a basket case, having been fucked over repeatedly by teams of drooling perverts, not just the Arabs. What interesting and thoroughly hellish lives our celebrities lead! Nobody knows that she's here. Nobody knows that the Arabs kidnapped her except those Aryan Masters and they're not going to be talking about that little embarrassment to anyone. In other words, she's ripe for the plucking."

Dr. Washington cleared her throat as the bullet shaped tip of the electric prod was oiled up and inserted deep into the Iranian bitch's cunt. The bitch's voice shook with terror as the long shaft of the prod was moved suggestively deep inside her. Her voice squeaked each time the tip of the prod tapped her cervix.

"Ahem! You're not suggesting that we arrange for her to be a guest of the Aryan Masters in their so-called 'Pig Pens'?"

Dr. Dakota rolled his eyes impatiently, snorting derisively at such ignorant foolishness. Everyone grinned as the Iranian bitch screamed hysterically that she didn't know what they wanted.

"Certainly not! Those stupid Montana Nazis could be busted at any moment and then we'd really have egg all over our faces."

Dr. Washington hastily nodded, blushing furiously. She wanted badly to be one of the guys. She spoke up hopefully.

"I've finished the rough draft of that Female Interrogation Guide you requested."

Dr. Dakota nodded.

"Good! It's important to get the female perspective."

The Iranian bitch screamed as the first jolt of the prod fried her ovaries. She belly flopped onto the cement floor. The man with the prod skilfully followed her down, keeping it firmly in place deep inside her spasming bare body. The interrogation team held her spread-eagled, facedown on the floor, as the man with the prod applied a few more blasts between her legs to cook her uterus and fry her eggs. Dr. Washington adopted her best suck-up manner.

"What do you have in mind for poor hard-luck Star?"

"She seems to trust you."

His tone of voice conveyed utter contempt for anyone stupid enough to do this. He obviously didn't rate the lovely Dr. Washington's skills very highly.

"I suggest you escort her offshore where you work out the kinks in your interrogation guide using her as a guinea pig. Tell her there's a special clinic for people like her there."

"Offshore!! Like to one of our allies in South America? That's brilliant!"

The current government, from the President himself on down, preferred shipping troublesome people to countries that were definitely on Amnesty International's black list. These were countries that didn't believe in human rights, countries where an opponent or bothersome person could be humiliated and degraded freely, forced to beg, tortured cruelly and made to scream without any troublesome civil liberties weenies whining away about it. This isn't to say that Homeland Security didn't give itself a lot of leeway at home, particularly with foreign nationals.

"What of the other girl – the researcher - Kirstie?"

"What if she becomes yet another casualty of our celebrated War On Drugs?"

Everyone laughed genially. The heavily funded U. S. War On Drugs was a worse failure than the campaign against terrorists. Never had illegal drugs been cheaper or more readily available. The bureaucrats loved the huge staff, gigantic budgets and fun cloak-and-dagger activities that went with the so-called War, along with the complete lack of accountability for results.

"Why don't we just set her free and let one of our pet free-range psychos take care of her? Then there's no government tie-in. We just toss her out in somebody's stalking ground, he grinds her to ratshit and when her body's discovered months or even years later, nobody even thinks of us."

Dr. Dakota nodded approvingly at his younger colleague and did his Jean-Luc Picard imitation.

"Excellent suggestion! Make it so!"

They watched with interest as their naked victim's tightly clenched buttocks were prised apart and the electric proc forced into her anus. They listened in surprise and wonderment as their Iranian guest began shrieking out names, addresses; inside information on safe houses, message drops and the details of sophisticated money transfer techniques. It seemed that the Iranian bitch knew something after all. Dr. Dakota smiled at his delighted colleagues.

"You see? The answers are there. It's simply a matter of knowing who to ask and how to phrase the question!"

Chapter 12 – Banged Up Bitch

Normally a feeling of nobility and good will suffuses a person who has performed a charitable act. Then there was Yvonne; whose flaming cunt felt like it had been pounded to the consistency of raw hamburger after her thousand-man fuck-a-thon. The hospital was happy with its generous donation. The doctors were happy. The hospital's patients were happy. One look at his bitch's stressed-out, twitching face and Pablo was happy. As he eased his member into her asshole for a welcome home reaming, he instructed her briskly.

"You've had a nice little rest, fucking everyone while I was gone. Now it's time to get back to work. Put your tits on the butcher block, bitch."

Kneeling in high heels and stockings, with her hands bound behind her and her lips wrapped around a bright red ball gag, Jennifer watched wide-eyed. Pablo gave her chilling orders.

"Slut! You watch carefully so that you know what to do when it's your turn."

Jennifer gave him a quick, terrified nod.

Pablo forced a naked Yvonne to walk forward on her knees, impaled on his dick, and place her ripe melons on the three-foot thick cube of wood resting at the centre of a large outdoor pit. He explained the rules to his tongue clipped bitch, sticking a tongue in her ear to remind her that he had 'forgotten' to slice off her ears as promised. She did nothing to remind him, but he felt her rectum tighten around his dick as she tensed at the memory.

"Yvonne, you mouthy piece of garbage! You've always had trouble keeping your big fat mouth shut. I trimmed your tongue to limit the damage a bit, but you must learn complete self-discipline. If you make the smallest squeak, I'll slice off your tits."

He hissed into her sensitised, moistened ear hole.

"Understand, slime bag?"

Yvonne nodded silently, clamping her lips resolutely shut as he picked up the hammer and a long nail with a large head. She stood rock still as he positioned the point of the nail on her teat. She quivered, ashen faced, as he lightly tapped a few times to pierce the exquisitely tender nubbin of flesh and then pounded hard to hammer it home, nailing her nipple firmly to the block. Wrapped around his cock, her buttocks clenched hard with each mighty hammer blow.

He repeated the process with the other teat, her every quiver and jerk transmitted instantly via his hot hard penis to the pleasure centres of his brain. He pinched the skin at the side of her tit and stretched it out against the butcher block. He hammered that down as well. He worked carefully, pulling out large pinches of flesh along each side of her breasts and nailing the titmeat to the block. Sweat dripped from her pinched, twitching face as she worked hard to swallow the pain.

Jennifer, hear heart pounding in her chest, watched as he worked Yvonne over carefully. As he came inside her aching rectum, Yvonne's poor breasts were stretched out, pinned firmly to the butcher block by rows of nails along their sides. Her lovely legs were spread wide and her slender ankles tied to stakes driven into the ground.

Pablo pulled himself out and gave Jennifer's tits an intimate squeeze. She gasped as he groped between her legs and jammed a finger crudely into her fuckhole. His hands worked on Jennifer's naked body, pinching, kneading, squeezing hard, penetrating her with brisk unlubricated viciousness.

Grimacing servants brought several buckets of steaming, reeking offal into the pit. They set them down beside Yvonne, who stared at them numbly. Pig and cow guts crawling with maggots and flesh-eating insects filled the buckets while clouds of flies hovered over them.

Leaving Jennifer kneeling and panting at the edge of the pit, Pablo snapped on a pair of thick rubber gloves. Yvonne shrieked as he grabbed a fistful of reeking offal, alive with insects, and rammed it as deeply into her cunt as possible. She writhed as, with ever-rising hysteria, she felt the maggots and other insects squirming against her cervix.

Working intently, Pablo packed her passage like a cook stuffing a turkey. Taking a broomstick handle he began ramrodding it up her asshole, packing her bowels with rotting, insect laden guts. Yvonne squealed shrilly with each savagely invasive thrust.

When her viscera were packed solidly with wriggling, slithering bugs mixed with rotting, reeking animal guts, he stuffed a sponge between her screaming lips. The sponge was wrapped around the end of a thick tube, which fed urine, both human and animal, to the sponge. He taped the sponge in place and smeared her face with fecal matter, taking care to work it into her hair like a demented hairstylist administering a shit shampoo. He smeared it over her flinching face and stepped out of the pit.

He signalled to the dump truck driver.

The back of the dump truck lifted and Yvonne was buried to the neck in rotting waste from the slaughterhouse. It took no time at all for the flies to find the head of the shit-faced, piss sucking whore kneeling nude in the rotting guts. Pablo could see the surface of the guts ripple as Yvonne's naked body writhed continuously, feeling the biting squirming bugs crawl over every inch of her bare skin, over the soles of her bare feet, between her wiggling toes, over her exposed belly, her armpits, over her face and deep in her guts. Yvonne's stomach heaved as she breathed in the nauseating stench. Her puke was diverted through her sinuses by the mouth-filling gag, scalding them with stomach acid and coating them with urine. Yvonne, choking and gasping, sprayed a small stream of yellow vomit out her nostrils. It was a close thing and a hard struggle, but she didn't drown in her own vomit. Pablo could barely see the flushed, sickened expression on Yvonne's face as flies of all sizes crawled over it, biting and feasting.

Jennifer shuddered in disgust and utter revulsion as she heard the sobbing choking moans of sickened misery coming from the living female core of a writhing, reeking mass of insects and offal.

Pablo smirked in satisfaction.

"The bitch was always talking trash. Now she is trash."

He directed a thick stream of urine into the strong-smelling trough that drained down into the tube leading to the piss sponge that kept Yvonne's mouth brimming tastily with pee.

"As long as she's forced to suck down liquid regularly, that greenie weenie Yvonne should last a long, long time communing with and feeding her insect buddies until she's fully recycled."

Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn to the loathsome, stomach-churning spectacle. Jennifer stared in utter revulsion at the wriggling, crawling mass of maggots and disgusting ordure that completely covered Yvonne's sinuously undulating nude body.

A bad boy who had no need of Viagra as long as he had a steady supply of bare bummed bitches to beat, Pablo opened Jennifer's rectum with his rock-hard diamond cutter for a long, leisurely ass reaming. Totally freaked, her anus quivered delectably as her bare buns clamped tightly around his plunging penis.

Chapter 12b – Psycho

Inside her tight, white, hip hugging jeans, her buns wiggled saucily. Clarisse undulated with sexy, bad-girl indolence down the street. From the shadows, predator's eyes drank in her smooth bare belly, her long legs and bouncing boobs, nipples clearly visible through the taut straining fabric of her cut-off t-shirt.

Jack insisted on the importance of a pretty face in a slut. After all, it was what you were staring at when you fucked them. With prominent cheekbones, perfect teeth, haunting blue eyes and fine blond hair flowing in the breeze behind her, Clarisse was a walking wet dream.

The main thing about sociopaths is their complete lack of inhibitions coupled with a do-it-now attitude. Why wait? Why plan? Just do it. It was a bright sunny day, broad daylight, nobody in sight. Perfect. The fucking bitch would never know what hit her.

Glancing around, Jack quietly got up from the curbstone where he had sat quietly smoking a cigarette. Leaving his gym bag by the car, he weaved swiftly and silently between the parked cars.

Clarisse pressed the unlock button on her remote. The headlights of her expensive car popped up and flashed while the doors unlocked in a precision chorus of automated metallic thunks.

She bent to open the door. Jack ran on up tiptoe behind her. At the last minute, Clarisse became aware of a presence looming behind her. She started to raise her head, way too late.

Raising the short tire iron high, he clipped Clarisse hard across the back of the skull. Her long eyelashes fluttered briefly. Her beautiful blue eyes rolled up in their sockets. She sagged at the knees and crumpled, sliding on her tits down the side of her car. She flopped to the pavement, her body inert, lights out.

Jack grabbed her remote as it slipped from her slim fingers. He pressed the button and popped the trunk. He picked Clarisse up under the armpits and muscled her limp body into the trunk.

Leaving the trunk lid up, he glanced around. The parking lot was deserted with no overlooking windows, solid brick walls on three sides with the street on the fourth - perfect for his purposes.

He eyed the lovely babe lying before him, limp and helpless. Licking his lips, he leaned over and jerked up her t-shirt, baring her big breasts. They quivered liquidly on her torso. They were the real deal. No implants were necessary for this Sweet Suzy Creamcheese. He squeezed her tits, bent over and sucked the succulent pouty pink nipples. He undid her jeans and pulled them down. She wore no panties, a shameless slut who didn't believe in underwear. He ran a hand over her flat belly, delving downwards and rubbing it briskly over her smooth shaven crotch. His hands busied themselves between her parted thighs, pinching her cuntlips and spreading them wide. He jammed his fuck finger into her warm dry cunt, pumping it in and out with lewd vigor. Nice and tight. He rolled her onto her belly.

Grabbing her smoothly rounded buns with both hands, he massaged her naked buttocks, pinching and twisting the smooth, silken flesh. He parted her glorious ass globes and wormed a finger into her hot nasty shit hole. Pumping it coarsely in and out, he wasn't too surprised to find it even tighter than her fuck hole.

He glanced around. All was still serene. He thumbed up an eyelid. Clarisse's eyeball was rolled up high in its socket. Her circuits had been cut and would stay cut for a while. There was plenty of time to mess her up a bit.

He squeezed his hand into a fist and punched her hard in the small of the back, putting lots of knuckle into it. He enjoyed the way her body spasmed under each blow as he viciously hammered her kidneys, over and over. The hard smack of knuckles on unprotected flesh mixed with his soft grunts of exertion as he pistoned his fist like a jackhammer, pummeling her as hard and as fast as he could.

He rolled her over and used both fists on her unprotected belly. He really loved the way her tits jiggled and shuddered with each savage blow. Inspired, he worked each of her tits like a punching bag, trying to make her nipples slap her chin with a flurry of cruel, hard-knuckled uppercuts.

When her tits were black and blue and swelling nicely, he pulled her pants off all the way and spread her legs. He hopped in, standing in the trunk between her legs. He kicked her crotch over and over with his construction boots, the force of his kicks ramming her head against the side of the trunk. He kicked her cunt savagely, repeatedly, aiming for her slit. When he finished cunt kicking, he jumped down to the pavement. A small boy was staring at him from the distant sidewalk, doubtlessly wondering what he was kicking in the trunk. A stone psycho, Jack grinned and waved at him cheerfully. The boy hesitantly waved back.

He slammed the trunk shut. He walked over to the curb and picked up the gym bag containing his rape kit, hopped into the driver's seat and tossed her white jeans and his rape kit onto the passenger seat. He turned her key in the ignition. The powerful engine roared to life. Jack calmly exited the parking lot, savagely exhilarated, Mr. Happy throbbing excitedly between his legs.

The bitch would have a lot to think about when she woke up. After that, he and Mr. Happy would give her a whole lot more food for thought.

He drove for a few blocks and picked a secluded alley, backing her car up so that the trunk was facing a dumpster, to give him some privacy while he worked, prepping his prey for action.

He popped the trunk.

He lifted the trunk lid and dropped the gym bag containing his rape kit next to Charisse's head. Clarisse was lying on her back. Her eyelids were fluttering. Her bare buns were twitching. Her groin muscles quivered. The savage beating was working its magic.

Mr. Happy was pressing for action. He spread her legs and hopped into the trunk between them. He unzipped, freeing Mr. Happy, and forced him between her bruised and swollen cuntlips. Mr. Happy had a large milky dewdrop of pre-cum quivering on his nose, which provided a modicum of lubrication as he forced his way ecstatically into her toasty warm fuckhole. Jack dry fucked her hot and hard. Mr. Happy burned a bit with the friction but pleasure and pain merged in ecstatic copulation.

An easily excited party animal with a weak stomach, Mr. Happy vomited copiously inside Clarisse and was quickly withdrawn from service. A long bead of sticky white cum seeped the length of her slit.

Jack hopped out and pulled up his pants. He flipped Clarisse, moaning softly, onto her belly.

He opened the gym bag and picked a plastic tie from the selection that he had purchased in bulk at a hardware store. He held her wrists together behind her back with the palms of her finely manicured hands facing out, and pulled the tie tight around them.

He reached into his bag of tricks and pulled out the bit gag that he had fashioned from a thick wooden dowel. He put the dowel in her mouth sideways between her teeth. The dowel had a flat horseshoe-shaped biscuit screwed and glued to the bottom that fit into Clarisse's lower jaw, clamping her tongue down. A long length of chain was attached to a ringbolt set in one end of the dowel. A short length of chain was attached via another ringbolt to the other side of the dowel gag. He padlocked the short chain to the long chain behind her head so that the gag as held firmly in place.

He spread her legs and crossed her dainty ankles behind her. Her groin was bruising up from the beating. Her cuntlips were swollen and purple. Another plastic tie fastened her crossed ankles together. He took the long length of chain from her bit gag. He fed it between her tied ankles and pulled tight so that she was forced to arch up with her feet almost touching her head. He padlocked the chain to itself so that Clarisse's naked body was forced to maintain this painful back arch. She would awake with her spine muscles screaming in chorus with her battered stomach and groin muscles.

He hated messy bimbos, but it always came to a point where his hysterically squealing piggies lost bladder and bowel control. Not to be defeated, he had come up with a solution to this vexing problem.

He reached into his rape kit and pulled on the heavy rubber gloves. He opened the plastic bag filled with pink fiberglass insulation. He began jamming thick wads of it up her ass. He plunged his fuck finger into her rectum and ramrodded it in. With each hardy thrust, he wiggled and twisted his finger vigorously inside her, breaking and crushing the small slivers of fiberglass into her sensitive anal passage to make sure that lovely Clarisse would really feel the burn. A beaten beauty often went numb with shock. Being constipated, her blazing bowels packed almost to bursting with fiberglass, kept a fuckslut squirming frantically, providing lots of hard-humping action whether she wanted to or not. The more she struggled, the more she worked the fiberglass into her rectum and the hotter the scorching blowtorch that was her asshole burned.

When he had packed her bowels as tightly as possible with the itchy, prickly insulation, he withdrew a small plastic tube and a Q-tip from his rape kit. He forced a small tendril of fiberglass insulation into the tube. He spread her outer labia and forced the tube into her piss hole. When it was buried a few inches into her urethra, he rammed the Q-tip into the tube, extruding the fiberglass into her bladder and plugging her piss hole. He pulled the tube back an inch and repeated the operation over and over, using the Q-tip as a ramrod to pack her pisser with fiberglass, turning it into a congested, fiery hell hole. He pulled out the tube.

He removed the heavy rubber gloves. He forced two fingers into the warm silky moistness of her cunt. He carefully crushed the insulation in her bladder and urethra between his fingers on the inside and his thumb on the outside, kneading it into the exquisitely sensitive skin. He pressed his fingers hard against the opposite side of her prick pocket to knead the fiberglass into the skin of her anal passage, to inflame her very bowels to incandescent anguish.

Even unconscious, Clarisse was red-faced and pumping her hips in lewd discomfort, hot and bothered, moaning softly into her gag.

To give Clarisse something to work with when she awoke, he removed a sawed off shovel handle and a hammer from his rape kit. He carefully worked the shovel handle in between her swollen cuntlips and used the hammer to pound it in as far as it would go.

Jack grinned and slammed the trunk shut, confident that he would have a red-hot, squirming fuckmate when he next opened the trunk. He liked his bitches lively, their screaming minds entirely focused on what was burning fiercely between their legs, their glowing genitals heated blowtorch hot.

There would be no indifferent, zoned out zombie sluts servicing Jack.

As Jack drove up to his secluded trailer deep in the woods, he saw Kirstie stumbling along the path looking confused. She wore a sleeveless sweatshirt. Her white shorts were very tight. Jack could see the outline of her panties. Skimpy things.

The young researcher was relieved to see him. She looked in the open car window beseechingly.

"Can you help me? Arab terrorists kidnapped me and tortured me. Then some other people rescued me, but they left me here after fixing me up. I don't know who they were. I think they were spies or something. They said I just had to follow the road and I'd be taken care of. Nobody knows I'm here. I know it all sounds crazy, but I need to talk to the police and go home. Please help me."

Jack opened the door.

"Hop in."

Chapter 13 – Stuffed and Mounted

Loretta awoke strapped into the chair, stripped naked, her cunt and rectum achingly, humiliatingly full. Foggily, her mind still clouded by the drug, she remembered walking down the street and a sharp sting in her upper arm. The last thing she recalled was staring stupidly at the dart from the tranquilizer gun as it emptied the fast-acting barbiturate into her body.

Suddenly fully aware and panicky, Loretta snapped awake, the adrenaline clearing her system, roaring through her arteries like a flash flood, washing away the fogginess and replacing it with pulse pounding fear.

Facing this reality was physically like taking a hard punch to the gut. Mentally, it was a chilling horror beyond her wildest nightmares. Lovely Loretta had played lots of sexual games. Being a knowledgeable, sexually mature woman was part of her appeal. It was advertised to knowing predators in the way she walked, dressed and comported herself. Her shapely figure, cute face and obvious fuck-ability were the reasons she was kidnapped almost as soon as the cunt hunters scoped her out walking down the street.

In these creepy, heart-stopping circumstances, her past sexual experiences were all screaming one message to her brain: she was in deep shit.

Terrified, Loretta struggled hysterically, straining mightily at her unyielding restraints.

It was all in vain. Completely helpless, the nude beauty was clamped firmly to the heavy wooden chair. No matter how violently she jerked and twisted, the unyielding chair only creaked gently. A leather collar clamped Loretta's pale white neck to the back of the chair, which went all the way to the floor in one solid hardwood piece. Her fine-boned wrists were fastened to the heavy wooden arms of the chair, held in place by thick leather cuffs. Leather cuffs also pinned her shapely ankles to the fat front legs. Distressingly, there was no seat. Even more distressingly, a thick greased prong angled up from the back of the chair and was worked deeply into her rectum helpfully providing support for the pink-faced beauty, wriggling like a worm impaled on a rectal fishhook. A sawed off shovel handle was buried in her aching cunt, rammed in as far as it would go. All of this restraint, enforced nudity and intimately invasive hardware easily overwhelmed her, forcing Loretta to the inescapable conclusion that she was totally fucked.

To add insult to injury, a housefly settled on her crotch and began crawling with small, feather light steps over her cuntlips. The fly blithely ignored her attempts to dislodge it. Her tight bondage didn't even allow her enough movement to buck off a fly. The fly buzzed noisily as it crawled creepily over her privates and exposed rectum, probing and sucking at her with its proboscis. Loretta found her complete inability to deal with this minor buzzing irritation profoundly disturbing. She struggled hard to get the fly to leave her alone. Her thighs and buttocks quivered. She tried to clench her buttocks, but her legs were spread too wide and the invasive butt hook got in the way. The small housefly hung on with ease, buzzing angrily as it crept along her butt crack, looking for those small disgusting goodies that are yummy delights to the insect kingdom.

Looking around in wild desperation, Loretta saw her clothing folded neatly on a nearby table. It was all there except for her panties.

Deeply fearful, her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped hummingbird. Loretta breathed in short fast pants. She could feel the blood pulsing in her flaming beet-red face as if her head was going to explode from the pressure. She felt violated, helpless and totally vulnerable. Panic-stricken, she couldn't handle the bondage, much less having her private parts openly displayed coupled with the shamefully intimate violations. If the restraining cuffs hadn't been made of leather, she would have rubbed her wrists and ankles bloody with the violence of her continuous futile squirming.

She realised that there was something crammed into her mouth. Pushing against it and feeling the soft material with her tongue, it took a few moments before Loretta realized from the textures that it was probably her soiled panties, sealed in behind her taped shut lips. She thought briefly about the skid marks on the seat of her dirty panties. Her eyes watered as her empty stomach tried to hurl. All that came up was stomach acid, burning the back of her throat and making her sinuses ache.

Bad as all this was, it would soon get much worse.

The ease with which it had been done shocked her. One moment she was free, the next she awoke to a hideous nightmare world beyond her most depraved imaginings. Emotionally, she was shattered. Even if she were saved before anything else happened to her (and far deeper trauma lurked in her future), she would never be the same again. She would forever after be a haunted female, her mind eaten alive by darkly paranoid fears and the shaming knowledge of what had already been done to her.

She knew in her heart that this was just the beginning. The contrast between the beautiful bright sunny day before she was captured and the stark concrete confines of her windowless dungeon cell was chilling, filling her with deep dread.

The bad news never stopped coming. Her pretty feet were stuffed into two steel cups fastened to the widespread front legs of the chair. Leather ankle cuffs at their tops kept her feet trapped inside the cups, which were small enough to force her to point her toes prettily. She wondered what this was for; knowing with a sense of gnawing dread that when she found out it wouldn't be good news.

The man who could answer all of her questions (if only she could do more than squeal through her sodden soiled panties) had suddenly materialised at her side, appearing with eerie silence while she had been staring at her feet trapped inside the cups and obsessing on the fly insolently exploring her privates, hoovering up tiny fecal delights.

Lola's friend Double D was a large black man, his head shaved bald. He was one of the darkest men Loretta had ever seen, as black as a pimp's heart. Double D hadn't scooped Anna yet as per Lola's vengeful desires, but that snotty English bitch's day was soon to come. An unsuspecting slut named Bethy was going to be sucked in on that delightful little scenario, but that was in a fascinating future yet to cum.

Loretta's liquid eyes, brimming with tears, stared fearfully up at her captor. His teeth were blindingly white as he grinned down at her.

Loretta had just been snatched off the street in broad daylight by a team of black pimps who hunted down beautiful white women like they were animals. To him, her cute face and shapely build had marked her as a fuckbeast to be captured, broken and trained from the moment he had spotted her walking innocently down the street.

Loretta whimpered pathetically as Double D pulled up a stool and sat down next to his new bitch.

He poured a warm salt-water solution into each of the steel cups covering her bare feet. He attached a wire from his electro-shock console to each steel cup.

Loretta, who suddenly understood the purpose of the cups, felt like her throbbing heart had been ripped from her chest, thrown to the floor and stomped flat.

Grinning ferally, Double D gave her bare thigh an intimate squeeze. Sensing a much larger and more sinister predator, the annoying housefly buzzed off. Loretta barely noticed, staring in horror as Double D lightly fingered her genitals with insolent familiarity. The blackness of his hand contrasted with the paleness and pinkness of her skin. Her flesh was hot and tremulous under his brown palm. Loretta's deeply concerned face got a lot pinker as he caressed it lightly, a lover's touch. She could smell her cunt on his fingers.

"Before we chat, I'll adjust the voltage, amperage and pulsing of the current."

He adjusted some dials on the console and pressed a button.

Loretta squealed and jerked sharply. Her shapely legs twitched violently in unison and her tits bounced.

A perfectionist, Double D was dissatisfied.

"I'll just tweak it up a little."

Loretta writhed frantically, tits aquiver, eyes begging, squealing pleadingly into her gag while her captor adjusted the dials.

He pressed the button.

Loretta screamed shrilly as her naked body convulsed. She flushed lobster red all the way down to her smoothly shaven cunt.

Double D beamed contentedly. He liked his women deep-fried.

"Much better!"

"Am I the most important man in your life?"

Panting hard, Loretta stared at him, her eyes huge, worried and confused, her frenzied mind whirling. Didn't he understand? She was gagged. How could she answer?

She screamed as he gave her another brutal jolt. Flushed, her naked torso heaving, she squealed her frustration and fear into the gag.

Double D was used to counselling traumatised women. He explained it simply; in terms even the dumbest shell-shocked cunt could understand.

"If you don't answer you get a jolt. We're starting with the yes and no questions. All you have to do is nod your head yes or shake it for no. Understand?"

She nodded quickly.

"Am I the most important man in your life?"

Loretta nodded.

"Do you understand the importance of pleasing me?"

Loretta nodded again.

"Are you eager to please me?"

The questions continued. It was a veritable nod-fest. Turning herself into a bobble-head toy, Loretta's pretty little head bounced up and down in complete agreement to everything.

"Do you want me to feel you up?"

There was a slight hesitation. He pressed the button.

Loretta spasmed in agony, screaming high and hard. She stared at him bug-eyed, her bare bosom heaving.

"Do you want me to fondle and grope you?"

She nodded timidly.

His squeezed her breasts and ran his fingers lightly over her cuntlips.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

Nod.

He tapped her rectal prong. She felt it vibrate deep inside her. Her guts clenched and churned around the thick vibrating rod. Her fingernails dug into her palms and her small forearm muscles rippled as her hands tightened into small fists.

"Do I own your ass?"

Nod.

Loretta groaned as he twisted the shovel handle buried deep inside her cunt, making her tool tunnel burn along its full length with the unlubricated friction.

"Do I own your cunt?"

Nod. Red-faced Loretta was one agreeable little pussy as he licked her light brown nipples and sucked them until they were erect and dark red. It didn't take long. She hardened easily. He liked that in a bitch.

"Do I own your tits?"

Nod. He fondled and groped her nude body, feeling her up all over. She shut her eyes and shuddered as a total stranger caressed her nakedness with humiliating familiarity.

"Do I own every square inch of your skin?"

Nod.

"I control every aspect of your life, don't I? I decide what you wear, if anything. I stuff whatever I like into whatever orifice I please. I control what you eat and drink. I decide how often you are beaten. Don't I?"

Cute faced Loretta had turned into a yes girl, nodding quickly to everything.

Now for the trick question.

"Do you think that you should be beaten regularly?"

Loretta almost gave another yes nod, and then caught herself. She shook her head in a violent no.

He pressed the button.

Her raw scream was still satisfyingly loud despite being filtered through her soiled panties and taped shut lips. Her naked tits shuddered dramatically as her bare body bucked.

He coolly waited a few moments for the panicky slut to calm down. Once she had settled down to a tremulous hysteria, he chuckled in delight and asked a small variant of his original question.

"Do you think that you deserve to be beaten regularly?"

Loretta looked at him timidly and gave a small hesitant nod.

His finger hovered indecisively, tantalisingly, over the button. Horrified, Loretta stared obsessively at it and began to breath hard. Her worried eyes began alternating frantically between staring in terror at his hovering finger and glancing pleadingly up at his face, whimpering like a small, sad puppy.

"You seem a bit uncertain. Are you sure that you deserve regular beatings?"

Terrified, poor Loretta nodded so emphatically that her bare breasts joined in. Everything was bouncing up and down. It was a veritable nod-fest.

She recoiled in shock, flinching as he spat contemptuously in her face. The sound echoed off the walls like pistol shots as he slapped her hard repeatedly. Her cheeks flamed. Some whores are tough enough to handle being pimp slapped. Pretty pampered Loretta was not yet one of them. Between slaps, she moaned and squealed like a scared little piggy as he alternated between his open right hand and his open left hand. If you backhand a slut, the knuckles can mark her. He didn't want to mark her cute face just yet.

A good beating opens a bitch's mind to a hitherto unsuspected world of horrifying possibilities. A beaten bitch understands that bad things don't only happen to others; they can definitely be happen to her. A thoroughly broken bitch has a bone deep, tremulously fearful respect for her pimp. A beating can build sullen resentment too, so it was important to do a thorough job and core her completely. Nobody likes a sullen, resentful slut. A pathetically eager to please pussy whose backbone has been removed completely is the goal.

Fortunately, Double D was up to the task. A deeply traumatised bitch can't think straight and is easily second-guessed. Her overwhelming fear betrays her every time. Knowing this, he ground his bitches pitilessly.

He switched to using his fists, hitting her with his sharp knuckles rather than the flat of his fist, concentrating the force of the blow on the point of his middle knuckle rather than spreading it over a larger surface. He changed targets too, switching from slapping her flaming face to punching her repeatedly in the upper arm, aiming carefully so that the flesh was pinched brutally between the point of his hard knuckle and the bone of her arm. Pinching the flesh like that with each punch meant he didn't have to punch very hard to produce an exquisitely painful result. He aimed carefully for the exact same place over and over, developing a bone deep bruise. He switched to punching the other arm to spread the damage.

He could now produce instant reminder pain in his bitch by massaging the bruises on either upper arm, bringing the traumatising memories flooding back into her fear-ridden mind.

He used the same trick to punch her tits, punching with the middle knuckle into her teat, crushing the nipple into her ribs, pinching the titmeat hard between knuckle and rib with each blow. It felt like her heart was exploding with each punch.

Loretta bobbed and sobbed with each punch, the strong wooden chair creaking and groaning with each blow, pinning her firmly in position, an easy target for his savagely pounding fists.

At last her introductory beating was over. Loretta was sweating rivers and puffing like a steam engine.

It was time to introduce her reeling mind to some other traumatising possibilities.

Loretta's glistening, sweat slick torso heaved. She screwed her eyes shut, trying vainly to block it all out, desperately seeking to lock out a world filled with pain, degradation and humiliation, wishing it were all a bad dream. Tears streamed down her anguished face as she sobbed hard.

He waited until she breathed out and then pinched her nostrils shut. Abruptly plunged into this new terror, her eyes popped open, wide with alarm. He glanced at his watch, noting the time carefully. Two minutes without air is a powerfully educational experience for a bitch. Three minutes induces permanent brain damage. Double D aimed a bit lower, being content to instil life-long, mind-melting fear in his new slut.

The leather collar held her head in position and severely limited the extent of any struggle Loretta may have put up.

With no air in her burning lungs, she was powerfully motivated to struggle hard.

She reflexively tried to jerk her head away, but the back of her head was resting against the back of the chair, defeating her. She twisted her head desperately, but the collar was snug and retarded her movement. Double D didn't try to fight her at all. He simply relaxed and effortlessly followed the severely limited movement of her head with his hand, keeping her nostrils pinched firmly shut between his strong black fingers.

Her terror-stricken face darkened, congested with blood. Her bloodshot eyes bulged. Her sweating nude body writhed and squirmed desperately as she learned to the very core of her being that she was weak, helpless and easily overwhelmed by Double D. The knowledge was burned into her brain that her puny, futile resistance against the strong black man would be doomed to failure every time.

Loretta had sweated out most of her urine as she was forced through the pimp's heart-pounding, bitch-busting workout routine, but what remained in her bladder spurted humiliatingly to the floor.

Double D always regarded it as a significant milestone in the relationship when he made one of his bitches lose bladder control for the first time. He inhaled deeply, smelling her fear sweat and the tang of her deeply concentrated dark yellow urine. In the future, after she had been ruthlessly stripped of all dignity and self-respect, Loretta would learn to pee in her panties on command while everyone watched. For now, Double D was content to teach her the importance of putting out and playing sucky-fuck with whomever he told her to.

There is physical abuse. There is mental abuse. And then there is everyone's favourite: sexual abuse. Double D believed in covering all the bases thoroughly. He put two fingers in his mouth and produced an ear-splitting whistle.

It was time for Loretta to be introduced to the gang and put through her paces. It was a gang-bang that would reveal Loretta's shameful little secret.

Chapter 14 – Beaten Bitches

The aluminum trailer rocked rhythmically while Clarisse shrieked along in perfect time. The trailer was parked deep in the bush atop a ridge of natural beauty, overlooking a deep, flowing river. Water, woods and sky stretched away beautifully, a taunt to the incarcerated every time Jack opened the door and his bound, sobbing victims caught a tantalizing glimpse of total freedom, so heartbreaking in its proximity. Then the door would shut and the dark nightmare world of the savage rapist/killer would enfold them completely.

Clarisse was pinned on her back, spread-eagled on the floor. Her wrists and ankles were tethered to heavy ringbolts. Jack had done a little something to make sure that Clarisse screamed with every thrust.

To enable her to scream hard, but not bite, Jack had driven a metal skewer in one cheek through her tongue and out the other cheek. This kept her swollen tongue in position projecting out between her teeth. She had to bite off her tongue before she could chew on Jack.

Jack rubbed his ear up against her wet tongue while he humped her. He had sensitive ears and loved hearing a bitch scream straight into them, using her tongue to moisten and plug the hole if she got too loud. In this respect, Clarisse was performing beautifully, shrieking high and hard straight into his tongue-plugged ear hole.

The tongue skewer was agonizing, but what kept Clarisse digging deep to produce those piercing clarion screams were the sharp inch-long spikes that Jack had pushed into her nipples. They gouged in painfully every time he bounced into her chest. The circle of spikes lining the edge of her aureolae and a spike dead center in her teat were digging in deep and pulping the inside of Clarisse's big boobs with each brutal bounce of her rapist against her heaving torso, as he repeatedly crushed her breasts between his chest and hers. This was timed to occur exactly once with each savage thrust of Mr. Happy into her grotesquely swollen fuck hole. Clarisse's screams were thus part of his fuck rhythm, driving Jack rapidly to climax.

Jack withdrew Mr. Happy from Clarisse's hot, bruised fuckhole. Mr. Happy promptly yorked up his white sticky spew all over her bare belly.

While Clarisse gibbered in shock, he set her up for her next exercise in anguish.

He undid each of her wrist tethers, threaded them through ringbolts in the ceiling and pulled her up from the floor. Clarisse dangled by her wrists with his cum dribbling down her flat abdomen in a sticky white stream, oozing its way towards her crotch. Bracing one hand against the side of her head and slipping a finger from the other hand into the loop at the end of the meat skewer, he jerked it out, smiling pleasantly at her small squeal of anguish.

He regarded her sobbing, shaking form with satisfaction. Snot dribbled in two streams from her nostrils. Blood oozed from her nipples. Her swollen breasts shook tremulously with each shuddering, quivering breath. Between her legs, her cuntlips were purple, badly bruised and full distended. Hanging helplessly by her wrists, legs spread wide, fully vulnerable; Clarisse was positioned perfectly for her next brutal lesson in degradation and pain.

Jack prided himself on his ability to make even the most reluctant, disdainful bitch perform in his obscene rituals. However, a bitch can only learn so much in one lesson. Giving Clarisse some time to recover, think about what had been done to her and anticipate what might happen next, he turned to his next obsession.

Like all psychos, Jack had his charming little rituals which he practiced as carefully as a priest performing high mass.

The most violent show on television was a natural draw for a serial killer. It was time. He picked up his remote. The tube flickered on.

There was only one thing interfering with his enjoyment. He scowled in annoyance at his two whimpering victims.

"SHUT UP OR I'LL CUT YOUR TITS OFF!"

There was an instant, terrified silence as his new bitches hastily swallowed their pain.

A man who believed in having trophies of his conquests, he put his feet up on his cuntskin stool and settled back on his whore hide couch, nestling up to his titskin pillows as he prepared to view his favorite tribute to global violence. Jars of eyeballs floating eerily in preservative watched everything in silence.

"Hi! My name is Lola and this is the Channel 69 evening news!"

Jack watched the evening news as religiously as other people read the obituaries, preferring channel 69 as it had the most lurid stories, especially with the new anchorwoman. He loved Lola. He really enjoyed seeing her full, bee-stung lips mouth words like gruesome and monstrous as if she derived sexual pleasure from them, almost panting with breathy outrage. He just knew that she gave great blowjobs.

Jack admired the shameless shudder she gave to her titanic tits as she pronounced something to be hideous or horrible. He savoured the throaty purr of her seductive voice as she spoke lovingly of dismemberment and severed limbs. Her eyes flashed with excitement as she regaled her listeners with tales of brutal violence and savage rape, her voice a hoarse, sexy whisper.

Lurid, trampy Lola with her deep down dirty mind was his kind of woman.

The best moments happened when Lola was obviously deviating a bit from the script. The naughty news anchor had a bright plastic smile and avid glee in her twinkling eyes as she cheerfully explained how a car bomb explosion was rigged to go straight up under the driver's seat, 'a knees and nuts kind of thing'.

He couldn't believe that she'd actually said that. He guffawed and slapped his thighs in delight.

Clarisse and Kirstie fearfully inspected their gruesome surroundings, their guts clenching and their skin crawling at the gross, sickening displays. The windows were blacked out so that, apart from the TV, the only light sources inside the trailer were the many flickering candles. They cast their eerie fluttering light over his ghastly trophies. A pair of severed tits with an amputated thatch of pubic hair between them was mounted on the wall like a hunting trophy. Glass jars were filled with human eyeballs, which bobbed creepily in their preservative liquid.

Altars to his ghastly obsessions lined the shelves on either side, altars made of human bones and body parts. A row of mannequin heads sported long tresses of human hair with the bloody scalps still attached. A demented Christmas tree had been fashioned from green shotgun shells, dried blood and glitter. The trailer stank of blood, piss, shit, vomit, stale semen and death.

Used to dealing with eager-to-please horndogs, her captor was very different from any man Clarisse had ever known – crafty, cruel and dangerous with sly thoughtful eyes that gloated over his victims. She stared in utter revulsion at the madman laughing gleefully on the couch as the newscast finished. Sensing this, Jack suddenly glared at her, his eyes glowing like a nuclear meltdown.

"Don't look at me like that, bitch!"

He jumped up from the couch in a rage. His moves were quick and slick. He did a little something to keep Kirstie occupied and then rounded on Clarisse.

Unfortunately for Clarisse, she was the exactly type of stuck-up slut who had spurned Jack with scathing contempt on many occasions.

Clarisse bowed her head, shaking badly, hating herself for her weakness before a man she regarded as her inferior. She had never known how her skin could creep at a man's glance before. He yanked up on her hair and screamed six inches from her face, spittle hitting her like rain.

"You fucking cunt!! Do you think that you're better than me?"

Her involuntary look of disgust and loathing was all the answer he needed.

He hammered a fist into her eye, knuckling it in deep and twisting it in her eye socket as he landed the blow. Her eye instantly began to swell shut. He jabbed a protruding, bony knuckle hard into her other eye socket and twisted violently. Clarisse tried to shrink back, but he kept pressing hard with his fist until her head was bent back as far as it would go. He ground and twisted his knuckle pitilessly in her eye socket, helping his bitch to achieve the 'raccoon eye' look. It was his one of his favourite fashion statements.

She shrieked and pleaded hoarsely as he worked on pulping her once pretty face. Both eyes swollen shut, she couldn't see the punches coming as he backhanded her with his bony knuckles and jabbed her face with his hard fists, marking her with each blow. Her lips thickened and split. Blood seeped from her crushed nose. Her cauliflower ears ballooned grotesquely as he boxed them repeatedly. Every time he boxed them, there was a scary moment of total deafness.

He pressed his palms hard against her spiked nipples and massaged them vigorously. Clarissa screamed shrilly, her sensitive breasts incandescent with sharp tearing anguish as the sharp spikes tore and scraped through her titmeat.

Snot bubbles popped from her nostrils as she sobbed hard.

Hanging naked by her wrists from the ceiling, her long legs were splayed temptingly wide, still tied to ringbolts set in the floor. He stepped back and began kicking her hard in the cunt with a steel-toed boot. She cried out with each bone cracking kick. Her boobs bobbed with each blow as her entire body was lifted by the crotch on the toe of his boot.

He got up close and personal, interlacing his fingers behind the small of her back and pulling her towards him as he jack-knifed his knee up repeatedly, burying it deep in her belly. Clarisse could feel her internal organs rupturing with each gut-busting impact.

Her throat was raw, sore from all the screaming, but the pain never stopped as he hammered her swollen lips and worked her bruised flesh relentlessly with his fists and feet, elbows and knees, widening and deepening the damage, turning her entire body into one purple sensitive bone-deep bruise.

Ordinarily Kirstie would have watched and listened to all this with horrified interest, perhaps a portent of things to come for her, but right now she couldn't have cared less. She was entirely focused on her own troubles, brought on by Jack with one simple act.

Her chair creaked and squeaked as Kirstie spasmed convulsively, straining violently against her restraints. Bound topless to a heavy wooden chair, a dark yellow pee stain spread across the crotch of her white shorts as she wet herself. Blood seeped from her wrists and ankles as she tugged hard at the heavy wire binding them. The tough, unyielding wire crushed her wrists together behind the back of the chair and clamped her dainty ankles to the front legs. Her big bare breasts bounced on her gleaming, perspiring torso as she bucked and writhed frantically. The chair legs slipped and scraped across the floor as Kirstie's bum danced dementedly in the puddle of pee on the seat, but the chair was much too heavy for her to flip or indeed for her to move it very far at all no matter how hard she struggled.

The plastic bag he had placed over Kirstie's head just before going to work on Clarisse was working its magic. It puffed out as she exhaled and then the thick plastic stretched tightly over her wide-open lips and plastered against her contorted face as she inhaled, desperately trying to pull in air. She tried sucking the plastic between her lips to bite through it, but the plastic was too stiff and thick. It stretched frustratingly over her parted teeth but not between them.

Duct tape sealed the mouth of the bag around her straining, corded throat. Her bulging bloodshot eyes and gaping mouth were pressed tightly against the clear plastic. She begged and pleaded hysterically. Snot ran from her nose and smeared the inside of the bag. Although her body still bucked and heaved as she struggled futilely to inhale fresh air into her burning, oxygen-starved lungs, Kirstie was weakening noticeably.

Her bowels quacked obscenely as she squirted a big load of sickeningly nasty feculence into her shorts. The runny fear shit made her pretty pink panties bulge, soak through, turn brown and overflow, staining in turn the seat of her already pee-stained shorts. Her dancing, squirming buns smeared her brown excrement messily over the seat of her chair.

Just as Kirstie's bloodshot eyes were rolling up in their sockets and she was on the verge of passing out, Jack decided to rest from beating sense into the stuck-up slut. Poor Clarisse was fading on him anyway. There were always limits to how much education a bitch could absorb in one session.

He ripped open the bag encasing Kirstie's congested, purple face.

Kirstie's bare breasts juddered and bounced as she gratefully sucked deep lungfuls of air into her aching bosom. Her dripping, perspiration-soaked torso heaved.

Clarisse's badly swollen face lolled stupidly on her chest as Jack turned to focus on a rapidly reviving Kirstie.

Kirstie was no longer the innocent, slightly shy researcher. Repeated gang rapes and excruciatingly intimate torture sessions had robbed her of all dignity and self-respect, inflicting permanent psychological damage. She now knew that she was a completely vulnerable piece of fuckmeat to the very marrow of her bones. She also had learned a deep fearful respect for the sort of man who liked making a woman scream.

Desperation radiated from Kirstie's sweating face. She glanced at the badly battered Clarisse and mentally wrote her off. Clarisse was dead meat. She just didn't know it yet.

Jack liked the timorous, anxious expression in Kirstie's haunted eyes. He knew the look of a beaten bitch, so he made Kirstie an offer that no decent, self-respecting female would ever accept.

"What do you think about sucking me off while I pound the snot out of little miss shit-don't-melt-in-my-mouth over there?"

Kirstie nodded instantly.

"No problem."

Jack grinned.

"Really? Tell me something that would make me believe you. Are you sure?"

Kirstie nodded emphatically.

"I stink. I'm sitting here in my own piss and shit. My face is covered in my own snot. I was almost smothered to death just now and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

She lowered her head submissively and spoke softly in a resigned, defeated voice.

"In the past, I've been raped repeatedly. I've been fucked over and made to scream myself hoarse. It taught me one thing for sure."

She raised her head, made eye contact with him and held it.

"I KNOW when a guy owns my ass. You own every square inch of my skin. You have complete power over me. You can degrade me any way you please and I am powerless to stop it. You can flush me like a turd down the toilet anytime you feel like it. I know your power. You turned me into a shit-soaked slut pissing in her panties with ease."

She took a deep breath and was briefly pleased to see his eyes flicker down to her bare boobies.

"I know who the most important man in MY world is. It's you. You are my God and, believe me, I am POWERFULLY motivated to get down on my knees between your legs and worship you by licking your dick from its base to its pee slit. I'll suck and tongue your knob to get you as hard as possible. I'll be happy to wrap my lips around your cock and slurp it all the way in, deep-throating you until you squirt your cum down my open throat."

Jack loved this shit. He was grinning from ear to ear as she continued.

"I can give you blow jobs. I can give you hand jobs. I can take it up the ass. I can massage you and make you cum over and over while you make the snotty cunts that are too stupid to realize your power scream high and hard."

She looked him square in the eyes.

"If you want me to, I'll even help you to make them scream."

Jack had heard enough.

"OK. Here's the deal. I take that chain that's bolted to the wall, padlock it around your neck and throw away the key. That way, you're going nowhere unless you chop your head off first. You're my slave for the rest of your life. The chain will be long enough so that you can get to the shower and the toilet. You live to serve and service me while I teach the other cunts respect."

Kirstie's voice was hoarse and earnest.

"You won't regret it."

Jack smirked.

"If you fail me there will be punishment, but as long as you're playing sucky-fuck with me and are willing to help me make the other cunts scream out their respect for me, you and I will get along just fine."

Kirstie nodded solemn agreement.

"I can't ask for a better deal than that, can I?"

Jack was emphatic.

"No, you can't."

He took Kirstie outside. She shucked off her shit-soaked clothing with alacrity and showed him every square inch of her tight body. The icy cold water shriveled her nipples to tight little acorns and made her goose-pimpled skin turn slightly blue, but she did nothing except express her heart-felt gratitude, promise him sexy delights and exhibit herself shamelessly as the excrement and piss was sluiced from her naked, shivering body.

She tossed her ruined shorts and panties off the cliff, watching as they plopped into the river far below. Posing lewdly for him as he hosed her down, she hefted her boobs, tugging at her hard nipples. Bending over and spreading her legs, she reached between them and parted her cuntlips with her fingers, showing him the pink.

To prove that she was more than just a pretty face and a hot body, well worth keeping around, she dropped to her knees, dripping wet in every way. She gobbled his dick like a pro, sucking his balls into her mouth and humming while she breathed on his dick and nosed his stiffening penis playfully. Skillfully licking and sucking his member until it was a rock-hard pile driver, she parted her lips and deep-throated him. He grabbed her head by the ears, pumping in and out fast and hard until he sprayed a monster load of man-gravy down her wide-open gullet.

Satisfied that this wet naked nookie was a sophisticated sexual performer, he took her inside and padlocked the strong chain around her neck, fastening her permanently to his trailer. He went outside.

While she watched through the open doorway, he made the relationship more permanent, throwing the key from the cliff.

Kirstie was now his personal piece of fuckmeat until her head was chopped from her body. He grinned wickedly and cupped her pretty face in his hands.

"Till death do us part, eh?"

She looked deep into his savage gloating eyes and nodded solemnly. He glanced over at Clarisse.

Clarisse was a mess. Her black eyes, so badly swollen that she could only open them to tiny slits, were glazed. Blood dripped from her nose and seeped from her earholes. Her head lolled mindlessly as she drooled like a retard onto her pulped, purple breasts, moaning and whimpering softly like a badly wounded animal.

"I don't think that cunt is going to last much longer."

Kirstie nodded in agreement, watching the sticky threads of snot dribble from Clarisse's nostrils and the long tendrils of drool drip from Clarisse's slack open mouth onto her breasts while she moaned and groaned, quite literally beaten stupid.

"Definitely looks like a slow learner."

They sniggered together. She looked at the man in her life adoringly, eager to cement this new relationship in every way possible.

"I could really help you with this."

She snuggled up close, pressing her naked thigh into his crotch and scrubbing her hard nipples against his chest. She rubbed her cheek affectionately against his, licked his ear and whispered breathily into his moist, sensitized ear hole.

"I could suggest a few people, some snotty hotties that are just begging for a beating."

Jack grinned. This new bitch was all right.

"You used to work in television, right?"

Kirstie nodded, ran her hands down his back and massaged his buttocks. She breathed deeply. As her chest inflated, her naked breasts pressed seductively into him. His cock began hardening again. Whatever Jack's personal problems were, being undersexed was not one of them. The researcher part of Kirstie's mind wondered idly if he was one of those rare guys with two Y-chromosomes. Reputedly, they often turned into violent sex offenders, hot tempered, hyper-aggressive men that just couldn't get enough through normal means.

Snuggling close, she massaged his bare chest with her nipples. He stared down at her tits while she gave him the good news.

"Yeah, I used to work for channel 69. The same station as Lola, that news anchor you like."

Jack raised his eyes. They gleamed eagerly.

"Tell me more."

Chapter 15 – Force Fucked

“Party time!”

Double D's gang of pimps surged into the dungeon cell and surrounded poor naked Loretta, looking down with predatory eyes on her panting nude form. They would each get a chance to put the new white whore in her place. They would also discover her dirty little secret.

Deeply distressed, Loretta found her private parts on full display in a room filled with cruel-eyed strangers, surrounded by fully dressed, strong black men. Completely helpless, the naked beauty was still clamped firmly to the heavy wooden chair. A studded black leather collar secured Loretta's pale white neck to the back of the chair. Thick leather cuffs fastened her slim wrists to the arms and her shapely ankles to the fat front legs. A thick greased prong angled up from the back of the chair of the seat-less chair. It was worked deeply into her rectum, forcing the pink-faced pulchritudinous pimp magnet to sit up and arch out, presenting her crotch and tits beautifully, wriggling and jiggling in a frantic frenzy. A sawed off shovel handle was buried in her aching cunt, rammed in deep and twisted hard so that her cunt had swelled up, gripping it tightly. Her bruised labia were an angry red, fully distended and puckered prettily around the invasive shovel handle.

Blushing furiously, Loretta was feeling a lot of pressure, as she was the only female, the only white and the only nude in the room. She squirmed and squealed, as they stripped away any remnant of her dignity and self-respect.

Her titmeat was hefted and squeezed, like shoppers testing the firmness of a roll of toilet paper. Her nipples were pinched and pulled, tugged tweaked and twisted until they were erect and dark red. Like Double D, his buddies liked a bitch whose nipples were so easily teased erect.

Large black hands stroked her smooth shapely legs, squeezing her calves and massaging her naked thighs, savouring the firmness and suppleness of her sweet flesh. A pavement princess needs good legs. After all, the skimpy micro-miniskirts that were in her future would barely cover her cunt.

Strong black hands roamed impudently over her helpless bare bod, feeling her up, groping her, rubbing her flat tummy, squeezing her calves and thighs, kneading and fondling the smooth creamy skin of her beautifully rounded buttocks, mashing and crushing her tits, pinching and tweaking her genitals. All of this obscenely invasive intimacy had the dual benefits of seeing what the new white meat had to offer and making sure that Loretta knew who owned every square inch of her fully exposed flesh.

Speaking of cunts, Loretta gasped and arched upwards as the shovel handle was forced in hard and twisted around brutally inside her, stirring her honey pot vigorously, making her vaginal passage burn along its full length. She cried out, breathing heavily, as the thick handle pressed painfully against her cervix, opening her up wide and penetrating her as deeply as possible. A magic marker was used mark the spot on the handle next to her cuntlips. She groaned as the shovel handle was abruptly jerked out, leaving an aching void burning deep inside her. The depth of her cunt was revealed to all. The pimps looked at the shovel handle with interest for it told them how much of a man the new slut could handle between her legs.

Her cuntlips were pinched and spread wide, exposing lots of pink. Strong fingers tugged and twisted her inner and outer labia, testing their stretch and elasticity. Loretta grunted and squealed like a pig at a slaughterhouse as a thick black thumb and forefinger delved deeply into her most intimate orifice and then spread wide in a V inside her, testing her tool tunnel for tightness.

It was time to put the new cunt to work and turn her into a hard-humping whore. A fast and furious team cream cuts the snot out of even the haughtiest bitch. It's not that Loretta was feeling very high and mighty at this point, but a new whore must be ground pitilessly and cored completely. After that, repeatedly robbed of all dignity and self-respect, she is no trouble at all, a marketable piece of fuckmeat. A regular maintenance routine of pimp slappings and beatings keeps her motivated and fucking hard, performing the most obscene, depraved and degrading sexual acts shamelessly and without hesitation for her black masters.

There is no more ruthless Master than someone whose ancestors were slaves. Payback is a deeply satisfying thing. Black pimps love tenderizing succulent white meat.

Loretta was unstrapped from the chair and eased off the rectal hook. The thick prong burned and scraped her agonisingly and with humiliating intimacy as it was pulled out of her asshole. Her pretty feet were uncuffed and slipped out of the steel cups. Strong black fingers parted her cute little toes and wormed between them. Her pretty feet curled as fingernails rasped over the sensitive soles.

Surrounded by powerful black men, each of whom was bigger, stronger and fiercer than she was, poor naked Loretta was overwhelmed completely. The pimps had a very physical, ‘hands on' approach to breaking in a new fuckslut. Loretta was manhandled over to the bed, squealing like a scared little piggy, being pinched hard, groped intimately, finger fucked and goosed encouragingly every inch of the way.

She was thrown onto the bed. As her beautiful bare bod bounced on the mattress, strong black fingers encircled her slim white ankles and her shapely legs were jerked apart and spread wide, exposing her swollen fuckhole.

Like it or not, naked on her back with her legs spread wide, lovely Loretta was totally vulnerable, ripe for rape.

Double D dropped his drawers and, diving into his work, threw himself heavily on top of her, punching the breath from her lungs as he rammed his thick dripping dick deep inside her. Loretta squirmed like a pinned butterfly as she gasped frantically, feeling his thick dick forcing itself into her fuckhole with brutal invasiveness and then savagely pulling out, a cruel act of intimate violation that was repeated over and over and over again.

Rhythmically, Loretta grunted like a pig as he pounded in and out of her aching fuckhole, opening her bruised orifice like a battering ram with each savagely invasive thrust. He bounced hard on her tits, making her ribs ache and repeatedly driving the breath from her lungs.

At last, with enormous relief, she felt him unload copiously inside her. Loretta sobbed gratefully as his big black firehose pumped her cunt full of viscous slime. His orgasm was so hard and powerful that she could feel it fountaining inside her. She could smell her own sweat as she panted hard, her bruised ribs aching with each breath.

Her relief was short-lived as he wrapped his fist in her hair, twisting it around his hand until the roots of her hair felt like they were on fire, being ripped out of her scalp. Loretta sobbed, her small hands gripping his thick wrist, trying futilely to ease the pressure as he dragged her from the bed onto her knees on the floor.

A bitch has to accept discipline for a poor performance. He pimp-slapped her ringingly. A sobbing, sweating slut pimp-slaps beautifully, the wetness of her face amplifying each blow. He waited until her vision and hearing cleared and some vestige of intelligence returned to Loretta's bloodshot, tearful eyes.

“You shouldn't just lie there like a dumb cunt that doesn't know any better. You should be pumping your hips, squeezing your cunt tight, pointing your toes prettily for the benefit of all the guys watching you. You should be using your tongue, moaning ecstatically, whispering lewd encouragement in the fucker's ear, running your hands over his body, groping, fondling and squeezing. You should try and get the guy off as quickly as possible so you can move on to entertaining your next customer. We want you to be a real high volume whore.”

Her hair tossed as he slapped her flaming face hard once more to drive the point home, in case she had somehow missed it.

“Got it, bitch?”

Loretta nodded, her scalp on fire, her face burning, her voice hoarse.

“Yes, sir.”

He jerked upwards on her hair. Loretta hurriedly scrambled to her feet. He pointed her at the nearest of his grinning pimp buddies.

“Do him.”

He shoved her into his arms. Terrified, she crushed her breasts against his chest, her erect nipples boring in. She hugged him close, massaging his buns with both hands. Loretta parted his lips with her strong muscular tongue and demonstrated her considerable linguistic expertise. She kneaded his crotch with her naked thigh and pumped her hips like a horny dog humping someone's leg, massaging his erection encouragingly with her bare thigh.

Her rapist pushed her onto the bed and fell on top of her. As instructed, Loretta spread her shapely legs and pointed her dainty toes prettily. Her groin muscles flexed visibly as she tightened her cunt around his plunging blacksnake. She licked his ear and, placing her lips close, she breathily whispered obscene encouragement.

Double D was delighted. A spoiled white hottie jerked out of a cozy, pampered princess type of life usually needed a lot more encouragement to do the nasty so convincingly. Some of his more short-lived sluts had broken down completely under his admittedly strenuous regime, their delicate whitebread sensitivities not up to anything more than sobbing their way hysterically through repeated gang rapes and shrieking mindlessly through long, gruelling torture sessions. Lovely Loretta was obviously a bit of a pain pig and was handling the abuse like a well-pounded old pro. Obviously, her past contained a special someone or a few special someones who had done some up-front work fucking her over. As his buddy promptly unloaded inside her, Double D knew that he had picked a real moneymaker.

The school of hard knocks was Double D's favourite academy for white babes. Double D's whores quickly learned to accept the most intimate sexual handling. The ones that lasted longest also developed a high tolerance for being beaten, humiliated, fucked over and forced to perform the most painfully degrading acts in front of large groups of men.

He dragged Loretta by her curly brown hair out of the bed so that she was naked on her knees facing her next challenge.

Her cute face was an inch away from Big Billy Blacksnake's bulging crotch. What was required of her was obvious. Double D waved a pair of pliers threateningly under her nose.

“No teeth, bitch. You use your teeth and I'll pull every last one of them out of your fucking head!”

Thus encouraged, Loretta unbuckled and unbuttoned Big Billy Blacksnake's baggy pants. The noise of his zipper seemed unusually loud to her as she pulled it down, revealing the largest cock Loretta had ever seen. He stepped out of his baggy pants without taking off his boots.

His cock was already hard. A large pearl drop of pre-cum glistened on the pee slit, quivering as large veins inside his thick dick pulsed visibly, throbbing with each heartbeat of engorging blood. He dragged his big black cock over her face, sighing deeply as he enjoyed the feel of her hot smooth skin on his hard dick. His pre-cum left a trail of white slime on her red face. He rubbed the tip over her lips. Pre-cum continued to seep out. The thick salty fluid leaked into her mouth, giving her a taste. Cum dribbled down her chin.

Trying to be a good little whore, Loretta took his huge hairy balls in her mouth, humming gently while she rubbed his monstrous erect member with her nose, getting a good whiff of the musky man smell infusing his pubic hairs in the process. Inside her head, Loretta told herself that she was a tough, sexually experienced woman. She began to feel confident that she could handle this.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Once a bitch has been raped over thoroughly, she is never the same again. The whole object of the exercise is to produce a deeply traumatised, completely cowed cunt, an anxious little fuck-bunny entirely controlled by her all-consuming fear.

He gripped her hair and twisted hard. As Loretta opened her mouth to scream he clamped her head in a vice like grip with both hands and forced his huge cock into her gaping gullet. Her eyes opened wide. She could feel the huge veins along the side of his thick dick pulsing against her lips. Her tongue moved up to try and force him out, but she succeeded only in pleasuring him further as his thick black snake jumped with joy in response and slithered over her saliva slick tongue.

He grasped her jaw, opened her mouth wider, tilted her head back and pressed harder. Her throat protested, strongly resisting at first. Then, with a hard gulp, it opened, giving passage to his rigid tool. G ripping the back of her head, he forced his raping ramrod in as far as it would go. He grunted rhythmically as he pumped in and out of her throat. His stomach pressed against her face, squashing her nose flat, making it hard for her to breath. His heavy, sperm-laden balls bounced against her chin. Eyes watering, she gagged and choked each time he rammed the mushroom head of his dick deep into the hot moist confines of her tiny throat.

It hurt each time he fucked into her, his body smashing into her face. He did not care about her pain, only his pleasure.

He moved her head up and down his cock, gripping her tightly by the ears. It felt like they were being ripped off.

“Suck it good, slut. Come on! You can do better than that! You don't want me to whup your ass when I'm done, do you? I've got a whip that will slice you open to the bone with each stroke.”

The huge cock in her mouth swelled even larger. Poor terrified Loretta was careful not to get her teeth in the way. Wrapping her hair around his hands, he clamped her head so hard that she thought it was going to explode like a watermelon hit by a shotgun blast. He began to fuck her face furiously, slamming so deep that her nose was mashed into his pubic hair. This was no blowjob. He was just using her as a sex hole, raping her throat, force fucking her face with a savagely relentless pile driver rhythm.

Her whole body was jerking with a gag reflex she couldn't control. Her nude body thrashed and twisted, spasming wildly in rhythm with his thrusts. Her bare breasts shook like jello in an earthquake. Her fists flailed the air ineffectually. She was consumed by a fear of smothering, panic-stricken at having no more air.

After that, he came quickly. The brutal assault climaxed in a pulsating, throbbing gush of cum that shot straight down her throat. As Loretta's vision darkened, on the very verge of blacking out from lack of oxygen, he pulled out.

His pulsing cock, still fountaining cum, flooded her mouth. His withdrawing prick firehosed hot, sour cum down her throat, into her mouth and over her flinching, gasping face. She looked like a rabid dog. Her mouth was filled and her tongue was coated with his foul tasting semen. It seemed to never end. Loretta choked and gagged. His cock had forced a voluminous quantity of cum straight down her throat and into her stomach as well as flooding her mouth and sinuses.

Loretta sobbed around his huge, spewing tool as he playfully slapped her face with his dick. She simultaneously struggled to swallow his cum and breathe in air, while trying hard not to vomit. It was too much for her whirling brain to cope with at once and she sucked some of his cum into her lungs. As she whooped and coughed, he wiped his dripping dick off in her hair.

Big Billy ran his thumb along the underside of his thick prick from the base of his scrotum to the tip his dick, squeezing out the last drops of cum from his pee tube into a big liquescent pearl drop, which he rubbed off into her ear hole. Loretta shuddered as she felt it trickle down deep inside her head, a creepy unnerving sensation.

Big Billy grinned down at her in triumph as he watched her eyes flood with tears of shame and humiliation. Her hair was sticky with his cum. His cum flowed down her face to drip onto her tits and from her dark red nipples onto the floor.

Her scrunched up face was contorted in a rictus of horror and revulsion.

“Enjoying the taste, bitch? Want some more? Let's see how much more loving you can handle...”

As he turned her over to his buddies for more ‘loving' he loosened his grip of her slimy hair. Loretta collapsed to the floor and curled up in a foetal ball, coughing and retching. Cum, snot, spit and vomit pooled on the floor under her.

They looked down at her crying hard, squirming in a nasty puddle of bodily fluids, her nude form shaking with deep wracking sobs. As he pulled his pants back on, Big Billy became a sensitive, caring male. Shouting down at her, he kicked her bare butt with the toe of his boot.

“Hey bitch, was it good for you?”

His buddies sniggered as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her to her knees.

“Get up from the floor you stupid bitch. You've lots more fucking to do!”

She looked up at him; her cute face a study in misery. Tears ran down her cheeks as she turned on the faucets full blast. She whimpered pathetically.

“Why? Why me?”

She looked up at him pleadingly.

“Please go away, I won't tell anyone about this...”

The room echoed with the crisp crack of male flesh on female flesh as he pimp slapped her hard in the face. Her pretty sperm slimed head snapped form side to side. She started breathing rapidly as she braced herself to absorb another beating.

“Stupid white cunt! You're our bitch now. What the fuck do you think is happening here? Pretty white bitches always think they can play guys for fools to get their way! Do you think that your sad little whitebread Barbie routine is a winner? Think again, bitch!”

She looked up at him in absolute misery, tears streaming pathetically down her sad face. All this did was earn her more abuse.

To make things crystal clear to Loretta, he worked over her pretty face with a series of ringing slaps that sounded like pistol shots. Her curly brown hair tossed as her head snapped sharply under this powerfully educational series of savage slaps. She stood swaying on her knees, a pimp slapped whore, her wet face flaming. Pulling hard on her hair, he shook her head like a cat worrying a rat.

“Why are we doing this? Because we enjoy fucking over the likes of you, you stuck up white slut! We liked the look of you, so we took you. That's the way it works, fuckhead. We wondered what it would be like to rape you, fuck you like a slut and now we're finding out, like a whole bunch of your customers are going to be finding out, as you become our fucking sucking whore!”

He bent her head back so that she was staring up at him from her knees on the floor, her eyes wide.

“New flash, white meat: you're our fucking whore and fucking whores get no fucking respect!”

He jerked her head back even farther. Each root of her tightly stretched hair screamed a message of pain from her burning scalp to her reeling brain. He spelled it out to her in terms that even the most deeply traumatised, brain scrambled bimbo could comprehend.

“Your new life is simple. We get the money. You get fucked. Understand, bitch?”

Loretta nodded numbly, staring up into the face of the suddenly angry black man..

“You think that you're too good for us, white bitch? Think again, cunt!”

He grabbed her wrist and forced it up high behind her back. Loretta opened her mouth to cry out and within seconds a ball gag was shoved into it. Big Billy smirked as he mimicked a polite customer service clerk.

“Thank you for your co-operation.”

Loretta felt the hard rubber red ball as it was forced between her lips and squeezed past her teeth.

“Nobody likes a whiny slut, so we have to help you to shut the fuck up.”

The huge rubber ball was much more uncomfortable than she would have expected. Once crammed behind her teeth, it held her jaws open painfully wide. She fought down the urge to gag, bending forward as he cinched the straps holding the gag in place brutally tight behind her head. Loretta whimpered as the ball was forced in deeper, increasing her discomfort. The rubber taste filled her mouth. With her mouth propped wide open, completely filled by the rubber ball, Loretta started to drool like a retard. The leather straps cut into the corners of her mouth.

He tied her slim wrists together behind her back, using a thick black plastic tie that, once it was cinched tight, could only be cut loose.

Time to open Loretta's reeling mind to a few more possibilities.

Her face flinched as he flicked the switchblade open in front of her eyes. Her heart turned to ice. Surely he wouldn't cut her, damage the merchandise? Helplessly, she felt the sharpness as he trailed the blade over her right breast.

I

T errified, paralysed with fear, she couldn't move a muscle. Scared that the smallest twitch on her part would get her sliced open, only her wide-open eyes moved as they followed the path of the blade over her bare skin. She knew total hysterical panic at his next words.

“Maybe you're not good enough to be a whore. I think I should take a couple of nipples as a souvenir.”

He looked around at the others.

“What say? After I slice off the bitch's nipples, should I gut her like a fish and let her bleed out?”

To Loretta's horror, they shrugged with elaborate indifference.

“Bitch doesn't seem too keen.”

Loretta began shaking her head, shrieking with terror into the ball gag as she felt his sharp blade press lightly against her nipple. He circled the aureolae with the sharp point, scraping but not cutting. Part of her was trying to believe that he surely wouldn't do it, that they were just messing with her mind. The horror was that after all that had happened to her, she couldn't be sure. They looked and sounded deadly serious. Maybe she couldn't fuck good enough to be their whore. Her self-image as a tough, sexually sophisticated woman began to crumble.

“Just take a deep breath white meat, it'll be over in a few seconds.”

Hands gripped her shoulders, holding her kneeling in place. Big Billy pinched her nipple hard and pulled it away from her chest. He rested the sharp blade underneath. Caving in to complete hysteria, Loretta frantically screeched her eagerness to please into the ball gag, promising to do better, almost fainting in her extreme fear.

The cruel black men stared down hard at the naked kneeling nookie, watching her sob hysterically, making desperate begging and pleading noises through her gag, her frantic eyes darting everywhere, huge and beseeching.

Allowing her a moment of overwhelming, mind-melting panic and hysteria, Big Billy looked solemnly into her eyes.

“Do you want another chance, bitch?”

Loretta nodded like a bobble head doll.

“Do you want to fuck for us?”

Panting hard, the kneeling bobble head doll nodded again, squealing her eager-to-please acquiescence into the deeply frustrating gag.

“Is there going to be any more whining or complaining?”

She shook her head in a violent no, making emphatically negative noises through the gag.

“Black babes are great fucks. So you know that, as a white bitch, you're going to have to work a hell of a lot harder to please.”

They were gratified to see a sudden understanding of this serious shortcoming dawn in her eyes. To keep a bitch fucking hard, it is always helpful to have her think that she doesn't quite measure up to the competition and has to perform the most utterly depraved acts to compensate.

Big Billy was a demanding coach for his team of hard humping fuckmeat, setting the bar high and burying the dildo deep. He pinched Loretta's nipple harder and pulled it out farther. Loretta groaned, her eyes bright with tears and fears.

“Is digging deep, doing whatever it takes and fucking extra hard going to be a problem, cunt?”

Loretta shook her head in an emphatic no. Looking up at them humbly, feeling like a small stupid child, she made pathetically eager-to-please white bitch noises into the gag. Big Billy released her stretched out tit and it snapped back into place, aching and throbbing.

“OK! Jimbo, see if the bitch was serious about keeping her nipples.”

Loretta sensed a large presence kneel down behind her. Her legs were forced apart as he knelt between her widespread calves. She felt a monstrous erection pressing along her butt crack and touching her lower back as her unseen rapist snuggled up close. Her butt cheeks were parted.

She felt the dripping mushroom head of a monster weapon resting lightly against her wrinkled brown hole. The relentless pressure began. Knowing that resisting would make it ten times worse, Loretta worked hard to relax as Jumbo Jimbo broke through the tight resistance of her sphincter muscle. With a long purring groan that sounded like it belonged to a big jungle cat the unseen stranger behind her slowly, steadily forced his way in.

Performing this act of excruciating, obscene intimacy with a total stranger would test Loretta to her limits and beyond.

She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. His very large, very long and, fortunately very well greased dick began threading through her back passage on its way to a very deep rectal probing.

Although fond of ass fucking in her former existence as a free-range bimbo, Loretta's eyes widened as she felt her anus stretch wider than ever before, on the verge of splitting open like an overstuffed sausage casing. It felt like a thick tree branch going in endlessly. Two massive black hands clamped around her upper thighs, pulling her back onto the raspy python slithering into her burning butt hole.

Faced with this heart-pounding invasion, Loretta was starting to accept that she wasn't measuring up to a black pimp's standards of what a bitch should be able to handle. The consequences of failure didn't bear thinking about so Loretta took a deep breath and struggled to cope. Her rapist's monster member seemed to go on and on. Her pretty toes curled. Her tiny hands tightened into small little fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. Her tits quivered outwards as she arched back to try and ease the entry of her rectal rapist.

At last, she felt his balls against her. He put his massive black hands on her hips and began a slow powerful rectal reaming. He slid his huge member three quarters out. Gripping her hips firmly and digging his fingers in tight, he pulled her towards him. Loretta cried out as he forced it back in all the way with a sadistic, eyeball popping thrust. Her bare breasts bounced and her sweating torso heaved as Loretta breathed deeply to try and remain calm. It was impossible. Over and over he invaded her, grinding her relentlessly, pitilessly.

Big Billy looked down at Loretta, wide-eyed and gasping, dripping with sweat, squealing into the ball gag with each thrust, straining desperately to accommodate her anal intruder.

“Is there a problem, whore?”

Terrified, Loretta shook her head in a no that was so emphatic that her tits shook sideways.

The asshole is a lot tighter than the cunt. Thus, Loretta's past anal efforts had been comparatively short. New in her experience, this painful penile pounding seemed to go on forever and ever. Impossibly, just before he came, she felt his penis swell even further, almost tearing her, stretching her to unbelievable limits in lightning strokes of white-hot anal pain. Her eyes bulged and she screamed dementedly into her gag as Jimbo came and came and came, giving her a sperm enema that she would never forget, haunting her nightmares always.

Appropriately, it took a coon's age for Jimbo's monster member to unload. It jerked and twitched inside her as spurt after spurt of thick semen squirted into her. Beet-red, every artery in her contorted face pulsing visibly, poor Loretta shrieked until the snot ran. Pumping smoothly through this entire episode of bitch fit hysteria; Jimbo tore her slightly, his sperm mixing with her blood deep inside her shit tube.

It was Tim the Toolman's turn to sweat the white bitch.

“Hold her tight!”

Still impaled up the ass by Jimbo's tumescent member, Loretta's pounding heart quaked as his strong hands clamped her upper arms in a vice-like grip. His powerful fingers pincered into her small biceps, pinching them painfully as she was held firmly in position kneeling before Tim.

The pimps continued to focus on converting pretty pampered Loretta into an utterly depraved fuckbeast. She was a long way down the road and certainly gave the appearance of a nymphomaniac in the grip of severe sexual dementia. Her red face was covered in cum, tears and snot. Her hair was plastered to her head, clumped up and sticky with perspiration and man gravy. Her bare boobies bobbled, dark red nipples erect. Her sweat slick torso heaved as she panted sobbingly. Now that Jimbo wasn't actively pumping in and out, her rectum had settled down to a steady throbbing ache, wrapped around his still tumescent member. This was to help her focus on the next stage of her education.

Standing in front of her, Tim the Toolman lifted her chin delicately with the toe of his highly polished black boot. She stared up at him with wild bloodshot eyes.

“You understand that as a white bitch you're an inferior fuck, so I have to tweak you up a bit. That way you'll have more to offer a customer.”

Pretty Loretta was confused and deeply fearful. Everyone else sniggered and watched avidly.

A lot of fucking over a new bitch is psychological. To encourage a full mental meltdown, Tim liked explaining the more horrific aspects of what was about to be done. It gave a bitch something to anticipate.

He held up a slim metal tube in front of Loretta's eyes.

“It looks like a normal hollow metal tube, but there's something different about this one. Can you see what it is?”

Loretta squinted, studying the tiny tube carefully. Helpfully, Tim rolled it between his fingers and turned it end over end. He held it so that she could look inside it. She looked down it and saw what she expected to see, a little spot of light at the end. It was hollow, so what? Her face was a study in bewilderment.

“Can't you see what's different, cunt?”

The other pimps snickered as she slowly shook her head in bafflement. Tim coaxed her along, giving her a small hint. It always helped if a bitch was fully focussed on what was happening to her. A numb, shocked, zombied-out slut would learn nothing. A bitch who was paying close attention could be traumatised for life.

“Look at the end.”

Mystified and feeling stupid, Loretta studied the end carefully, trying to puzzle it out. The very end seemed a little shinier than the rest of the tube, but that was all. Stumped, she looked up at him beseechingly, shaking her head in befuddlement.

Tim took pity on her.

“The end of this tube has been sharpened. If you look carefully, you'll see that the edge all around the circular opening is as thin and as sharp as a razor blade.”

Although she still didn't understand the sharpened tube's purpose, everyone could see that Loretta didn't think that this was good news. She looked at Tim in uncertainty and growing dread.

“Why would someone sharpen the end of a small tube like that, cunt? Do you have any ideas?”

Loretta's bare breasts quivered tremulously as she began to pant a little faster. She shook her head in a slow hesitant no.

“Do you think that I'm going to jab the razor sharp tube into you?”

Her twitching face began to glisten with more sweat as she slowly nodded yes. Like any competent manager, Tim gave his new employee some positive feedback.

“Good girl! You're right about that.”

Tim grinned.

“That only leaves two questions for you to puzzle out: where am I going to jab you with this thing and why is it hollow?”

Drops of sweat sprayed from Loretta's fear-hardened nipples as she began to hyperventilate. Tim held out the hand that wasn't holding the tube. He obviously had something in his fist.

“Do you know what I've got in my fist? It's a big clue that will help you answer the two questions.”

Loretta shook her head no. Her heart was thundering like a big bass drum inside her chest. She watched carefully as he slowly, dramatically turned his fist over and opened it.

She blinked the stinging sweat from her eyes. As a sexually experienced woman, she recognised what he was holding in the palm of his hand.

Tim saw the horrified understanding dawn in her eyes. He smiled gently at his none-too-eager student of pain.

“That's right, honey: nipple rings.”

He studied the sharp tube reflectively. Loretta studied it too.

“I use the tube to slowly, carefully cut a tunnel through the base of your nipple. I'm told that it feels like a line of burning fire. Then I thread the nipple ring through the tit tunnel. You see how your nipple rings work?”

Her guts churning, Loretta studied them. They were thick and sturdy, made of gleaming gold and an inch in diameter. There was a gap in the circle. A sharp barbed end on one side of the gap obviously fit into a hollow tube on the other side.

“After I thread the ring through, I squeeze it together with a pair of pliers forcing the sharp barbed end into the hollow end. You'll feel a small click as the barb on one end actually locks into the other, completing the circle. After that they are on permanently, unless someone cuts them off.”

She grimaced and whimpered as he pinched her nipple painfully and stretched it out from her chest. Holding it stretched out, he looked into her bloodshot eyes.

“All sorts of sluts have piercings. My challenge to you is to keep silent while you're being fitted with your slave rings. Guys like to see a babe that has her genitals pierced. They know that you're a real fuckslut when they see that. I don't want to hear a peep out of you while I make you into a more valuable whore. If you make a sound, I'll pull every tooth out of your head so that you can give better blowjobs because I'll know that you lack the self-discipline and self-control to be a real sexual performer and will need a whole lot of extra tweaking up.”

Forcing a new bitch to accept and swallow pain from her new masters, not allowing her to vent and externalize any of it, took her to the next level of mind-melting trauma. Tim the Toolman wanted to make sure that lovely Loretta internalized every last drop of the upcoming combination of sexual and physical abuse.

“I don't want to see any tears. I don't want to see any grimaces on your face. I don't want to hear the smallest whine or whimper. Don't shut your eyes. I want you to watch carefully what's being done to you. Understand?”

Loretta blinked back her tears and nodded. He removed the ball gag so she could articulate any concerns, concerns that would get her teeth yanked out. Her jaws ached in relief as they were liberated from the oversize ball gag but, like her concerns, she kept her relief to herself.

Tim could see her tightening herself grimly, bracing herself to accept excruciatingly intimate agony and humiliation, to swallow it and hold it like a tight burning knot deep inside her guts and her mind, forever eating away like acid at any self-respect she might manage to achieve.

He took his time. He rested the sharp end of the tube against the base of her nipple, positioning it carefully.

There was a brief bright flash of pain as he punctured the skin. Loretta breathed deeply and swallowed it.

He began twirling the cutting tube back and forth between his fingers, slowly boring a tunnel through her titmeat. Like a woman giving birth, Loretta breathed deeply and steadily, her eyes fastened fanatically on his twirling fingers as he drilled a line of fire through her breast. Her steadily heaving torso was soon covered with a thick oily sheen of sweat. He punched through the other side. He twirled the bloody tube repeatedly to make sure that everything was loose and free. Then he reversed direction and, gripping it firmly between his fingers, pulled it back through.

He took one of the golden nipple rings and pushed the blunt end all the way through her new tit tunnel. Loretta experienced a whole new sort of pain as he wiggled it around agonisingly while he inserted it. Once it was through, he squeezed a drop of superglue onto the sharp barbed end. With a pair of pliers he forced the two ends together. Loretta watched as the sharp end disappeared into the hollow tube end. As promised, Loretta felt a click as the barb locked in and the superglue bonded the two ends together, sealing her nipple ring permanently in place.

He released her nipple and allowed it to snap back into place. Loretta felt the sharp sting of disinfectant as he wiped the blood from her new nipple ring with an antiseptic-impregnated cloth.

Loretta's blood pressure was through the roof. Her face was red and sweating. Small arteries pulsed visibly at her temples. He moved a table up close to her pink, nervously twitching face so that she could watch closely as he prepared his equipment to pierce her other breast, giving her time to think about it and anticipate the pain and degradation to come. He blew down the hollow tube to clear it of her bloody titmeat and washed it in a small bowl of sudsy water. He dried it off with a hand towel. A small whetstone squeaked shrilly with each stroke as he re-sharpened the end of the tube. Each scrape of the whetstone scraped over Loretta's raw nerves as well.

At last he was satisfied. He dipped the tube in antiseptic, holding a finger over the dull end of the tube to keep it filled with the stinging antiseptic. He resumed work on lovely Loretta. He pinched her other nipple hard, stretching it painfully out from her chest. Loretta worked to swallow the same agonizing experience again. Knowing what was going to happen and what it would feel like did not make it any easier for the perspiring pink-faced pain pig as she worked her way through the whole exercise once more. In fact, the pain was amplified and made worse both by her anticipation of it and by the sting of the antiseptic as it leaked from the tube drilling agonisingly into her titmeat.

He picked up six more golden slave rings and jingled them in his palm suggestively. He smiled brightly at her downcast face.

“Before we get around to the labial piercing, you should have a drink of water. I can tell by the reek of you that you've been sweating rivers. A loser like you needs a lot of tweaking and we still have a lot to work through together.”

Loretta definitely felt like a loser and was well aware that she smelled like a sweaty slime-soaked slut. She took a deep breath and nodded miserably. He opened a water bottle and held it to her lips, tilting it up gently. She drank thirstily.

Tears welled up in her eyes and Loretta sobbed brokenly at the wonderful taste of the cool water, so clear, refreshing and pure. She thought that he was just doing it so she would last a good long time while they worked her over relentlessly, but of course that wasn't the only reason. The contrast between the good, clean water and everything else happening to her was bitterly heartbreaking, as intended. Encouraging a bitch to look up and see a small patch of beautiful blue sky high above when she was buried up to her tits in a shit pit, her smooth skin slimed with reeking feculence, was an important part of grinding her pitilessly. It let her keep tabs on how far she had fallen and how impossibly far away her former life was.

Challenging a bitch with different types of pain keeps her sweating nicely and fully engaged mentally. Tim the Toolman held up a slim hollow tube with an end pointed like a fountain pen.

“There's the slow drill and then there's the sharp jab. For labial piercing, I'll quickly punch six holes in your cuntlips, three on each side. It's the same rules as before: no tears, a still face, no whines or whimpers, eyes wide open and watching between your legs. If I see anything else, I'll slice off your clit. It doesn't affect your value as a whore. You'll be the only one to miss it. Understand, cunt?”

Loretta nodded. She almost gasped as he reached between her parted thighs, pinched her cuntlips together and stretched them out. She almost cried out as he viciously jabbed the sharp tube through both cuntlips at once. He jabbed twice more and the hard-breathing beauty had six holes. He snapped the six rings in place.

“When guys see a pierced cunt they know that bitch is a real deep down dirty slut.”

Tim smiled gently. He held two halves of a small gleaming stainless steel barbell in the palm his hand, directing Loretta's attention away from a last minute surprise that he held out of sight behind his back in his other hand.

“Now we'll have an easy little piercing that will make you real popular with the blowjob boys. Stick out your tongue.”

Loretta stuck out her tongue. She almost lost it and squealed when he suddenly gripped her wet pink tongue with a pair of pliers that she hadn't noticed and stretched it out. She would have fallen flat on her face if it weren't for Jimbo's restraining hands pinching her biceps hard and his thick dick helpfully shoved up her ass. Jimbo took over control of the pliers, helpfully positioning Loretta's tongue for a piercing.

Tim punched the shaft of the barbell through her tongue, put a dab of superglue on the end and snapped on the other ball.

“OK, talk to me bitch. I want you to understand that, with that big barbell piercing your tongue, you now sound like a mumble-mouthed retard. Say ‘she sells sea shells by the seashore'.”

Sharp women always pride themselves on their verbal skills, their ability to out-talk most men. When Loretta tried the tongue twister, she found to her horror that her swollen, permanently pierced and weighted tongue did indeed make her sound like a vacuous featherbrained bimbo – a woman that no one would take seriously except as a piece of fuckmeat.

To seal the deal, Tim had two more things to tweak up. He held up a thick gold ring.

“Any ideas where that might go, bitch?”

Loretta should her head. He held up something that looked like a single-hole paper punch.

“Not a peep, bitch.”

He put it up her nose so that a jaw of the punch was up either nostril. He squeezed the handles. There was a sound of cartilage crunching and Loretta had a new hole in her septum. He slipped the large ring through and squeezed it with a pair of pliers. It clicked shut. Loretta could now be led around by her nose ring, like a fucking farm animal. Anybody looking at her face would instantly know that she was an utterly shameless, completely submissive slut.

Ashen faced, sweating and shaking, her mind reeling, Loretta had the rabbit-in-the-headlights look of a fearful, fully fucked female. Feeling she had no other options, she was committed to life as a fear trained whore, a sex slave to her pimps, a hot holed bed beast. The trauma was now bone deep. It was something that no amount of therapy would ever be able to erase.

It had been an extremely strenuous day for an abused, brain-fried and completely exhausted Loretta. Tim reached between her legs and parted her labia with his fingers. As he jabbed with the needle to open the hole for her clit ring, Loretta passed out.

A capsule of amyl nitrate was broken under her nose and she snapped awake.

Tim stared hard at her. Babbling hysterically, panic-stricken at having failed them by passing out, Loretta volunteered to perform a shamefully submissive, highly dangerous sexual act that she had actually tried out once, but had been too fearful to repeat.

She winced as Tim playfully flicked her new clit ring.

“That's what we like, slut. We have a little club where you can do this in front of everyone. Any problems with that, cunt?”

Loretta was a transformed woman, a broken beaten bitch. She was way past having problems with any obscene, depraved, degrading performance required of her by her new black masters.

She lowered her eyes to the floor, shook her head submissively and accepted her fucked up future completely.