Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Hi, I'm an enthusiastic reader, amateur writer, and one sick puppy.  If
this floats your boat, great!  If it doesn't, oh well.  If this works out,
i'll post more stuff.  Send comments, ideas, hatemail, jokes, pics, or what
have you to paenatwork@gmail.com

   All standard disclaimers apply and then some.  This kind of behaviour
should never be emulated in real life, and the author absolutely does not
condone any of the things contained in this story ever actually happening.
Do not read this if you're under 18 or are easily offended.

   SLAB CITY



   Crank sometimes wondered how, somewhere, somehow, some smartass thought
it was a great idea to build Slab City.  He'd been observant enough to pick
up a few tidbits of information over the course of his degenerate life -
the Arcology Hyperstructures that were supposed to be the cure-all for
social, environmental and economic problems didn't spring out of nowhere.

   If you asked one of the street scum, one of the broken, homeless,
vandals, petty crooks and rapists that lived and died in the grime-covered
corridors of Slab City, how many people lived in the massive amalgamation
of prefabricated concrete and steel, you'd get little more than a confused
mumbling of 'lots' or 'many'.  You'd also likely then be robbed and/or
raped, and probably murdered.

   Crank knew that there were 60 million assholes living in this cesspit.
That made him a Brain.  One of the smartest things that he did then was to
join a gang - the Slab Snakes.  There wasn't anything like it - you got to
fuck people up in all sorts of ways, as long as you didn't mind getting
messed up yourself.  Drugs, alcohol, guns : all part of a day's work.  The
parties AFTER the days work were intense - especially the one he had
planned.

   They were kings of level 113 again, and everyone damn well knew it.  the
street scum got the fuck out of his way, like the little bitches they were.
Hell, right now, if they weren't a Slab Snake, they were ALL bitches.

   Apartment 113255.  Used to be this great little 'skore den, and Crank
had these huge gaps in his memory where he'd just been zapped out of his
brain.  Good times.  Great for a hit if you had something to trade for it,
and great for a fuck if you were too cheap to get a whore.  You just
grabbed a junkie-cunt, and stuck your dick in.  They never moved much, and
always drooled a little, but it was free.  Of course, someone had to clear
it out, to make room for another bunch of assholes who got evicted from a
higher floor.

   Everyone was running the goddamn rat race, fighting over whatever credit
or jobs you could get, to get up to a better floor, a higher level.  Where
people lived like people, with books, and theatres, and restaurants and...

   Crank broke from his usual scowl to smile at that thought.  Like a
fucking idiot.  But he allowed himself the smile, anyway.  Fucking
pansy-ass bitches.  No fucking credit or jobs here, you took what you
wanted, bartered what you didn't.  Nothing but porno-rags to read,
porno-flicks to watch.  But who the fuck needed more than that?  Taking,
fighting, and fucking.  All a man needed.  All a Slab Snake needed.

   There were a couple of the Watch outside the apartment.  Punks in
uniform, to a man.  You wanted someone GOT, or something protected, on THIS
level you sucked off a Slab Snake.  This particular Watch group were
following Gaz - a useless cunt at anything except shaking down whoever was
stupid enough to fall for his terrible tough guy routine.

   'What you want?' Crank wasn't really in the mood for this.

   'Just checking on the Cory family!  Crime rates in this neighbourhood
are SO high.  They don't seem to be answering the door, so maybe we'd just
stick around outside till they get back.  Can't be TOO safe, you know.' He
liked playing both the Good Cop and the Bad Cop in his routine.

   'So tell me, you Slab motherfucker, what are you assholes up to?'

   '600.' Crank cut to the chase.

   '600 my ass.  2000 or i'm getting the rest of the boys to fuck you guys
up.'

   '1000' '1600' '1200'

   'Fine.'

   Crank didn't really feel that bad.  Credit round here wasn't worth much,
except to snotty little pricks like Gaz.  Crank swore he heard the Watchman
giggle when he handed over the cash.  At least they got out of his face, he
had work to do.

   He passed the forged keycard through the door's scanner unit, and went
in.

   The apartment was a shithole, like any other apartment in the level. 
Someone, however, had put real effort into trying to make the place LESS
like a refurbished 'Skore den, and more like a place to raise a family.  A
crappy sofa, a DINING table, a kitchen.  Frilly drapes of cheap fabric that
covered windows that overlooked a shitty lower deck, where street scum
nested.

   Crank had to get the place looking PROPER, before the party started.

   Trashing a place had never been so much work.  But at least most of the
'furniture' bullshit was out of the way, the walls were properly tagged
with Slab Snake words (Slab snake motto : FUCK DEM BITCHES. 
Thought-provoking stuff.) and the various instruments for the night's
entertainment were set.

   It was work, yes, but ever since the boss had started a new fad of
handing out and smoking 'Roid cigars, the main clubhouse couldn't take
another party with a bunch of rowdy slab snakes in a narcotics-fuelled
frenzy of violence and fucking.  Which is why Crank had catered for so much
pussy tonight - they'd fuck the girls over into a coma, but hopefully be
distracted from ripping the heads off fellow Slab Snakes.

   Another reason Crank had chosen this place for a party site were the
hosts.  Specifically, the ever-hospitable Cory family.  Daddy Cory had been
fucked over in a corporate deal on the higher levels, and shot himself, but
not before leaving his family a shit-ton of debt.  So, Mrs.  Joyce Cory had
been relocated to level 113, with her two daughters, Jane and Jamie.

   They'd be dead and raped before the month was out, so Crank decided that
he'd get to them first.

   It was a refreshing change, really.  Breakins were so common, sometimes
you wouldn't even have to ask where the drugs/guns/alcohol/fuckable cunt
was.  Victims would just tell you, without you asking, and anyone with a
cunt would just bend over.  When the Slab Snakes broke into Old Man Zig's
apartment for the 3rd time that week, they found his wife, daughters, and
neice naked on all fours in the living room.  Just so he could get some
sleep.

   Almost took the fun out of it.  Almost.

   So when Joyce Cory screamed, begged, pleaded, and blubbered for the
safety of her children, and offered him whatever baubles she had to get him
and his boys to leave, it brought the magic back into rape.

   Miri Zigs had taught her daughters that the best way to survive a rape
was just to spread your legs, relax your ass if he ass-rapes you, and try
to suck him off in a quick, efficient manner.  Her daughters and
granddaughters were invariably loose of cunt, sore of ass, and without gag
reflexes.

   To Crank, there was nothing better than taming the ex-trophy wife that
was Joyce Cory.  Slapping, threats, pawing her spectacular body -
everything was so much livelier than just raping another whore.  She hated
his very touch, and had never ceased to thrash wildly in her bonds,
whimpering and crying the whole time.  Refreshing.

   He hadn't used her much, since that kind of spirit was worth preserving
for the party.  He'd kept her tied during the days he spent at the
apartment, making his preparations.  Her daughters, on the other hand,
crumpled like most spoilt bitches tended to.  The submissive little sluts
weren't ENJOYING the rapes, but they weren't whining into their gags the
whole time.

   Tying Joyce down to the wheel was tiring, and Crank was wondering if
maybe, maybe, she could just be a BIT more cooperative.  The blindfold
hadn't calmed her down at all, even as he punched her again in the head,
while pinning the thrashing, hysterical woman down.  Goddamn bitch. 
Finally, she worse herself out, and he'd managed to get her hands tied to
the corners of the wooden wheel-frame he'd made.  He forced her legs open,
into a perfect split, and tied those down too.

   Mr cory had married Joyce for her natural D cup tits, her trim,
spectacular figure, and her sense of humor.  Crank's sense of humor was
somewhat different, so Joyce Cory found that being turned into a dart-board
wasn't funny at all.  He kept the blindfold on her, but he thought that it
would at least get some kind of chuckle, rather than MORE petulant
whimpering.  Some people can't take a joke.

   The chains around her arms, leg, waist and neck held her fairly securely
to the wheel-frame.  She'd be incredibly unfomfortable when the wheel-frame
was placed vertically, but that wasn't a pressing concern.  Her large tits
were perfect for the game, with nice puffy nipples that formed tiny,
sensitive bullseyes on her chest.  Her cunt was a wide open target as well,
as Crank staped her pussy lips to her thighs.

   10 points for a dart in her tits, 50 points for a hit on the areola, 30
points for a hit inside her exposed pussy, and 100 points for a direct hit
on her clit.  5 darts a game, with a small barb on the tip to make sure
they really stuck.  That sounded fair to Crank, and he was glad that Joyce
was sobbing in agreement with the rules.

   It was right then that Deck and his boys arrived.

   Deck was a fucking sex maniac, even by Slab Snake standards.  He had a
massive cock, a permanent hard-on, the willingness to use it on any cunt he
saw, and the muscles to make sure he could take what he wanted.  The Slab
Snakes weren't a fag gang, but Crank usually made damn sure there was
always a cunthole somewhere when deck showed up at the clubhouse or a
party.

   This time, however, he was the one the boss put in charge of the main
'guests' of the party.

   'Fucking hell, Crank, nice setup you got here!'

   'Thanks man.  Hey, you got the bitches?'

   'Yeah, the boys got them wrapped.  Just tell them where to put them and
...  holy fuck!'

   It didn't take long before Deck was humping Joyce like an animal,
mauling her tits savagely.

   'Fuuuuuuuck!  You've been keeping this prime piece of ass for yourself
these past few days?  Asshole!'

   'Yeah, yeah.  Just don't wear her out before the party.'

   'Fuck no, just getting her juiced and ready for the brothers later. 
Shit, for an old bitch she's got a tigher cunt than most of the young sluts
we have around here!'

   Crank decided to let him have his fun.  The psycho was really getting
into it, twisting and pulling the mature cunt's nipples like a dog with a
chew toy.  She mewed like a kitten through the gag, squirming uselessly
against Deck's touch.

   Deck's boys brought in the night's main entertainment : a dozen Bad
Bitches, each neatly immobilized with wrap-rounds.  The Bad Bitches were a
small-time gang on level 114, running Ultra and whores out of that level.
Deck had managed to spark a war between the two gangs by ambushing and
'girl-canning' a Bad Bitch : the hilarious practice of supergluing a girl's
hair to the bottom of an empty garbage can, tying her hands behind her
back, and exposing her cunt and ass to whoever was nearby.  When he finally
got bored of her, both her cunt and asshole were bloody messes, and hard to
tell from each other.  He'd then left her with a pack of street scum, and
nobody had seen her since then.

   The Bad Bitches had retaliated, and a few Slab Snakes had their throats
slit or got shot.  The Slab Snakes did the same back to them.  Standard
stuff, until Deck had managed to pull of the 'ultimate panty raid' on the
main safehouse of the Bad Bitches.

   They managed to get a dozen of them with wrap-rounds, the blobs of
plastic restraints immobilizing and crushing their victims.  The Queen
Bitch, leader of the Bad Bitches, was a Juiced-up bitch, and took 4 rounds
to bring down.  All in all, they'd ended the Bad Bitches, got a nice haul
of Ultra, and entertainment for the party.  Not bad.

   Deck's boys had set up a bitch-cage in a corner of the room.  The
concept was simple - you had a low, cramped cage, filled with hogtied,
gagged and blindfolded cunts.  When you needed a cunt, you opened the cage
and grabbed one.  When she wore out, you grabbed another one.  Kept them
from getting too excitable, and made sure the cunts didn't start trying to
get away in the middle of the party.

   To be continued...