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Roadhouse
by Ruth

 She could not say why she drove out this far. Wanderlust, she guessed.
She came from the city.  She never felt like she belonged there, or
anywhere for that matter though it may have seemed that way to the
casual observer.  She performed her little office job and had her little
acquaintances.  She went on her little dates with other little office
men who were nice enough but who bored her to tears.
She suspected that she intimidated a lot of people and that was why she
did not have a lot of friends.  She felt big and awkward in a world of
dainty, petite women who ate nothing but salads and exercised two hours
a day.  The men certainly seemed to prefer them.  Why could she never be
like those women?
Her whole life seemed empty.  Lately she was growing restless.  Driving
out of town seemed to be the best way to fill the void tonight.
She had never been down this highway before.  This was definitely not
the country of  large estates, manicured lawns and skyscraper hedges.
This was not even the country of quaint little farm houses with cows
grazing placidly.  This was the country of shotgun shacks with peeling
paint, overgrown weeds, and skeletal cars up on cinderblocks.
She had no business out here, but here she was just the same.
 She pulled her Omni over at a seedy roadhouse.  The neon beer signs
glowed weakly on the dirty window.  She walked inside.  Not too many
people.  No women.  Just a few tough looking men hunched over their
beers.  They glanced up disinterestedly at the newcomer.  Then they
stared in astonishment.
 It was not that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but she
was a candidate for the sexiest.  Curvy, voluptuous, statuesque, buxom,
feminine.  Her chest was ample and her legs shapely.  She was not a
local girl with limp, mousy hair, pasty skin and bad teeth, but a soft,
well groomed female with long, thick brown hair and big brown eyes in a
tight fitting dress and  black nylons.  What the hell was she doing
here?  Who cared?  She was hot.
 She smiled slightly at the approving glances she was receiving.  She
strolled up to the bar and ordered a shot of bourbon and a beer chaser.
No teetotaler , she.  She downed the whiskey in one gulp.  It bathed her
in its warmth, filled her with that fuzzy well being that straight
liquor does.  Then she sipped her beer.  The men looked on, measuring
every drop of alcohol that touched her lips as a closer step to the
possibility of having her body.
 It was too quiet in here!  Bolstered and emboldened by the alcohol, she
sashayed toward the jukebox, hips swinging, dollar in hand, to play some
tunes.  Something bluesy, swaying, that she could dance to slowly.  Lots
of cool tunes.  She made her selections and the music began.
 She loved to dance, even if it was by herself, and it usually was.  She
found that moving to music actually enabled her to hear it better.  She
closed her eyes, lifted her head, shook her hips, and moved her feet.
It was one of her favorite songs, "Trouble Man."
 What she did not realize in her musical, alcoholic bliss, as she
slithered on the floor, was that five men had come in, laughing, talking
coarsely and merrily.  One was the leader judging by the way the other
four listened to him and followed him.  He wore a black leather jacket,
black T shirt, blue jeans, and boots.  He was sinewy and muscled, with
wiry  black hair and five o’clock shadow.  He was no Adonis - his nose
was too big and his face looked like it had taken one punch too many ,
but he carried himself with a cheery confidence.  His buddies looked
like less intense versions of him, all with average but pleasant looks.
 They stopped short at what they saw.  They came in here often to drink,
throw darts, or shoot pool.  But never before had they seen anything
like this in here, of all places.  A very sexy woman dancing by herself
on the floor, oblivious to the slack jawed men.
 Tom, the leader, stood there, transfixed.  She was gorgeous.  She was
perfect.  She was just his type and he did not even know he had a type.
He sprouted an erection almost immediately.  His eyes never stopped
following her.  He had to have her.  The others were thinking much the
same thing.  A plan was being hatched in their lupine brains as they sat
down at a table and hailed for a pitcher.
 She began to tire and took a break from her gyrations to have another
drink.  She trod to the bar, ordered her drink, and sipped it, making a
face.  She took a cigarette from her pack and put it between her lips.
Before she could light it, a large hand with long, snake-like fingers
appeared with zippo in hand, the flame glowing menacingly.
 "I’ll pay for that," Tom said to the bartender.
 She looked up at him in surprise and realized that he had been looking
at her for a long time.  His pale blue eyes seemed to pierce her.  He
was smiling a crooked smile as if he had caught her doing something
naughty.  She looked away in embarrassment.
 "Thanks," she mumbled, "that was very kind of you.  My name is
Bridget."
 "Tom," he replied, "I like the way you dance.  What say you dance that
way with me?"
 Looking at this powerful, self assured man, Bridget wondered if she got
more than she had bargained for.  Certainly, she enjoyed being ogled.
But this man was not like the others who were here when she first came
in.  At the same time thinking he might be dangerous, she felt drawn
toward him and was suddenly delighted at the prospect of dancing with
him.
 "Sure, let’s go," she said casually.
 So here she was dancing to the music again, but she was not alone.  His
arms encircled her, his fingers holding her waist firmly.  Her cheek was
up against his broad shoulders.  His breath blew warm on her bare neck.
His maleness overwhelmed her.  She realized that his breathing was
accelerating and his hands were exploring her back, her backside,
anywhere they could reach.  She began to hear words he was whispering in
her ear.
 "I want you badly, Bridget.  I think you want me too.  I always get
what I want.  I’m going to have you before the night is over, and so
will my friends over there.  You were made to be fucked, Bridget.  You
know it and I know it.  Your body feels so good.  You bend but you don’t
break, don’t you."
 She gasped and tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast and
kissed her forcefully on the lips, his tongue darting around inside her
mouth.  She struggled and flailed and finally got out of his grasp.  She
wiped his saliva from her mouth and stared in him wide eyed in horror.
He had that same crooked smile maybe with more teeth showing, but in his
eyes there was something else, as if a light had been turned on, making
the pale blue even more piercing.
 "Y-you’re crazy!  I can’t believe you said such things!" she
stammered.  The friends he mentioned were sitting there calmly, taking
in the scene, like waiting hunters.  The others in the bar seemed to
have faded in the horizon.
Goosebumps stood out on her arms.  She knew she had to get out of there
fast.  She gathered up her purse and jacket and made a bolt for the
exit.  Nobody followed her, she thought with some relief.  She ran to
her car, past the five motorcycles which were not there previously.  She
slid in, panting, slammed the door and looked out.  Still nobody.  She
started the engine, backed out of the dusty parking lot, and squealed
away, riding into the darkness.
Even though she had escaped, she could not slow down her breathing.
Then she heard the distant roar of motorcycles becoming incrementally
louder.  My God, they were chasing her!  She had to reach a more
populated area, preferably a police station.  At least she had a good
head start on them.
Suddenly, the car sputtered and stopped.  But why?  She had just had a
tune up, an oil change.  She had a full tank, didn’t she?  Of all the
times for it to break down…then she glanced at the fuel gauge.  Her tank
was completely empty.  Frantically, she recalled that she had filled up
just before she went into that bar.  The engines were becoming louder
and louder.  She had a horrible moment of terror and realization - no
wonder they did not follow her out immediately!
The only thing she could do was run for her life.  She slipped out of
the passenger side door and into the forest.  She sped past the trees,
through the underbrush, jostling the branches.  Her dress was torn, her
stockings run.  She could hear the motorcycles slowing down and then
stopping, by her car no doubt.  She pushed on.  She heard footsteps
other then her own rustling the woods.  She saw silhouettes on either
side of her starting to overtake her.  She was exhausted, but fear
propelled her onward.
Then she spotted the clearing and a field and a farmhouse in the
distance.  If she could just reach it in time she would be safe.  She
was almost out of the woods.
Suddenly, she fell forward on her face as two arms encircled her.  She
was turned over on her back roughly.  "My God, look at this body!" a
voice said as hands groped her breasts.  A big burly man blanketed her,
cutting off the light of the moon.
"No, not yet," another voice said, "there will be time for that later."
The man reluctantly got off of her.  She was hoisted up to her feet by
both arms.  Then she found herself lifted up off the ground and over a
broad shoulder.
"Nice try, cutie.  You don’t get away that easy."
She was indignant as they toted her like quarry back to the car.  The
other three were waiting there, arms folded across their chests, smiling
gleefully.  Tom stood in the middle, waiting patiently.  Her captors
dropped her back on her feet.  They continued to hold her arms.  She
struggled desperately, but to no avail.  Finally, with resignation she
slowly looked up to the face of the man who had only a few minutes
earlier lit her cigarette.
"You’re coming with us, like it or not."
"Look, just take my purse.  You can have the fucking car.  Just please
don’t hurt me.  Don’t kill me," she pled tearfully.
"I don’t want your money.  I definitely don’t want to kill you.  I just
want you.  I told you before, Bridget, I always get what I want.  Now
get on the bike behind me.
What could she do but comply.
Soon the gang of bikers was whizzing past countless trees.  The moon
shone full and placid, a bitter counterpoint to her situation.  She had
no earthly idea where she was.  The road signs were a blur.  The wind
was cutting into her arms and legs like a hundred cold knives.  She had
left her jacket behind.  She pressed up against the black leather back
for warmth.  It did not matter how he interpreted this gesture.  He
already assumed everything already.
They pulled up to a roadhouse even seedier than the bar she had been
in.  She could hear raucous laughter and breaking glass inside.  She
staggered off the bike, almost losing her balance.
"Come on, honey, right this way."
They did not go directly through the front door.  They pushed her up a
flight of rickety stairs on the side of the house, two in front, three
in back, so she could not make a run for it.
She found herself in a poorly lit narrow hall on the second floor.  A
door opened into a shabby bedroom and hands pushed her inside.  Then the
door closed and clicked behind her.  She was suddenly alone.  She looked
around the faded room for some escape.  Wall… wall… door to the
bathroom…  then she saw a window.  She edged toward it.  Maybe she could
jump out.  How high a drop could it be?
"I wouldn’t do that if I were you.  Even if you didn’t break any bones,
those men downstairs would hear you, and then you would have to deal
with them, instead of just me."
She spun around startled.  He was looking as composed as ever as he
turned the lock on the door behind.  He slowly removed his jacket,
smiled devilishly and advanced toward her.
She back up against the corner, her hands pushed up against the wall.
He grabbed her and pulled her toward him and kissed her.  As he did, he
started unzipping the back of her dress.  Again she struggled, but he
was too strong for her.  He pushed her on the bed and got on top of her
and continued tearing off her clothes, his hands touching every inch of
her flesh that they could.  Her dress was in tatters.  He reached around
her back and undid her bra.  Despite her efforts to bend her elbows, he
pulled it through her arms effortlessly.  Her soft breasts jiggled free
of the constraints.
"My God, you are beautiful.  What size are those, D cups?"
She said nothing.  She looked away, blushing.  He proceeded to tear off
her panties.
"The stockings stay on.  I just love stockings and garter belts."
His breathing accelerated again as he looked at this ravishing woman.
He stood up and hastily  begin pulling his own clothes off.  He pulled
his shirt up over his head and cast it aside.  He pulled off his boots.
She sat up watching as he undid his belt, unzipped his fly, and lowered
his pants.  She realized she was staring at the largest penis she had
ever seen, bigger than a baby’s arm.  It was stiff as a pole and an
angry purple and it was pointed at her.
"You’re going to kill me with that thing!" she cried.
"I don’t think so.  I think you’re more ready than you realize."
And indeed she was wet between her legs.  How humiliating.  She actually
wanted this bastard, with his leering face, wiry body, hairy chest, and
huge cock.  The gold chain around his neck belied his masculinity.
He hovered over her, drinking her in.  He kissed her on the lips and
moved down her neck, biting her sweaty skin.  She began to breathe
heavily despite herself.  Her skin tingled as his hands moved up and
down her waist, her abdomen, her legs.  He couldn’t get enough of her.
She found herself bucking and grinding against him.  Her eyes closed and
she arched her back.  His fingers deftly  impaled her vulva, pressing on
her clitoris like he was pressing a switch.
"That’s it, baby.  I knew you were born to be fucked.  I was born to
fuck you.  You’re gonna get it.  I know you’re ready."
He plunged his cock into her damp pussy.  She gasped at his first
thrust.  Would he tear her with that thing?  No, she was accepting him
without pain or difficulty.  It was as if he was filling her entire
being.  She was electrified.  Sparks shot through every nerve of her
body. She moaned.  It did not matter that she had been kidnapped and was
being raped.  She was bathed in that visceral pleasure that music,
dancing, and booze had given her previously.  She was enjoying it, damn
it.  And she was enjoying him enjoying her.
He stood over her, holding her hips, slamming into her over and over
again.  So tight, so wet, so soft.  It had never felt so good before,
like his cock was being dipped in honey.  He looked at her face bathed
in euphoria.  He really had not been sure how she would react.  He knew
he just had to have her.  But her enjoyment was an added bonus.  So much
the better.   Then he groaned and spasmed as his penis shot buckets of
pearly goo into and around her vagina.
"Oh man, that felt great!" he gasped.
He pulled out and stood over her as she lay there, spent, on the bed.
Her eyes were shining and she looked at him, dazed.
"Don’t fall asleep.  You are far from done, baby."
Coming out of her post coital bliss, she became aware of voices outside
the door.  Fists were banging on the door.  Oh God, now what?  She sat
up slightly and watched him as he strolled over to the door and opened
it.
The room was suddenly flooded with eager, noisy men pulling their
clothes off.
"Hot damn!  Let me at her."
Before she could pull a sheet over herself, one of Tom’s friends, blond
and fair complexioned, knelt over her, grabbed her head, and stuck his
erect penis into her mouth.  This time she knew what to do.  She
puckered her cheeks and sucked dutifully.  How demeaning to have a
strange man’s cock in her mouth.  Even more demeaning was how readily
she received it.  Meanwhile, another guy was thrusting his member into
her damp pussy, slamming into her as the first guy had done.  Strange
hands groped and mauled her body.  Was this really happening?
As soon as the man she was sucking sprayed his semen into her throat and
on her face, another man thrust his penis into her mouth.  She serviced
him with equal enthusiasm as his hairy balls tickled her chin.  The guy
fucking her shot his load into her.  Another guy covered with tattoos
immediately took his place.
There was no rest for her, but she did not care.  She never felt so
alive or desired.  She could not keep track of who was fucking her in
what hole.  She did not even know their names.  She could barely make
out their faces.  She was basking in a sea of hands and sweat and
penises.  She was a dirty, low down whore slut.  It did not matter that
they had brought her here against her will.  She did not need to be so
enthusiastic, but she could not control her feelings.  She was actively
enjoying it, positioning herself for easy access and willingly taking
cock after gnarled cock into her mouth.  She found she had boundless
energy.  She adapted to this new set of circumstances so quickly that it
startled her, not to mention the men.
She had been transformed from a quiet, frightened girl into a screaming,
moaning banshee before their eyes.  They happily took advantage of her
metamorphosis.  They repositioned her, fucking her again and again in
every orifice they could find.  They made her press her breasts together
so they could titty fuck her.  Often she found herself sitting over one
man fucking her vagina while another man fucked her anus from behind and
yet another fucked her mouth.  The anal screwing hurt initially - her
screams only prodded the men further - but she soon became acclimated to
the sensation.  Together they established a steady rhythm of thrusting
cocks and undulating bodies. They came on and between her tits and on
every inch of her body.  They bruised her skin with their pawing and
groping and pinching hands.
It was right about now that the men in the bar downstairs heard the
commotion and wondered what was going on.  As a result, when the first
five finally tired, there was a throng of men ready to take their
place.  Tom and his gang happily shared their prize with them.  Bridget
vaguely sensed that more men seemed to be in the room with their cocks
out.  She figured she was now "dealing with the men downstairs" as Tom
had put it.  Funny how that idea had terrified her a few hours ago.
And so it went on through the night and into the dawn.  She could not
count how many had had her or how many times each had had her, though
she knew some had come back for seconds and even thirds.  Before she
could register a new face another cock was thrust in her mouth.  If she
started to tire, a line of speed was presented to her to keep her energy
up.  If she seemed to lose sensation, the finger or tongue was applied
to her clitoris to arouse her again.  Never ending streams of semen
spilled over her and never ending hands rubbed the gooey semen onto her
breasts and thighs.  It wasn’t just the fucking and sucking that made
her moan and squeal.  It was also those many callused hands massaging
her, groping every square inch of her body.
Around sunrise the crowd started to dissipate and thin.  Exhaustion
caught up with her.  She had to sleep, but first a shower.  As the last
grinning few went swaggering out and hiking up their pants, she
staggered, naked, to the adjacent bathroom, leaving a trail of semen
behind her.  She dragged herself into the shower and turned on the
faucets.  The warm water hit her and slightly rejuvenated her.  She
lathered up the soap and laved her body.  The dried crusts of semen came
off her skin.  She washed away the dirt and grime of dozens of sweaty
men from her body.  Her body was pink and shiny and clean.
Then she felt hands gently groping her and Tom appeared in the shower
with her, lathering up the soap and rubbing her body with large soapy
hands.  Nothing was said.  When she was rinsed and dried he carried her
to the bed which had fresh sheets on it.  She had already fallen asleep
before he reached it.  He placed her under the covers and let her be.
She slept over twelve hours.
Bridget was the men’s plaything for the rest of the weekend.  When the
party was over, they gave her a holey T shirt to wear over the remnants
of her dress.  Her bra and panties had disappeared long ago.  Her
stockings had been reduced to runs.  Early Monday morning Tom brought
her to her car and replenished the gas tank.  As she prepared to drive
off, Tom bent over and leaned on the driver’s window to give her one
final kiss and one final message.
"I went through your purse, Bridget.  I didn’t take your money but I
know where you live.  I know how to reach you.  And I will contact you
again.  You won’t know when but you can count on it happening.  I
guarantee it."
And then he was gone.  She knew he meant what he had said.  Her skin
tingled anew.

The end…


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