Robert Moore - Hard guys and hostages

"Please, I'll take it off," Connie begged, but Butch ignored her.

"You wouldn't want to cheat Butch of his fun, would you, sweetheart?" Max asked. Butch tore the second boot more easily than he had the first, since he had learned the strength of it. It came off and fell to the floor, torn and ruined, like its mate.

"You know," Pete said, getting into the game, "I don't think I like the dress that way. I think it would be better if it was open all the way up the front." He laughed with irrepressible glee as he said it. They were all feeling good now. After the tension of waiting for the girls to arrive, the place was filled with a kind of party air. They were chums again, having a good time together.

"You really think so?" Max asked. "I don't know. I liked it this way. I still do. But I guess it can't do any harm to try it your way. Why don't you open it the rest of the way, Butch? Let's see how it looks."

Butch grinned and then chortled. It sounded like a gorilla's roar, and sent a chill over the women. He took the front of the shattered dress between his hands and ripped it all the way to the neck. Connie's bra was white and lacy, too, and brief. It matched the panties. Her breasts weren't the biggest Max had ever seen, but they were nicely formed, and the bra was light enough in construction to let them jiggle as her tiny body shook with sobs.

"You really like it better that way?" Max asked. "I don't think so. I liked it better the other way."

"Yeah," Pete agreed. "I guess you're right."

"In fact, I don't like it this way at all. I think you ought to take it all the way off, Butch."

Butch took the dress in his hands and tore it back off the girl's shoulders. She screamed and kicked her feet in a fit of terror. Butch laughed. The remains of the dress hung down over his lap, draped there like a doily. Connie had nothing left but her panties and bra, and they didn't leave much to the imagination. The panties were thin enough so Max could tell that she was a genuine redhead. Connie looked around like a caged animal, as though still expecting someone to take pity on her. Sally looked at her for a moment, and then at the floor. She was as helpless as Connie, and she knew she was likely to get the same kind of treatment before long. She looked as though she were trying to blank out her mind.

Julie was leaning against an old upright piano that stood against the wall near the door to the hall. She was watching, as though she felt it her duty to watch. She didn't look as shocked at Connie's treatment as Sally did. No doubt because she had had a night to get used to the idea of rape, a full night to get used to the idea of being owned by three men who weren't bothered by civilized restraints. Her husband was still trussed up, of course, and in no shape to help anyone. Twenty-four hours without food hadn't weakened him yet, but would get to him soon. He looked at the girl and then, as she looked to him for aid, he looked at his legs, stretched out before him.

Connie even looked at Pete and Max for a moment, her face a pathetic plea. The two men just grinned back at her.

"You know," Pete said, "I think that's the best combination we've hit yet. She's lookin' better and better."

"I wonder if she's freckled like that all over?" Max threw out.

"She seems to be."

"No, I mean all over. I wonder if she has a freckled ass?"

"I doubt it. I never saw a freckled ass."

"And never hope to see one?" Max and Pete both laughed. "I wonder if Butch would be nice enough to let us see his girl's ass?" Max said.

Pete laughed like someone having too much fun to hold it in. "How about it, Butch? I'll let you see my girl's ass if you'll let me see your girl's ass."

Butch grinned back at them uncertainly, not quite sure he understood what they wanted him to do. "Go ahead," Max said. "Let's see what she's hiding under those panties, Butch. That is, if you don't mind showing us your girl's poontang."

Butch threw his head back and laughed like hell. He hooked his sausage fingers over the wispy panties at the girl's hip and gave a tug, hardly more than a flexing of his hand really. The panties parted in a couple of places at once and fell away. Connie screamed and threw her hands across her eyes and turned her head away.

The patch of red hair winked out at them. She held her legs close together, trying to hide herself as much as possible. Butch placed his hands on her knees and pushed her knees apart. Connie tried to resist the opening of her thighs to the crowd of people looking at her. Max saw the trembling along her thighs that betrayed the muscular action. He laughed at the pathetic tightening of those muscles against Butch's strength.

"I wouldn't give Butch any bullshit, Connie," he said. "As I told you, he doesn't know his own strength. He's likely to break one of those pretty little legs, and getting fucked by a man who weighs as much as he does can't be fun when you have a broken thigh-bone." She hung her head, still covering her face, and allowed her pussy to be opened to their inspection. "Turn her around, Butch," Max suggested. "Let's see about that freckled ass."

Butch picked her up and spun her around so quickly it wrenched a gasp from the girl. She was whipped about like a rag doll, and bent over Butch's legs. Her ass, pulled tight, was on display.

"Let's get a close look," Pete said, and walked over to where Butch was sitting. Max followed him. They looked at Connie's ass from a distance of a couple of feet. "By God, you're right," Pete said. "There are some freckles on it."

Connie's body pitched, as though she were struggling to keep from vomiting. The position she was in, and her fear and humiliation, were probably as much as the girl could bear.

"Why don't you show her how it's done, Butch?" Max suggested. "Sweet little thing like that probably doesn't know a thing about sex. Do her a favor." Pete looked at Max, and Max saw a surge of excitement in his eyes. A blue show was just what the party needed, of course. Max had had a hard-on since the first tear had been made in the dress, and he could see, on the periphery of his vision, a bulge in Pete's pants, too.

Butch picked Connie up again and set her on his knee in the original position. He reached up and gave her bra a tug. It tore instantly, both in front, between the cups, and in back, near the clasps. What had been a dainty garment an instant before was suddenly just a handful of lacy cloth.

Lovely breasts, young and creamy, with just a few freckles on them, jiggled invitingly. Butch got up and threw her to the couch. There was no gentleness in his actions now. The big bastard was horny, and when he got horny, Max knew, he just got meaner. Connie landed on the couch belly down, but she scrambled into a sitting position a second later. She looked around the room with a dazed expression on her face, as though the jar from hitting the couch had knocked her brain loose.

Butch was already polling off his clothes. He yanked the top button of his pants loose and yanked the zipper down so fast it came off the track. Max had to laugh at his impatience. He looked like some kind of rutting gorilla, bigger than any man had a right to be, and all hairy. The scars on his legs were livid and white, and showed through the thick black hair in a very uninviting way. He yanked his shirt over his head, ripping it, and sending buttons flying like shrapnel. They made tinkling noises as they hit the floor. Connie looked at the huge, hairy body coming into view before her, and a look of panic spread across her face. What had been imminent a moment before was now here, and she looked like she still couldn't believe that such a thing could happen to her. Butch tore off his undershirt, and then ripped away the boxer shorts he had taken off the old fat guy the night before. They gave with a kind of scream, a ripping sound that seemed to fill the room.