Carl Van Marcus - The girlfriend_s revenge Volume One

Ellen turned over onto her back, her eyes staring blankly at the overhanging light bulb that seemed to hang like a symbol of her inner emptiness over her. She had had it, she had experienced the height of human emotion… and the depths of human degradation, and now the horror and revulsion of the experience swept over her in a wave of shock that was impossible for her young woman's mind to even dimly comprehend. She had been battered like a child's toy to the point that her own body's movements were no longer of any meaning to her, and now as her body throbbed with the last zephyrs of an orgasm that wouldn't stop she felt the light touch of fingers sliding up her sperm-drenched thighs. She turned and saw Vito's evilly leering face a few short inches from her loins, a vicious vindictive grin working his lips. She didn't move, but lay watching in dazed disbelief as Vito held his long hard cock in his hand, ready for entry into her.

Almost disbelieving, she saw her own pelvis make one little punching movement upward, almost as if it were inviting the further rape of her weary loins. Rather than watch, but otherwise not caring what he did to her just so long as he did not bring renewed pain, she closed her eyes and turned away from the evil little convict.

A second later, just as she had mentally prepared her body for the insertion of his heatedly throbbing maledom, she heard a scuffling sound and a few vicious back-handed slaps.

"Vito, you gonna get yourself killed doin that," she heard Cash's harsh voice shout out. "Ya remember what Billy said and you still wanta fuck her. You're a crazy son of a bitch."

Then there was an arrogant but acquiescent groan, and she felt the weight of his hands lift off her thighs. Slowly she felt herself float into deeper unconsciousness, but for some reason she opened her eyes again for a short moment before she knew she would fall into a deep death-like sleep. She shivered as she saw Vito standing in a half-kneeling position, his cock poised like a javelin between his hands as he stroked it over her large splayed-out breasts. He was pulling at his long distended penis in short jack-knife thrusts, wandering his wild eyes in crazy patterns down her torso to the moist wet mound of her loins that glistened in the strong glare of the overhanging light. She watched him lurch and arch bolt upright, then felt a spurting flash of hot viscous wetness coursing over her naked breasts.

And then it was over. She floated down into a trance-like state of semi-consciousness, where voices and remembered images merged and transformed themselves into lewd nightmare flickers that slowly dissolved as the pain and battered sensation in her loins faded into the all-embracing darkness of sleep.

She was only vaguely aware when Pop's heavy body settled down between her nakedly widespread legs… only vaguely aware that her body was responding to his fucking by orgasming again… and again with Cash… until they slept the sleep of the dead with her.

Ellen never knew what it was that awakened her about an hour before dawn. Perhaps it was the cacophony of snores coming from Pop and Cash. She shivered in the early morning coolness and gazed around. They were all asleep, even the vicious little Vito, who had finally come to her after the others were asleep – sneaking over toward her like a jackal coming to feed after the lions were gone. She bore a bruise on the right side of her cheek where he had hit her with his closed fist after she had not responded with an orgasm as she had with Pop and Cash.

She ached all over her body, with most of the uncomfortable throbbing coming from her battered and bruised vaginal area. Dazedly she gazed around her, still not awake enough to recall the events that brought her here, much less remember the multiple rapes of her virginal loins. It seemed that there was something missing, then she remembered… there was a fourth member of the gang – Billy, the leader – asleep in the other room.

Or was he asleep. Pinching herself to awaken further, she listened and caught the sound of a snore coming from behind the closed door. It was only then, with a sudden surge of panic and hope that she fully realized that all of her captors were asleep at the same time.

Stealthily, she swung her legs off the soiled bare mattress and put her feet on the floor. Pop snorted, coughed, and turned on his side before resuming his baritone harmony of snores. It took two attempts to get to her feet; the first time her wobbly knees and wearily trembling legs failed to support her. With the cunning born of the trapped animal, she knew exactly what she would say if someone awakened and discovered her standing upright. She would tell them she had to go to the toilet. The naked young girl was halfway across the room before she remembered her tattered clothes. For a moment she deliberated about just leaving them, but from somewhere summoning up courage she didn't realize still existed, she padded over to the corner, stepped across Cash's nakedly sleeping figure, and grabbed her clothes.

At the door, she paused and looked behind her to make sure they were still sleeping. Satisfied, she went to the stair landing and quickly put on her ripped and tattered tee shirt and tight, hip-hugging jeans. It was only then she realized she had left her sandals behind… something she dismissed as being unimportant. No force in the world could get her back into that foul loft with those sex-crazed criminals.

All of her instincts screamed at her to run down the stairs, but some rational voice in her mind made her tred lightly on each stair and to tred well off center. In spite of her precautions, the stairs creaked so loudly that she was sure the men couldn't help but be awakened; in her mind's eye she could see them stirring, could almost hear them shouting warnings at each other.

At the bottom of the stairs it was pitch-black and she had to whip her mind to remember the details of the ground floor. Even so the terrified young girl bumped into the pickup truck and then felt her way like a blind woman toward the door.

"Dear God," she prayed silently, "please, please don't let there be a padlock on the door."

Her hand brushed across the rough wood of the inside of the garage door and encountered just a latch, which she quickly lifted.

The door, when she opened it, creaked so loudly that even the frogs outside were momentarily silenced. Ellen no longer cared about the noise. It was the hour before the dawn and the moon had long since set. The night was coal black and the dirt road leading to the abandoned warehouse was only a barely perceptible glow in the darkness. There was no doubt in her mind that escape was not only possible, but very probable.

She began running down the dirt path as fast as her long legs could carry her, expecting at any moment to hear the shouts and the sudden sound of pursuit behind her.

By the time the terrified young girl reached the gravel road leading back to the highway, she was already panting for breath and her side felt as though it had been caught in a vise. The sharp rocks on the gravelled roadway cut into the tender soles of her unshod feet, and within seconds she was bleeding from a multitude of painful cuts.

As Ellen ran, she welcomed the pain; that was her punishment for the betrayal of her body – for the lewd things she had done, for the mindless, whore-like enthusiasm she had shown for Cash and Pop once she had realized the pleasure their long hard maledom could bring a woman.

She ran in the darkness with the brittle stars a crown above her head and the lights of the far-off city shining like the promise of Camelot. Ellen didn't mind that she left behind a trail of blood from her feet, that her heart was pounding so rapidly it seemed about to burst into a million pieces, that a hot poker was in her side. She mentally embraced the pain, and thought wonderingly about the almost erotic, masochistic pleasure she was deriving from running barefoot in gravel. It was with something akin to regret that the young girl reached the relatively smooth surface of the concrete main highway. She stopped, her breath coming in great rasping gulps. Obviously, if pursuit started, they would assume she would head to the left toward the city lights some five or six miles away. Although her escape had been successful up to this point, she really didn't believe that she had another hour – and it would take that long to reach the city. Besides, the eastern horizon was already becoming a dirty gray color as the sun raced toward a Florida dawn. It would be light in another twenty or thirty minutes.