Paul Gable - Whipped captive

"You say anything funny and I'll beat the shit outta you. Don't think anybody here's gonna help," he said softly as they stepped onto the walk and headed for the first phone booth. Christina passed the biker bar and saw a double line of Harleys and Hondas parked outside on the street. Occasionally, someone in leather would pass out, glance at the two of them, then walk away without so much as glancing back curiously. This was a part of Venice without any law and order, a part where even the police hesitated to drive in pairs. Her father had often talked about organizing some kind of citizen's committee to drive out the "riff raff" as he called them. But nothing ever came of it. The merchants who weren't terrified of the biker's roaming freely and doing what they pleased in the area were making too much money off them to complain.

"Where?"

"Inside… here," he said, shoving the girl into a foul-smelling booth and handing her a dime. "Call your folks. Then I'll take it from there."

Christina knew already what was happening. She shouldn't have mentioned the fact about her father having any money. She was being kidnapped, held for ransom by this biker and his gang. Oh, how she wished she hadn't stormed out of the house a few hours ago!

"Hello?"

It was her mother's voice. Christina bit her lower lip. She wanted to cry. How wonderful that voice sounded. How foolish she'd been to rush away from it. And now she was going to pay for that rash act.

"Hello?" the voice repeated nervously.

"Mama? It's Christina."

"Are you okay, baby? Where are you? I'll send your father out. We've been worried sick," the woman said over the phone.

"Mama," Christina began, wondering how she could tell her mother about what had happened. Images of her tossing and tumbling on the beach shot through her head. "Mama, I can't come home."

At this point Mike took the phone from the girl and snarled into it.

"Listen, lady, we got your daughter, see?" Mike snarled, holding onto Christina's arm.

"Who is this?"

"Don't matter. If you don't want your daughter to get more fucked up than she is, you'd better listen up, hear?" Mike growled.

There was a pause at the other end, then a little scream.

"Yeah, that's right," Mike said, snickering as he heard the woman call for her husband. "Get the whole fuckin' family in on it. I'll get back to you in a couple of hours. But right now, you'd better figure out how you're gonna get your hands on fifty thousand by noon tomorrow, unnerstan'?"

"We can't, we don't have that kind of money! Oh, God, Fred, they've got Christina, they've…"

The blonde teen could hear her mother's screams as Mike held the receiver to her ear, laughed, then slammed it down hard in the cradle.

"So much for that. Now come on. We got some walkin' to do."

He hauled her roughly from the phone booth back onto the walk and began moving south along the upper beach. Christina stumbled several times, whining, hugging the jacket close to her tits as they left Washington Street and headed toward a deserted section of beach crawling with winos and biker clubs.

They must have walked for nearly twenty minutes before Mike signaled with a tug for them to turn east.

"Here."

Christina saw an old clapboard house standing on the corner of Spinnaker Avenue and Grand Canal. It reminded her of those New England homes she'd seen pictures of in history class. There were some lights shining through the dirty windows. Mike looked both ways, then shoved her inside.

"Hey, what the fuck?" someone shouted as the girl stumbled forward into what she guessed was the living room. The whole house smelled of dirt and beer.

"We got ourselves a little money-maker and entertainment besides," Mike said, scratching the woolly hairs on his bare chest.

As Christina stood behind a ratty old sofa, Mike told his buddy what had happened on the beach and about the phone call. The girl looked around her several times, trying to see if there were some easy way she could get out.

But Mike was careful, checking up on her constantly while talking to his buddy. When he was through, the two of them turned and stared hotly at the young, trembling blonde.

"Where the rest of the guys?" Mike asked, rubbing his crotch. She could tell from the bulge in his pants he was getting hot again. Christina backed away, hugging the jacket tightly against her tits. The cool black leather felt good against her bare flesh and nipples.

"Out on a run. They'll be back in a couple of hours," his tall blond friend said.

Christina saw the man had been drinking heavily. Several empty beer cans lay around the couch while a few paperback fuck-books rested open on the cushions.

"This here's Chuck. He's gonna get to know you real good… maybe as good as me," Mike said, rubbing his chin with one hand.

"Her old man that rich?" Chuck asked, turning to his buddy for a second.

"She says so. We'll find out soon enough. But right now I'm horny as hell. Ain't come for nearly a week, and then this cunt walks by practically [missing text]."

"She pretty good on the beach, huh?" Chuck asked, pulling the halves of his Levi's open and letting his half-hard dick fall out. It was smooth, thicker than Mike's, though somewhat shorter. Christina's eyes, widened, wondering where this would all end.

"She's hot. No doubt about that, man," Mike answered.

Christina stared as the dark-haired biker stripped, leaning against the wall while tugging off his boots, then shoving his dirty Levi's down to the floor and stepping out of them. His hard dick whacked the fronts of his thighs while his balls rolled and pitched with every move.

Christina remembered in a flash how her pussy hurt when he drove that dick into her, how she cried when he tore her cherry. Now he could fuck her without any problem. But was she ready to take him on again – him and his friend?

"She's hot and juicy. Look at her man, she's juicin' right now," Mike said, pointing down at her legs.

It was true! Christina could feel hot, thick pussy sauce frothing out of her cuntal slit and seeping down her legs. She was ready for those cocks in spite of the reservations she might have had.

"Let me hear you beg, baby. Mike says you begged him for a fuck. That true?" Chuck said, putting his hands on his thick-muscled hips. He peeled off his clothes also, throwing them on top of his buddy's. They were standing in front of her, both of them hot, eager, curious, willing to try anything with the cowering teenager.

"No, it's not true. He… raped me!" she cried, rubbing her whitened knuckles under her eyes. "No, no, no, it's not true!"

Christina made one last desperate effort to save her last shred of self-respect.

"Stop her!" Mike cried as she made a dash around the chair for the door.

Chuck spun around and jumped in front of her, crouching down while spreading his arms out to either side. Christina screamed, covering her mouth with both hands and slowly backing away. The young blond's dick was fully erect now. She could see the dark-blue veins pressing against the smooth outer skin, throbbing with lust as he slowly approached her.

"Nooooooo!" Christina cried as Chuck's cock swung out lewdly.

Mike rushed in behind her and caught her, pulling the girl into his body. Her body exploded into heat at that point. Mike reached around and pulled his jacket open, exposing her tits. Chuck raised his eyebrows and whistled in appreciation.

"Whew! Nice fat ones. Ain't seen tits like this for a long time. You'd do real good strippin'," he said, curling his thin lips up into a sneer.

Mike pulled his jacket completely off the twisting girl while Chuck reached down and tugged off her bikini bottoms.

"Man, good pussy, nice cunt," Chuck said in a low voice as he stroked her cuntal thicket with the back of one hand. Christina moaned, feeling more juice seep from her violated hole.