Paul Gable - Raped nurse

"Hey, take it easy, Art. She's slippin' away," Claude warned his younger brother as he watched Lisa's eyelids start to flicker, then droop. "We can't lose her now. We might need her later."

"Guess you're right," the younger brother said, leaning against the back of the couch and panting heavily. Sweat poured down his forehead and formed a puddle under each armpit as he let the pistol dangle from his hand. His sweat-soaked hair was plastered to his skin while blood oozed through the bandage on his wounded leg.

Lisa found herself coming to, something she found both unusual and disgusting. She'd actually been praying for death. Even that was denied her. Her arms ached horribly. Welts sprang slowly up around her thighs and tits, while black and blue marks blotched her face and chest. The blonde felt as if every part of her body had been mined, pulled apart by the maniac now panting breathlessly in front of her.

"Let her down. She's got to take care of Art's leg," Claude said to Hank.

"He can bleed to death," Lisa said almost wearily as the dark-haired brother untied the rope he'd fastened to the solid oak living room door.

"Better not say things like that," Art gasped, limping to the couch and crashing down on the pillows. He raised his leg and pointed at the bleeding spot. "I'll get mad, and there's no tellin' what I'll do when that happens."

Lisa crouched on the floor, her wrists still tied tightly together. As Claude roughly untied the rope holding her hands, the blonde staggered to her feet. She had never felt so deserted and filled with hopelessness before in her life.

"Oh God, my arms!" Lisa moaned as she raised her hands and rubbed her shoulders. She was huddled in a ball in the cellar of the ranch house. It was cold and damp, the air chilling her to the bone. The blonde had been literally thrown down the wooden steps after she'd taken care of changing Art Decker's dressing. Above her Lisa heard the sounds of that young girl shrieking, moaning and begging the men to stop whatever they were doing to her. The cries seemed to last forever, but finally subsided. Lisa had no idea if Art and his brothers mercifully killed the girl, or if she just passed out, about to become the victim of another round of sadism.

"L-Lisa?" Marilyn stammered from another corner of the darkened basement.

The blonde raised her head and peered hard into the blackness. They had flung the screaming brunette down into that hole shortly after they had thrown Lisa downstairs. Neither woman spoke to the other for what must have been several hours. Lisa felt funny about talking to a woman who'd been busy chewing her pussy earlier than evening. And Marilyn felt too shamed to speak to the blonde.

But now in the cold, damp dark basement the terror of what would happen to them in the future broke down any walls between them.

"Where are you?" Lisa asked, lowering her knees and tucking her feet under her ass as she rolled forward and tried to get up. "Oh," the blonde cried, feeling a tearing, ripping ache ripple through her body. The Decker brothers had really done a number on her. They'd managed to bruise every tendon and muscle in her arms and legs. With a lot of effort, Lisa crawled over the slippery cold cement floor toward where she guessed her friend was.

"Over here. Oh God, I'm so frightened!" the brunette cried in a long, high-pitched shuddering whimper.

"If it's any comfort, we're in this together," Lisa said, feeling the sole of Marilyn's foot with her hands. Lisa crawled up next to the brunette then rolled around, pressing her back against the brick wall and grasping Marilyn's hand for mutual comfort.

"And I'm so ashamed," the brunette moaned, choking on her last words.

"Of what? Of what you did? You had to do it, Marilyn, or they'd have killed us," Lisa said reassuringly.

"Maybe, but… Oh God, what's that!" the brunette asked in a hoarse whisper, jerking forward and sucking in a deep breath.

Lisa felt her skin crawl as she heard a noise filter through the locked door above them and drift down into the basement. Then she heard the girl's odes, only this time they were more desperate than before.

"My God! I don't know, but it sounds – ohhhh!"

Lisa groaned before finishing her sentence. The howls grew louder now, swelling into a chorus of unearthly hoarse wails as the teenaged girl shrieked and shrieked and shrieked.

"What are they doing to her? What are they going to do to us?" Marilyn cried in a high whimper, covering her ears finally and turning away from the blonde.

"God, I hope it's not what they're doing to her there now," Lisa said, looking up through the darkness as the howls and screams mixed together in an obscene chorus of pain and horror for what seemed like an eternity.

The howls and shrieks finally died down to nothing. Lisa found herself panting in that cold corner, her ears pricked up like a hunted animal's for the first sign that indicated the Deckers opening that door above them. Lisa was certain that they'd never see daylight again once those men got ahold of them. Art Decker's wound could be treated by anyone. She could see that realization in Claude's and Hank's eyes when she changed the dressing the last time. Besides, both she and Marilyn would soon become too much of a burden to carry around as they tried to make their break out of the country. The blonde was certain that whenever they got through with the girl upstairs, they'd be coming down for her and Marilyn.

"I'm cold," Marilyn said, breaking her silence and cuddling up to Lisa's warm body. Normally the blonde would have shrank from such close female contact. But the chilling cold was becoming unbearable. Claude had stripped the uniform off Marilyn before tossing her like an empty sack down the stairs after her friend.

"Just come close and forget about anything," Lisa said consolingly, putting her arm around Marilyn's neck and drawing her head slowly against hers. The two women curled around one another far heat and protection as the minutes ticked by.

"Here they come," Marilyn whispered, jerking away from her friend and hunching her knees protectively up to her tits.

"Get the light," Lisa heard Hank say as the sound of heavy footsteps filled the basement. They were coming down to the cellar to finish their filthy work. Lisa shrank against the cold wall, pressing her head against the bricks as she drew her knees up and against her chest. She curled back up into that protective huddled ball as her heart started to beat wildly. Her breathing became shallow and rapid.

"Ohhhh," Lisa groaned, raising her hands and covering her eyes as a bare overhead light bulb flicked on and nearly blinded her with its glare. Slowly the blonde grew accustomed to the bright light and opened her eyes, squinting up toward the stair. Claude was near the top of the relatively short stairway, leaning against the wooden rail that ran along its length. Hank was at the bottom, standing spread-legged with his hands folded tightly against his massive bare chest. Both of them had sick grins on their faces as they stared at the cringing, helpless women.

Lisa didn't want to say a word. She was dying to know what happened upstairs to cause all that horrible noise. But she didn't want to give the Decker boys the satisfaction of relating any of their horrors. They loved talking about their crimes almost as much as they enjoyed performing them.

Lisa suddenly heard that same howl she'd been listening to earlier. This time it was less intense. She looked inquiringly into Hank's face. All he did was smile, then turn around and look up at his brother.

"Your little friend up there's not gonna give us no more trouble," Claude said, chuckling softly as he leaned against the wooden rail harder and stared at the two women.