Rancho Diablo

by Michael O'Connor

  His partner had had enough of fucking Zoe’s throat. Cock dripping saliva, he dragged her from the seat by the hair and pushed her back onto the bonnet of the car. The metal was still warm from her sister’s body. She stared up at the stars, as his .38 was rammed into her mouth.

  “Ever had a dick in that hot little pussy?” he demanded.

  Zoe shook her head. He nudged her pink gash with his drooling purple crown.

  “Welcome to womanhood,” he grinned.

  She bit down on the cold steel of the gun barrel, as his big cock parted her tunnel walls, burst her hymen and plunged into her hot virginal depths. Though the pain was the most intense she had ever experienced, it soon became tinged with a shockingly pleasurable sensation. She shut her eyes, in order not to see her sister, but the image of Jenna on her knees before the fat cop remained.

  “Shit, that’s one less virgin for the herd,” Kurt muttered. “Why couldn’t he have fucked her in the ass?”

  “Won’t harm her value,” his partner replied. “Troy just wanted a pair of virgins, so that he could be the first to put his dick in them. He’s still got her sister to break.”

  The fat cop’s cock was clean and flaccid.

  “I’m through with her,” he announced, zipping up his trousers. “Whoever buys this one will get his money’s worth from her asshole alone.”

  His partner had his gun barrel jammed painfully against the roof of Zoe’s mouth, as his bloodstained cock pistoned between her thighs. Virgins were so rare that this one was a treat to be savoured. He snarled like a wild dog at the moon, as the lava of his climax jetted into her. He continued thrusting into her, until his every drop was spent, then wiped his bloody cock on her thighs.

  Lawmen satisfied, the sore and sobbing twins were shoved back into the truck and hung back up on their meat hooks. The door was bolted and Kurt took the wheel, leaving his partner on guard duty. The bearded man studied each girl in turn, squeezing the prominent bulge in his trousers.

  “I can’t decide which one of you to fuck,” he declared. “What about you, hot lips? Would you like me to fuck you?”

  He was addressing the oldest of the six captives, a woman of about thirty, with the painted face of a whore and the svelte body of a model. She vigorously shook her head of jet black curls.

  “Wrong answer,” he said, reaching inside his jacket.

  The weapon he withdrew was a small staple gun - the kind used to pin wallpaper. He checked that it was loaded, before pressing the muzzle against the left buttock of the brunette.

  “I want you to fuck me, Sir!” she cried. “Please fuck me. Please!”

  With a cruel smile, he squeezed the trigger. The captive screamed in agony, as the twin prongs of an inch wide staple of silver steel penetrated her soft flesh.

  “My wish is your command, at all times,” he said, roughly cupping her chin. “As are the wishes of your other Masters.” He thrust the nose of the staple gun under her right breast. “I’ll ask you again. Would you like me to fuck you?”

  “Yes please, Sir,” she sobbed.

  “I don’t think I want to,” he replied, before squeezing the trigger again.

  A staple embedded itself in the underside of her breast and she gave full voice to her agony. The trader turned his attention to Zoe, studying the blood of defiled virginity trickling down her inner thighs. He brushed her crimson slicked labia with the staple gun.

  “How about you, sweet thing? Would you like me to fuck you?”

  She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Sir, I would love you to fuck me, any way you please.”

  He grinned. “Spoken like a true slave. What about your sister? Would you like me to fuck her?”

  Zoe cast a sideways glance at Jenna, before answering. “Yes, Sir, I’d like you to fuck my sister.”

  “In the ass?”

  She nodded. “Fuck her in the ass, Sir.”

  “I’ll fuck you both in the ass,” he promised. “But not just now.”

  He moved along the line of captives, stopping by the plump girl and pressing the staple gun to her left buttock.

  “Got anything to say to me, you fat piece of shit?” he demanded.

  She shook her head. “No, Sir.”

  “You don’t want me to fuck your fat ass?”

  “Fuck me any way you please, Sir,” she replied. “But please don’t hurt me. I beg you.”

  “I promise not to hurt you,” he said. “Just tell me your name and what you are.”

  “My name is Paula. I’m a fat piece of shit.”

  “That you are, Paula,” he grinned. “My name is Logan. Do you know what I am?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “I’m a liar.”

  He squeezed the trigger three times in rapid succession, shooting three staples into her round rear cheek. She screamed hoarsely. He fired three more staples into her right globe, then turned to the figure of a thin and ashen faced teenage girl, with spiked and bleached hair. As well as numerous gold hoops in both ears, she sported one in her right nostril, one in each nipple, one in her navel and two in her outer labia.

  “You look like a girl that enjoys pain,” Logan mused, caressing her tiny breasts with the tip of his staple gun.

  “I enjoy fucking, Sir,” she answered. “Before you took me away tonight, I’d been fucked by nine men.”

  The evidence was visible, crusted on her inner thighs and foaming at the mouth of her shaven sex. Logan pressed the gun to her right breast. She stared defiantly into his eyes, as his finger tightened on the trigger. This was one of those rare captives that actually craved mistreatment, like a drug. Such creatures were a challenge Logan relished.

  “Stick out your tongue,” he told her.

  She complied instantly. At his command, she curled her tongue downwards, to lick the upper part of her chin. It took him scarcely a second to lift the gun from her breast, press it to her tongue and squeeze the trigger. Before her brain could fully register what had happened, a staple was embedded in the tip of her tongue. The ensuing bolt of pain was accompanied by the salty taste of blood. Logan grinned triumphantly, as she gasped in agony.

  Beside her, the attractive and buxom redhead stood trembling. Her terror was the most abject of all the captives. The instant the staple gun touched her right breast, urine trickled from her thickly thatched pussy and down her legs. As Logan unzipped his trousers, she began pleading for mercy.

  “Frigid cunt don’t like meat,” he sneered. “Your old man told us that’s why he was selling you. Well, I’ve got the cure for a vegetarian pussy right here, baby. And I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not.”

  “Oh God, no!” she wailed, feeling the wet slit of his huge erection brushing her thigh.

  “You can forget about God where you’re going,” Logan told her. “He’s already forgotten about you. I do appreciate a woman with nice tits and yours are so big, so firm, so tender.”

  As he spoke, his left hand softly caressed her brown nippled globes. His victim’s eyes were fixed on his cock, as though it were the most fearsome thing she had ever seen. Pinching her left nipple between thumb and forefinger, he pressed the staple gun to her breast and squeezed the trigger. She expelled a deafening howl, her entire body convulsing. Logan repositioned the weapon and fired again.

  He emptied the entire load of forty-six staples from the gun into the breasts of the redhead, leaving her oozing blood and almost insane with agony. Squeezing her tortured breasts in both hands, he thrust up between her thighs, unhindered by the resistance of her vaginal muscles and inflamed by her cries.

  “Ain’t so frigid now, huh?” he grunted, burying his cock to the hilt.

  The rape lasted fifteen minutes, Logan finally climaxing over her belly. After his cock had spilled its full creamy load, he lit a cigarette and smoked, while he
urinated over the weeping girl’s aching pussy. As he was zipping up his trousers, the truck hit a bump and the captives were set swinging by their wrists.

  “Home sweet home,” Logan cheerfully announced, enjoying the apprehensive expressions of the captives.

  The truck rolled to a halt and the back door was opened. A trio of men in flowing black robes and hoods climbed aboard. Their faces were concealed behind death white skull masks.

  The thick bullwhips gripped in their gloved fists banished any thoughts of escape, as the captives were freed from their manacles. Not that any of them was in a condition to run. With a crack of the whips on the piss soaked iron floor, they were ordered to step down from the truck and line up in the powerful glare of twin spotlights, mounted high above their heads. A blood red flag, emblazoned with a black skull and a silver letter D, fluttered in the breeze.

  “Welcome to Rancho Diablo,” boomed a voice from the darkness beyond.

  Chapter 3

  “Stand to attention, bitches!” Kurt barked. “Legs apart, hands behind your heads.” He plunged his right hand between Zoe’s thighs and yanked on her pubic tuft. “Come on, spread those fucking legs wide, just like your sister. That’s it.”

  Like a General, he inspected his slave troop, flanked by the hooded trio.

  “You are now the property of the Masters of Rancho Diablo,” he told them. “Your only duty is total obedience. Any breaking of the rules, no matter how minor, will be severely punished. Should you wish to leave here at any time, you are strongly advised to think again. Slaves leave this place only when they have been sold to another owner. There is no parole and no time off for good behaviour. This is the beginning of a life sentence and if you don’t like it, tough shit. From now on, you submit to our every demand, without question, or face the painful consequences. Just one last friendly reminder that each Master is, at all times, to be addressed as Sir.”

  “Please Sir, I have a question,” the spike haired teenager meekly interrupted.

  Kurt glared, then turned to one of the hooded men.

  “Deal with this,” he told him.

  The hooded man hooked a finger in the girl’s left nipple ring, jerked her from the line up and forced her face down onto the hard earth. Stepping back, he uncoiled his bullwhip and delivered a searing lash to her buttocks. As she rolled on the ground, whimpering in agony, the whip cracked twice more across her back, drawing a livid X, from shoulder blades to buttocks. Kurt dragged her to her feet by the hair and pushed her back into line.

  “Lesson one,” he told the trembling slaves. “Never question your Masters. You have already been told all you need to know. The rest, you will learn from experience. Does that answer your question, punk bitch?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she sobbed.

  “Any further questions?” he demanded, regarding each captive in turn.

  A terrified silence was the collective response.

  “Take them to the Initiation Stall,” he commanded. “Troy will be keen to inspect them.”

  Bullwhips cracked like pistols against the ground, as the six slaves were herded towards a nearby barn. The door was open and a fiery red light glowed inside. Jenna was first in line, followed by her sister. What she saw when she entered the huge barn caused her to stop in her tracks.

  Iron cattle stalls lined both sides of the barn, from one end to the other. Each stall contained a naked female, lying on a bed of straw. The captives ranged in age from eighteen to mid- thirties, from skinny to overweight, plain to exceedingly beautiful. All craned for a glimpse of the new arrivals. In her worst nightmares, Jenna could not have conceived such an appalling sight. A bullwhip lash across the small of her back jerked her from her trance.

  “Move, bitch!” a hooded Master barked.

  As they proceeded, Jenna silently counted the pathetic prisoners. They totalled thirty-five. Most bore the marks of recent beatings. Each wore an iron collar and thick chain, which was attached to a heavy iron hoop in the stone wall. This prevented the slave from venturing beyond the confines of her stall. There were more than enough empty stalls to accommodate the new arrivals, each furnished with collar and chain.

  The slaves were herded through another door, across a dark stone yard and into a windowless square building of ugly black concrete. Once the six were inside, an iron door slammed shut, the sound reverberating off the walls.

  Their surroundings were a medieval nightmare. Black candles flickered in holders on the walls, bathing them in a spooky yellow glow. Instruments of torture, fearsome in their variety, hung from the four black walls. The chamber was furnished with two sets of wooden stocks, a huge iron chair with a seat of spikes and a fiendish rack, on which a body could be stretched to breaking point.

  As the slaves were hustled into the centre of the chamber, a tall, heavily built figure emerged from the gloom. The Master wore laced up thigh high boots of shiny black leather, with spurs on the heels and small metal spikes on the toes. Swinging from a holster on his right hip was what looked like a foot long rubber truncheon. He wore a black leather cape over his shoulders, secured around his throat by a studded choker. A wide brimmed black hat sat on his head. His sinister demeanour was accentuated by his raven black Fu Manchu moustache. The only other item of clothing he wore was a spike studded black leather loincloth.

  “Our latest additions to the herd,” he said, in a gravelly voice, studying each naked slave through dark, piercing eyes. “Any problems?”

  “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Kurt replied. “The pigs pulled their usual stunt. Raped the cherry from one of these twins. There was nothing we could do, Troy.”

  The big man shrugged. “Goes with the territory. Ah yes, the lovely twins. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you two. You’re every bit as beautiful as your aunt promised. Value for money, if ever I’ve seen it. Vai, put the virgin half of this pair in the stocks. Hang the others for branding.”

  A hooded Master stepped forward, gripped Jenna by the back of the neck and forced her to her knees. When she cried out in protest, a bullwhip burned her breasts. The other two hooded men grabbed an arm each and placed her in one of the stocks. Troy slammed down the shutter and bolted it. A set of steel manacles, chained to the floor, was fitted around her wrists. Her legs were forced wide apart and a wide steel spreader bar placed between her ankles and manacled into place at either end. Troy adjusted the spread of the bar, until he was satisfied her legs could be no further apart. He locked the bar in place with a pin through one of the holes.

  Once Jenna was secured in the stocks, the wrists of the other five captives were manacled to heavy duty springs hanging from the ceiling. The pull was so strong that each was forced to stand on the tips of her toes.

  “Slave supreme,” Troy enthused, his cock swelling beneath his loincloth, as he studied the restrained figure of Jenna. He probed her rectum with a fingertip. “I see her brown cherry has already been taken care of.”

  “One of the pigs,” Kurt replied. “Her aunt had been playing with it as well.”

  Troy crouched behind her and used two fingers of either hand to part the puffy folds of her sex. “Sweet virgin pussy. Yum yum. A rare commodity, these days.”

  Burying his face between Jenna’s thighs, he plunged his tongue into her moist slit. Despite her pain and discomfort, she breathed a small sigh of pleasure. Only her sister had ever tasted her in this way. If she shut her eyes, she could just about pretend that the tongue lashing at her clitoris was Zoe’s.

  Troy feasted on her for several minutes, before rising to his feet and signalling to one of the hooded men, who wheeled forth a brazier, packed with glowing coals. From out of the coals, Troy drew a long handled branding iron. The white hot circular head of the instrument was forged with the gothic letter D, with a dagger protruding from the centre. Without hesitation, Troy pressed the smoking metal firmly against the soft fle
sh of Jenna’s left buttock.

  Her shriek of agony was audible from the front gate. The pain was blinding, tearing at her nerve ends, causing her entire body to convulse. The odour of scorched flesh caressed Troy’s nostrils. He silently counted to five, before lifting the branding iron from his victim. It was some time before she even noticed, such was the intensity of the burning.

  “Five more pretty asses to mark as property of Rancho Diablo,” he announced, plunging the iron back into the hot coals.

  Starting with Zoe, who almost fainted, he branded each of the others in turn, smiling at their anguished howls. When he was finished, he delivered a slap to each scorched cheek, then returned his attention to Jenna.

  “Time we made a woman of you, my sweet.”

  Standing before her, he flipped his loincloth to one side. His cock, now completely erect, was a truly monstrous fuckpole. It was little short of twelve inches long and as thick as Jenna’s forearm. The bulbous veined shaft was decorated with a tattoo of a black dragon, with fiery eyes and a forked tongue that lashed out to the silver hoop in Troy’s foreskin.

  “Kiss it,” he commanded, thrusting the drooling crown against Jenna’s lips.

  She obeyed instantly, tears dampening his shaft, as she wiped away a semen pearl with the tip of her tongue.

  “The dragon is thirsty for virgin blood,” he growled, a moment later.

  The other men gathered around, to watch this ceremonial deflowering of an innocent virgin. Troy rubbed his fat cock head over her slit, took a deep breath, then penetrated her with nearly the full thick length of the dragon cock. Fire filled her belly, forcing a hoarse cry from her throat.

  The hooded men roared encouragement and obscenities, as Troy’s blood slicked shaft plunged repeatedly into Jenna, with a frantic, deranged rhythm. Virgin crimson seeped from her slash, trickled down her thighs and dripped onto the floor. The pain of her branding and that of the rape blended into a single, all consuming beast of agony, that tore at her every fibre. She was close to unconsciousness, before Troy’s cock finally disgorged its lava in her blood soaked depths. With a satisfied grunt, he withdrew his dripping cock and presented it to her mouth. When she hesitated to lick up the blood and cunt honey coating, she felt the bite of a bullwhip across her backside.