Rancho Diablo

by Michael O'Connor

  Joining her mother, she flattened a hand against her sticky palm and both thrust together into Jenna’s bottom. She cried out in pain, doubling over and grinding her face against the floor. Dina sucked on one of her mother’s stiff brown nipples, as they hand fucked Jenna’s rectum. After several minutes of this, momma clenched her fist and pushed it deep into the tight, greasy tunnel. Dina followed her example, thrusting her small fist into her front orifice. They rammed their fists as deeply as possible, feeling each other’s knuckles through the thin wall of flesh between both tunnels.

  Jenna had dared hope they might be satisfied with conventional sapphic pleasures. But now, she knew she had escaped from one group of sadists, only to fall into the clutches of another. Seeing her sister again seemed an even more remote possibility.

  When they tired of fisting her, mother and daughter wiped their hands on each others breasts, then sucked each others fingers.

  “I need a piss, momma,” said Dina.

  “So do I, baby,” she replied.

  The pair laid Jenna flat on her back and knelt over her face, embracing tightly, pussy to pussy. Dina released the first golden trickle into her mouth, then her mother’s waterworks burst open. Two hot streams of gold gurgled into her open mouth and splashed over her face. She almost choked on the deluge, as she struggled to swallow it. After it had subsided, she used her tongue to wipe the raindrops from both hairy pussies.

  If she had thought the worst was over, she was sadly mistaken. The lesbian savages bound her wrists and ankles to the bed with two lengths of plastic covered electrical cable. While momma searched for something in the antique dressing table, Dina sank her wolfish teeth into Jenna’s left breast. She howled in agony, certain she had actually bitten off a mouthful of flesh. Blood bubbled from the half moon wound. Dina watched for a minute, then lapped up the warm, sticky fluid.

  Momma produced a matching pair of dildoes, carved from wood and polished to a gleaming finish. Each was ten inches long, as thick as a small tree trunk and fitted with leather straps. She handed one to Dina and they strapped them on. Jenna was rolled onto one side and simultaneously split open, front and rear, by the cold wooden cocks. Dina thrust into her rear, digging her fingernails into her breasts. The older woman cut off Jenna’s whimpers by forcing her tongue into her mouth.

  She had no idea how long the pair abused her in this way, but it seemed to go on for hours. When they tired of one position, mother and daughter swapped places. Dina did not even wipe the anal smears from the dildo before thrusting it into her pussy. Eventually, momma grew tired of this game and unstrapped her dildo. She forced Jenna to lick it clean, then strapped it around the slave’s head, so that it sprouted up from her mouth, like some bizarre penile Pinocchio. Momma lowered herself onto it, her big, sweaty buttocks slapping against Jenna’s face.

  “Bring your pussy to momma, baby,” she told Dina.

  The girl bent over Jenna, thrusting her rear towards her mother, who slipped two fingers into her wet sex. Dina buried her head between Jenna’s thighs, to once again savour her hot nectar. Some time later, the exhausted captive slumped into welcome unconsciousness.

  She was awakened by a stinging slap across the face. Momma stood over her, once again dressed in her lumber shirt and jeans. A whip was slung over her left shoulder. Dina began untying Jenna’s bonds.

  “We got work for you to do, slave girl,” the woman announced. “I don’t like you pissing in our bed.”

  Only then did Jenna realise the sheet beneath her was soaked.

  She did not think she could walk, so violent was the aching in her nether regions. But the shotgun and whip her captors held were powerful incentives to try. They walked her to a spot in the field in front of the cabin and tied two ropes around her ankles. The other ends of the long ropes were tied to a post on the front porch.

  “Start digging,” said momma, handing her a shovel.

  When Jenna hesitated, the whip delivered a nasty sting to her buttocks. She plunged the shovel into the earth, avoiding eye contact with the shotgun Dina was pointing at her. Try as she might, she could not perish the thought that she was being forced to dig her own grave.

  Dina’s mother disappeared indoors, shortly afterwards. The girl sat back against a tree, guarding Jenna with the shotgun. She was soon sweating and her arms ached from hacking at the earth with the shovel. When she tried to rest, Dina ordered her to keep digging.

  “Tell me about the place you ran from,” she demanded.

  “Rancho Diablo,” Jenna panted. “It was horrible. The men keep women as slaves, until other men come and buy them. We had to do everything they told us, otherwise we were whipped and tortured.”

  “Were you raped?” asked Dina.

  She nodded. “My sister too. They rape all the slaves. But the worst thing is the torture.”

  “Tell me about it,” the girl said, sliding her right hand up between her thighs.

  As she continued shovelling the earth from the deepening hole, Jenna recounted some of her experiences at Rancho Diablo. Dina masturbated as she listened, demanding ever more explicit details of the rapes and tortures. Jenna thought her harrowing tales might win her the sympathy of a fellow female, but judging from the girl’s excited reaction, that was unlikely. Dina eventually climaxed, with a loud sigh.

  “Sounds like a fun place,” she panted, sniffing her damp fingers. “I ain’t never had a man in my pussy. I’ve always liked doing it with momma, anyway. Now, I got you too.” She stood up. “That’s deep enough. Stay there.”

  Her mother emerged from the cabin and took the shovel from Jenna, who was thigh high in the hole. Jenna’s bowels churned, when Dina raised the shotgun.

  “Please don’t shoot me,” she begged. “I’ll be the best slave in the world, I swear.”

  “Shut up and spread your legs,” momma snapped.

  She ordered Jenna to remove the ropes from her ankles, then began shovelling the dirt back into the hole. Fifteen minutes later, Jenna was buried almost to the tops of her thighs, planted like a human tree. Her overwhelming reaction was relief that her life had been spared.

  “Don’t she look cute,” Dina giggled. “Now she can eat my pussy standing up.”

  “Fetch your whip,” her mother commanded. “She can eat pussy later.”

  Begging for mercy was pointless, but Jenna tried anyway, when two whips were poised to strike. Dina stood in front of her, her mother behind. At a nod from the latter, the flogging commenced.

  No matter how often she was whipped, Jenna would never develop a tolerance for the white hot torture of hard leather biting into her flesh. Mother and daughter flogged in perfect synchronisity, Dina concentrating her savage lashes on her breasts, her mother flaying her buttocks. Neither stopped, until her breasts and cheeks were raw and bleeding in several places.

  The crimson bubbles provided a feast for Dina. While she licked Jenna’s breasts, her mother cupped the sobbing girl’s chin and kissed her forcefully on the mouth. Dina licked every drop of blood from both ends.

  “Wanna piss, slavey girl?” she demanded, afterwards.

  “Yes,” Jenna whimpered, slumping onto her face.

  Dina placed both hands between her thighs, bathed them in the golden shower and splashed several cupped handfuls over her face. But Jenna ached to relieve more than her bladder and did not care whether or not permission was granted.

  “Dirty dog!” Dina squealed, pulling the grunting captive’s buttocks apart with both hands.

  “Leave her now,” momma ordered. “She ain’t going no place.”

  The pair returned a few hours later, with food and water for their captive. Momma was naked from the waist down and walking awkwardly, with a peeled banana protruding from her rectum. This was Jenna’s dessert. The main course consisted of bread and cheese, soaked in a bowl of warm urine.

/>   “I made that,” Dina giggled. “Eat up before it goes cold.”

  Jenna scooped up the food with her fingers, before slurping down the salty, golden liquid in the bowl. Momma then squatted over the empty bowl and expelled the banana from her bottom. Jenna felt nauseous at the thought of eating it, but decided it was the less painful alternative to another whipping.

  “Nice?” demanded Dina.

  “Delicious,” she lied, making a show of licking her lips.

  “Some water to wash it down,” said momma. “Bend over, Dina.”

  The girl doubled over, hiking her bearskin up over her hips. Her mother inserted the narrow neck of a bottle shaped rubber container in her rectum and squeezed. Dina shivered, as the chilled contents gurgled into her bottom. When the bottle was empty, her mother withdrew it and pushed a thick drinking straw into her anus, leaving only a couple of inches protruding.

  “Drink,” she commanded.

  Obediently, Jenna wrapped her lips around the straw and began noisily sucking the water out of Dina’s bottom. The taste was somewhat masked by the meal she had already consumed, but that did not make it any less disgusting.

  The remainder of the day passed in a series of humiliations, at the hands of the depraved mother and daughter. Jenna thought they might dig her out at nightfall, but instead, they bound her wrists with a rope, so that she could not manage to claw herself from the hole. They amused themselves into the early hours of the morning by pouring molten candle wax over her breasts, stuffing her pussy with meat, which she was then forced to eat, and making her lick them, front and rear, until her tongue hurt. At one point, Dina placed her right foot between her thighs and worked it up into her pussy. Her toes tickled her clitoris, but Jenna felt only pain. She silently swore, if she got out of this, she would never again allow anything to penetrate her, as long as she lived.

  Before retiring to the cabin for the night, they shrouded her in the bedsheet she had wet the night before.

  “Sweet dreams, slavey girl,” she heard Dina giggle.

  As she slept in doggy fashion, resting her face on her folded arms, Jenna dreamed of her sister. Zoe was mounted on the cross at Rancho Diablo, bleeding all over from a ferocious whipping. A barbed wire necklace was knotted tightly around her throat. She could scarcely scream, as the nails were hammered into her labia. The hammer wielding figure was draped in a piss soaked white shroud. Only when the nailing was complete did she cast it off and reveal her cruelly grinning face. It was Jenna. She woke up screaming.

  The following day was almost a re-run of the previous. Dina came for her at dawn, naked and breathless with lust, demanding instant gratification from her tongue. Later, her mother took her turn.

  Both hardly spoke to her, all that day. When she once dared to ask how long they intended to keep her half buried like this, she received another merciless double whipping. It was by accident that she learned of her fate, late that evening. The voices of Dina and her mother were audible through the open front window of the cabin.

  “Remember what you said last night?” the girl asked. “You still mean it?”

  “We ain’t keepin’ her,” momma replied. “I don’t like havin’ no stranger around the place, even if she is a pretty slave girl. Besides, someone might come lookin’ for her.”

  “Aw, but she’s such fun!” Dina protested.

  There was the sound of a slap.

  “We’re gettin’ rid of her tonight,” her mother said sternly. “You want a pet, get a dog.”

  “I don’t like dogs,” Dina whined. “What are we gonna do with her? We can’t just turn her loose.”

  “I never said nothin’ about turnin’ her loose,” momma replied. “What I got in mind is to shoot her. You can do it, baby. Right after supper.”

  Chapter 8

  Troy was furious. Logan and the three others who had rode out in search of Jenna stood before him in the front yard of Rancho Diablo, having returned empty handed. The Master cracked his whip against the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

  “No slave has ever escaped from here,” he ranted. “That little bitch won’t be the first. How could you not have caught her, for Christ’s sake. She had no clothes, no food, no money. She can’t have run that far.”

  “She must have headed for the hills,” Logan replied. “We assumed she’d head east, like the few who’ve broken out in the past.”

  “Looks like you assumed incorrectly,” Troy retorted. “I want her captured and brought back alive. Even after I’ve finished with her, she’ll still be worth a small fortune, as half of a matching pair. She must be found, at all costs. If she gets away, she could blow our entire operation sky high.”

  “She hasn’t a chance in hell of making it,” Logan argued. “If she did run for the hills, she’s probably dead already. Even if she knew where she was going, it’d take her days to reach any place where she could get help.”

  “I want her brought back,” Troy repeated. “I paid a lot of money for those two pieces of twin ass and they’ve made me look stupid enough already. If you find her dead, bring her back anyway, for her sister.”

  “Where is her other half?” asked Logan.

  “Currently serving as a toilet,” Troy answered. “My old buddy, Clinton, is dropping by tonight. He may be scouting for a slave or two and it would be nice to be able to entertain him with a crucifixion.”

  As soon as they had equipped themselves with fresh supplies and horses, the four men set off on their renewed search for Jenna. Her sister was on her knees by the corral gate, chained to a wooden post. Her breasts were cupped in a bra of barbed wire, which dug deep into the soft globes. She wore a matching pair of crucifying briefs. Her inner thighs were rusty with traces of dried blood. On top of the post, directly above her head, the word TOILET was scrawled on a rectangular sign. She had already been there twelve hours.

  “Your sister is proving more of a challenge than we expected,” Troy said, unzipping his trousers. “But we’ll find her, unless the wolves already have. A girl like her won’t survive long in those hills. Boy, have I got a punishment waiting for her!”

  As he spoke, his urine scalded her tortured breasts. She tried to convince herself she would not have to suffer much longer. Jenna would find help, then all the slaves would be freed from this hellish place. It was a nice thought, but one she could not hold for long. Zoe had never been an optimist and this did not seem an apt time to become one.

  Troy’s friend arrived just after sundown, on a powerful purple Harley Davidson. Clinton was a bulky figure, with receding hair and a bushy black beard. A red bandanna was knotted around his forehead. Seated on the pillion pad of the Harley was a blonde girl in black fishnet stockings, microscopic red leather mini skirt and a matching waistcoat that concealed only a fraction of her abundant cleavage. She remained perched on the bike, cigarette dangling from between her pink glossed lips, as the rider dismounted.

  “Glad you made it, Clinton,” said Troy, briefly embracing his friend. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing company. Who’s the lady?”

  “Gem ain’t no lady,” Clinton replied. “She’s just some whore I picked up at a truckstop, about a hundred miles back. Thought maybe you could add her to your collection.”

  “Hey, what the fuck is this place?” the blonde demanded, noticing the chained figure of Zoe across the yard. “You said you were taking me to a party.”

  “The party starts right here,” Troy said. “Allow me to introduce myself.” With a sudden lunge, he grabbed her right arm, lifted her clean off the bike and flung her onto her back, at his feet. “I am Troy, your Lord and Master. My old buddy, Clinton, has just given you to me as a present.”

  “I don’t belong to that asshole!” she shrieked. “Let me up!”

  Troy grabbed her flailing ankles and dragged her shrieking across to the front porch, where Kur
t and two hooded Masters stood.

  “Get your whips,” he shouted. “Our new slave is ready for her first lesson.”

  Gem snarled and struggled like a wildcat, but was no match for the brute strength of Troy. He briefly subdued her with a few well aimed kicks and punches, then unsheathed his knife. He held it to her throat, while he ripped off all her clothes, bar her stockings and suspenders.

  “Now, let’s see just who belongs to who,” he growled.

  Clinton stood back and watched, while Troy and his three men took up whipping positions, in a square formation around the terrified girl. They waited for her to clamber to her knees, before striking the first lash. The whipcrack was followed by an agonised howl.

  With a sound like bullets flying in a gunfight, the four whips rained a searing fusillade on the screaming girl, who zigzagged wildly in all directions, desperately seeking an avenue of escape. But there was no avoiding the cruel whips, used with such practised expertise. She scuttled around the yard on all fours, finally kneeling, to scream for mercy. Disregarding her pleas, the men continued whipping her, until she was covered, back and front in lash burns, several of which oozed blood.

  Unzipping his black leather trousers, Troy wrapped his whip around her throat, from behind, and pulled it tight with both hands, thrusting up between her thighs. Gurgling and gasping for breath, she clawed at the whip around her throat, the colour of her face deepening from pallid pink, to a reddish shade of purple. By the time Troy climaxed inside her, she was barely conscious. He wiped his cock on her buttocks, before stuffing it back inside his trousers. The new arrival was then thrown at the mercy of the other men.