Rancho Diablo

by Michael O'Connor

  “Glad to see you ain’t going soft on the slaves,” grinned Clinton. “How’s business?”

  As the two men talked, they walked in the direction of Zoe. Troy told his friend all about the escaped twin and how much she had cost him.

  “We’ll find her, though,” he vowed. “And if she’s still alive, she’ll soon be wishing she wasn’t.”

  Stepping up to Zoe, Clinton unzipped his jeans and withdrew his semi-erect cock.

  “Let me tell you why I’m here, Troy,” he said, aiming a hot torrent directly into her mouth. “I have a client in need of a pair of nice looking chicks, for a series of specialist porn videos. Four legged action and other extremes. They’ve got to be under twenty one, with good bodies and plenty of stamina. If you had the other half of this toilet baby blonde here, my client would be a very happy man, at any price.”

  He shook the droplets from his cock over Zoe’s face, before zipping up

  “The bitch will be found,” Troy promised. “She’s just crawled into a hole somewhere, waiting for us to find her.”

  “Maybe,” said Clinton. “But my client wants his two stars delivered before Saturday. Which means they’ll be collected tomorrow afternoon. I doubt you’ll have your girl back here by then. I wouldn’t bet on finding her alive, in any case. Tell you what, though. If you’re prepared to cut your losses, I’ll give you top dollar for this baby and a suitable partner.”

  Troy resolutely shook his head. “They go as a pair, unless and until I know for certain the other half didn’t survive in the wilds.”

  “Your decision,” Clinton replied. “Let’s take a look at the rest of the herd. I’m sure I’ll find a couple of perfect pet lovers in that bunch.”

  Troy showed him to the barn, where he carefully inspected each of the slaves, before selecting two of the youngest and prettiest. Considering that both were in prime physical condition and just a few months over eighteen, the price agreed with Troy was exceptionally reasonable.

  “They’ll be collected tomorrow afternoon,” said Clinton. “Make sure they’re not fed between now and then. They’ll be given a knockout injection, to keep them quiet for their journey, and we don’t want any nasty accidents. Right, that’s business out of the way. Seeing as I brought you a live present, how about lending me one of your other lovely girls? Remember that game we played with the hooker, back in Vegas?”

  Troy remembered vividly. In the days when Rancho Diablo was still only a distant dream, he and Clinton had been employed as “ranch hands” by the owner of a whorehouse in the Nevada desert. Their job was to keep Mr Cruso’s dozen hookers in line. If a girl gave any trouble, she answered to Clinton and Troy. It was in this job that the latter had developed many of the sadistic techniques so effectively employed on Rancho Diablo.

  Lady Luck was smiling brightly on the ranch hands, the evening they were summoned to deal with a hooker named Scarlet. The girl was in her mid-twenties and long enough in the business to know it was not smart to rip off the boss, especially if his name happened to be Mr Cruso. A forgiving nature was not one of his well known characteristics.

  The red haired whore had no inkling of the trouble she was in, until the two ranch hands bundled her into Mr Cruso’s white stretch limo, late one night. The boss was in the back, a fat cigar gripped between his teeth.

  “Scarlet, you’ve been a bad girl,” he said, as the limousine began moving.

  Behind mirrored black windows, the occupants were invisible to the outside world.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Mr Cruso,” she replied.

  The fat man sighed and nodded to Troy, who grabbed the front of the girl’s tight fitting red satin dress and tore it open. Her large, firm round breasts were cupped in flimsy scarlet lace, which ripped like paper in his big hands. The hooker was too shocked and frightened to offer any resistance. Her boss licked his lips, as he ogled her succulent globes, from the opposite seat.

  “You have a real nice pair of tits, baby,” he drooled. “Nice lips too. Wrap ‘em around my dick.”

  Scarlet glanced at Clinton and Troy, who were seated on either side of her, before leaning forward to place her head on Mr Cruso’s lap, fingers fumbling with the zipper of his trousers. In the next instant, the ranch hands had grabbed an arm each and twisted them behind her back. Clinton snapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists, then jerked her upright by the hair. All of this was accomplished in a matter of seconds. It took only a moment longer for Troy to produce a small set of chrome pliers and pinch her right nipple between the steel jaws. As he squeezed, she uttered a loud scream.

  “Want to tell me how you’ve been screwing me?” said Mr Cruso.

  “I’ve done nothing,” the girl sobbed. “Aaarrgh, nooooo.......!”

  The pliers stretched and twisted her nipple violently. Even Mr Cruso blanched at Troy’s ferocity.

  “You’ve been turning tricks behind my back and keeping the proceeds,” accused the fat man. “You’ve been letting guys fuck you in the ass, for fifty bucks extra, and keeping the money for yourself. You’ve been treating clients to all kinds of kinky extras, in my place of business, and forgetting to tell me about it. Now, Scarlet, you know the rules. They apply to you, just the same as all the other girls. When you work for me, you don’t keep a cent that doesn’t first pass through my fingers.”

  “You’re mistaken, Mr Cruso!” she wailed. “I never ...”

  Her protest turned to a scream, as Troy wrenched her nipple with the pliers, as though attempting to pull a particularly stubborn nail.

  “You’re the one who’s mistaken,” replied Mr Cruso. “Nothing goes on at my ranch that I don’t know about. Nothing! I’m a fair man, Scarlet, but when I get screwed, I get angry.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Cruso,” she wept, tears running down her face and streaking her makeup. “I’ve done you wrong, but I’ll pay you back. Any way you like!”

  “That’s exactly what you are doing,” he told her, before her nipple was once again violently wrenched.

  By the time the limousine drew up at the back of a deserted warehouse, Scarlet was stripped down to her red high heels and gagged with her lacy red panties. Troy and Clinton carried her between them, from the car into the warehouse. The chauffeur remained at the wheel, to ensure they would not be disturbed.

  Mr Cruso leaned against the door, to watch the punishment of the hooker, through a haze of cigar smoke. He had placed her completely at the mercy of the ranch hands. The brief interrogation had been concluded in the back of the limousine. Now, the real fun began.

  Troy wrapped a heavy chain around Scarlet, under her breasts and armpits, and hooked it to the crane hanging directly overhead, in the centre of the warehouse. Clinton pressed a button on the control box of the machine and raised her until her high heels were twelve inches from the floor. The chain bit into her flesh, as it took her full body weight, the pressure lifting her breasts and pushing them together.

  More chains rattled, as her thighs were wrapped in steel links, then pulled in opposite directions by the two men. They secured the free ends of the chains around steel bars protruding from the floor, holding her legs so wide apart that the muscles ached. While Clinton began singeing her dark pubic curls with his cigarette lighter, Troy looked around for something suitable to use on her backside. A piece of timber lying on the floor, three feet long and half an inch thick, presented itself as the perfect weapon.

  The hooker’s rear was round and firm, her cheeks milk white and silken skinned. WHACK! Her body jerked and her buns quivered from the resounding impact of the board, the sound of the smack echoing throughout the warehouse. Troy watched a three inch wide line of fire blaze its way across her buttocks, then hit her again, with even greater force.

  Half a dozen wallops from the board had the crimson cheeked effectiveness of a prolonged whipping. Troy then turned his attention to h
er inner thighs, the board swinging from left to right, rhythmically slapping her flesh. Clinton had already burned her pubes down to a blackened stubble. Now, he touched the lighter flame to her nipples, dancing it from one to the other, lingering just long enough for the burning sensation to take hold.

  Though he played no part in the three hour torture session, Mr Cruso enjoyed every second of it. He was particularly impressed by Troy’s devotion to his sadistic craft. It was obvious he treated it as much more than just a job.

  When the hooker was finally taken down off the crane, she was covered in welts, bruises and droplets of blood. Her nipples throbbed from being burned and clamped. The lips of her newly bare and blistered pussy were sewn together with copper wire. The neck of a champagne bottle protruded from her rectum.

  “I think she’s sorry, boss,” Troy said, throwing her to the ground at Mr Cruso’s feet.

  “Best finish the job,” the fat man said, producing a pistol from inside his jacket. “I’ll see you back at the car.”

  Troy took the gun and waited until he had left. Then, he and Clinton bound the girl’s wrists and ankles, dragged her out the back door of the warehouse and down to the foot of a sandy slope. Troy checked that Mr Cruso was not watching, before firing two shots into the ground. As far as the fat man was concerned, that was the end of the matter. A troublesome whore had been put out of her misery by a man who could be trusted with such matters.

  Several hours later. Troy and Clinton returned in a pick up truck. Scarlet was where they had left her, bound and gagged. They wrapped her in a black tarpaulin and put her in the back of the pickup. Forty minutes later, the bundle was exchanged for a roll of hundred dollar bills. Troy had made his first successful venture in slave trading.

  In the dungeon of Rancho Diablo, the latest addition to the herd screamed deafeningly, as the branding iron sizzled the flesh of her left buttock. She was hanging by her wrists, legs spread by a wide bar strapped between her ankles. Troy consecrated the smouldering brand with a golden stream from his cock. Then, he left her to his men. Clinton was eager to crack leather and raise hell among the herd.

  In the barn, most of the slaves were curled up in their stalls, asleep. The doors at either end opened quietly and Troy and Clinton entered, whips slung over their shoulders. The latter had his jeans unzipped and his cock protruded like a thickly veined flagpole. He and Troy looked down along the two rows of naked females, chained like dogs, helpless as babies.

  “Rise and shine!” Clinton whooped, cutting the air with a whiplash that struck the upraised buttocks of a sleeping slave.

  She came awake with a startled shriek, knocking over her toilet bucket and covering her legs with the contents. Like two vengeful demons spawned from the darkness, Troy and Clinton charged through the barn, indiscriminately lashing out with their whips. Within minutes, the barn echoed to the shrieks of slaves, the rattle of chains and the clanging of buckets. Above all this noise, the whips cracked a sadistic staccato. The element of surprise added to the terror and confusion of the slaves.

  “They’re jumping like scalded cats!” Clinton hollered, delivering whiplashes to left and right.

  Spotting a girl he found particularly attractive, he stopped by her stall, scorched her breasts and thighs with half a dozen lashes, then leaped upon her. Pinning her to the straw bedding, he rammed the handle of his whip back her throat and his cock up between her thighs. Troy chose a slave from an adjoining stall. The young girl was huddled in a corner, head between her knees, sucking her left thumb. He emptied her toilet bucket over his boots, then nudged her chin with the toe of the right.

  “Would you like to lick my boots, slave?” he demanded.

  “It would be my pleasure, Sir,” she whimpered, blonde curls cascading around her, as she lowered her head to the task.

  Most of the remaining slaves fell silent. The exceptions were a few who sobbed softly, the sounds accompanied by the grunting of Clinton, as he thrust vigorously into his chosen victim. Those who had felt only the whip had little sympathy for the pair selected for further attention by their Masters. Each was just relieved it had not been her.

  Clinton took a long time with his girl, pausing in mid-fuck to urinate over her breasts. He did not remove the whip from her mouth until he was finished with her. In the meantime, Troy had sodomised the other girl, as a reward for shining his boots with her tongue. On their way out of the barn, the two men unleashed a further volley of whiplashes upon the slaves cowering in their stalls.

  “That was the best fun I’ve had since the teenage hitch hiker I picked up, a few weeks ago,” said Clinton.

  “Tell me about that one over a beer,” Troy replied. “Terrorising slaves is thirsty work.”

  As arranged, the two slaves Clinton had selected on behalf of his unnamed client were collected, the following afternoon. A pair of sleek black hearses, driven by two sombrely attired men, rolled through the gates of the ranch, striking fear into the heart of every slave in the corral. Clinton was already long gone, having completed his end of the business.

  The two chosen girls were in a steel cage, in the centre of the yard. Their ankles were chained, for additional security. Following a brief exchange of words with the men, Troy unlocked the cage door and two hooded Masters herded out the slaves. The girls had no idea where they were being taken, or for what purpose. The appearance of the hearses had unnerved them, but when they saw the gleaming oak coffins being slid out of the back doors, they began screaming and struggling violently.

  Zoe watched from her toilet post, with a deepening sense of horror. The struggling girls were given several lashes of their Masters’ whips, then pushed flat onto their faces. The black suited men produced a pair of syringes and a small bottle of clear fluid from a small black case. They filled both syringes, then bent down and plunged the needles into the arms of the slaves. Moments later, two apparently lifeless bodies were lifted into the coffins. The men closed the lids, lifted the caskets back into their vehicles and slammed the back doors shut.

  Zoe was certain she had just witnessed a double murder. One of the hearse drivers spoke to Troy, looked in her direction, then began walking towards her. Her first impulse was to scream for help, but that would hardly do any good. In her chains and barbed wire, all she could do was wait at his mercy.

  He looked her up and down, as he unzipped his trousers. She was glad all he wanted to do was urinate over her.

  “Clean it,” he said afterwards, raising his dripping cock to her lips.

  She wiped the piss from the crown of his circumcised tool with her tongue, causing it to expand and stiffen. He seemed momentarily uncertain whether to take advantage of her or not, but lust won the battle and he slipped his swelling cock into her mouth.

  From first thrust, to the sluicing of her throat with his hot cream, took only a few minutes. After she had licked his cock clean, he zipped up again.

  “You must be one of the twins I heard mention of,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir,” Zoe panted.

  “Pity your sister had to go and run away,” he continued. “As soon as she’s found, my associate and I will be back. You could say you two have been reserved.”

  Chapter 9

  As soon as she heard the conversation between Dina and her mother, Jenna realised she might have only minutes left to live. At least they had forgotten to put the ropes back on her wrists, having earlier untied them. In desperation, she began clawing at the earth around her legs. Her chances of digging herself out and making good her escape were slim, but they were all she had. Better to go down fighting, she reasoned, than accept her fate with a whimper.

  She began frantically clawing away the dirt, expecting at any moment to hear a cry from one of her captors. The smell of cooking wafted through the open cabin window. Jenna prayed the meal would keep their minds off her, for just a bit longer. She almost screamed
with frustration as she dug, seemingly getting nowhere.

  “I’ll go feed the slave,” she heard Dina say.

  “Don’t waste food,” her mother replied. “Finish your own supper, then take care of her.”

  Jenna could see her knees. Perspiration rained down her body. She bent over, scrabbling at the soil with bleeding fingers, like a dog unearthing a bone. She finally managed to pull her right leg out and almost whooped for joy. The extra minutes it took to work her left leg free of the hole felt like hours.

  Mother and daughter had still not appeared. Jenna bolted towards the forest, then stopped, realising she was not going to get very far as she was. Even if her captors did not catch her again, she would still be naked, and lost as ever. If she was to have any hope of a successful getaway, she needed to increase the odds in her favour. The best way to do that would be to neutralise Dina and momma.

  She crept up to the cabin and peered cautiously through the front window. Momma was sitting at the head of the table, thoughtfully sipping her coffee. Dina had her back to the window and was squatting on her chair, ankles curled under her bare bottom. She appeared to be engaged in her near perpetual act of masturbation. The shotgun was propped against the wall, just inside the window, within easy reach of Jenna.

  Unseen by the pair at the table, a trembling hand reached through the window and closed around the barrel of the shotgun.

  “Maybe I oughta use a knife,” mused Dina. “What do you think, momma? We could cook a slave stew.”

  “I’ll leave the killin’ to you,” her mother replied. “I don’t much care how you do it.”

  Suddenly, the door burst open and the object of their deliberations staggered into the kitchen, covered in dirt and sweat. The shotgun was gripped firmly in both hands.

  “Stay where you are, you fucking sick bitches!” she yelled.