Rancho Diablo

by Michael O'Connor

  “Life ain’t fair,” Chaim retorted. “If it was, we’d never have got our hands on that dope in the first place. I ain’t wasting time looking for some bitch, even if she is your sister. This is the Hell Kings, not the Red Cross. Now, use that Queen mouth on my cock, before I use my belt on your ass.”

  She did not mention the matter again, for several days. Attempting to appeal to Chaim’s better nature had been a mistake. If she was to persuade him to rescue Zoe, he would have to be convinced there was something in it for him.

  “There’s more than just my sister at Rancho Diablo,” she told him. “They’ll have about thirty slaves there, maybe more.”

  “I’m beginning to get pissed off with you and your fucking sister,” he warned. “It’s a bit early to start forgetting where your loyalties lie.”

  “My first loyalty will always be to you, Master,” Jenna swore. “But if you rescued my sister, you would have both of us to serve you. We would be yours for as long as you wanted and would do anything you pleased.”

  “She’ll be dead by now, or sold,” Chaim argued. “It’s over two months since you escaped. Besides, I got plans. We’re gonna ride down to Mexico and spend our cash on the high life. You might as well get used to the idea of never seeing your sister again.”

  “Think about all those other slaves,” Jenna insisted, knowing she was pushing her luck. “Where there’s slaves, there’s money. More money than you’d get for a truckload of dope. Troy is buying and selling all the time, and you can’t use banks in his line of business.”

  At last, she saw a flicker of interest in the eyes of her Master.

  “How many men on the ranch?” he demanded.

  “Seven.”

  “They got guns?”

  Jenna nodded. “But we could take them by surprise.”

  “How do we do that?” he snapped. “They’d hear us coming a mile off.”

  “We could ambush them,” she suggested. “They send out a truck every couple of weeks, to pick up fresh slaves. I’d recognise it anywhere. If we could ambush that truck, we could be inside Rancho Diablo before they suspected a thing.”

  “Risky,” Chaim mused.

  “The Hell Kings can do it,” Jenna assured him. “Wouldn’t you like to have two of me, Master? A pair of identical Queens to serve you.”

  “I’d like it,” he replied. “But you’d better remember one thing. If we rescue your sister and she gives me any shit, you’re both dead. From what you’ve told me, I should have no trouble finding another Queen among the slaves of that place.”

  Once their Captain had decided upon raiding Rancho Diablo, the others accepted his decision without argument. The trek back to the area of the ranch took six days. Then, from the cover of a forest beside the highway, the wait for the slave truck began. Chaim was prepared to wait three days. If the truck had not shown by then, an alternative plan of attack would be devised.

  But they did not have to wait that long. Late the second evening, the black truck came into view, rumbling down the highway, at a sedate pace. At Chaim’s command, the biker girl chosen as bait stepped from behind the trees, out onto the edge of the highway. As the truck drew near, she extended her right thumb.

  Kurt and Logan had enjoyed a particularly fruitful hunting expedition. The trailer of the cattle truck contained eight girls, all in their prime and none above the age of twenty-three. Troy already had buyers lined up for at least four, but that would not stop the Masters enjoying them, for the duration of their brief stay.

  “One of us should have stayed in the back,” Logan was saying. “Just to keep the bitches in order.”

  “They’re hardly likely to break out,” Kurt replied. “That skinny blonde has one hell of a tight ass. Wouldn’t surprise me if Troy decided to keep her for himself. Soon as we get to the ranch, I’m ... Shit, Logan, would you just look at what’s just stepped out of the woods!”

  “Bonus meat!” the bearded man grinned. “This must be our lucky night.” His foot was already hitting the brake pedal.

  The biker girl was called Sheryl. She belonged to Slade, the youngest member of the Hell Kings. She was dressed in a ripped denim jacket, red mesh halter top and tiny red leather skirt that displayed her long, tanned legs to full advantage. No slave trader worth his salt would be able to resist stopping for her.

  Behind the trees, the bikers waited, armed and ready to spring into action, as soon as a door of the truck was opened. Four would ride in the hijacked truck, along with the women. With the two men in the truck out of action, they would only have five to deal with, once they reached Rancho Diablo.

  The truck squealed to a halt and Logan lowered his window, fixing the blonde hitch hiker with a lewd grin. A real beauty, no more than eighteen or nineteen. Probably a runaway. Troy would be pleased. Chaim was about to give the signal to attack, when a second vehicle appeared in the distance, blue lights flashing.

  “Shit!” he hissed. “The fucking cops!”

  “We can take ‘em,” Clawfinger said, raising his pump action shotgun.

  “We can’t afford to shoot pigs,” Chaim replied.

  “So what do we do about Sheryl?” her Master demanded.

  “We wait and see what happens.”

  The police car drew up behind the truck and cruised to a halt.

  “I recognise those two fuckers,” Jenna whispered, as the occupants emerged. “They pulled over the truck the night me and Zoe were being brought to the ranch. They’re worse than the slavers.”

  “Shut up,” Chaim warned her. “I’m running this show and nobody makes a fucking move, unless I say so.”

  “Evening, boys,” drawled the fat cop, as he and his partner sauntered up to the truck. “You planning on giving this young lady a ride?”

  “She’s going our way,” Logan replied. “That right, baby?”

  Sheryl nodded, glancing anxiously in the direction of the trees.

  “You look a bit nervous,” the second cop observed. “Maybe you don’t like the idea of getting into a truck with these men. How old are you anyway?”

  “Nineteen.”

  He grinned. “Nice age. I got a nineteen year old niece myself. A real pretty little thing. Looks a lot like you.”

  “We know what you’re carrying,” the fat cop told Logan. “And I think you know the drill well enough by now. But tonight, I don’t think we need to take a look inside that truck of yours at all. Whatever you have in there can’t be better than what you have right here.”

  “We’ll take her when you’ve finished with her,” Logan replied, lighting a cigarette.

  Drawing his night-stick, the fat cop grabbed Sheryl’s left arm.

  “Hands off, pig!” she shrieked, doubling him over with a knee in the crotch.

  Fast as lightning, his partner jumped back and whipped out his .38.

  “Hold it right there, you fucking bitch!” he snarled. “Move another muscle and these boys will be scraping you up for dog meat.”

  Red faced, cursing and breathless, the fat cop raised himself upright, drew back his night-stick and doubled the girl over, with a vicious blow to the guts.

  “Easy,” his partner shouted, as he was about to bring the weapon crashing down on her skull. “She’s more useful to us conscious.”

  From their concealment, only a few yards away, the Hell Kings watched in silence, as the fat cop kicked Sheryl around the road. His partner holstered his gun and unzipped his trousers. The fat man planted a knee on the girl’s belly, yanked her skirt up over her hips and ripped off her black lace panties. The second cop fell on top of her, forced her legs wide apart and rammed his hard cock into the hairy slit in between.

  “Are we just going to let them rape her,” Sheryl’s Master angrily whispered.

  Chaim nodded. “Don’t worry about her. She’s
been fucked before. It’s the truck we’re after. If we shoot those two cops, we’re in the deepest of shit.”

  As he thrust into her, the cop tore away Sheryl’s halter top and began mauling the firm round peaks of her breasts. When she struggled and cried out for help, the fat cop pressed a booted foot down on her throat.

  “Easy, little girl,” he panted, pumping his cock with his right fist. “My partner might enjoy screwing dead meat.”

  Immediately the first cop had finished with her, his fat partner took over. He oiled his cock with a few deep thrusts into her semen slicked sex, before rolling her onto her belly and ramming his full length into her rectum.

  As he forcefully sodomized her, his partner drew his gun, ejected five bullets, then spun the chamber. Lifting Sheryl’s head by the hair, he jammed the barrel of the .38 into her mouth.

  “One shot,” he said. “If you’re a very lucky girl, you won’t get your pretty head blown off.”

  “Wait,” his thrusting partner grunted. “We’ll shoot together.”

  As he climaxed, a few moments later, beating a tattoo on the sobbing girl’s pale buttocks with both palms, his partner squeezed the trigger. As semen gushed into Sheryl’s bowels, urine gushed from her bladder. The hammer fell on an empty chamber, to the regret of both cops.

  Satisfied with their spoils, they bid the slave traders goodnight and swaggered back to their car.

  “Let’s throw that bitch in the back,” Logan said, as soon as they were out of sight.

  The two men climbed from the truck, lifted Sheryl up off the road and dragged her around to the rear of the truck. Kurt opened the door and they threw her inside.

  “Think I’ll get in there with her,” he said. “Nothing a little freshly fucked pussy.”

  In the next instant, the Hell Kings burst from their cover, weapons ready. The traders were taken completely by surprise.

  “It can’t be!” Logan cried, seeing Jenna by the side of the blonde haired gang leader.

  “I got homesick,” she smiled.

  “Chaim, step back,” growled the bearded figure of Slade. “If I can’t nail those pigs, these two will do.”

  “We need one alive to take us to the ranch,” Chaim told him.

  The young man nodded. “No problem. I’ll save one for later.”

  The shotgun in his hands boomed deafeningly and Logan was lifted clean off his feet by the force of the blast. There was no need for a second shot.

  “Let’s go,” Chaim shouted. “Clawfinger, Slade, Viper, you get in the back with the women. The rest of you get on your bikes and follow behind. Not too close. I’ll ride up front. That okay with you, asshole?”

  “F... fine,” Kurt stammered, trembling violently, his slave cargo already forgotten.

  Once Logan had been dragged out of sight, the truck began to move. Chaim crouched low in the passenger seat, his gun jammed into Kurt’s right side.

  In the back, Jenna and the bikers studied the naked captives suspended from the meat hooks. Several bore the livid evidence of recent whippings and other tortures. Having heard the gunshot, all now quaked in terror of the armed gang.

  “These guys sure go for quality,” Clawfinger remarked, fondling the pert breasts of a young brown haired girl with his steel hand. “What’s your name, baby?”

  “Sammi, Sir.”

  He grinned. “Sammi Sir. That’s a nice name. Where did they get you?”

  “My uncle sold me,” she replied. “Said I was lazy.”

  “You know who we are?” he demanded.

  She shook her head.

  “We’re your rescue party, that’s who. Now, if I untied your hands, you’d show your gratitude for having your ass saved, Sammi. Right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she eagerly responded, licking her lips.

  Jenna sat in a corner of the truck, watching the three bikers tease and maul the trussed up slaves. The brown haired girl was on her knees, sucking greedily on Clawfinger’s hard cock. Slade knelt, grabbed her by the hips and thrust into her from behind. Sheryl lay sobbing on the floor, forgotten for now, the semen of the two cops seeping from both orifices.

  A further hour passed, before the gates of Rancho Diablo loomed in the headlights of the truck. Chaim crouched further below the level of the windscreen.

  “Act normal, if you like your nuts,” he told Kurt, prodding his groin with the gun barrel.

  The gates were manned by a hooded Master, who allowed Kurt to drive through unhindered. A moment later, the distant rumble of the Hell Kings motorcycles became audible. Troy emerged from the ranch house, as the truck rolled to a halt in the yard. He was dressed in his thigh boots, hat and a calf length coat of shiny black leather. His trusty whip was gripped in his right fist. He walked straight to the rear of the truck, eager to inspect the latest additions to his herd. He had not yet heard the approaching motorcycles, but the guard at the gate had. The yellow glow of headlights became visible, as he unslung his rifle.

  Clawfinger flung open the rear doors of the truck, in the same instant as Chaim leaped from the cab. As he rolled across the yard, he fired three times. The guard at the gate fell and lay still. Troy froze, finding himself facing three gun barrels. A blonde figure in scuffed black leather emerged from the mass of female flesh in the dimly lit trailer and stepped down. He gasped, unable to believe his eyes.

  Jenna smiled. “I guess I just couldn’t stay away. Where’s my sister, you piece of dogshit?”

  “She’s not here,” he replied, recovering his composure. “Who are your friends?”

  His question was drowned out by the roar of engines, as seven motorcycles poured through the gates of the ranch. In the excitement, Kurt had been forgotten long enough for him to take a pistol from the glove compartment of the truck. Chaim was in his sights, his back to him. He levelled the gun. Two shots rang out and Kurt fell like a rag doll from the truck, his gun clattering to the ground.

  “Number two,” Slade grunted, lowering his smoking shotgun.

  With a shriek, Jenna launched herself at Troy and they both crashed to the ground.

  “What’s happened to my sister?” she hissed, clawing at his throat.

  Chaim dragged her off and jammed his shotgun against Troy’s throat.

  “You have three seconds to call out the rest of your men,” he growled. “One...”

  On the count of two, Troy called out loudly. Three hooded Masters stepped into the light, hands raised high above their heads. Two bikers roped their wrists behind their backs and herded them to the corral. Chaim marched Troy at gunpoint into the house, ordering Jenna to come along.

  “Let’s find the slaves!” Clawfinger hollered.

  The herd, now consisting of twenty-six girls was in the barn. They screamed in terror as the motorcycles burst through the doors. Whooping Hell Kings leaped upon the captive slaves, kicking over toilet buckets in their excitement. Rampant cocks found unresisting orifices. The bikers could not believe they had found so many beautiful women, simply there for the taking. They leaped from stall to stall, slave to slave, indiscriminately thrusting with their cocks and discharging their guns into the air.

  A hellish cacophony of gunshots, screams and roaring engines filled the barn. It was Clawfinger who finally suggested they herd the slaves out into the open. They used axes and bullets to break their chains, then chased the naked and terrified women out into the yard, circling them on their bikes and shooting over their heads.

  The first slave to fall was leaped upon by Clawfinger, who pushed her face down into the dirt and rammed his cock up between her thighs. Several slaves made a break for the gates, but were cut off by the bikers. Screaming slaves ran helter skelter through the yard. Another choice specimen was knocked to the ground and pounced upon by a fat biker, throbbing cock primed for pussy.

  With nowhere to
run, except in circles, the slaves finally gave up trying and collapsed to the ground. The Hell Kings dived into the pile of flesh, hard cocks sinking into the first available hole. They kept their guns in their hands, to deter any would-be escapees.

  From the ranch house, Jenna watched the frenzied rape orgy, with an overwhelming sense of sadness and anger. She had arrived too late to rescue Zoe. Behind her, Troy was sitting in his rocking chair. Chaim stood a few feet away, guarding him with his shotgun.

  “Where’s my sister?” Jenna demanded, turning around.

  “The Pirate took her,” Troy replied. “If you hadn’t run away, he’d have taken you both.”

  “You’re lying,” she retorted.

  The slave Master looked at Chaim. “If you don’t mind me saying so ,you don’t look much like a knight in shining armour. Let’s make a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  He nodded towards Jenna. “Give her back to me. Just name your price.”

  “I didn’t come here to deal,” Chaim replied. “This is what you might call a hostile takeover. Now, where’s her twin? My heart is set on the matching pair.”

  “I don’t know,” Troy insisted. “Once a slave has been sold, she’s no longer my concern. For all I know, she could be dead.”

  “Might as well just shoot him,” Chaim decided.

  “No!” Jenna cried. “If you kill him, we’ll never find Zoe. Let me make him talk. Please!”

  Chaim laughed. “And how do you propose to do that. Ask him nicely, perhaps?”

  “I learned a few things while I was here,” she replied. “If we take him to the dungeon, I can make him talk. I guarantee it.”

  Troy continued pleading with Chaim for a deal, as he was marched down to the dungeon. He was ordered to strip down to his boots, then manacles hanging from the ceiling were clamped around his wrists.

  “He’s all yours,” Chaim told Jenna, propping his shotgun against the wall. “I’m just gonna loot this place, while you play the wicked Mistress.”

  “Won’t you help me, Master?” she pleaded.

  He shook his head. “I’m saving my energies for the slave herd. You have as long as it takes me to find where he hides his money to make him tell you what happened to your other half. If he ain’t singing by then, he’s a free man.”