Chapter 17
"Wow, Ellie, that was really something!" Ben Salters breathed as he pulled out of her and then sadistically wriggled his finger in her distended bottomhole a few last times, making her squirm and groan and stare at him with tear-blinded eyes. "That was a real ride you gave me, baby doll. Now, which guy do you want next? I'll go and get him."
Eleanor Martin sprawled on the bed, her flesh-colored nylons sagging about her slim ankles, her pussy curls glistening with the stickied essence of their communal spending. Her naked titties, marked with his fingers and reddened from friction against his hairy chest, rose and fell with erratic turbulence.
"Ohh ... let me rest ... oh, God ... you-you almost k-killed me...." she moaned.
"Hell, you're only just starting to get your second fucking-wind, baby," he chuckled lewdly as he rose from the cot, rubbing his inner thighs with both palms, surveying his limp, dangling, greasy prick with satisfaction. Then he put on his shorts and thrust his feet back into his shoes, stooping to lace them up.
"I'll give you a couple of minutes, that's all. Who's gonna be next? The big fat guy Mack, or the guy with the missing front teeth, George, or that gray-haired con man Pete? Better speak up, Ellie, or they may come busting in here and give it to you all at once. They're probably creaming in their pants by now, for all the time we've taken for that good fuck you just gave me."
"The-the gray-haired one," Eleanor Martin feebly managed, t-visting her face to one side, covering it with her hand and sobbing hysterically.
"Attagirl!" Ben Salters chuckled. "I'll go and tell Pete to come right in. He's not a bad guy, even if he is a little old, and he's a real cocksmith, I can tell you. I watched him operate with a gorgeous blonde farmer's wife last night, and he really had her yelling for mercy. Stretch out there and rest up while you can, Elbe baby."
With this, not bothering to put on the rest of his clothes, he strode triumphantly into the middle of the living room, naked to the waist, in only shorts, socks and shoes.
"Pete, the little lady wants you to oblige her," he called.
Ranee Martin uttered a choking cry as his eyes fixed on the man who had just ravished his beautiful wife. Dorothy, her wrists tied behind her back in a way that made her titties stand out magnificently against her tight white shirt, was sobbing softly, her eyes closed, her head bowed.
Mack Bolton sat near her, on the edge of the couch turned towards her, feasting his eyes on the peaks of her bosom, the twitching muscles of those creamy thighs of hers in the white play shorts. His prick was monstrously erect now, and it didn't matter whom he fucked, the mother or the daughter, so long as he got some immediate relief. When he heard Ben Salters call for Pete, he called aloud, "You mean that goddamn stupid bitch didn't pick me next? Just tell her to wait till I get there. She'll pay me back for making me wait so goddamn long. Come on, Dottie baby, how about a little kiss to tide me over till your mother takes me on?"
He put a hand on her bare arm and Dorothy Martin uttered a sobbing cry. "Oh, Daddy, Daddy, don't let him, please don't let him have me!" Then she flung herself down and buried her face against tin surfa:3 of the couch as her body shook with her stifle i sobs.
Peto Pullman waved his hand to his cronies. "See you aicr; a while, youse guys. I'm gonna go in there and make Ellie yell so loud you can hear her into the next county."
Ran 3 3 Martin turned towards Ben Salters. "Please, after you-after you men have had what you want-let us go. There isn't anything else we can do for you."
"You're forgetting you've got a Buick," Ben Salters growled with a frown. "And until we get away from Kansas, you're not getting out of our sight. Make up your mind to it. Tell you what-" and here his thin lips curved in a sadistic grin, "if you don't give me any trouble, I'll let you and the kid watch Ellie getting it. Bet that would work you up!"
"You disgusting degenerate!" Ranee Martin flared as he jerked at his bonds. "I swear before God I'll kill you when I catch up with you."
"That might take a long time, Mr. Martin. But I'll tell you one thing." Here Ben Salters winked. "You've got a first class piece of cunt traveling along with you. Boy, can Ellie shag!"
Inside the bedroom Pete Pullman had closed the door, taken off his suitcoat and pants, then his shirt, but left on his undershirt and shorts and socks. Eleanor Martin lay, an arm across her face, the other arm across her face, her thighs tight together, her naked breasts rising and falling erratically. He stared down greedily at the carnationy-satin contours of those luscious thighs, at the stickied, matted curls of her pussyhair.
Then, unbuttoning his shorts and liberating his elongated, bony prick, Pete Pullman flung himself down on the naked, sprawled body of Eleanor Martin, and, digging his his fingers into her sweaty, furry armpits, thrust himself into her with a single savage lunge, probing his stiff cock to the roots inside her stickied sheath. Eleanor Martin uttered a cry, her eyes opening to stare at his grinning, flushed face, as her hands futilely pushed against his lean, wiry shoulders.
"Ohh, not so soon, please-t-take it easy-let me rest a little," she begged.
"You can rest on your back while I do the work, bitch. Just come along for the ride," Pete Pullman chuckled. Then he began to fuck her ruthlessly, with a relentless and rapid thrusting that made her jerk and squirm on the dirty cot, rasping her naked bottom against the scratchy blanket, groaning in pain as his fingernails dug into the sensitive flesh of her moist armpits. His mouth seized one of her stiffened nipples and began to suck and mouth it, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while he fucked her, but this joust was of short duration, for the older man did not have the self-control of Ben Salters. After a few minutes he uttered a shout of agonized delight as he poured his essence into Eleanor Martin's matrix.
"I'll be back, you hot piece of quim," he told her as he drew out of her and staggered to his feet. "Do you want Georgie now, or Mack?"
Vaguely she turned her face to him, stained with tears, her eyes blank and dull, her lips trembling. Her body vibrated with the aftermath of that first unwanted, betraying orgasm to which Ben Salters' virility had brought her, and now this brutal and degrading pillaging by her second ravisher. Yet she recalled the savage and surly features of Mack Bolton and his angry threat at her. That was why, feebly, in an almost inaudible gasp, she murmured, "I-I'll take M-Mack next."
Pete Pullman strode back into the living room, his limpened, greasy cock dangling out of the unbuttoned shorts, smirking at the helpless husband and young son as he sniggered, "Mack, she can't wait for you. I put a quart of oil into her crankcase, so you better sponge her out or you'll have a buttered bun to work on."
Ranee Martin closed his eyes and ground his teeth, once again struggling uselessly against his bonds. But Kenny Martin, his face flushed, could not take his e-es off Ben Salters and Pete Pullman, who brazenly exhibited their manhood, positive proof that both men had had carnal relations with his own beautiful mother.
Each of them framed his sister at an end of the couch, with the trembling, still sobbing young brunette between them. George Budrow stared gloomily at Dorothy Martin, his cock straining futily at the fly of his trousers. He watched Mack Bolton take off his suitcoat and fling it on the table, then take off his tie and shirt, and stride out of the living room in just undershirt, trousers and shorts, toward the bedroom where Eleanor Martin awaited her third violation by this convict gang of escapees.
"Sure took you long enough to call for me, bitch," was Mack Bolton's angry greeting when he strode into the bedroom. He hurriedly took off his trousers, then his shorts, standing in undershirt and socks, licking his lips at the sprawled and palpitating carnationy-satin nakedness of the unfortunate beauty. "Spread your legs good and put your knees up. I'm going to clean your cunt out before I give it to you," he directed.
Eleanor Martin closed her eyes and whimperingly obeyed. All she could pray for now was a swift termination to her agonizing martyrdom as the plaything of these four animals. All she could hope for was that her desperate plea to Ben Salters, who seemed to be the least sub-human member of this gang, had had effect, and that Dorothy Martin would be spared the ignominy and brutality and terror of being raped and used like a whore.
Mack Bolton went into the bathroom, found a dirty rag which had once been a towel. Squatting, he prodded Eleanor Martin's dripping cleft with the rag until he had dried it from the overflow of sperm. Then he commaned: "Grab hold of the backs of your knees, Ellie, and hold them up to your titties. I'm going to hose you that way. It'll touch bottom and scrape the sides, and make you really blow your stack."
Eleanor Martin began softly to cry as she reluctantly obeyed that obscene order. Uptilting the luscious round, satiny contours of her behind, exposing the crinkly, ambery-rosy aperture of her asshole, she offered herself in the most salacious pose a woman can take. Her nylon hose hung loosely at her ankles, and playfully Mack Bolton yanked them off, leaving her as naked as when she came into this world. Then greedily he knelt down on the cot, which creaked beneath his heavy weight, and digging his fingers into the sides of her bare hips, inched his swollen prick towards the pink, glisteningly moist and twitching lips of Eleanor Martin's pussy.
Slowly and deliberately he edged himself so that his meatus just crept in between those inner gates to paradise, and Eleanor could not help uttering a stifled, "Ahhhh!" nor wriggling her naked bottom, while her bare feet twisted in the air, her toes curling restlessly. The reiteration of that phallic friction inside her tender cunt had by now weakened the dam of all her secret, latent sensuality. Frantically she tried to banish her awareness from her mind, staggered by the grossness and shame of what was happening to her. For the truth was that this fastidious, aristocratic matron, the mother of two grown children, was shamelessly beginning to feel "the hots!"
Mack Bolton tantalizingly kept up this in-and-out maneuver, rubbing to and fro just inside the portal of Eleanor Martin's pussy, deftly attacking the nodule of her clitoris. Her eyes widened now, glassy with tears, and her nostrils flared and skrank convulsively. Her knees jerked as they sporadically bumped against her panting titties, and the flexions of her bottom muscles provided a lascivious choreography for Mack Bolton's beady, glittering eyes.
"You really want it bad, don't you, bitch?" he jibed. His prick had drawn back to touch just the inner labia of his victim's twitching cunt. "Tell me you want it bad. Go ahead, tell me. Otherwise, I'll go back to the living room and bring Dorothy in here and screw her right before your eyes, Ellie baby."
"Oh, no! Oh, not that! Ohhhh, please, M-Mack-d-do it to me-I-I want it-not Dorothy-take me instead-do it to-Ahhh! Oh, my God in heaven!"
For, watching her tearstained face, watching her trembling lips and the pleading, tear-filled eyes, the sadistic bully had suddenly gouged his prick to the very hilt inside that proffered cunt, sinking his fingers into her hips as he brutally guided himself to impale her with his thick and massive spear. Then he began to fuck her violently, while his hands reached out to squeeze the sides of her titties, kneeling forward to merge into her in a lascivious cohesion. The sticky and onomopoeic sounds of the squishy juncture of relentless prick and moist quivering cunt was heard now, and Eleanor Martin twisted her face to one side, scarlet with shame at this awareness of her own lubricious yielding. But her body was aflame with hot desire now, and unbridled lust was beginning to take the place of heroic, self-accepting martyrdom.
Closing her eyes, her lips parted, she emitted sobbing gasps as Mack Bolton fucked her. Her hips wriggled and jerked, regardless of scratching torment of her tender flesh against the old, rough blanket. And when at last he uttered a shout of boisterous exultance and gushed himself deep within her, Eleanor Martin's hips arched upward and her feet kicked in the air as she uttered a shriek of tortured ecstasy ... drawn once again to climax by the sadistic and expert coitus of her ravishers.
George Budrow was the last to enter the bedroom, while Mack Bolton went out to boast of his prowess. Standing before pale, drawn, haggard Ranee Martin, the scarfaced murderer bragged, "Boy, too bad you couldn't be there to see how I made out with your wife, buddy. You should have seen her kick her legs in the air when she felt my prick. She yelled like a stuck pig when I creamed it, and I think the trouble is you don't give it to her regular enough, Mr. Martin."
Kenneth Martin bit his lips, his face and body drenched with sweat. He clenched his legs together desperately to hide the fact that he had an erection, and he could not keep his eyes off his sister in her pullover seater and playshorts. Sobbing on the couch, with two men clad only in their shorts and socks, their cocks dangling out of their unbuttoned fly, on either side of her. But Mack Bolton comprehended with that salacious ESP which the true sadist possess.
"Say, now, boy, you're a real chatterbox, you are. Wonder what is eating you ... but I can guess. You're trying to figger out what's going on in that bedroom, aren'tcha, kid? Boy, you otta see your mother. Bare-ass naked and bucking like a whore when she gets crammed with cock."
"You bastard," Ranee Martin groaned in a hollow voice. "If only I could get my hands on you!"
"Fat chance!" Mack Bolton jeered. "What I really think is you wish you could get your hands on Ellie right now. Both you and your kid are randy as hell. Say, Ben, how about that? I'll bet both these guys are randy as hell."
With this the fat rogue bent down, put his hands on Kenneth Martin's knees and dug his fingers cruelly into the muscles so that the youth uttered a cry and tilted back his head in pain. But the evidence was unmistakable: Kenny's fly was strained by the bulge of his own stiff young cock!
And in the bedroom, George Budrow was taking off his pants and shirt, standing in his undershirt, unbuttoning his shorts, his eyes feasting on the helpless nakedness of Eleanor. He, too, used the dirty rag that Mack had used to sponge her stickied cunt, and then he ordered, "I wanna try it a little different with you, Ellie baby. Get on your hands and knees. I want to see that juicy ass of yours up in the air and feel it against my belly when I screw you."
Eleanor Martin burst into hysterical sobs, totally enervated by the knowledge that she had been brought to sexual climax by two vicious criminals, ravished by a third, and about to be forced to behave like the commonest prostitute by her fourth captor.
George Budrow scowled, and then stooped down and slapped her face. "When I tell you something, bitch, hop to it," he snarled.
Sobbing, poor Eleanor Martin crawled wearily to all fours, bowing her head and closing her eyes, her lips moving silently as in prayer.
George Budrow got behind her, reached for her dangling titties and squeezed and fondled them while he edged his stiff cock toward the pink, moist crevice of her cunt.
The feel of her warm, bare bottom against his belly augmented his furious rut. Hence Eleanor Martin's fourth violation was relatively brief, and yet the terrible knowledge of her response was again manifested, for she was brought dangerously close to climax when she felt his hot spurt drench her womb.
"Well, now we've all had a piece, we can compare notes and see what we think. Better fix yourself up in the John, baby," George Budrow cheerfully called as he walked back towards the living room and his cronies.