Chapter 2
About twelve miles east of Highway 101, in a deep ravine hidden by heavy buffalo grass and young saplings, there was an abandoned wooden shack, once the property of a small truck-farmer who had long since gone to San Francisco and got himself a job in a factory. Now it was the hideout of a notorious leather-jacketed gang who called themselves "The Leather Lashers." This was a group of about fourteen young males, between the ages of sixteen and twenty-two, headed by Ed Dalton, a heavily set, towheaded, scowling moron of twenty, who had made himself the head of the gang by the sheer dint of being able to beat up any other rival, by having more spending money that the rest of the gang (his parents having died when he was ten, a considerable inheritance had been left to him and was not being supervised by his elderly aunt, who little suspected his activities), and the fact that his very animal magnetism sufficed to draw "groupies" and "make love, not war" camp followers with an easy access to the sex-minded male members of this secret club.
All of them had motorbikes, but "Big Ed" (as he was admiringly called by his cronies because he was six feet tall and already weighed two hundred pounds) had the prize of all, a Harley-Davidson with every known piece of equipment on it, capable of burning up the road at ninety miles an hour if desired. "Big Ed" had already lost a couple of Highway Patrol cars who were after him when neighbors had phoned in an alarm about his marauding, breaking and entering wealthy homes near San Ysidro and other little towns just beyond San Diego to the north.
He had not yet been arrested, and nothing this far could have been proved against him if he had been. Otherwise, he would assuredly have been in San Quentin for at least a dozen rapes, numerous strong-armed robberies and thefts, and assaults with a deadly weapon. He had broken the jaw of a bartender in Cuyatoga who had refused to serve him because he wasn't twenty-one. He had come into the saloon holding a two-by-four and simply clubbed the elderly gray-haired bartender upon the latter's refusal. Then he had leaped over the bar with amazing agility for a youth of his size and heft, grabbed two bottles of whisky, and a moment later was speeding down the streets out towards the highway with his booty.
Last month, he had espied a handsome, buxom bleached-blonde waitress, Marge Drummand, twenty-nine and a divorcee working in a "greasy spoon" in Ventura, some seventy miles north of Los Angeles, had walked in and ordered pie and coffee, and then propositioned her. Marge Drummand had been married to an ineffectual, rather fragile man in his forties, at the age of sixteen, hoping to escape the brutal beatings of a lecherous stepfather who had designs on her pussy because her mother had just died and he expected her to take her mother's place. Her husband had been just the reverse, hardly able to give Marge all the screwing her robust and warm-blooded body needed. Four years later, they had agreed on an amicable divorce, and Marge had gone to Los Angeles to work in an insurance company run by a distant cousin of her mother's. The cousin had turned out to be as lecherous as the stepfather, and in order to hold her job, Marge had had to give him pussy. This went on for about three years, and she broke it off in despair when he brought some of his friends over and intimated to her that the golden era was over and that she would have to earn her keep on her back whenever he wanted her to service his friends and business associates.
For a couple of years she had worked as a waitress in various restaurants, but her cynical manner and her wisecracking attitude got her in trouble with many customers, especially in better restaurants where she had first begun to work. She finally went the route, progressing from the second-class restaurants along the Sunset Strip to the hash joints of West Los Angeles and finally out to a roadside stand just on the outskirts of Ventura. Along the way, she had learned how to sell her pussy when she needed a couple of extra dollars, but what few men knew about her was that she responded most to domination and virility.
"Big Ed" must have sensed, moron though he was, what Marge Drummond needed. When he propositioned her, he muttered to her, "you better be outside to keep our date, baby, or I'll whip the shit out of that big ass of yours!"
Marge had shivered, closed her eyes and then in a husky low voice responded, "I'll be there, handsome. Just you be there too with what you've got and we'll get along fine."
They had gone to a motel, and there Marge had got the fucking of her life. He had started by ripping her clothes off and clouting her on the cheek till she fell back on the bed with a cry of fear. But when she saw his massive prong emerge from the open fly of his corduroy trousers, and when she felt it pierce her long-denied cunt, she wakened as a woman who had not really had a man in all these long dry years. And even "Big Ed" was pleasantly surprised at the frenzied cooperation the bleached-blonde waitress gave him.
He went back for seconds and then thirds, and by midnight, Marge lay sprawled, happily exhausted, her hand cuddling his limp cock and breathing, "Oh my, what a man you are, lover! I'd just love to shack up with you on a permanent basis. But I suppose you've got a string of girls already."
However, her domineering lover had not yet organized the gang, but was planning it. The thought of having Marge as his "Mama" appealed to him, "Look, sugar," he said roughly. "No strings attached, see? If you wanna come along, we'll have lots of fun and raise some hell. I don't promise nuttin', see?" And Marge had taken him on those terms.
A month later, he had started his group with four other young men, and by now it had grown to its present size. By now also, there were at least six females who called themselves, "Mamas" and followed their leather-jacketed lovers, riding behind them on the motorbikes down the highways, their eyes shining, their titties heaving with excitement at the wild forays which spread so much terror and devastation along the little towns just off Highway 101. The challenge of beating law and authority, raping attractive, helpless women, robbing elderly men, breaking into houses and making off with jewelry, furs, portable color TV sets and the like, excited them, as did the uninhibited sexual orgies which 'The Leather Lashers" always used by way of celebration of a particularly successful raid.
The shack was big enough to house this gang, for it had originally been a two-bedroom affair, but by now the places where the kitchen and pantry had been had crumbled into ruin. But the toughs had boarded it up, made numerous repairs, and it was an ideal hiding place because it could not be seen either from the highway far beyond or from any of the dirt roads nearby. Also, there were no farms or inhabitants within a radius of four miles in any direction. Nor would the original owner of the shack have recognized it by now, either. It was outfitted with luxurious Oriental rugs, two TV sets run from the power of electric generators (these also had been stolen by "the Leather Lashers" from a machinery shop about a month ago), even fine silverware for their meals, which comprised mainly hamburgers and soft drinks, chili and beans. There were even a couple of cots, mattresses and blankets, and a few comfortable chairs, all part of the loot which this gang had made off with since "Big Ed" had taken command.
On this warm, late June evening, three of the young toughs of the gang were there in the shack and with them two pretty young "Mamas." One of the young males was Buck Williams, seventeen, and the very one who had cost Marva a sound spanking from her aunt this same afternoon.
Buck Williams lived with his uncle on the outskirts of San Diego. His uncle was nearly sixty, ailing and doted on the boy as his only living relative. Buck's parents hadn't left him too much money when they died two years ago, but the youth was sure that Uncle Dan would more than double the ante when he kicked the bucket. Meanwhile, so long as he put in a token appearance at school and didn't cause too much hell so that the cops would come around and tell Uncle Dan, he knew perfectly well he could lead the life of Riley and he did. He had met "Big Ed" four months ago, and since he already owned a Honda, it was easy for him to become one of the "charter members" of "The Leather Lashers." Every male member was required to give proof of his virility upon initiation. This would be done by forcing him to have sex right on the floor of the shack in front of all the eyes of his peers with a girl who'd be chosen at random by "Big Ed" who officiated in his capacity as head of the gang. As a matter-of-fact, Marge had served to initiate young Buck Williams, and when she had looked pleadingly at her moronic, powerful lover to beg off, he had come over and cuffed her across the face and told her, "Take off your clothes and get ready to fuck, bitch, or we'll pull a train on you and beat the shit out of you and leave you out here for the buzzards."
So Marge had shiveringly obeyed and found young Buck's stamina and staying power exceptionally satisfying . . . so much so, that after the initiation, her "old man" gave her a thorough thrashing with his strap and told her that she didn't have to have shown such enthusiastic cooperation when Buck was fucking her. He had then proceeded to bugger her, something new for Marge, but when his finger prodded her clitoris, she was drawn to furious appeasement and quite forgave him this brutality.
Buck was naked now except for his corduroy trousers, and Jennie Phelps, a slim, hoydenish black-haired girl of sixteen, was knelling over him and playfully tweaking imaginary hairs from his bare chest. She wore blue jeans and a thin sleeveless blouse and was barefooted.
She wore neither panties nor bra under these garments, and she had lost her cherry when she was fourteen to her own first cousin, thereafter getting such an appetite for cock that she soon became a "camp follower" to this ruthless young gang of predatory males. She had attached herself to Buck because he had wavy brown hair, pleasant features, didn't beat up on the girls too much, and seemed to be a pretty nice guy by comparison. He was shrewd enough to know that violence might get him into trouble with the law and there were times when he guardedly told "Big Ed" that it might be wise to lie low and not pull so many raids because by now the Highway Patrol was well advised as to the gang's existence. "Big Ed" had called him chicken and told him if he didn't like it, he could drop out any time.
Over on another cot, Ken Torrance, a towheaded, gangling youth of eighteen, who owned an expensive 'Topper" motorbike, was sprawled in just his shorts, and storm-trooper jackboots. Elsie Ainsley was lying atop him, naked except for her blouse and bobby socks, tantalizing him by rubbing her surprisingly thick-furred pussy against his stiff young ramrod. Elsie was seventeen, had straw-colored hair which fell in a thick cascade nearly to the small of her back, had a mournful and wistful face, heightened by high-set cheekbones, sullen mouth and dark-blue eyes, and a slight case of acne. Nevertheless, she was known as the best Trencher" in the entire gang, and she was insatiable for cock in every orifice of her body, including her bum hole and even between her titties and her bellybutton. Whenever there was a "train" to be pulled, Elsie would always volunteer. She lived at home with an elderly grandmother, her parents having separated years ago and her grandfather having died just last Christmas. Elsie also knew that there was money in the bank for her future and that her grandmother would leave more when she died, which wouldn't be too far off from now. So she too could give vent to all her immature emotions without fear of detection.
Finally her hunger for fucking overcame her desire to tease, and finally inserted the youth's cock inside her pussy and sank down, groaning with joy as she felt him pierce her to the very hilt. Clamping his booted legs over hers, his hands cupping her big round titties, he let her do all the work.
The other youth was Jack Danvers, nineteen, with dark-brown crew cut and sturdy build, a high school dropout and a wealthy young parasite who was another instance of parental breakdown, too much money and permissiveness. His parents were technically separated though still married. But his father had at least one regular mistress in San Francisco and fucked his secretary whenever he traveled which was often, while his mother was in between the throes of a lesbian affair with one of her husband's own former girlfriends and a passionate fucking partnership with a handsome young Italian grocery clerk in town. The result was that Jack was left to his own devices, and he too was careful enough to put in an appearance in school to keep up his grades so the truant officer wouldn't come looking. What he did on weekends like now, was his own business. He watched the antics of the two couples on the other cots, and then swung his feet to the floor and stood up and yawned, scratching his head. "Shit," he grumbled, "Where are all the rest of the bitches? Here I am horny as hell and there's no pussy around."
'You're breaking my heart," Ken sneered as he gripped hold of Elsie's sinewy and rather lean bottom globes, which contrasted with her big bubbies, and began to arch himself up to meet her squirming wriggles. "Wait till Elsie's hauled my rocks, she'll take care of yours, won't you, bitch?"
"Oh yeah, man," the nymphomaniacal teenager breathed, closing her eyes and shivering. "But not now, I'm too close, oh lover, screw me good, pinch my ass and slap it, that'll hurry me along!"
Buck sniggered from his cot. "Hey, if it's pussy you want, what we ought to do is go find ourselves a couple of cherries, bring them here and pop them on celebration night. Hey, man, did I ever see a stacked chick this afternoon!"
"Where, old buddy?" Jack wanted to know, moving over to the cot and watching with interest as Jennie Phelps now bowed her head and began to French her young lover. "Oh, Jeez, Jennie cut it out, you're driving me nuts!"
'That's too bad," Jennie looked up impishly and stuck her tongue out at him, "I know you just love it, but I don't go for you, and I'm Buck's mama until somebody says otherwise."
That indeed was the law of this ruthless gang of young toughies. On occasion, it was true, the leader "Big Ed" could command some of the "groupies" to perform at his behest, but generally the relationship between a girl and her guy was respected. Marge had won the dubious honor of "Queen Mama," and no youth could dare to make any approach to her without "Big Ed" first allowing it-which of course he did purely out of his own sadistic viciousness to watch this mature woman humble herself and lie naked on the floor to be fucked by a younger man or perhaps and French the youth wile he stood by commenting lewdly on her abilities and potential fucking talents. But since she was a masochist, she doted on this kind of demeaning treatment.
"Tell me about this chick," Jack said, ignoring Jennie's taunting remark.
"Well, man, like she was really built, that's all! Oh she's cherry, you can tell by the look. Brown hair, a sexy face, nice dark skin-not too dark, though-and boy, what an ass and tits on her! I was just passing the time of day with the little bitch, pretending I wanted to know how to get to San Diego. Boy, did she fall for it! I'll betcha if I'd tried, she'd gotten on my motorbike with me and come along here for the ride."
"Why the fuck didn't you bring her then, anyhow?" Jack disconsolately grumbled, rubbing his crotch where his stiffening young cock threatened to burst through his fly, the result of watching Elsie and Jennie in action with his cronies.
"Look, I know where the little bitch lives, we can always pick her up some time," Buck lazily responded. "Come on, Jennie, work me off, I've got a load for you, baby!"
And thus, unknowingly, lovely young Marva Dayton who had suffered an ignominious bare-bottom spanking from her aunt for the "crime" of having spoken to a leather-jacketed young touch, was to pay an even dearer price for having caught that same young marauder's imagine.