Chapter 4
"Well, it's better than staying in here." Cindy shivered. She felt frightened, for some reason. She'd heard stories about how people who'd broken down on the Southeast Expressway disappeared, their bodies to be found weeks later, decomposing in a field. Three women had wound up that way in the past two months. Thank God, she had Jack Maginn with her!
"If we sit here long enough, the State Patrol's bound to stop and find out what's the problem. I knew I shouldn't have turned down the offer for a CB," Jack muttered, putting both hands on the wheel and staring straight ahead.
Cindy hugged her arms around her waist, feeling hurt, guilty and angry at the same time. It wasn't her fault the car had broken down, although she felt responsible, in a way.
"See, somebody's pulling up behind us already. Thank God for those state taxes," Jack said, twisting around in his seat and unlocking the door.
Cindy felt a blast of cold wind as he got out, then slammed the door behind him. She couldn't see too well through the fogged rear window. There were several lights-the headlights of a state patrol car and a towtruck, she guessed. She couldn't hear anything going on for several seconds and guessed they were deciding where the nearest garage was to which they could be towed. In a way, this breakdown was a godsend. She'd tell her mother the two of them had spent all this time in the car, waiting to be rescued. Her mother might still be suspicious, but not as suspicious as Cindy had feared she would.
Suddenly, the girl heard the sounds of a violent struggle going on near the back of the car. She felt panic leap to her throat as she saw Jack suddenly spin around by the side of the window and go down in the hard dirt by the side of the road.
"Oh, God!" the girl cried.
Someone had jumped on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground while beating him savagely in the face and chest. Whoever it was was pummeling his fists mercilessly into the young lawyer, turning his body into a broken, bloody heap.
Cindy kept screaming, beating her fists against the window, crying for the man to stop attacking Jack, and yet, too terrified to open the door and try to help. When she saw the man slowly rise from Jack's twisted, still body and turn to face her, the young girl let out a sharp cry.
It was one of those horrible bikers who had been following her for the past few days. He was here, and he was standing only a few feet from the window, his big hands on his hips, a sneer on his face.
"HELP! HELP!" the girl shrieked, scooting back on her ass, away from the window.
She turned around and started pounding on the other window. She screamed again, shrinking back when another face presented itself on that side. It was another biker. Looking around, the terrified teenager realized that most of the gang was there, their bikes hauled to the side of the road to prevent too much notice from the speeding motorists.
They cupped their hands and peered into the darkened car, laughing, shoving their tongues out and licking the glass lewdly as Cindy screamed and gathered her coat more tightly around her body. She felt her heart pounding wildly.
Oh, why wouldn't the police come and find her? Certainly anyone could see she was in trouble. Jack was unconscious in the frozen mud. But the bad driving conditions and bad weather took the attention away from the stranded car and strange band of bikers standing around it.
Suddenly, the terrified teenager felt the car rocking. Those bikers were laughing and moving the car, jumping on it, making it rock from side to side. Cindy slipped from the seat to the floor, hitting her forehead against the padded dashboard. She heard them laughing harder and making the car rock more, until she found it hard to steady herself.
"STOP IT! STOP IT!" she cried, digging her fingernails into the upholstery while fighting back the tears welling up in her eyes.
Then suddenly, she heard something hard hit the wide window by the steering wheel. Someone was trying to break the glass. She saw one biker move away from the door. He had something long and black in his hand. He hit the glass again, but nothing happened. Cindy sobbed, shrinking to the floor, pressing her ass against the far door as she heard the other bikers cheering him on.
There was another blow, this time more successful than the first. Spiderweb cracks appeared all over the glass, and a few rounded pieces of the shattered window flew onto Cindy's coat. She screamed, grabbing her throat with both hands, her eyes bugging out as the metal object shattered the window completely, this time. Glass flew everywhere, petting the girl in the face.
"Get her!" someone shouted.
"No ... help . . . HELP!" Cindy screamed. She saw a gloved hand dart in and unlock the door. A bearded young man wearing a leather jacket slid in quickly, stretching out one hand and trying to grab her arm.
"NO, NO!" Cindy cried, pushing back harder against the door and kicking her booted feet against the young man.
He laughed, drawing back slightly, then stretched out his hand, again.
"Leave me alone, leave me . . . " Cindy never got a chance to finish her sentence.
The big bearded cyclist grabbed her foot and twisted it hard. The young brunette shrieked at the excruciating pain, her arms flailing, hitting the dashboard and front seat cushion. Her head snapped back and smashed against the door handle. Cindy found her body twisting around in the narrow space between the dash and the seat in an attempt to relieve the agonizing pain. She could feel sweat breaking out all over her body, making her warm clothes stick to her flesh.
"Play any fuckin' games with me, baby, and I'll break that fucker for you!" the big man growled, twisting her leg hard again and laughing as he watched Cindy's ass rise high, then fall back down after he let go.
The girl curled up into a tight ball, tucking her injured leg under her buttocks and wiping away the tears from her face. She could feel the harsh cold wind whipping in behind the sneering biker.
"Wh-what . . . do you . . . want?" Cindy stammered.
She was staring like a hunted, cornered little animal, at the big man. He raised one gloved hand and wiped the spittle flecking his unkempt brown beard. He was awful looking, a demon sent straight from hell! Cindy felt her flesh crawl as she heard him panting heavily. It was the same kind of breathing Jack had had when he was sexually excited. But somehow, now it all seemed obscene, dirty.
"Your fuckin' little cunt, bitch! We ain't been followin' you all this time for nothin'! You don't think we just sort of came up on you, do you?" The big biker was laughing at her, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. While he talked to her, he stretched out his gloved hand again, running his fingers along her leg.
Cindy shivered with revulsion and terror but didn't dare try anything. She remembered the pain in her ankle, and knew he'd do the same thing-maybe worse-if she tried to kick or push him away. Still, she felt her belly turning over when his fingers pushed her skirt up, exposing her knee, then more and more of her thigh. The big man licked his lower lip in excitement, inhaling a deep breath, then letting it out slowly.
"You're gonna be one hell of a fuck, once we get you back to the farm, babe."
"Please, let me go. 1 promise, I won't do anything or tell on you!"
"Hey, Rick, come on! It's fuckin' cold out here! Get the little bitch outta there and let's get the fuck goin'," someone shouted from outside.
"Comin'," he growled over his shoulder, then turned back and clamped both hands on her ankles and dragged Cindy, screaming, from the car.
The young girl clawed at the stick shift, the steering wheel-anything to stop this horror. She banged her head as her bare ass rubbed along the center hump. Her skirt was rolled up to her waist as she slipped over the outer lip of the doorframe and fell with a thud onto the frozen mud. She tried to scramble to safety, but hands were all over her. The man, called Rick, grabbed her hard, pinning her arms behind her back and holding them tightly to her ass while another, thinner man snapped what felt like ice-cold manacles over her wrists. Her flesh felt as if something were cutting it. Those cuffs were knifing into her flesh, probably making her bleed!
"Stop yelping! Nobody's gonna see us or hear you," Rick snarled, raising his right hand high over his head.
Cindy cried out again as she saw his paw-like fist slice through the cold dark air. There was a sharp jolt of pain across her jaw and cheek. The girl's head snapped back from the force of the blow, and her long black hair whipped across her face. She staggered sideways, barely catching herself from falling into a small ravine at the side of the road. Brightly colored spots popped in front of her dazzled eyes, and her mind buzzed and spun crazily around and around. Cindy could taste something warm and salty in her mouth. She was bleeding!
"Ohhh, no, please, don't hurt me!" she cried, lowering her eyes and feeling her knees shaking, both from the cold and from terror.
"Better. We been followin' you. We saw you go home with that buddy of yours. We know where you live, you little whore. Whaddaya do, tell your old lady you was sick or somethin' and had to stay in town for a while? SheeitI" Rick was laughing as he stared menacingly at her. "You was gettin' a good fuck, wasn't you?"
Cindy said nothing, still looking at the ground. She was stalling for time, hoping someoneanyone-would come and find them.
"Wasn't you?" Rick shouted, reaching out and grabbing a handful of her silky hair. He jerked it back hard, nearly tearing it out by its roots.
Cindy jerked her head back again, her eyelids fluttering and her forehead wrinkling up. Her lower jaw slackened, and a strangled sob of pain and terror escaped from her throat.
"Yes, oh my God, yes!" the girl cried out, feeling herself close to fainting.
"Better," Rick said, letting go of her hair. Cindy stumbled backward, then regained her balance again. "Come on, let's get the little cunt on and get goin'," he said, brushing his hands together and swaggering down the road toward his bike. Someone grabbed Cindy by the wrists and hauled her back hard. She doubled over, her hair curtaining her face as she desperately fought to keep from stumbling over the frozen, uneven ground. There were nearly ten bikers there, all riding single. Most had pulled their machines to one side and down into a shallow ravine to prevent anyone from noticing that many parked bikes: "Okay, sweet ass. I'm gonna take these fuckin' cuffs off. But you try anything and I swear, I'll knock you off the back of this bike and leave you for hamburger on the expressway, understand?" Cindy nodded silently, sighing with relief when she felt the manacles slip from her wrists. She rubbed them together, looking sharply around for any sign of help. Nothing-no one had even noticed the brutal beating by the side of Jack's car. The big lawyer, she guessed, was still lying unconscious on the roadway. Oh God, he might even be dead! What kind of monsters had she run into?
"Up!"
The command was followed by a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, picking her up, grunting, from the ground. The young brunette bent her knees, swinging one leg over the large black Harley, in front of her. The big biker settled her onto the cold leather seat, then told her to hold on tight to his waist as he climbed on and kicked back the resting stand with his booted foot. Cindy twisted around and looked behind her. No, she couldn't get away. There were three more bikers behind her, all crouching down behind their windshields, but more than willing to jump off and get her if she tried to break away.
"Oh!" Cindy cried as she felt the engine switch on and roar like a jet engine. The big bike shook into life and rumbled down the shoulder, swerving to the left, then climbing onto the highway.
Cindy locked her icy fingers together and held on tight, lowering her head and burying her face into the back of the biker as they shot down the expressway, away from Boston. The wind whipped through her hair, making her face numb with cold. Occasionally, the frightened brunette opened her eyes and saw the countryside whipping by. She saw the exit to her house and let out a moan of despair.
If only she hadn't stopped with Jack at his townhouse, she would have been safe at home, buried under the covers, wondering what the next day would hold. But no, she had to be curious; she had to take care of the itchy ache driving her crazy. And now, she was going to pay for it.
They drove for at least an hour. It was nearly nine o'clock when they turned off the expressway onto a narrow country road. Cindy raised her head again, peering over the shoulder of the biker. There were few homes in the area. One or two cars passed them on the other side, but no one was ahead or behind them. On either side, forests of pine and foxglove grew tightly together, their leaves long since fallen away. In the full moonlight, the whitened trunks and bare branches looked like a collection of bones, heaped atop one another. Cindy shivered at the sight, and at her suspicion that she was going to wind up that way.
They turned again, after twenty minutes, onto a narrow dirt road. She could feel the bike downshifting. It lurched forward, shuddered, then took hold of itself and started up a relatively steep incline. Cindy held on tightly, even though her fingers ached with the cold and the effort. They bounced along for several minutes, twisting and turning, climbing higher and higher in what she guessed was the Blue Mountain range just outside of Brocton. The air seemed to grow colder, drier. She felt her scalp crinkling from the cold. Even through her thick woolen coat, Cindy could feel her flesh puckering up into goosepimples. When she was about to ask where they were going, she felt the bike slow down, then, finally, stop.
"Okay, we're here. Get off," the biker growled. Cindy unlocked her fingers and raised her leg, swinging it gingerly back over the Harley, and stumbled off the bike. She hugged her body closely, stamping her feet and looking nervously around her.
At first, all she could see was that they were in a large clearing, surrounded by towering firs. Overhead, the blue-black sky gleamed with stars and the full moon. Then, the young brunette saw a medium-sized wooden farmhouse, fronted by a sagging porch. There were several small sheds and other farm buildings scattered around the edges of the clearing, obviously in a bad state of disrepair. It hadn't been used for its original purpose in years.
"Well, Miss High-and-Mighty, we're gonna take you down a couple o' pegs. I'll teach you to call the fuckin' pigs on us!" Rick snarled, raising his right hand again.
Cindy shrieked, covering her face with both hands and sinking, terrified, to her knees. No, he wasn't going to hurt her again!
Oh, God, protect me!
"Hey, man, she's learnin' fast!" the biker Cindy had rode with said, laughing with the others, who by this time, had also crawled off.
"Take 'er inside," Rick said, turning around and heading back toward his bike. "Gotta check out the ignition. Think it's shortin' out."
Cindy stumbled forward, shrinking away from the bikers, who shouted obscenities at her-taunting her, laughing at her. She felt like screaming.
"Get inside," one biker growled, shoving her roughly through the door and slamming it hard behind her.
Cindy stood in the middle of what had once been the living room. Now, everything was in ruin. The tattered carpet had been rolled up and shoved to one corner of the large central room. There were several overstuffed chairs, a sofa, coffee table, floor lamps, even a cupboard-all torn, partially broken, covered with dust. Several sleeping bags lay in varying states of neatness around the sofa. The gang was evidently using this deserted farm as a kind of hideout.
Fighting back the sobs, Cindy, still hugging her tits, walked to one window, leaned against the wall and looked through the dirty, cracked glass. She saw the sky, then turned away. She'd had enough of the winter night. All those stars in that cloudless dark sky! It all seemed so peaceful, while below, she was being tortured by these horrible men. Cindy was sure it would get below freezing, tonight.
Sighing deeply, Cindy sat on the floor, using a blanket thrown over one of the sleeping bags to cover several jagged stone and wood shards. The splinters cut through her buttocks. Cindy tried to concentrate on what had happened to her and Jack, trying to find a way to escape from these horrible men. But the constant chill and the wood and rock chips, digging into her butt, distracted her.
Without thinking about it, she raised her hips, hiked her skirt to her waist, and settled back down. Oh, it was horrible, filthy, what she was going to do-jack herself off with these inanimate objects. But there was a sudden, mad desire making her pussy so hot so wet, so wild! She'd read, somewhere, that when people were frightened or being tortured, they actually felt sexy-something to do with an increase in body hormones.
Well, Cindy could see for herself, the doctor who wrote the article was right. She should have been trying to think of ways to escape, but instead, she had spread her cuntlips apart, gasping as the cold, sharp wood and cement chips on the floor touched her sensitive cuntlips through her forest of wiry black cunthairs.
Cindy gasped again, lowering her skirt and starting to get up, when she heard someone on the steps of the porch. Then the noise disappeared, and the girl-terrified out of her wits and yet, drooling cuntjuice-went back to her shards.