Rancho Diablo

by Michael O'Connor

  As though she had not heard her, Dina leaped from her chair and threw herself at her mother’s feet, wrapping both arms around one of her thighs. Momma glared at Jenna, more with hatred than fear.

  “Which one of you should I shoot first?” she wondered.

  “Not me!” Dina shrieked. “I’ll be your slavey girl, if you don’t kill me.”

  “Shut your fucking mouth!” her mother hissed.

  “That’s a nice idea,” said Jenna. “You really want to be my slavey girl?”

  Dina nodded vigorously.

  “Okay,” she said. “Tie momma’s hands. Use her shirt.”

  Dina removed her mother’s shirt, tore off several strips, and used them to tightly bind her wrists. When the woman protested and began struggling, Jenna rammed the shotgun barrel into her belly.

  “I’d like nothing better than to splatter your ass all over this room,” she rasped. “Get up on the table.”

  “You’re making a big mistake, slavey girl,” momma warned. “We saved your ass from those men. We planned to take good care of you. This ain’t the way to repay us.”

  “I know exactly how you planned to take care of me,” Jenna replied. “I’m going to count to three. If you’re not laid out on that table by the time I’ve finished, you’ll have a hole bigger than your stinking cunt. One!”

  Though trembling with fury, the woman was not tempted to find out if Jenna was bluffing. When she was lying on her back on the table, Jenna ordered her daughter to strip her. This was one task Dina needed no urging to perform. There were few things in the world she loved more than the sight of her mother’s naked body. Following Jenna’s instructions, she used two more strips of shirt to tie her ankles to two legs of the table.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” Jenna promised. “You won’t go anywhere, will you? Dina, the bedroom!”

  With the shotgun pressed into the small of her back, the girl led the way.

  “You don’t need the gun no more,” she protested. “I’m your slavey girl, now. I’ll do anything you tell me.”

  “Shut up and kneel,” Jenna retorted. “That’s it. Hands behind your back.”

  The handcuffs dangled from the head of the bed. Jenna snapped them around the girl’s wrists, then placed the shotgun carefully on the window ledge and picked up a whip that was lying on the floor. Even though she was well acquainted with the business end of such a weapon, she had never before held one in her hand. It gave her a feeling of power that was almost equal to the shotgun. She took a few practice lashes at the floor, before laying the leather across Dina’s bare buttocks. On the second stroke, the girl leaped to her feet, with a yelp. The whip hissed again, coiling around her thighs.

  In the heat of a sudden, overwhelming rage, Jenna scourged her mercilessly, making her leap around the bedroom, like a puppet on a string.

  “Stop.... stop...! Please!” she shrieked.

  “What’s the matter?” Jenna sneered. “Don’t you like being a slavey girl anymore?”

  Under a relentless hail of lashes, Dina made a desperate dive for the door. Jenna pursued her, shotgun in one hand, whip in the other. In a last ditch bid to escape her tormentor, Dina threw herself under the table.

  “Come out,” Jenna shouted, aiming the shotgun at her.

  “Don’t whip me no more,” she sobbed.

  “If you don’t come out, I’ll shoot you,” came the reply.

  The trembling girl emerged from under the table, whimpering for mercy. Jenna pushed her outside and ordered her to step into the hole she herself had only recently emerged from.

  “What you gonna do?” Dina demanded.

  “You’ll find out, slavey girl. Get into the hole, now! I’m in a fucking hurry.”

  When Dina was standing in the hole, Jenna put down the shotgun, picked up the shovel from nearby and began filling it in. When Dina’s protests became annoying, she silenced her with a whack of the shovel handle into her belly. She continued shovelling furiously, until the hillbilly girl was buried to her hips, her labia brushing the earth. Jenna spat in her face, before returning indoors, to finish dealing with momma.

  The woman was sitting up on the table, struggling to break free of her bonds.

  “Where’s the nearest town?” Jenna demanded, pressing the shotgun to her right breast.

  “You’ll never find it,” she cackled. “And I sure as hell ain’t telling.”

  “Guess I’ll have to ask Dina, then,” said Jenna. “I’ll just shoot you first.”

  Momma laughed. “Dina can’t help you. She ain’t never been beyond these hills. All she knows about town is that I go there to get supplies, once a month.”

  “Then you’d better tell me the way,” said Jenna. “I’m pissed off with you redneck rapists and I’m not in the mood to play games.”

  “Make me,” the woman sneered, defiantly. “Go on, be a tough girl. I ain’t scared of you.”

  Jenna’s finger tightened on the trigger, but she could not bring herself to cold bloodedly shoot another human being - even one as despicable as this. As she put down the shotgun, the woman laughed. Jenna slapped her across the face, hard enough to knock her flat onto her back again.

  “You’d better shoot me,” she snarled. “If you don’t, I swear to God I’ll make you the sorriest little bitch that ever crawled this earth.”

  “You don’t seem to appreciate the predicament you’re in,” Jenna replied. “Let me explain it to you.”

  Grabbing a tuft of momma’s pubic hair, she yanked it out by the roots. The woman hissed through clenched teeth, in rage and pain. Jenna plucked out a few more strands.

  “My little girl could do better than that,” the woman laughed.

  Jenna looked around for a suitable weapon with which to knock the smirk off her face. She picked up one of the dinner forks and jabbed it so hard into her left buttock that it remained stuck, when she removed her hand. The woman uttered a gasp, followed by another snigger. Jenna picked up the other fork and rammed it into her right cheek. It proved equally ineffective, despite the agony. Jenna thought the whip might prove a better means of persuasion.

  Momma cackled insanely, blood oozing from her buttocks, as the first lash burned a furrow across both breasts. She could have told Jenna she enjoyed receiving pain almost as much as she relished inflicting it, but that would have spoiled the fun. Her fat brown nipples swelled to inch long erections and her sex puckered wetly, as lash after lash seared her flesh. Jenna continued whipping her from head to foot, until her arm ached. When she finally dropped the whip, the woman was still giggling, drenched in sweat and streaked with whip burns.

  “I’ll break you,” Jenna panted.

  “I’m shaking with fear,” momma laughed.

  Jenna’s gaze came to rest on the stove and the long black poker standing in a rack next to it. She picked it up and plunged it into the fire. Her mind was made up. Either this mad hillbilly dyke would tell her what she wanted to know, or she would meet a most agonising fate.

  When Jenna pulled the poker from the fire, a couple of minutes later, the point glowed red hot. For the first time, momma’s look became one of genuine fear.

  “Maybe you’ll talk with this up your ass,” said Jenna.

  The point touched the crinkled rim of the woman’s anus. Hearing her mother’s scream from inside the cabin, Dina began scrabbling more frantically with her cuffed hands, vainly struggling to extricate herself from the hole in the ground. Jenna held the poker in readiness to thrust into the throbbing rectum of her victim.

  “Prairie Cove!” momma screamed. “It’s about twelve miles down river. Oh God, my fucking asshole! You evil little bitch.”

  “Careful,” Jenna cautioned her.

  She touched the poker to both breasts of the screaming woman, then threw it to the floor. She dese
rved far more prolonged torture, but Jenna’s priority had to be escape.

  In the bedroom, she put on a plain pink cotton dress that must have belonged to Dina, and a pair of sandals. She could not find any underwear. She filled a knapsack with some supplies from the fridge. As she was about to shut the door, she spotted a half empty wine bottle. She emptied the contents over momma, then forced several inches of the neck of the bottle into her anus, eliciting a fresh shriek of agony.

  “I can’t say it was nice meeting you,” she said, picking up the shotgun. “Sorry I can’t stay longer, to pay you back properly for all your hospitality.”

  “You can’t leave me like this!” momma cried.

  Jenna smiled. “Watch me.”

  The enraged screams of the woman followed her from the cabin and out to where Dina waited helplessly.

  “Take me with you,” she pleaded. “I’ll be your slavey girl forever.”

  “I’ve had enough of slavey girls,” Jenna replied.

  Before turning her back on the whimpering girl, she rammed the handle of the whip into her rectum, leaving her with a four foot tail of black leather trailing behind her. It occurred to her that the crazed mother and daughter might be unable to free themselves, but she did not care. A lingering death in bondage was no more than either deserved.

  She took the boat and began to row down the narrow river. Once the cabin was out of sight, Dina and her momma were forgotten. Jenna could think only of the town ahead, and freedom at last. She prayed her sister was still at Rancho Diablo, so that she could be set free, along with all the other slaves, when the cops raided the hell hole.

  Half an hour later, her arms were aching from the exertions of continuous rowing. The funereal pace of the boat was frustrating, but she could not make it move any faster. The tight cotton dress, now drenched in sweat, was plastered against her body. As the sun slowly set, the trees on either side of the river seemed to close in on her. She had to make it to Prairie Cove before nightfall.

  Rounding a bend in the river, she was startled by the sight of a nude figure, a hundred yards in front of her. The man was standing thigh deep in the middle of the river, splashing water over his hairy barrel chest. He and Jenna spotted one another in the exact same instant. She could not be sure if he was one of the men from Rancho Diablo, but either way, she was taking no chances. She pulled in the oars and reached for the shotgun at her feet, as the boat drifted towards him.

  Even when he saw the weapon being raised, he did not move. As she drew nearer, she saw a thin smile crack the black bearded mask of his face. It was not a welcoming expression.

  “Move out of my fucking way,” she muttered. “Oh God, don’t make me shoot him.”

  Man and boat were only yards apart now. Jenna pressed the stock of the shotgun firmly against her right shoulder, finger whitening on the trigger. His chest was squarely in her sights. At this range, she could not miss. Gold capped teeth glinted in his broadening grin. He stretched out his arms, as though to embrace the oncoming boat. On the end of his right wrist was a silver steel claw. Jenna mentally counted to three, then squeezed the trigger.

  The blast was deafening. The recoil of the powerful weapon slammed her backwards and she toppled from the boat. The shotgun flew from her hands and she hit the water, with a loud cry. She thought she saw the big man fall, but it had all happened too fast to be certain. Water rushed into her mouth and nose, as she went under, limbs flailing desperately. In the next panic stricken moment, she felt a powerful pair of arms hooking under her armpits and dragging her to the surface. She continued to thrash helplessly, as she was hauled onto the riverbank and laid out on her back.

  She rolled onto her side, coughing up water and fighting for air. It took her a few minutes to recover. She rolled onto her back again and saw half a dozen bearded faces gazing down at her. One belonged to the naked man she thought she had shot.

  “What the fuck is this?” demanded a tall and handsome figure, with dreadlocked blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

  “A bitch playing Rambo,” the gold toothed man replied. He leaned over Jenna, with a broad leer. “You missed, little girl. You shoot at Clawfinger, you better not miss, cos you ain’t gonna get a second chance.”

  Jenna started to rise. A multi-buckled boot on the right foot of the blonde man pressed on her chest, pushing her back down.

  “At ease, baby,” he growled. “Why’d you try to blow a hole in Clawfinger?”

  “He was in my way,” she gasped. “You’re hurting me!”

  “Awww, Chaim, you’re hurting the little Rambo lady,” Clawfinger sneered. “That ought to be my privilege, seeing as I’m the one she tried to turn into fish food.”

  “Where did she come from?” The voice belonged to a slender, chestnut haired girl, who appeared by the side of the blonde man.

  “Must be a mermaid,” he snapped. “Get your ass back to the campsite, Tori. When I need you here, I’ll call.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she muttered, turning away.

  He hurried her away with a smack to her denim sheathed rear, before returning his full attention to Jenna.

  “Let me tell you something, shotgun baby,” he said, his boot pressing harder on her chest. “There’s two ways to come calling on the Hell Kings. If you’re a man, you carry a couple of big guns, and you don’t come alone. If you’re a bitch, you come on your knees. What you did was most unfriendly.”

  “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

  He shook his head. “No baby, you ain’t sorry. Not yet.”

  “But you will be,” Clawfinger gleefully added. “Me and the other Kings will see to that.”

  Chaim snapped his fingers. “Bring her to the party.”

  Several men lifted Jenna off the ground and carried her a short distance, to a wide circle of clear ground among the trees. A ring of garishly coloured tents formed the border of the campsite. Parked beside the tents were the gleaming iron horses of their owners. A purple flag with a bloodstained axe insignia fluttered on a pole above the big black tepee which belonged to Chaim, Captain of the Hell Kings. A shiny purple camper van, also bearing the bloody axe logo, was parked near the tepee.

  Jenna was flung to the ground, beside the smouldering campfire. The entire gang assembled to inspect her. She counted a total of eleven men and five women, and not a friendly face among the lot. The girl called Tori moved to Chaim’s side, regarding the captured girl with naked contempt.

  “What do you plan on doing with her?” she demanded.

  “Serving up justice, Hell Kings style,” he replied.

  “It’d be quicker to just tie a rock around her ankles and throw her back in the river,” she said.

  “But not as much fun,” he growled, pushing her away. “Clawfinger, you’re the one nearly got his ass blown away. What form of justice do you propose?”

  His gold smile glinted. “I reckon we ought to spread the bitch, for a start. Then, we can all have some fun.”

  Two huge Harleys were rolled out and kick-started into life. The roar of the engines was ear-splitting. Jenna was held down by a pair of hairy bikers, as Chaim and Clawfinger roped her ankles. The free ends of the ropes were secured to the tails of the two Harleys. At a signal from Chaim, the riders nudged them into gear and twisted the throttle grips. The machines surged forward, in opposite directions, pulling the ropes taut. Jenna screamed in agony as her legs were pulled wide apart. The riders braked only a split second before she would have been ripped in two.

  Clawfinger gripped the front of her dress in the pincers of his steel hand and ripped it open, as easily as if it were made of papier mache. The sight of her nakedness was greeted by an excited murmur from the bikers.

  “What’s this?” Chaim demanded, prodding the D on her left buttock with the toe of his right boot.

  “The brand of Rancho Diablo,�
� she croaked. “I was a slave there.”

  “A runaway slave!” Clawfinger grinned, clamping her right nipple in his pincers. “Satan has been good to us tonight.”

  Jenna shrieked again, as the pincers squeezed tight and twisted her nipple. More hands than she could count roughly pawed her body, fingers poking her orifices. The grip of the steel claw on her nipple was excruciating. One of the bikers started to unzip his jeans.

  “Hang back, bro,” Clawfinger warned. “I’ve got first claim on this bitch.”

  The wild haired man did not argue. He could wait his turn. Finally releasing his mind numbing grip on her nipple, Clawfinger turned and hurried to his tent. He returned a moment later, wearing a greasy denim cutoff. It was identical to that worn by the other gang members, bearing the bloody axe motif and the gothic lettered legend HELL KINGS, underneath. In his left fist, he carried a roll of copper wire. His cock swung before him, like a truncheon.

  “Best do this in true Hell Kings style,” he said, uncoiling the wire.

  Gripping Jenna’s right nipple between his teeth, he wound the end of the wire around it, pulled tightly and knotted it. He uncoiled several yards of the wire, snipped it with his steel claw and handed it to Chaim. While the biker Captain tied the wire around a nearby tree trunk, pulling Jenna’s breast to one side, Clawfinger attached another strand of wire to her left nipple and wound it tightly around an opposite tree. The wire was so tight, it almost cut through her nipples.

  “Someone’s really been whipping this bitch,” said Clawfinger, observing the red lash weals streaking her body.

  Two wooden stakes were hammered into the ground and Jenna’s wrists lashed to them with strands of wire. From her neck down, she could scarcely move a muscle. For the time being, she was Clawfinger’s alone. The rest of the gang stood by, watching and waiting, like a pack of hungry wolves. The women seemed just as eager as their male companions to see her punished.

  Clawfinger picked up a bunch of nettles in his claw and rubbed them lightly over both stretched breasts. The stinging brought tears to Jenna’s eyes, even though she was already in agony. He covered her chest with a blanket of stinging nettles, then turned his attention to the puckering gash between her thighs. His claw pinched a pink fleshy petal and stretched it until she screamed. He worked his claw up inside her slit, before opening it out. Cold steel pushed against her vaginal walls, forcibly stretching. As Jenna began howling in the most hideous agony, a small, ash blonde girl with oriental features, looked away. She winced, but did not plead for sympathy for the tortured captive.