Rancho Diablo

by Michael O'Connor

  Zoe could barely walk, when she was taken down from the cross. A hooded Master led her to the yard, where the twenty-three other slaves stood in line for inspection, hands behind bowed heads, chests thrust out, legs wide apart.

  “It’s her!” Dina whispered excitedly.

  Her mother had already noticed the girl she thought was Jenna - the girl responsible for their present predicament. Snarling with a primeval fury, she leaped out of line, to throw herself at the blonde girl. A Master shouted and a whiplash scorched her back, but little short of a bullet was going to stop her getting her hands on Zoe and tearing her limb from limb.

  Zoe hardly knew what hit her, as she was knocked to the ground. Fingers clawed at her face and hair, feral teeth sank into her right breast. A pair of Masters tried to drag the maddened woman from on top of her, but were stopped by Troy. Few spectacles gave him more pleasure than a full blooded catfight, especially if the combatants were hell bent on murdering one another.

  “That girl is no good to me dead,” said the Ringmistress.

  “I won’t let her be killed,” Troy promised.

  Already weakened by her tortures, Zoe was stunned by the ferocity of the surprise attack. She could feel the blood oozing warmly from her breast as the woman sank her teeth in again. In a blind panic, she tugged at her hair with both hands, bringing a knee up between her thighs. The latter action was the most effective. Repeated rapes had left momma’s pussy tender and throbbing. The impact of Zoe’s knee sent a shockwave through her guts, causing her to release her breast. The girl scrabbled from under her and broke free.

  She did not get far. The woman grabbed one of her ankles and brought her to the ground. Whooping excitedly, Dina made a dash to help her mother. Two whips rained lashes down upon her, as she rolled to the dirt, kicking and screaming. Her mother shrieked curses, as she kicked and punched Zoe, who seemed incapable of fighting back.

  “Crawl, bitch!” momma yelled. “You ain’t gettin’ away again.”

  Zoe tried to raise herself to her knees, but was sent sprawling with a kick to the head. Had her attacker not been barefoot, the blow could have killed her.

  “Tell them to stop whipping that girl,” said the Ringmistress, pointing towards Dina. “I want her in one piece.”

  Troy reluctantly called a halt to the merciless punishment and ordered the girl to be chained in her stall. Zoe was bleeding from her bitten breast and broken lower lip. Her attacker dragged her across the yard by the hair, hauled her to her feet and threw her forward against the barbed wire of the corral. As she slumped to her knees, screaming and bleeding, a pair of hands gripped her throat. Momma cackled insanely, squeezing hard. Zoe was powerless to shake off her grip. Her head spun, as she croaked for breath.

  Troy’s whip snaked through the air and coiled around momma’s throat. With a strangled shriek, she released Zoe and clawed at the leather constrictor with both hands. A tug on the whip brought her to her knees. Troy laid her out on the ground, by planting a booted foot heavily on her chest.

  After Dina had been secured in the barn, he ordered the hooded Masters to put her mother on the gallows. She was to be punished with thirty lashes, before being made “ranch bait”. Zoe was given a few minutes to recover from the worst of her ordeal, before Troy hauled her to her feet and pushed her back into line, with the other slaves.

  “That was exciting!” breathed the Ringmistress. “Though it does take half the fun out of my selection process.” She clicked her fingers. “Nyra!”

  A girl with crew cut blonde hair and boyishly beautiful features stepped forward. She was one of the pair who had arrived in the army truck. Her companion was similarly uniformed. As the Ringmistress studiously inspected each slave, fondling and probing with rubber gloved hands, the girl noted down details on her clipboard. At the end of the inspection, six girls were ordered to step forward. The remainder were herded back into the corral.

  “Two out of these six shall complete my collection,” the Ringmistress told Troy. “This is where my selection process begins. I presume you have a wide range of equipment here.”

  “This is a slave ranch,” he retorted. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

  “You will enjoy it,” she promised, before turning to address the six apprehensive slaves. “I shall be taking two of you away with me. The tests that follow will determine which two. You do not need to know where I shall be taking you, only that it is a big step closer to freedom.”

  At the mention of that magic word, the faces of the six lit up. Now that they had swallowed the Ringmistress’ lie, each would push herself to the very limits. Had she told them the truth, they would strive to be kept in the lesser hell of Rancho Diablo.

  Along with Dina, the bloodied and battered Zoe was spared the ordeal of the selection process. But the thought of being taken from the ranch filled her with dismay, rather than joy. If she was taken somewhere else, Jenna’s help would come too late.

  For the first test, the remaining six slaves were lined up on all fours, in front of the ranch house. Each had a three foot long chain attached to her labia, by means of steel clamps. Hooked to the other end of each chain was a thick round log.

  “Go!” Troy shouted, cracking his whip in the dust. “Don’t stop until you reach the front gates.”

  The slaves began moving at a snails pace, gasping as the stones cut into their hands and knees. The chains grew taut, then their painfully stretched pussies began dragging the full weight of the logs behind them.

  “Move, sluts!” the Ringmistress barked, drawing her razor whip.

  The slaves felt the sting on their buttocks as she lashed each one in turn, drawing tiny lines of blood. Even then, they could not move much faster.

  Twenty minutes passed before the first girl reached the front gates. The others were close behind. All six were sweating and sobbing in pain. All the while, the uniformed blonde continued taking notes.

  “Keeping score?” asked Troy.

  “I have already decided which two girls I’m going to take,” the Ringmistress replied. “These tests are just a little cruel fun. I trust you don’t mind me abusing your slaves in this manner.”

  “I never object to a slave being abused in any manner,” Troy replied. “Especially by a guest. What do you plan for them now?”

  She smiled thinly. “I think we ought to make their return journey somewhat more painful.”

  Once she had explained her plan to Troy, the necessary equipment was hurriedly brought by his assistant Masters. A plastic drum was placed on the ground behind the slaves. Troy and the three hooded Masters gathered around to urinate into it. When they had finished, the Ringmistress stood over the drum, unzipped her skin of rubber at the crotch and contributed a steaming stream from between the diamond studded folds of her tightly manicured sex. Her three assistants were then invited to do the same. Each squatted over the drum, trousers and panties around her knees and urinated freely, unembarrassed by the lustful stares of the men.

  “That should be more than enough to fill all four to bursting point,” the Ringmistress pronounced, afterwards.

  A lid was screwed onto the drum and the attached length of rubber tubing pushed between the buttocks of the first slave. Troy bore down on the plunger and the girl gasped, as warm piss flooded her belly. He continued pumping until she was screaming in agony.

  “Don’t even think about emptying your ass without my permission,” said the Ringmistress, brandishing her razor whip. “Unless you care for six lashes of my pet weapon.”

  When all six girls had had their bottoms pumped full of piss, they were commanded to stand up and begin walking back in the direction of the house, with their hands held high above their heads. Only when they had reached the front porch would they be permitted to relieve themselves. The razor whip would punish those who failed the test.

  Fa
ces contorted in agony, the slaves moved awkwardly in the direction of the ranch house, dragging their logs behind them. When they had gone a short distance, the Ringmistress unclipped a thin, twelve inch black plastic pipe from her belt.

  “A simple but exquisitely sadistic little weapon,” she whispered to Troy. “Watch this.”

  She took a small silver pin from a cartridge on her belt and inserted it in the pipe. Crouching down, she took a deep breath through her nose, aimed at the girl with the most ample rear end and fired. The pin flew like an arrow and stuck in the slave’s left bun. She reacted to the sharp, unexpected pain with a loud cry and an unclenching of her buttocks. Her bowels evacuated with a thunderous fart, drenching her legs and the ground beneath her in a brownish mess.

  “On your knees, slave!” the Ringmistress shouted. “The rest of you, keep moving.”

  The girl dropped to her knees, knowing what was about to happen and pleading pointlessly for mercy. Troy held her by the hair, as the Ringmistress administered three strokes of the razor whip to both ample breasts, leaving her bleeding and weeping. She had just finished, when a second slave found she could no longer bear the aching in her bowels. She slumped to the ground, the foul mess spraying from her anus. The Ringmistress hurried forth, whip at the ready.

  Shrieks rent the air as the slave received her six stinging lashes to her breasts. Troy flicked his long whip across the buttocks of one of the four girls who remained trudging. She squealed and some of the liquid trickled from her bottom and down her thighs, but she managed not to completely lose control.

  Troy found himself warming to his guest and thoroughly enjoying her slave selection process. He cracked his whip on the same slave again, managing to elicit another cry and a further trickle from her anus.

  “Let me try,” said the Ringmistress, having finished whipping the second kneeling girl.

  Troy handed her his whip. She coiled it, aimed carefully and sent the leather tongue whistling through the air, with a deft flick of her left wrist. The whiplash struck the girl between her thighs and curled up around her belly. Her cry was accompanied by an eruption from her bowels.

  “Nice shot!” Troy commented. “May I have the honour of punishing her?”

  The Ringmistress handed him the razor whip. The slave continued to stagger, squirting out the remains of her enema.

  “On your knees,” Troy commanded. “Take one more step and you’ve earned double your punishment.”

  The despairing girl knelt, biting her lower lip and trembling in anticipation of her punishment. Her Master favoured her buttocks, rather than her breasts. Though this particular girl was no stranger to his whip, the tiny razors flaying her tender flesh had her screaming from the first stroke.

  “I must get one of these babies,” Troy mused, surveying her blood flecked cheeks, six lashes later.

  “In the wrong hands, it could prove a lethal weapon,” said the Ringmistress. “I myself have lost control on one or two occasions, with some particularly troublesome girl.”

  “I’m a professional slave Master,” he snapped. “Any injuries inflicted upon my slaves are purely intentional.”

  “I can imagine,” she replied, taking back her whip. “Well, three down, three to go. That blonde beauty on the left looks to me as though she is about to do something disgusting. A pin or two in her ass should help matters along.”

  She put her plastic pipe back between her lips, loaded it with a pin, crouched and fired. The target yelped and reached down to pluck the tiny spear from her buttock.

  “Hands above your head!” Troy barked, branding the backs of her thighs with a whiplash.

  A second pointed projectile flew from the Ringmistress’ pipe. The blonde girl yelped again, but her buttocks remained clenched.

  “She has spirit,” the Dominatrix mused, plucking another pin from her belt. “A valuable addition to my troupe, I think.”

  A third pin sank into the plump girls left rear cheek. She reeled from the stabbing pain and the ever increasing pressure on her bowels. Only after a further four pins had been shot into her bottom did she succumb to the inevitable. As she sagged to her knees, with an agonised moan, her anus sprayed brown lava in all directions.

  For the two slaves still staggering, every step was a fresh torment. The ranch house seemed miles away, even though it was only a few more yards. The cries of the fourth girl to fall filled their ears, as the Ringmistress maliciously thrashed her breasts.

  Both slaves felt the bite of Troy’s whip on their aching bottoms. They knew the woman’s whip was far worse and this, combined with a burning desire to be free of Rancho Diablo, strengthened their determination not to break. Troy was equally determined that at least one more should fall. And what the Master wanted, the Master got.

  With the whip mercilessly cracking across her buttocks, one of the two could finally no longer contain her agony. Sobbing, she slumped into her steaming puddle, resigned to her fate.

  “Dirty girl,” the Ringmistress sneered, standing before her like a demonic goddess, whip raised. “Hold up your tits.”

  “Please spare me,” the girl whimpered.

  “Save your breath for screaming,” she barked. “Now do as I say, or it won’t just be your tits that taste Madam’s Vampire Special.”

  The girl cupped her hands beneath her heavy breasts and raised them like twin offerings to the whip goddess. The Ringmistress delivered her six vicious strokes in rapid succession, leaving the girl dripping tears onto a pair of crimson drooling globes. In the meantime, the sixth slave had reached the porch. She doubled over, clutching at her belly with both hands and allowed the enema to erupt from her anus. It sprayed a brown arc six feet through the air and splashed onto Troy’s shiny thigh boots.

  “You filthy little bitch!” he bellowed, lashing out with his whip.

  “I’m sorry, Master, she shrieked, jerking beneath the lashes, as her backside continued to spit loudly.

  “Get down on your hands and knees and lick my boots ‘til you can see your stupid face in them,” he barked. “Then, I shall give you an hour or two in Lucifer’s Bedchamber.”

  “Unfortunately, there isn’t going to be time for that,” the Ringmistress interrupted. “I am taking this girl and the fat bottomed blonde, along with the pair I have already chosen. My Mistresses will tie them up and load them, while we conclude our business in your office.”

  “My boots must be licked clean,” Troy insisted, spitting on the girl as she went to work with her tongue.

  The Ringmistress could not be persuaded to remain a while longer and further sample the delights of Rancho Diablo. There was a show to be organised and four new slaves to break in. Having paid the agreed price for the four girls, she produced a gold embossed card from inside her mink coat, signed it and presented it to Troy.

  “Attendance at my Sado Circus is available only to the privileged connoisseur,” she said. “This card is your passport to my world of pain. I guarantee you the experience of a lifetime.”

  Outside, Zoe and the three other captives were bound hand and foot with ropes, gagged and blindfolded, then lifted into the back of the army truck by the two combat clad Mistresses. The olive canvas flaps were secured at the back, hiding the human cargo from outside view. One of the Mistresses would ride with the slaves, to ensure there were no escape attempts.

  Shortly afterwards, as the truck began rolling over the bumpy ground, Zoe surrendered to an overwhelming despair. She should have felt glad to be leaving Rancho Diablo. But the fact that she would never again see the place meant she would probably never again see her sister either.

  Chapter 11

  The Hell Kings did not treat Jenna as harshly as her first night in captivity had led her to fear. They kept her naked of course, and chained like a dog to a tree, but they did not abuse her with the same casual indifference as had the Ma
sters of Rancho Diablo. She was adequately fed and allowed to move at will, within the confines of the long chain attached to her dog collar. As long as she understood and accepted that she was being kept for the pleasure of the bikers, she would come to no harm.

  Clawfinger was the only one who particularly relished abusing and humiliating her. In the code of the Hell Kings, that was his right and none would intervene on her behalf, even if he decided to kill her. She did not expect complete forgiveness for having tried to shoot him, but she did feel she had been adequately punished for the crime, during her three days with the gang.

  Terrified though she was of the steel clawed man, Chaim’s chestnut haired lady filled her with even greater dread. Tori rarely passed by Jenna without pausing to kick her, or spit on her. The fact that the Hell Kings Captain was obviously attracted to the newcomer did not help.

  On her second night in captivity, her food had been brought to her in an iron bowl, by Tori. Placing it on the ground before her, she spat into it.

  “If I had my way, you’d be eating shit,” she said, with quiet venom. “You won’t be here long, river girl, that I promise you. Once the Kings get bored with you, which will happen very quickly, you’re history. In the meantime, I intend to make your stay with us as miserable as possible.”

  “Why?” demanded Jenna.

  Tori slapped her hard across the face, before answering. “You’re a piece of shit that doesn’t belong with us. And I don’t like my man soiling his dick in inferior cunt.”

  Jenna had seen that same malevolence in the eyes of Dina’s momma. Given half a chance, Tori would prove equally willing to kill her.

  She found the closest thing to a friend in Kat, the oriental featured ash blonde. It was she who gave her a thick blanket to wrap up in at night and brought her a mug of hot coffee.

  “What are they going to do with me?” Jenna asked, after she had thanked her.