Rancho Diablo

by Michael O'Connor

  Kat intended to make her move later that day. She had to wait for the right moment to approach Jenna. Now that the biker Queen was in on her plan, she had no choice but to take her with her. Part of the way, at least. Once they were safely out of range of the Hell Kings, she could dump her. Kat had plans for her dope money, and using half of it to reunite Jenna with her sister did not figure among them.

  In the end, it was Jenna who made the first move, summoning her to the tepee, late that afternoon. Kat was so nervous, she was trembling.

  “Where’s Chaim?” she demanded.

  “Taking care of some business,” Jenna replied. “Kat, I have to know. Did you mean what you said last night?”

  “Of course I did,” she replied. “I’m going now, this evening, taking the van and the dope. If I wait any longer, I’ll lose my nerve.”

  “You’re sure about it?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Fuck Chaim and those other assholes. Are you coming with me?”

  “Wait by the van,” Jenna told her. “I won’t be more than half an hour. Now, you’d better get out of here before Chaim gets back.”

  Kat pushed aside the flap, emerged from the tepee and found herself staring down the barrel of a sawn off shotgun, with Chaim’s finger on the trigger. He was flanked by the remainder of the gang.

  “Change of plan,” he grinned.

  Jenna emerged from the tepee and moved to his side.

  “You set me up, you bitch!” Kat croaked, her face turning deathly pale. “Why?”

  “Loyalty,” Jenna replied. “It’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

  Those were the words Chaim liked to hear from his Queen. But Jenna had known she would never be able to trust a girl for whom betrayal was second nature. That was the real reason she had told Chaim of the plan. Now that she had proven her devotion to him, she hoped he would be willing to repay her by helping to free Zoe.

  Realising the hopelessness of her situation, Kat resorted to pleading with Chaim for mercy. He silenced her by grabbing her by the hair and ramming the shotgun barrel into her mouth.

  “When you cross the Hell Kings, you can expect no mercy,” he growled. “Your best hope would be for me to pull this trigger right now. But I ain’t gonna do that. Quick and painless ain’t the way I like to take care of business.”

  Still begging for mercy, Kat was dragged over to two large trees by a trio of the bikers. While they held her, two other Kings flung ropes with nooses over a pair of overhanging branches. When Kat began screaming, the shotgun was thrust between her legs.

  “Nasty way to go,” warned Chaim. “I’ve seen it.”

  The bikers raised her and slipped a noose over each wrist, leaving her dangling a foot off the ground. Clawfinger was awarded the honour of stripping her. He used his curved dagger to slash her tee shirt and denim shorts to ribbons, making a few small cuts in her flesh, in the process. The steel claw tore off her underwear like paper. He balled up her pink lace panties and stuffed them into her mouth. The campsite was not visible from the road or the town, but when Kat started screaming, the sound would carry a long way. And before long, she would have good reason to scream like she had never screamed in her life.

  Two more ropes were tied around her ankles and the tree trunks. She now hung securely, arms outstretched and legs spread so wide, they were almost at a ninety degree angle to her upper body.

  “Bet she wishes she’d kept her mouth shut now,” said Chaim, stroking the puffy folds of Kat’s sex with his shotgun muzzle. “Confiding in my Queen was not a very good idea. Clawfinger, demonstrate just how bad an idea it really was.”

  Kat jerked on the ropes, as one of the four pincers of his steel claw was worked up inside her rectum. A second was pushed into her pussy. The claw shut, pinching the dividing wall of soft flesh between anus and vagina. Kat tossed her head and twisted her face, in the throes of unspeakable agony.

  While Clawfinger was making Kat feel as though he was ripping out her insides, Chaim lit a fat cigar. When it was smouldering nicely, he took over from the clawed man, pushing the cigar into her anus, until only the glowing tip and a fraction of the stub protruded. At his command, Jenna fetched his whip from the tepee and handed it to him. He flicked the tongue across Kat’s breasts, giving her a taste of what was to come. She was less concerned by the whip than the cigar smouldering in her backside.

  Chaim waited for Clawfinger to fetch his whip and take up position behind the hanging girl. At his nod, they began flogging her. The twin whips whistled and cracked. Jenna winced at the ferocity of the lashes. Chaim directed his every stroke to Kat’s breasts, while Clawfinger raised burning crosses on her back.

  Two dozen lashes into the merciless flogging, crimson droplets began flying through the air, streaming from the lacerations on Kat’s breasts and back. The men continued to thrash her, until her head slumped to her chest and the blood ran freely down her buttocks and belly. By then, the cigar tip had burned down to the rim of her anus. She jerked in fresh agony, as it scorched her.

  Clawfinger crouched down to inspect the damage, decided to let her suffer a few more minutes, then worked the cigar stub out of her with his claw. Her rectal rim was bright red and blistering. He took a puff of the sticky cigar, then stubbed it out in her pussy. Both he and Chaim were sorry they could not let the victim scream. She was in enough pain to yell herself senseless. Chaim then took off his studded belt and handed it to Jenna.

  “Your turn,” he told her. “Show me you can whip pussy.”

  Jenna would have preferred to leave the punishment to the men, but she could hardly say no to Chaim. If he thought she felt any sympathy for the traitor, she was liable to find herself hanging beside her. Standing before Kat, she slapped between her thighs with the belt.

  “I said whip her, not tease her,” Chaim barked. “Hurt the slut.”

  Jenna lowered herself to one knee, drew the belt over her right shoulder and proceeded to strike Kat’s pussy, with a vengeance. Each lash was delivered with increasing venom. Her heart raced and she felt a warm moistness between her thighs. Though she could still remember just how good it had tasted, she beat Kat’s pussy with the studded side of the belt, as though it were her bitterest enemy. Chaim watched, the swelling in his crotch ever increasing. His new Queen was showing real spirit. When Kat’s pussy looked as though it had been burned with a hot iron, he finally commanded her to stop. There was more to torture than whipping, and he had a few tricks left to try out on this traitor.

  Kat was revived from her agony induced stupor by a bucket of cold water thrown over her.

  “Don’t fall asleep,” Chaim shouted. “The party ain’t over yet.”

  Two of the Hell Kings cut the ropes binding her arms. She immediately slumped forward, her face hitting the ground. Thrust upwards, her bottom now offered itself for even more sadistic punishment. Clawfinger gripped a baseball bat in his good hand and pushed the business end up against her anus. Chaim struck the other end with a mallet, driving the weapon a short way into her rectal passage. A second blow buried four inches of the weapon inside her, opening her wider than if she were being fucked by a fist. Chaim struck the baseball bat once more, ramming it deep into her bowels. Thrashing in agony, she dug her fingers into the earth and slammed her head against it.

  “That takes care of her asshole,” said Chaim, proudly surveying his work. “Now, how do we make that pussy suffer some more?”

  In reply, Clawfinger held up his gold cigarette lighter. Chaim smiled, took it from him and lit it between Kat’s thighs. The flame licked at her dark blonde pubic curls and they burned with a soft hiss. Chaim guided the flame all over her mound, scorching hair and blistering the tender flesh from which it sprouted. When all that remained was blackened stubble, he raised a few blisters on her inner thighs, then handed the lighter back to Clawfinger.

  Two nooses wer
e now slipped over her breasts and pulled tight, wrenching her up onto her knees. The ropes were so tight, they gouged her breasts and drew blood. Chaim urinated over the tortured globes, while Clawfinger and another biker directed their golden streams over her face. When he was finished, Chaim picked up the shotgun, pushed the barrel up between her thighs and cocked the hammer.

  “This gun’s a sensitive motherfucker,” he told her. “The slightest thing could set it off and bring this business to a very messy conclusion.”

  Gathering handfuls of pebbles, the Hell Kings gathered around their captive, to take pot shots at the weapon between her legs. She did not move a muscle, but blood and cold sweat streamed from her in rivulets. She barely felt the stones that struck her. It was those clinking against the metal of the shotgun that worried her.

  Ten minutes of stone throwing later, Chaim called a halt. He had a better idea and it involved Jenna. Standing her six feet in front of Kat, he blindfolded her with a black bandanna and placed a long whip in her right hand. He spun her slowly around, several times, until she had lost her sense of direction, then ordered her to crack the whip.

  Her first few lashes succeeded only in raising a cloud of dust around Kat. The shouts of the bikers directed her to move in closer, aim higher, more to her left. The whip coiled around Kat’s throat, almost choking her. The next few lashes bit her breasts and belly. Jenna stumbled and struck the ground around Kat several times, before hitting the bullseye. The whip struck the trigger of the shotgun and there was a loud bang. Jenna almost leaped out of her skin, the whip falling from her fingers.

  “Nice shot, baby!” Chaim enthused, untying her blindfold.

  She was almost afraid to look, for fear of the bloody mess she would see. But Kat had not been killed. The cartridge had been a blank. However, when the weapon had gone off, she had fainted and simultaneously lost control of her bladder. Urine streamed down the neck of the shotgun.

  The tortures continued, at frequent intervals, until nightfall, by which time Kat was barely conscious. Chaim and Clawfinger untied her and bundled her into the back of the van, before driving away. When they returned, an hour later, she was not with them.

  Jenna was glad Chaim did not say what they had done with her. She did not want to know. She assuaged her guilt about Kat’s fate by telling herself it had been for a good cause. Nothing mattered more to her than her sister.

  Chapter 14

  In the darkness of Zoe’s cell, night and day were indistinguishable. An eternity seemed to have elapsed since she was dragged unconscious from the aftermath of the Sado Circus, oozing semen and drenched from head to foot in it. She had been hosed down with icy water and her wounds treated, before the Ringmistress had once again sewn her pussy and inserted the rubber tube in her anus. This time, her hands were secured by means of thumbcuffs attached to the gold hoops in her nipples. She was then thrown back into her stinking cell, where she had remained ever since. She maintained a grip on her sanity and numbed the worst of the pain by whispering to Jenna for hours at a time, as though praying to her for rescue.

  Eventually, the moment she had been dreading arrived. Another performance of the Sado Circus was about to take place. More torture, more lust crazed men using her for their depraved gratification. Zoe did not think she could endure a repeat of what she had been put through at the previous show, but her thoughts on anything were irrelevant. She was at the mercy of the Ringmistress, whose sole concern was providing her guests with an unforgettable display of sadism.

  The preparations for this second performance were the same as for the first. Each slave was taken, in turn, from her cell, to the operating theatre. There, their stitching and tubing were removed and they were soaked in a hot, disinfecting bath.

  “An old friend of yours is coming to the show, tonight,” the Ringmistress told Zoe. “I’m sure he will be delighted to see you have settled in so well.”

  Troy had not been enthusiastic about making a trip to the Sado Circus, having convinced himself it would be no more than a few hours of arty theatrical horror. A slave trading acquaintance who had been to the first show had changed his mind. The slaver swore he had never seen anything like it. His compliments on the quality of the girls, especially the blonde in the final act, had filled Troy with pride. He liked to see the girls he sold being put to good use. He had called the Ringmistress, to book his place at the second performance.

  “I shall be using the same four girls,” she had told him. “But some exquisite new tortures. No two performances of the Sado Circus are ever the same.”

  After she had greeted her guests and promised them the night of their lives, the Ringmistress called for the first slave.

  A large wooden cross, draped in a black satin sheet, descended from the roof, suspended by a huge chain. When it was almost to the ground, the Ringmistress pulled off the sheet. Hanging naked from the cross was the plump blonde girl. Her wrists and ankles were lashed to the timber with barbed wire. A thin chain dangled from a huge silver ring pushed through her labia. A long silver pin skewered each nipple.

  The Ringmistress took a few practice flicks of her bullwhip on the sawdust covered floor, before unleashing it upon the crucified slave. Each vicious lash was greeted by a shriek of pain. From shoulders to shins, scarcely an inch of the helpless girl’s flesh escaped punishment. Blood seeped from her wrists and ankles, as she strained against her barbed wire bonds. For a full ten minutes, the cruel whip ate her flesh, leaving her striped in lurid red welts and bleeding in several places.

  “Now for the real torture,” the Ringmistress breathlessly announced, her body sheened with perspiration.

  At her signal, the Assistant Mistresses appeared. Both wore identical outfits of stiletto heeled ankle boots, black rubber stockings held up by studded leather suspenders, mini dresses of gleaming silver chain mail, and gas masks. One carried a large honey pot, the other an oversized pepper pot.

  Spoonfuls of honey splattered onto the slave, in thick golden globs. By the time the pot was empty, she was covered. One Assistant Mistress smoothed it over her with the spoon. Then it was the turn of the other to go to work with the pepper pot.

  “Itching powder,” the Ringmistress explained, as the contents were shaken over the honey coated slave. “In a few minutes, our poor little slave will start to go crazy from the itch. But I shall give her something to take her mind off it. Bring on my little pony.”

  A moment later, one of the Assistant Mistresses rode into the ring astride Dina, who was fitted with a saddle and spike studded leather bridle, the bit clenched firmly between her teeth. The only horseshoes she wore were those sewn to her breasts. Her rider held the reins in one hand, using the other to flog her thighs with a riding crop. She drew her up at the foot of the cross, but did not dismount.

  The end of the chain that dangled from the labia of the crucified slave was clipped to an identical silver ring in Dina’s pussy. When this was done, the Ringmistress brought forth a lightbulb, attached to a long length of electrical cable. She coated the bulb in clear grease, then switched it on and carefully pushed it into the rectum of the horse girl.

  “Ride her!” she barked.

  The jockey dug her spiked heels into Dina’s sides and cracked her crop on her buttocks. She crawled a few feet forward, then drew up sharply when the pussy joining chain was pulled tight, yanking her labia and that of the girl on the cross, who screamed in agony.

  “Move, bitch!” the rider barked, the crop in her fist becoming a blur as she thrashed her buttocks.

  Dina tried, but to crawl even another inch caused her labia to be stretched so painfully, she simply had to stop. Her rider knew she could make no further progress, but continued to flog her and dig in her heels, insisting she do the impossible. The girl’s agony was exacerbated by the light bulb in her bottom becoming uncomfortably hot. She pulled valiantly on the chain for several more minutes,
until finally collapsing beneath her rider, breathless and sweat soaked.

  “Stand up!” the Ringmistress commanded, once the rider had dismounted.

  When Dina failed to instantly respond, the bullwhip cracked between her shoulder blades. The Ringmistress repeated the command. Four lashes later, the girl managed to stagger to her feet, still wearing her saddle. Her wrists were handcuffed behind her back and her reins slipped over the head of the slave on the cross. The Ringmistress then pushed a nine inch long steel bellows up between her thighs. She secured it in place with two sharp toothed clips on her labia. Kneeling down, she began pumping the two arms of the bellows. The steel cone expanded inside the girl, opening her gradually wider, with each pushing together of the arms. Eclipsing the pain was the dread that the bulb in her rectum might shatter.

  With the bellows fully expanded, Dina was standing with her legs widely splayed and her pussy gorge wide enough for a fully grown hand to push through.

  “Mercy,” she whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Denied,” replied the Ringmistress, spitting in her face.

  It was the turn of the slave with the flowing black locks to take her place in the ring. She was carried in by the two Assistant Mistresses, roped naked by her wrists and ankles to a horizontal wooden pole. The pole was placed in the brackets of two upright steel posts standing to the left of the cross, ten feet apart. Terrified by the sight of her two tortured companions and the sound of their screams, she began struggling violently against her bonds and shouting for help, even though she knew she was wasting her breath.

  “The sweet music of the Sado Circus,” the Ringmistress proclaimed to her audience. “Imagine how she will scream when the real fun begins.”

  The Assistant Mistresses went to work, placing two stainless steel cones lined with holly over the slave’s breasts. They were joined together by a chain link and strapped tightly around the back of the girl. Her nipples poked through the tips of the cones. The assistants squeezed and gently fondled them to full erection, then one uncapped a thermos flask. Steam billowed from the contents. Holding it above the girl’s breasts, she spilled several drops of hot black oil over both nipples. The slave responded with a long drawn out wail of agony.