A Quiet Little Town
by
SD

It had been frustrating day spent in meetings that went nowhere,
and it was shaping up as an equally frustrating night.  There was
nothing to do at night in this quiet northern California town.
The hotel was nearly empty - how many people could there be who
wanted to come to this place - and wasn't even equipped for PCs,
so Patricia couldn't read her email or access her favorite BBS.
Oh, well, she'd go to bed early and get an early start tomorrow.
She could be home in a few hours if she got out of here early and
beat the traffic to the airport in SF.  She'd told the office she
would be here for a few days, but one day of being kept waiting
for meetings in which no one said anything serious was enough to
convince her they weren't serious about dealing.  Probably just
trying to pick her brains about the firm's services to find out
how to do it themselves.  When they found out how much more it
would cost to handle it in house, they'd be back.  She'd turn in
now; glancing out the window at the darkened stores and empty
streets, it looked like everyone else in town was already in bed.

She was startled out of the dark room of her dream to find her
mouth being taped.  There were two - no three - figures in the
darkened hotel room.  She tried to scream but what came out of her
taped mouth wouldn't reach anyone else in the hotel, and the
placement of a heavy cloth bag over her head reduced the sound
even further.  She grabbed at the bag but her hands were seized
by one of the figures.  She pulled one hand free and thrust the
heel of her palm, hard, between and a little above the grasping
hands and felt the squish of flesh and the squirt of blood that
indicated a clean score on the nose.  Her target bellowed and she
heard the others saying "quiet" and she took advantage of the
distraction to roll off the bed and run for the door but she ran
straight into one of them.  Her knee in the groin broke his grasp
but her aim hadn't been quite as true this time and he was able
to tackle her as she tried to get past him.  Someone else pinned
her arms behind her while her legs were still wrapped up and
pulled her up to her knees.  A blow in the solar plexus knocked
the wind and most of the fight out of her, but she continued to
squirm and grunt as her wrists were handcuffed behind her and her
elbows cinched together and her legs tied together above the
knee.  Then they stood her up and slipped a noose at the end of a
pole around her neck and started dragging her from the room; she
soon found that she couldn't both resist and breath and opted to
breath. They lead her down the backstairs of the hotel and out a
fire exit without being observed.  A vehicle of some kind, a van
or panel truck, was outside the exit and they rushed her in and
drove off. One of them completed her bondage by binding her
ankles and attaching a rope from her ankles to her neck while the
others reviewed the situation.

"THE BITCH BROKE MY NOSE !".
"Hell, that's nothing compared to what she nearly broke on me".
"SHE'S GONNA PAY FOR THIS, SHE'S GONNA PAY !  YOU COULDN'T JUST
RELAX AND ENJOY IT, COULD YOU BITCH !  WELL NOW YOU'RE GONNA PAY.
WHEN WE GET WHERE WE'RE GOIN YOU GONNA BE SORRY !".

Be that as it may, Patricia was hoping that they'd get there soon.
She was keeping her head up as high as she could hold it and was
just barely able to breath.  She couldn't keep this up much
longer, so unless they were taking a short drive Patricia would
be taking a long trip before they unbundled their prize.
Fortunately, one didn't have to drive very far to find isolation
in this part of the country, and they pulled off the main road
soon and came to a stop after a couple minutes of bouncing over a
dirt road.  The rocking and bouncing had caused the neck ropes to
further tighten and Pat was unconscious when they began untying
her, but still alive.

She awoke in what seemed to be a small metal shed.  She was naked
but for the bag over her head, her wrists still cuffed behind her
and her elbows painfully cinched.  She was sitting with her
ankles crossed and fastened with wire, and a chain ran from a hook in
the wall and encircled her neck, both keeping the bag on and
keeping her from scooting for the door. The shed was so small
that her knees and back touched the walls.  Hooded as she was she
couldn't be sure of the time, but the temperature of the air on
her skin suggested early morning. When the heat of the summer
rose this box would be an oven.  The way I'm sweating in this
hood, she thought, I may drown before then.  It didn't feel like
she'd been used while she was unconscious.  But, she reflected,
those jerks were probably so puny you'd never know they'd been in
you.  If this is what they meant by making her pay, she couldn't
give them much of a score for style, but she had to admit it
would probably do the job and she'd be dead in a day or so,
before anyone realized she was missing.  Her arms below her bound
elbows were numb, so she wasn't going to be able to use her
hands.  She tried moving her feet, but only succeeded on
lacerating her ankles.  No way to stand, no way to move more than
a couple inches.  At least her sweat had caused the tape on her
mouth to drop off.  She screamed until she was hoarse and had
given herself a headache, but no one came.  The heat rose and the
still air in the shed became a sauna. She moved as far forwards
as she could to get her bare back off the hot metal wall, picking
up some splinters from the wood pallet she was seated on as she
did so, but she couldn't move her knees without the wire cutting
into her ankles and she judged she'd die sooner from the bleeding
than from the burning. Her head was bathed in sweat and the
soaked bag over her head was admitting less and less air.  There
were people who liked asphyxiation, but based on her experiences
so far, Patricia could do without it.

She was unconscious when they came back for her shortly after
sundown.  It wasn't until they'd unlocked the chain and cut off
the wires and began dragging her through the sand that she
awakened again.  She was aware of several people standing over
her prostrate form but pretended to still be unconscious.  If
they were anybody but her captors from last night they would have
removed the hood.  She had no idea what they planned or what she
could do about it, but wanted to retain whatever advantage she
had.  Then they pulled off the hood and examined her by the
spotlight of a pickup.  She could see the one man's broken nose
had been professionally treated.  Apparently they'd needed to
recover from the damage she'd done the previous night before they
were ready for her, and had stashed her in that hot box until they
were up to it.

"She's a mess".
"You gettin particular about pussy ?"
"I'm not as desperate as you".
"No one's as desperate as him".
"Still, let's clean her up a little before we start".

At that, two of them went for water while the last kept her
under guard.  Soon the others returned with a couple tubs of the
most beautiful thing Patricia had ever seen: water. "Can I have
some water, please ?", she croaked through her cracked lips.
"Fuck you, bitch".
"I thought fucking me was already on the agenda.  I can fuck
better if I'm not dying of thirst." That argument seemed to
appeal to them, and a bowl of water was placed on the ground.
Patricia's arms were still restrained, so she had no choice but
to lap it up, and did so, greedily.  "Can I have some more?", she
asked when it was done.  "You want more water? Here", said one as
he seized her by the hair and wrists and pushed her head under
the water in one of the tubs.  Patricia struggled but she was too
weakened to do so effectively and her lungs were close to
bursting when she was pulled out, gasping franticly for air.
"Enough of this, let's clean her up and fuck her".  At this
buckets of water were thrown on her and three sets of hands began
to rub her down, occasionally breaking off to add another bucket.
There seemed to be special concern for the cleanliness of her
breasts and ass and crotch, as their hands kept rubbing and
squeezing her there.  Soon they could stand no more and she was
shoved onto a blanket.  The elbow cinch was removed and pain
surged through her arms with the new blood flow. The cuffs were
removed and her hands tied in front of her and the other end of
the rope tied to a tree root.  Then the three men dropped their
pants ( with their weapons on the belts ) beyond the radius that
she could reach, and went at her.  In their greedy, selfish
passion they were pulling each other off before the other finished,
usually spinning their captive about as they did so, such that one
was taking her missionary style, then the next doggie style, then
the next had Patricia's legs pressed to her chest as he thrust into
her, then another was holding her by the thighs and pulling her onto
himself.  They certainly  eren't puny, and one large blood gorged
member kept replacing another, each individual so singly concentrated
on sating his own lust that long after they could all have come had
they waited their turn they were still rock hard, their erections
maintained in part by the squeezing and stroking of her breasts
and buttocks and thighs by the two who weren't in her at any
given moment, still thrusting with mad intensity.  At this rate,
Patricia thought, two of them will have had heart attacks before
this is over.  The ludicrousness of the situation had caused her
fear to recede, and as it did her body began to react to the
torrent of stimuli and she found herself becoming aroused, at
first against her will, but soon she gave herself over to it.
She had refused to give her captors the satisfaction of moaning
or screaming or giving any sign of her pain, but now her face
reddened and contorted and she started grunting, her grunts
became moans and then screams as wave after wave of pleasure
surged through her, and her captors kept coming without cumming.
At last one of them pulled another away and tried to rush in
himself only to find the third man had tried to slip in ahead
(so to speak) of him and the three of them ended up tussling
with each other and with perfect synchronization shot their huge
loads of cum all over each other and knelt looking at each other
with shock and horror and revulsion.

"You faggots came all over me !"
"What about you - you - you shitstuffer, you're all over me!"
"Who you callin a shitstuffer !"
"I'm callin you a...."

With that the three began fighting, sure in the knowledge the last
man erect - that is, on his feet - at the end couldn't possibly be
a pansy, even if he did just shoot his load all over another man.

While they pounded away on each other Patricia's energized pussy
kept coming and coming, now quite oblivious to the disturbances
a few feet away.  When at last she came down, Patricia saw
three men collapsed in a heap covered in each other's jizz.  It
was a few minutes more before she could stop laughing.  Realizing
that this state of quietus wouldn't last indefinitely, she rolled
to her knees and stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and found the
root to which she was fastened and untied it, then got a knife
off one of the her assailant's belt and cut her wrists free.
Then she took a pistol and got some rope from the pickup and went
back to tie up her former captors.  Each started to awaken as he
was being bound, but a gun butt to the head sent him back to
dreamland. After each was individually bound she rolled them
together and tied them in a bundle.

The place she'd been brought to seemed to be an abandoned farm
house.  There was no phone, but there were were several outfits
of women's clothes.  The bastards, she thought.  She found some
that fit her and went to the truck after getting some change from
the men's pants.  She'd head back to her hotel - they'd driven a
very simple route and made no effort to conceal it - and call the
highway patrol from a phone booth along the way.  She wasn't
going to report what happened to her, just that someone had been
raped at the abandoned farmhouse.  When the patrol found those
three naked below the waist, bound, bruised, and covered in come,
they'd have an interesting dilemma, to let everyone believe
they'd been raped themselves or to admit that they were rapists.
For them the latter would be probably be preferable, and it
looked like there'd be plenty of evidence in the farm house.
Whatever they chose they would suffer.

The streets were dark and empty when she got back to town.  She
dumped the truck and walked a few blocks to her hotel. Patricia
drank a few quarts of water, attended to her injuries, none of
which were significant, and took a hot bath.  She'd turn in early
and get an early start tomorrow.  After all, nothing ever
happened in this quiet little town.