Author Topic: Haitian Hell  (Read 3297 times)

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May 04, 2018, 11:32:37 PM

Offline Alastor82

Janelle wiped the beads of sweat from her brow and leaned in a little closer in her seat to the whirring desktop fan. She closed her brown eyes for a second, and a soft sigh escaped the 30-year-old, 5’7 blonde’s pink, soft lips as the fan’s blades sent gusts of air washing over her soft, roundish, milky-white cheeks and rustled the white sleeveless blouse that clung to her damp, slender and very toned body.

Good AC was hard to find in the Haitian city of Port-Au-Prince on even the best of days, and this was certainly not the best of days. What this was, was a few days out from a cataclysmic earthquake that had ripped across the island nation and reduced most of the downtown capital to a wasteland of displaced rubble. Thousands of displaced residents now huddled in acres of makeshift tents. Or in this schoolhouse, which a team of dedicated aid workers from a group of churches in Canada had converted into a makeshift community center where the volunteers worked around the clock to treat injuries, hand out water and food, and lend an ear and a few prayers to anyone who just needed someone to talk to them or pray with them. 

At the moment, Janelle felt like she could use a few prayers herself. The medical gauze was running out, and the next UN truck supply run was still days away. Electricity was flickering on and off. And some vandals had broken into the supply room the night before and run off with half the remaining food.

“Miss Janelle?”

Janelle turned to see Noelle, a young local nurse who’d stepped up to help the aid workers rebuild her neighborhood, waved from a few feet behind her. “Hi. I was in the medical ward. Bessy just woke up. She’s going to be okay, but she’s in a lot of pain. Have the pain medications arrived yet?”

“No. Not yet. I’m going to make a few more calls,” Janelle replied, frowning and shaking her head. “All the supply trucks are late.”
“It’s okay. I understand,” Noelle said, her dark-brown lips forcing a weak smile. “You are good people. I thank God every day that you are here.”

Janelle smiled weakly and turned back to her desk, and the piles of government authorization forms that awaited her tedious reviewing and signing. She sighed again, a little more strongly. “Ei yie yie,” she muttered. “Be strong. You can do this.” Janelle could. She knew it. She was a good person, a strong, capable, competent human being who was a pillar of her church’s outreach programs. And best of all, she had a wonderful husband, Doug, who not only supported her every step of the way—he was down here himself, working with a labor crew to rebuild homes. 

“Janelle?” another voice called out. This time, her admin aide, Shannon. “Your 3 o’clock is here.”

Janelle looked up again to see Shannon standing alongside a young lady in a tight pink blouse and knee-length pink skirt. She looked young, and peppy—25 years old, Janelle guessed. Her legs were slim and bare, her torso tight and shapely under the blouse, and rich tresses of curly auburn hair flowed down past her shoulders. A broad, tight-lipped smile stretched across her sun-tanned cheeks. “Hi!” the young lady chimed in, raising one hand and waving it enthusiastically. “I’m Brianna.”

“Hi, Brianna. Please, have a seat. Can I get you some water?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. Thank you,” Brianna replied, her words running rapidly as her eyes darted toward Janelle, to various points around the room and back to Janelle. “How is your day? My husband and I arrived two days ago. We’re staying at the hotel down the street.”

“Ah, yes, I know the one. Lucky for you it survived the quake.”

“Yes, yes. Definitely,” Brianna said, her broad smile never leaving her lips. She paused. “So, ummm, have you had a chance to review the numbers?”

Brianna was not an aid worker. She was here to get paid. Brianna was a techie. And her U.S.-based software-services firm—through some twist of fate that Brianna hadn’t pushed for, or frankly, even really wanted—landed a U.S. government contract to help restore Haiti’s Internet. The first stop on “Brianna’s Third World Tour,” as the young American jokingly referred to it amongst her friends at their cocktail hours in the weeks leading up to her trip.

A trip that would consist of three long weeks in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti’s godforsaken wreck of a capital city, where she’d while away the hours setting up WiFi in the city hall and this community center. Janelle, being the community center’s team leader, had to sign off on the whole thing. Which she was glad to do—one, because they really needed Internet; and two, because this company’s price tag genuinely was good.

“I have. And I love them,” Janelle said. “We can definitely make this happen.”

“Great!” Brianna said. “So—when do we start?”

A fly buzzed past Janelle’s ear and hovered around the desk. Brianna’s smile disappeared, just for a second. Her wide brown eyes narrowed, and a dark look came over her face as she watched the bug dart around in the air. Janelle picked up a manila folder and swatted at it, and the bug zipped off out of sight.

“If it were up to me, you could go to work right now. But the U.S. and Canadian consulates are calling the shots, which means they have to sign off on everything. Including this. Tell you what. I’m going to bring them your proposal tomorrow morning. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll swing by your hotel tomorrow, pick you up, and we’ll head over and have them sign on the dotted lines. Then you should be good to go. Can I pick you up at 10 a.m.?”

“Fantastic! I’d love to!” Brianna chirped, her smile returning. “10 a.m. would be great. See you!”

Brianna trotted out the door, still smiling. Her smile lasted all the way until the second she left the building.

A few hours and a glass of wine later, Brianna was reposing on her hotel room’s bed. The wine’s gentle buzz almost made up for the rough-feeling blanket—good God, this country can’t even do blankets right? Brianna thought to herself. It was par for the course, though. The beef and rice dinner she had in the hotel bar with Eric, her husband, had been just ghastly. The whole ruined city was ghastly. Trash everywhere, bugs, and creepy Third World men and boys, some of them leering at her and making kissy noises at her as they walked by her. Brianna was used to guys in America giving her horny looks on the street, but yeesh, this was different. These guys were Haitian. And poor. And probably all teeming with AIDS.

“Oh, I hate this place. I can’t wait to be out of here,” Brianna pouted.

“Tax deduction, honey, think of the tax deduction,” Eric said, laying on the mattress beside her with her legs draped over his lap. His hands rubbed up and down her soft, bare feet. And Brianna exhaled a tender, relaxed breath. Brianna loved having her feet rubbed, and Eric’s hands really did feel so, so good.

“You’re right. I have to think of the positive. My therapist says so,” Brianna replied, feeling more relaxed already.

“Did you take your Lexapro yet?” Eric said.

“I sure did. I’m going to need it.” Brianna’s eyes drifted over to the bathroom, where her bottle of anti-anxiety medication sat. She felt tempted to down an extra capsule, but that would mean getting up from this luxurious foot massage. She just poured a half-glass more wine, took a sip, and drifted off to sleep.

Morning came, and Janelle slipped on her sunglasses and stepped into the blue Honda Civic’s passenger seat. She swished her pert bottom in the car’s leather seat, making little ripples in the hem of the knee-length ocean-blue sundress. A dress whose sleeveless, spaghetti-strap top let Janelle’s bronze-tanned shoulders roam free in the open air—and let many a male passerby roam his eyes over them and imagine, if only for a second, the milky-white lusciousness that lay beyond those shoulders, under the cover of the blue fabric.

Her firm, bare legs crossed themselves. Sandaled feet pointing stiffly forward as she balanced a thick leather satchel in her lap with one hand while clutching a coffee-filled travel mug in other. She took a hot sip of the coffee, smacked her lips with a satisfied “ahhhh” and set her things down. Then she revved up the engine and took off on another tiring and still satisfying day helping the Haitians get back on their feet.

A cop car pulled up next to her just as she made the hard left onto the roadway. She smiled a wide open-mouthed smile, lips forming a silent “hi” while her delicate fingers waved. Her trusty security-officer sidekick, Corporal Jean-Francois Bertrand. A local cop whose office miraculously survived the quake. He was out here every day with her and her crew, accompanying them on any drive into town just to make sure everyone made it back safe and sound.

Bertrand was working hard, and no doubt going through a gauntlet of stress, she thought to herself. And it showed. She could see the red veins in his bloodshot eyes whenever she passed him by, see the dark circles under his eyelids and the sag in his cheeks.
Janelle was a sweetheart of a woman. And she always looked for the good in people she met. Little did she know, Bertrand didn’t have a sagging face and bloodshot eyes because he was stressed out. He had them because he was a crack addict.

Yes, Bertrand was deep in the grip of the black rock. And that of its steady supplier, a murderous criminal network known far and wide as Zoe Pound. Zoe Pound was a newcomer to Port-Au-Prince, too. The gang was born in Miami’s Haitian-American immigrant community and grew fast on a diet of grand theft, voodoo magic, and savage violence the likes of which Miami’s criminal underworld had ever seen. Before long, Zoe Pound was spreading its evil south across the Caribbean, inevitably reaching the shores of its Haitian motherland.

And while this earthquake swept away Port-Au-Prince’s civic order overnight, Zoe Pound was still standing and ready for action. Thanks in some part to corrupt cops like Bertrand, whom Zoe Pound could call on at any time to cash in a favor for it.
Bertrand would do it. One, because he needed his fix. Two, because if he ever told them no, they had all the dirt on him that they needed to blackmail him into the soil.

It didn’t matter what the favor was, at this point. Bertrand helped himself—by helping Zoe Pound. With anything from shaking down its enemies, to throwing honest cops off its trail, to stealing merchandise. Or kidnapping women—the gang was making inroads in the prostitution business, and nubile femmes were a hot commodity.

Young white femmes, especially. They were a rare delicacy in these parts, to say the least.

“Hi!” Brianna chirped, waving, donning dark sunglass of her own, as she sashayed out of the hotel and into Janelle’s parked car. Her multicolored sundress threw a kaleidoscope of bright pastels as it fluttered on her slender hips.

“Morning. Hop on in,” Janelle said, stepping out and opening the car door.

A balding, bespectacled little man sidled up behind her. Brianna put a hand to the man’s backside and glanced over at Janelle. “I hope you don’t mind if my husband comes along,” Brianna explained. “He needs to renew his passport. And since we’re going to be at the consulate anyway, um—”

“Of course. Lord knows we’ll have some time to kill. These document reviews take forever! Nice to meet you, Eric,” Janelle answered, taking Eric’s hand.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” Eric grinned back.

Behind them, Bertrand sat, eyes narrowing, lips tightly pressed together. He reached for his cell phone. The private one. “Allo,” he growled into the speaker. “Mac? Make ready. We coming. Cross streets Toussaint L’Ouverture and Teodart. We see you in five.”


May 05, 2018, 12:17:13 PM
Reply #1

Offline gscmar64

Love the set up, a perfect scenario for a rape story!

May 06, 2018, 12:19:46 AM
Reply #2

Offline vile8r

This setup is just perfect!

May 07, 2018, 05:30:43 AM
Reply #3

Offline Alastor82

Part 2

It happened so fast.

“Look out!” Eric yelled, pointing. A young man had run out onto the roadway. Janelle slammed the brakes and swerved, missing him by a hair.

SMASH! CRACK! A volley of rocks crashed through the car windows. “Gah!” Janelle squealed as a shard sliced her forehead. Brianna screamed. Eric screamed. All three of them ducked, dodging flying glass. Then three pairs of male hands, swinging batons, knocked away more glass and reached inside, unlocking three car doors in one swoop.

“Eeek! Get off me! Get off me!” Brianna shrieked, batting uselessly at the rough hands that grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up out of the seat. She tumbled to the pavement below just as Eric and Janelle were both dragged out by their ankles and joined her on the ground.

Five muscly black men with various tattoos, scars, and piercings loomed over them. One of them, the same young man who’d just run out in front of their car.

“Jean-Francois!” Janelle hollered. “Hel—” a swift smash of a pistol handle into her jaw cut her words short and sent her head crashing with an “OOF!” into the car door behind her.

“Help? He no help you,” the gun’s owner smirked. Janelle’s dazed, frightened eyes looked up at the six gold and silver rings on his fingers, the trio of gold chains on his neck, and the flowing dredlocks that ran down his back.

Janelle’s shaking fingers gripped the small silver cross dangling from her own neck, and she mouthed a silent prayer.
The man stepped over to Bertrand, who had gotten out of his car and stood still, arms folded, face cast downward. “Bertrand is my nigga. He ALWAY’ come through for me. Is that right, Bertrand?”

“Yes, Mac,” Bertrand mumbled.

This “Mac” person continued. “You done good. Red Eyes, give him the shit.”

A white tank top-clad thug, also sporting dredlocks but no jewelry, unlocked a parked pickup truck and fished out a plastic bag full of white powder, which he handed to Bertrand.

“You’re with them?” Janelle gasped. “How could you?”

A third man gripped her hair and slammed her again against the car door. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled.

“Easy, Ghost. We not mess her up too much now. We have more fun with her later,” Mac sneered. “First, some business. Shark, Devil Dog, start shooting.”

The fourth and fifth men, two practically identical muscle-bound behemoths with scraggly beards and matted hair, whipped out assault rifles and shot streams of bullets into the front and side of the cop car. They put their guns down and lumbered over to Bertrand, who silently raised an index finger to somewhere just below his right eye. One of the men punched him hard there, punched him again. The other gripped Bertrand’s shirt and ripped it open, then took away his phone and his police radio. The three men shook hands, and Bertrand jogged off into the distance.

“Nooooo!” Brianna howled, her brown eyes wide, frantic, and bleary with oncoming tears as she watched him go. Then her eyes went skyward, as Red Eyes grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her up onto her haunches. Ghost swooped toward her and grabbed her pert little breasts in both his hands. “Stop it! Stop it! Damn you!” she howled, as Ghost’s hands roamed about her soft mounds, then made their way down and around her sides and started to rub and knead at the supple, toned flesh of her hips. He bunched up her knee-length skirt up to her waist and hooked her legs under his arms.

Then he and Red Eyes picked up the squirming, screaming Brianna and carried her into the pickup truck’s open truck bed. Ghost threw himself down on top of her, pinning her on her back, his hips grinding down on hers. His tongue jabbed out and slithered around her soft neck. “Unngh!” Brianna squealed and crinkled her nose in disgust.

Red Eyes raced over to the dazed, bleeding Eric, punched him hard on the side of his head and clapped handcuffs on his wrists. He dragged him up off the ground and frog-marched him into the passenger side of the truck. Then he pitched himself down into the driver’s seat, started up the truck, and drove off. The hum of the engine and the frantic cries of Briana filled Janelle’s ears as the truck vanished from sight.

Janelle had hardly a moment to think of Brianna’s plight, however. At that instant, Shark and Devil Dog yanked Janelle up by her arms into the back seats of a white SUV with pitch-black tinted windows. Mac was already in the back seat at the far corner.

Devil Dog plunked himself down into the other back seat and hauled the flailing, screaming Janelle in with him. Shark picked up her legs and pushed her all the way in. Janelle kicked and kicked, one heel grazing the window on its upward arc. Shark, minding of the glass, clutched her ankles and peeled off her sandals. Janelle’s bare feet thudded uselessly at the door as Shark rammed it shut behind her.

Inside, Janelle lay sprawled on her tummy over Devil Dog’s lap; Mac sitting on his right. Devil Dog gripped the back of her head and shoved her into Mac’s groin. A rocky ridge of hardness was already rising up against his fly, and it hit smack-dab against Janelle’s cute, dainty nose.

Shark took the driver’s seat and started up the car. And Janelle’s already-racing heart started to thud like a jackhammer in her chest as she felt the vehicle roar to life.

Janelle flung her head to and fro, but Devil Dog’s grip kept her face planted on Mac’s surging groin. Mac nonchalantly lit a cigar, took a puff, and lowered a hand and unzipped his pants. Filthy male pubic hair raked against her nostrils. “Fuck you! No!” Janelle screeched. She knew where this was going and didn’t like it one bit.

“You a stubborn one, oui?” Mac chortled. “We will fix that.” He plunged the cigar’s lit end into her neck.

“Aiiiiiiie!” Janelle howled. She flailed and kicked, her whole body fighting against the confining hands. She tried to wrestle free of Devil Dog, but he scooped both her legs up into his lap, and snaked one of his hands under her dress. “Yoowww! Shit!” she hollered—his fingers were now underneath her panties and were pinching and twisting her pussy lips, making hot flares of pain flash between her legs. He jammed two fingers through her slit, entering her. “Aaagh!” She was flailing about even more frantically.

That’s when Mac clutched her hair, jerked her head up, and inserted the cigar’s burning end into her bosom and planted it there. Its fiery embers ground and turned in her quivering milky-white flesh. Janelle screamed and screamed, until her screams gave way to sobs. She lowered her face, mouth gaping, while Mac fished out his cock from his pants and stuck its bulging head in between her teeth. The gang leader, hand still firmly gripping her hair, started raising and lowering her mouth on his rod, grunting as her juicy, warm tongue slid up and down its fleshy length. Her fast hot breaths caressed its skin, blowing over the reams of her saliva that were now coating it from end to end. “Hell, yeah, bitch,” he murmured. “Gimme that road head.”

“Oommm..Ooom!,” she mewled. Not from the foul taste of Mac’s dick—foul though it was—but from Devil Dog’s fingers, which now curled back and forth inside her, stroking her vaginal flesh. Her hips squirmed, twitched, bucked at the penetration, as his fingertips twisted and weaved within her.

Mac looked out the window. “Pull over,” he said. The SUV ground to a halt next to a dilapidated cluster of row houses. Windows all shattered, roof caved in, a front door slightly ajar, and not one living person in sight. Whoever had lived here pre-earthquake was long gone. Perfect, Mac though to himself.

The three men grabbed Janelle’s limbs and carried her in through the door. A dingy hallway led to a room with torn-up walls and a trio of beat-up mattresses lying on the floor. “Yess,” Shark hissed. “Now we unwrap our pretty package.”

They flung Janelle down onto the nearest mattress. And Devil Dog held her fast by her ankles as Shark flicked out a knife and flicked at the spaghetti straps holding Janelle’s dress to her shoulders. The blade severed them, and the fabric unfurled from her shuddering chest. Mac clutched up bunches of the fabric and yanked, and the dress tore open, baring her torso to her three captors’ lusty eyes.

“Noo… No, please!” Janelle cried, as the knife came down on her bra straps and cut them loose, opening her soft mounds to Mac’s hands, which scooped up their feathery-light flesh and worked them between his fingers. Devil Dog took hold of her panties and jerked them down her hips, past her knees, and off her feet. Her panties, the last stitch of clothing shielding her delicate flesh from these three hoodlums’ rough hands and cruel eyes, fluttered to the floor. As one by one, the men shed their own clothes and pulled out their hardening cocks.

Devil Dog flung his firm body smack-down onto hers, making her body sink into the mattress. His lips enveloped hers in a sloppy, tongue-kiss. Janelle howled with rage over his mouth, as his throbbing member thumped at her pussy lips. Devil Dog’s hands grasped her pelvis as he jerked his hips back, lining up his thick cock head with her sex. Then—slam!—he plunged into her.

“Aiiiiy!” she screamed again. Her pussy, tight and so unprepared for the hard shock of the penetration, clamped tight around his cock, hugging it as he tugged back out of her and slammed back down. Then lifted up and dropped down into her again. Her pussy lips tight around his cock, she moved with him, his movements lifting her up and down as he bucked in and out of her.

Mac lowered himself to the mattress. Devil Dog sat up, making space as Mac straddled Janelle’s chest. “Uhhh,” Janelle groaned at the sudden weight on her chest, and at the sudden lifting of her midriff as Devil Dog rose up on his haunches and wrapped her toned, slender legs around his trunk. He went on drilling her with deeper, upward thrusts. As Mac’s groin bore down on her mouth, and the taste of Mac’s dick again ran over her tongue.

Mac bucked his hips, driving his length in and out of her mouth. His cock head scraped the roof of her mouth and poked this way and that, making her cheeks puff up like a chipmunk’s as his tool shoved its way into every corner of her mouth.

“Aww, damn. Aww, damn!” Devil Dog crowed, sweat trickling over his bare chest. Sweat was gleaming over Janelle’s legs and trunk, too, the dual pounding working her body over. And pain. So much pain. Every lunge of Devil Dog’s erection into her pussy was a battering ram that crashed into her, a hard punch bruising and busting her vaginal flesh. “Mmmph! Mmm-mm-mmph” she wailed helplessly through her cock-stuffed mouth.

Mac came first. Salty precum trickled from his cock, dabbing Janelle’s tongue. And then, a geyser of his gooey spurted forth, flooding her mouth. Shark reached over and clamped her jaws shut. “Swallow, bitch, or you’ll be missing some teeth,” he whispered to her. She nodded, wide-eyed, and forced her throat muscles to take down every last drop. 

Mac climbed off her chest, and her hands clasped over her face as she burst into loud, heaving sobs. While Devil Dog kept on humping her, his body moving hers faster and faster. And then he grunted and slammed into her one last time, bottoming out, his cock crammed into her to the hilt, and let loose with a gush of his cum flowing into her womb.

He came in me!, Janelle shuddered. She sobbed louder. And as he pulled out of her and rose from the mattress, Janelle curled her naked legs up to her chest and wept, sniffling and shaking, tears streaming down her round, tender white cheeks.

But she’d have no time to lay there and cry. It was Shark’s turn. He reached down and shoved her off the mattress and lay down on his back in her place. She rolled over to the floor just as Mac and Devil Dog picked her up by the arms and hoisted her onto Shark’s lap. Her breasts collided with his face, and his tongue lolled around in their sweet, sweaty slopes. As he flung his arms around her hips and guided his cock into her pussy. With Devil Dog holding her by her shoulders, keeping her in place, Shark bucked up and down, making her body rise and fall over his. Janelle’s head flailed back and forth, and her hands reflexively clutched his sides for balance as she rode out wave after wave of his motions into her.

Waves were starting to flow within her, too. “Oooooh,” she softly moaned. Her pussy flesh, sore from the nonstop assaults, had started to do what nature makes it do to protect itself—to lubricate. Warm, wet fluid began to churn and move within her canal. And with it, she felt the first eddies of uninvited arousal. “Fuck,” she breathed, horrified at what was taking place within her body. “No, God, no,” she gasped. But her body disagreed. Shark’s pounding of her pussy grew faster, harder, making her hands grip his chest and hold on tightly and making her blond locks shake over her back and shoulders. And making successions of soft gasps flow from her lips. Those gasps grew louder, more excited, more frantic. “Ohh… ohhh…oh, God,” she exclaimed through clenched teeth.

“Hot damn!” Shark called out. Her pussy lips were clamping down on his cock, and Janelle’s thighs and feet were curling tighter and tighter around his legs. And he was loving it.

“Ohhhh! Goddd!” Janelle squealed. And her back arched. Her toes scrunched. And her cum poured from her pussy and wet Shark’s trunk beneath her. That was the last little jolt that Shark’s orgasm needed. He bucked up, his butt rising four or five inches up off the mattress, lifting Janelle high up into the air as his seed hosed out of his cock. Janelle’s womb took in its second dose of uninvited male seed of the day.


May 07, 2018, 09:22:57 AM
Reply #4

Offline vile8r

Way to go Alastor!

May 07, 2018, 11:46:34 AM
Reply #5

Offline gscmar64

Super hot read Alastor can't wait for more!

May 07, 2018, 02:13:42 PM
Reply #6

Offline archon

WOW!  Loving it.  Keep up the good work! 

May 08, 2018, 04:51:28 PM
Reply #7

Offline Alastor82

Part 3

The three hoodlums returned to the SUV with a naked, shell-shocked Janelle in their clutches. She felt them push her into a rear seat, watched all three of them climb into the vehicle’s cabin, and her eyes stared blankly out the SUV’s window. The past hour had utterly overwhelmed her. She took in sights and sounds around her with vacant semi-catatonia. Her brain couldn’t even tell what to feel. Except dirty, inside and out.

“Jus’ wait ‘til we reach the water. Got more fun times in store for you,” Mac sneered, his hands fiddling with her hair.

They reached a pier. Janelle heard crackling, like burning wood; and high-pitched girlish screams. The crackling was from a campfire close to the sand. The screams, from Brianna, who sat in the sand, her back flat against one of the wooden columns—a column to which she had been bound by thick ropes around her waist. Tattered remnants of her dress clung to her shoulders, and her bra still secured her breasts, but she was otherwise naked from her tight, quivering tummy on down.

She wasn’t alone. Red Eyes stood over her, holding a long blade that glowed bright orange—looked like he’d just heated it in the fire. Ghost crouched down, grasping Brianna’s legs at the knees and pinning them together, flat and fully stretched out against the sand. Brianna’s bare feet, smushed together, flicked and twitched. Janelle watched, her heart rate speeding up again, as Red Eyes lowered the blade and pressed its flat, hot-glowing end against the soles of her feet. “Owwwww!” the little woman screeched. “Pleeeaase! Stop this!”

He swung the blade back, then forward, giving her soles another scorch. Brianna screamed loud enough to make glass shatter, and her eyes gushed hot tears down her red cheeks. She shook, her hair's auburn curls flapping every which way. As the blade burned her feet again, and again, and again.

Red Eyes grinned. “You see what happen when you won’t be a good girl and suck the dick? We punish you. That’s what happen,” he said to her.

“Wha’s going on here?” Mac said, snickering at the whole scene.

Ghost turned around. “Little Princess White-Ass Bitch bit my dick when I stuck it in her mouth. This is what she gets.”

“Ooh, she a bad girl, oui?” Mac said. “We not like the bad girls. We make them be good. You going to be a good little girl, Brianna?”
Brianna fixed her eyes on his. They were smoldering with hate. “First off, I’m not a little girl. I am a woman. And—ahhhhh!” The blade swung down and roasted her dainty soles yet again.

Janelle spotted a trail of dried blood leading up from between Brianna’s legs. The two men had clearly gotten acquainted with her other orifices, she realized sadly.

Mac stepped toward Brianna, took out a knife, and sliced away the ropes, cutting her loose. Then he cut at the remaining shreds of her dress and bra, snipping away the last bits of cloth and unveiling her full, unclothed body to the sand and sun. Then he kicked her in the chest. She fell on her back into the sand, as Mac pressed his booted foot into her chest and glared down. “I will tell you what you are. You are a cock-slut bitch. Our cock-slut bitch. You serve us, please us, be our pretty little slave. Until we are done with you. Or else I make you hurt much worse than they just did. You hear?” He spat, nailing her right in the face.

“Leave her alone. Please,” Eric cried out. All turned. He sat, still handcuffed, bound by rope to a tree on the other side of the fire.

“And what if we don’t?” said Shark, smirking.

“Hey! Look-y look-y” shouted Devil Dog. He strode up, carrying two purses. Janelle and Brianna simultaneously cringed. It was their purses.

“Some loot. Les’ see what we got,” said Shark, forgetting about Eric for the moment. He turned the first one, an expensive-looking Gucci leather handbag, upside down. Brianna’s driver’s license and passport fell out. “We’ll need those,” Mac said, scooping them up.
Then some credit cards and cash. “We’ll definitely need those.”

And then a pill bottle. “Lexapro,” Mac read. “Tha’s for anxiety, oui? Can we snort it?”

“No. It don’ work like that. You don’t get high,” Ghost said. “No one gonna buy that shit.”

“I see,” Mac replied. “Then we dump it.”

“Noooo!” Brianna yelped. Mac ignored her and stepped onto the pier. He opened the bottle and dangled it out over the water.

“No no no no no,” Brianna pleaded. “Don’t do that. I’ll do whatever you want.” Brianna leaped to her feet and stumbled, her burned soles too sore to walk. So she got up onto her knees and fast-crawled across the sand, toward the pier, cringing as her knees and hands met its sun-scorched wood. She could NOT be without her medication.

Mac paused and watched her crawl toward him. He turned himself to her, momentarily lowering the bottle to one of his pants pockets. Brianna looked up at him, her brown eyes wide with tension, with pleading, and she reached up and unzipped his pants. Her fingertips worked quickly to lower his pants and underpants down past his buttocks, unfurl his dick, and slide its full length into her open mouth.
She gave him a long, rigorous suck, her tongue enwrapping his member and pulling it back all the way toward her throat. Her tongue and lips relaxed, releasing his cock with a wet PLOP, before she closed her mouth around it and began to rapidly nod her head to and fro, sliding her lips and tongue over his shaft and back, over and over. She worked quickly, hands grasping his buttocks, kneading them, as she glided her lips and tongue up and down his member, making the whole cock tingle with warm thrills.

“Yeeeah, tha’s it, bitch, jus’ like that,” Mac said, rocking on his feet as she slurped and sucked. Her cheeks hollowed with her ministrations. And her frightened eyes alternately closed, showing the full concentration she was giving his cock; or opened to look up to him and make sure he was pleased. This wasn’t a cock-sucking she was giving; this was all-out cock worship.
Minutes rolled by. Then he clutched the back of her head and pressed her tightly into his groin. His cock shoved its way into her windpipe. Brianna coughed, gagged; her body shook; and then Mac unloaded a volley of cum into a woman’s mouth for the second time that day. He released Brianna, and she tumbled on her back onto the pier, gasping for breath.

“W-was that good?” she asked meekly.

Mac smirked and zipped up his pants. “I’ve had better.” He fished out the pill bottle and tossed it into the sea.


. . .

“Please tell me you know something,” Doug pleaded, his fists clenched. He sat tensely in his chair in the police briefing room, Bertrand sitting ashen-faced on his right and four other uniformed agents—two Haitian, one Canadian, and one American—sat across from him with stoney, grim faces while they scribbled notes on notepads.

“At this stage, I’m afraid we don’t know much more than you,” the American said. “We’ve heard of car jackings, but what Corporal Bertrand reported is a whole other level. From what I understand, Corporal”—he was looking at Bertrand now—“around a dozen guys with assault rifles stopped your car and the one you were escorting, and they fired on you, beat you, and took your radio and phone before you could radio for help?”

“That is correct, sir,” Bertrand answered.

“And you have nothing—no distinguishing marks, no tattoos—nothing that you remember about them?”

“No, sir, they were masked and had nothing like that.”

“This sounds like mob activity, albeit an unusually well-organized mob activity. I’ll have my guys on the organized-crime beat look into this,” the Canadian said. “Both of you, I’m terribly sorry about what you’ve gone through. We’ll do everything on our end to find these guys and get your loved ones back.

“Thank you, kindly,” Doug said.

Everyone left the room save for one Haitian. A female cop, with brownish-blackish ponytailed hair and thin, hard lips. “Sir? I’m Officer Clemence Deveraux. I will escort you back to your lodge,” she said.

“That would be great.”

They filed out of the building to her police car and drove off in silence. Doug exhaled loudly and looked out the window to the dark streets of Port-Au-Prince at night. Somewhere in these unlit, collapsed buildings and warehouses was his wife, dammit.
Then his gut lurched. The lodge was behind them and fading from view. Devereaux had driven straight past it.

“Uh, I think you missed it,” he said. His eyes flicked down to her lap. Her hand clutched a gun. And it was pointing straight at him.

“Just.. sit.. there.. and be silent. And make this easy for both of us,” she hissed.

There were a handful of cops who secretly owed favors to Zoe Pound. Bertrand was one of them. Devereaux, unfortunately for Doug, was another.

She drove a few more minutes, and a beach came into view. Doug spotted a pier and a burning fire. And heard screams.

“Out,” Devereaux barked, flinging his door open, gun still trained on him. Doug stepped out and followed her lead toward the pier. The screams were louder and clearer now. They were Janelle’s!

“Janelle! Babe!” he hollered and ran toward the water.

Out of nowhere, a wooden beam nailed him in the back. He went flying face-forward into the sand. Just as he saw his wife spread out on her belly on a sand dune some 10 meters ahead. And splayed out over her, a hulking naked black man who gripped each of her hands in his while pumping his cock up and down in her ass.

“Doug! Heelllp!” she hollered hoarsely. Her body writhed and spasmed, her arms jerked at the brawny black ones pinning them down, and she kicked her legs but managed to only kick volleys of sand. As the man raping her drilled and drilled her without end. Blood ran along both her ass cheeks. He’d been at it for some time. And had probably not been the first.

“You fucker!” Doug hollered and raced toward Janelle and the man. Two other men slide-tackled him.

“Damn, your bitch has one fine ass,” one of them said. “We been drilling it all damn night.”

Doug turned, swung a fist, but the heckler blocked it and caught Doug’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and held him in place while his cohort raised a fist and socked Doug in the stomach. Doug keeled over, and both of his assailants rained kicks on his chest and head.

“Aiight, we good,” said a fourth man. The one Doug would find out was called Mac. “Gag him and tie him up next to Eric. They both getting a free show, whether they want it or not.”


May 09, 2018, 03:09:56 AM
Reply #8

Offline archon

...I...uhh...I LOVED IT!!

May 09, 2018, 03:21:03 PM
Reply #9

Offline gscmar64

Damn getting that you can't tell who the good and bad is without a score card. As far as i can tell Hatians- good, foreigners-bad to Haitians bone!

Such a nasty story, loving ever word!

May 09, 2018, 06:07:24 PM
Reply #10

Offline Alastor82

Thanks, all. Glad to have some fans.  :D Two more chapters to come.

@gscmar64: Bad foreigners? As in Brianna? Yeah, I made her to be awful. I like to think she and these gangster dudes are made for each other.  ;)

May 10, 2018, 01:53:57 AM
Reply #11

Offline Alastor82

Part 4

At some point, the man anally raping Janelle—it was Ghost, not that Doug knew or cared—pulled out of her. She sank weakly into the sand as his dick sprang up, droplets of her blood coursing its hard length. She barely caught her breath, when he then flipped her over on her back and flung himself down, his dick landing between her breasts. He gripped her pillowy mounds around his member, riding his cock back and forth in the valley between them, then dove forward and jammed it into her mouth. “Nnnnnhh” Janelle cried through cock-crammed lips as she tasted blood, cock meat, and traces of her own shit.

Seconds later, Mac shucked off his pants, crouched down, and wrapped one of her legs around his buttocks while standing the other one up against his left shoulder. His cock head rose up and tapped at her pussy, and he pushed forward and entered her. Janelle’s hips involuntarily rose and fell as her labia stretched around yet another male organ. Mac started to pump, his butt shaking her enwrapped leg while his chest made her other leg wriggle against his arm. His hardness plunged deep into the depths of her sex, snaking through her passage with fast, full back-and-forth lunges.

While Ghost pistoned in and out of her lips, raking her palate with swerving, swinging swipes of his cock all around her mouth. Reveling in the feeling of her quivering, dainty tongue and the warm, gooey fizz of her saliva coating his cock-flesh. Then he jerked back, flung forward, and punched his cockhead into her throat just in time for a downpour of his cum into her windpipe.
Brianna huddled against her bound husband’s chest, cowering in terror at Janelle’s latest ordeal. Somewhat relieved—she had to admit—that at least they were all busy with Janelle and were leaving her the hell alone. 

She watched Ghost withdraw from Janelle. Then Mac withdrew, just for a second, and sat his ass down in the sand. He lifted Janelle up into his lap, with a little help from Ghost, who guided Janelle onto Mac’s still-erect cock. Mac’s hands clasped her pelvis both sides. And for the second time since morning, Janelle felt her body be bounced up and down on atop a Haitian cock.

She felt, too, a tensing throughout her body as twinges of arousal started to flicker in her abdomen. “Nnnhh… nnhhh… nnh nnhh nhhh” she gasped, her exhalations coming faster and faster as warm, wet pleasure crept up her spine. Her eyes caught Doug’s, and she saw the agony in his eyes and felt sick.

Then she noticed Devil Dog, Red Eyes, and Shark all crowd around her, sans their pants. They were stroking their own cocks. Then Devil Dog stepped over Mac, gripped her head, and forced her mouth over his cock, making her lips ride up and down its length with every up-and-down bounce her body was making against Mac’s. Her tongue lathered it and her soft lips rushed up and down it, and before long Ghost spurted his juices all over the roof of her mouth.

Mac reached up and grabbed her breasts, mashing their fleshy mounds within his fingertips, as he lunged up and released his seed into her womb. Janelle felt his fluids flood her. Then felt herself fall down onto her ass in the sand. Shark and Red Eyes yanked her onto her knees and simultaneously plunged their erect rods in through her lips. Her mouth was filled with the taste of cock, and her lips stretched painfully from their dual rigorous thrusts, before each one finally released their pent-up cum and flooded her mouth. Cum and spit dribbled down her lips, as she gasped and coughed hacking coughs.

The five hoods panted and wiped their brows. They were done for the night. Mac led the other four in taking their four prisoners across the sand to a two-story white-alabaster beach house amid the palm trees. They led their captives in through the door, up a staircase, and into two bedrooms—Mac, Devil Dog, and Shark went into one, with Brianna and Eric in tow; Red Eyes and Ghost took the other, with Janelle and Doug in their grasp.

Devil Dog handcuffed Eric to a rivet nailed into their bedroom’s farthest wall and then sat in a chair, a revolver in his hands. He’d apparently pulled the short straw and was on watch duty. Mac plunked down into a bed and hauled Brianna up under the sheets with him, while Shark opened a bottle of rum and took a mouthful, passed it to Mac, who downed a few sips, and then climbed into bed along with them. Mac stuffed the bottle through Brianna’s lips and tilted her head back. Brianna squealed at the sudden fire in her throat and the swimming sensation in her temples. Drops of rum dripped down to her breasts, and Devil Dog lowered his tongue and lapped them up. Too weak and wiped out to resist, and already feeling the rum, Brianna lay back, feeling Devil Dog’s hands resting on her rump, and softly cried herself to sleep.

When Brianna awoke, it was daylight and the men were gone. Shark opened the door and put a plate full of meat and bread at the foot of the bed. Brianna peered at it and cringed again.

“Umm… bacon?” she said. Shark nodded. Is there no end to the indignities?, Brianna fumed silently. Brianna and Eric were Jewish and ate accordingly. Bacon wasn’t part of the equation.

“I… we don’t eat bacon. We’re… Jewish.”

“It’s food. You eat. Or I can fuck you in the ass, like I did your friend Janelle.” Brianna flinched, dove for the plate, and scarfed the bacon down as fast as she could, feeding a few strips to the handcuffed Eric.

Then she and Eric sat in silence. And listened to the muffled sounds of Janelle weeping through the wall. And through the open window, the gruff voices of Shark and Red Eyes, who sat, keeping guard, in lounge chairs on the patio.

Hours passed by. And Brianna’s dread as to what would come next only grew. Dread that she tried to assuage with a few sips from the half-empty bottle of rum.

Noon turned to late afternoon. And Brianna slunk down into the bed, a throbbing headache ravaging her temples. And a dizzy sensation, like water sloshing in her ears. This wasn’t the rum—she’d had only a few sips since morning. “Ugh,” Brianna groaned, curling up into a ball. This was Lexapro withdrawal. It had been a good 30 hours since her last dose, and her brain was clambering for the meds.

The headache sharpened as late afternoon turned to evening, and muscle cramps flashed and flared up and down her limbs.

“Goddamit, what the fuck is going on? Why are we stuck here?” she hissed at Eric.

She’d get her answer soon enough. After dusk fell, two sets of headlights rose up into view. The gang’s SUV rode into view, and behind it, a black pickup truck with five unfamiliar, shirtless black men in back. And two barking, mean-looking dogs.

Mac climbed down from the SUV and high-fived everyone. “Yo, niggas, it’s Night Shift and his home boys. Now it’s a party!”

Red Eyes and Shark clapped the nearest newcomers on their backsides and guided them in through the door and up the stairs. Brianna heard their whooping and hollering in the hallway. A meek whimper escaped her lips as she clung nervously to the bedsheets.

“Whattup, mothafuckas!” yelled a dredlocked, heavyset fellow wearing a red bandana, a bare chest, and Army fatigue trousers.

“She waiting for you, Night Shift,” Red Eyes said to the shirtless man. “Waiting for you with her fresh white-girl pussy.”

“Fuck yeah, nigga,” Night Shift said, looking Brianna up and down. Brianna froze, her eyes gaping like a deer facing oncoming headlights. Which for all intents and purposes, she was.

“You no look happy to see me,” Night Shift said, sitting down on the bed and flinging the sheets back. He clasped Brianna by the ankles and drew her toward him.

“She in a bad mood because she on nervous pills. And we took away her pills,” Red Eyes said, chuckling.

“Aww. You nervous, baby girl?” Night Shift said. He grabbed his crotch. “I got all the stress you need right here. Ha ha!”

He pounced. Brianna yelped. He flung his arms around her and drew her toward his chest. She smelled bourbon and weed, and a heavy male musk. Two of his compatriots seized her arms and pressed her down onto the mattress. “No… no, please leave me alone!”
Night Shift ran his hands down her thighs and pushed his head down over her tummy. His hands slid, tracing her satiny-smooth skin from her thighs to her hips and cupped her pert, slim buttocks. He licked his lips. “Mmm. I love that sweet white girl pussy.”

“Nooo. Nooo… uhhh!” Brianna mewled, as his tongue darted out and gave her pussy a long, lusty lick. He wove his tongue around her slit in circles. She squirmed at his touch as every one of the taut coils of nerves between her legs lit up with sensation. His tongue dipped and sank within the folds of her pussy lips. Brianna felt its tip lapping and flicking inside her and drew a hard breath.

As the two men clutching her arms began to run their hands over her breasts, kneading her tit flesh and pinching her nipples. Her tits firmed up between their fingertips, and she drew in more breaths, faster and harder, as her body began to respond to the men’s stimulations. “Ooonnh” she groaned. “Fuck.”

Her tummy clenched. Wet, warm arousal was welling up within her loins. And she was powerless to stop it.

Night Shift’s tongue reached up and wriggled against her clit. “Oooh,” she gasped. As trickles of moisture coursed through her vaginal folds.

Night Shift’s tongue tasted the sweet nectar of her arousal, and he looked up at her and smirked. “You having fun, oui? I can tell.”
He inserted a fingertip into her sex and wove it around. Brianna’s hips involuntarily shifted and stirred. She groaned more, and the finger sloshed in her wetness. He retracted it and held it up to the light, in full view of Eric. “Look at that, my man. I’m giving your woman a good time. She get wet like this for you?”

Eric sat, red-faced, silent, looking at them with eyes like daggers.

Night Shift scooted up and sat himself atop Brianna’s left thigh. Then he took up her right leg in his arms and swung it up, hooking it in his arms against his chest. His two compatriots turned her body forward onto her left side, as Night Shift dropped his pants. He slid forward, pressing his cock at her moist, trembling slit. He inched forward. “Ooooh,” Brianna whispered. He inched forward more, and more, easing himself in until his groin met hers. Then he started to hump, rocking her body and the mattress under them with back-and-forth motions of his cock within her passage.

“Mmph… mmph,” Brianna’s moans were suddenly muffled as one of the other men at her breasts drove his own cock into her mouth. His hand clenched her hair and held her in place as he started to thrust in and out of her lips. Brianna’s little body jiggled, and her right foot swung and kicked in the air in time to the two male bodies’ heaves and thrusts.

“Hot damn, she is wet as shit,” Night Shift crowed, glancing back at the enraged Eric. “Getting wet for the big black dick. What you think about that, little man?”

Brianna was rocking to and fro. Her ab muscles tensing and clenching with hot waves of pleasure flowing through her. “Mmmmmmm!” she yelped, knocking her head back, thrusting it forward, breathing harder and flailing her leg in rapid circles. “Mmm! Mmmm! Oooom!” Her breasts heaved out. And Night Shift grunted as he felt her pussy clamp down on his member like a vise.

“Ohrr Gahrr. Ohhr Garr,” she cried out through a mouthful of cock. “Ahhhh!” She bolted forward, muscles spasming, back arching. Legs involuntarily curling up and giving Night Shift more access.

“Yeah, tha’s it,” the third man pinning her arms crooned, softly stroking her forehead with one hand. “Let it out, baby. Jus’ let it all out.”

“Fuck! Oh my God! Oh my God!” she was shrieking, dropping the cock from her mouth, as the fluids of her orgasm gushed from her pussy and soaked the sheets beneath them. She dropped her leg and dissolved into a flurry of shuddering, squealing, and teary-eyed sobbing as Night Shift went on humping her. Finally, he drew a deep breath and pulled out, and a fountain of his cum sprayed out and coated her thighs. The man fucking her mouth wasn’t far behind and jerked out of her mouth just in time to nail her with his cum in her face.

Brianna was panting, shaking, and dripping with sweat. But no sooner had the two men raping her pussy and mouth left the bed than the third man and a fourth one lined up and took their place. And behind them, Red Eyes and five other members of Night Shift’s posse were lining up in two trains of cocks waiting to stuff her mouth and her pussy. The train rolled on throughout the night. And Eric could do nothing but sit helplessly and watch as Brianna spent the next few hours shuddering, squealing, and coming hard over each and every one of them.

Day broke, some hours. And the roomful of men arose from their slumber. As did Brianna. A few men filed out of the room. Eric, seeing Night Shift standing just a few feet from him, leaned over and went “Psst. Can we talk?”
Night Shift eyed him coolly.

“Sir, you’re a reasonable man. I know you are. I want to cut you a deal. I’ve got $250,000 in a market account. Every dollar will be yours, I promise you. All you need to do is help us get out of here.”

Night Shift was silent for a second. “And what about Mac? You talk to him?”

“Mac doesn’t know this. I’m pitching this to you and you alone. The money is all yours.”

“So,” Night Shift scowled. “You think you can make me dick over Mac. My Zoe Pound brother. For what? For your money?”

“It’s a lot of money, yes? And as I said, it’s—”

Night Shift punched him in the gut. “Shut up! You think I need your money? You think I can’t make my own?”

The men clambered back in through the door, curious what the commotion was about. Night Shift grabbed his pants pocket and fished out a thick wad of dollar bills. He shoved the wad in Eric’s face. “You see? My money! I don’t need your money. Fuck your money!”

“How about,” one of the other men chimed in, “he eat your money?”

Night Shift’s eyes narrowed, then he smiled a cold, cruel smile. “Yes. Yes, I like that. Go, fetch me the change.”
Brianna’s eyes widened with newfound fright. She REALLY didn’t like the sound of this.

The man returned with a wooden box and opened it. It was chock-full of coins of all sizes.

Night Shift snapped his fingers, and Red Eyes uncuffed Eric and shoved him to the floor. Then three of Night Shift’s men held Eric’s arms and head while two more took their pistols, turned the handles toward Eric’s face, and shoved the handles in through his mouth to prop it open. “Arrghh! Arghh! Stahh zith!” Eric hollered.

“I save this shit for motherfuckers that I no like. And I no like you,” Night Shift said. He scooped up a fistful of coins and slammed them into Eric’s mouth. Then another fistful. And another.

Eric screamed. And started to cough and hack. Brianna screamed. “No! Stop this! Stop this now!” she screeched. But it was too late.
Eric’s face turned purple, then he fell still, as his coin-choked throat gave up breathing. He fell still, and Night Shift raised a dagger and stuck it through Eric’s neck. Blood and the rim of a coin burbled to the surface from the open wound.

Brianna screamed a wordless scream and fainted.


May 10, 2018, 11:07:29 PM
Reply #12

Offline Alastor82

Part 5

Janelle’s night wasn’t going any better. While Red Eyes, Night Shift, and Night Shift’s crew were busily ravishing Brianna, Mac and his three other bros dragged Janelle and her hubby back outside toward the beach. Night Shift had brought his “medicine chest” with him—duffel bags filled with cocaine, heroin, PCP, and a host of other uppers, downers, and psychedelics. The four hoodlums drew out the drugs and went about popping pills and smoking dope. Wisps of chemical smoke blew in Janelle’s face, and she frowned with disgust. Drugs had NEVER been her thing, and never would be.

One of the dogs got in on the drug party, too. It trotted over to the circle of men, and Mac threw down a slab of raw chopped meat and dropped four blue pills into the mess just before the dog wolfed it down. Janelle stared, puzzled, wondering what the dog might have swallowed. The dog’s ears perked up. So did its doggy dick: The thick, hairy cylinder of flesh rose down and bandied about, looking for somewhere to stick it. Viagra!, Janelle gaped. They gave the dog Viagra! But why?

“Yo these dogs is smart,” Mac said. “Follow my lead. You gonna see somet’ing wild!”

At his command, the other three men forced Janelle down onto her back on the ground. Then they unfurled two strands of rope and lashed them around Janelle’s wrists. Janelle’s heart was thudding. Something VERY bad was about to happen—she could tell. “God, help me,” she whispered.

The men looped the strands around two nearby palm trees and pulled them taut, stretching Janelle’s arms up and out to her sides. Then two of them each grabbed one of her legs and stretched it up and out, fully exposing her pussy.

Mac whistled. And the dog grunted and trotted over to the bound, stretched Janelle. Its snout nudged and sniffed her quivering sex. It licked her pussy, eliciting a startled yelp from her.

What happened next made Janelle’s face turn white with horror.

The dog squatted and rammed its erect organ against her slit. “Oh… God… please, please stop this!” she whimpered. “Don’t make me…ahhhhhh!” words died in her throat, as the dog pushed through her pussy lips and began to rut into her like she was a bitch in heat.

“Uggggh!” she was screaming, and bawling. She shut her eyes tight to block out the sight of this unholy act. But there was no shutting out the brutish grinding feeling of the dog’s rough, thick organ stretching and shoving itself within her folds.

Devil Dog whooped and cheered. And unbuckled his pants. “I’ma help the dog out,” he said. Noting Janelle’s closed eyes, he stepped over her and lunged his hips into her face. His cock crach-landed into her mouth before she had a chance to resist.

“Mmmmph!” she hollered through full lips. Then Ghost decided to take things up a notch. With her mouth preoccupied, Janelle had no choice but to breathe through her nose—so she was powerless to stop him when he rolled up a dollar bill, shoved it up her nose, and poured a mass of crystalline powder down the rolled-up dollar and into her nasal passage. Janelle sputtered, shook, felt her sinuses burn.

“Aw shit! That nigga gave the bitch acid!” someone called out, laughing uproariously.

And then, everything got weird. The fire’s flames grew three times as high. The trees shimmied and swayed. And the men’s voices grew distant, words slurred, and their faces thinned and lengthened. And their teeth turned into pointy fangs. Janelle gasped.
Mac looked her in the eyes. His eyes glowed demon-red. He uttered something, but Janelle couldn’t make out the words, only the hiss of his forked tongue as it darted out of his mouth.

Devil Dog came. His seed poured into her throat, and Janelle saw him step away from her as a dozen short, sinister figures in red robes with tall, pointy hoods amassed and danced in circles around her. “God,” Janelle called out. “Jesus!”
She blinked again. Fiery lines formed in her line of vision. Morphed into a volley of upside-down crosses.

Janelle blinked. She shed tears of terror. “Our Father, who art in heaven…”

“Heh.. heh… heh. Ain’ no Father in Heaven here,” the voice of Ghost mocked her. “You with devils now!”

Janelle’s eyes returned to the dog humping her. Except it was a dog no longer. It had sprouted horns. Grown to six feet in height. And its dog cock lengthened and slithered about inside her passage with snake-like coiling and uncoiling. A gooey resin dripped from its head inside her, and Janelle knew with nauseous terror that it had come. “Congratulation-s-s-s,” the un-dog demon hissed, curling a forked tongue between pointy teeth. “You’re a mother of hell.”

“GAHHHHHH!” Janelle screamed into the night air. She drooped her head and vomited. And looked up to see one more vision that was worst of all: A demonic Mac flinging a brick into the back of Doug’s head, cracking his skull open.

Then everything turned to black. As Janelle lost consciousness and slipped into a deep near-coma.

. . .

There were no literal demons on the beach that night. Nor were there any when Janelle opened her eyes that morning, her wrists no longer bound. She took in the earthly sunrise and the sifting branches of the palm trees in a normal earthly breeze.

“Hnnn-hh,” she suddenly gasped. A few meters away lay Doug, motionless, brain matter and blood spilled out of his split-open cranium. That part had been no hallucination. Doug, her real-life husband, was really dead.

Men dozed or sat, bleary-eyed and stoned, around her. Janelle buried her face in her knees and sobbed loudly. Doug, her best friend, her best buddy, her love, was now a mangled corpse. She’d never see him again.

. . .

Janelle wouldn’t see Brianna again either. Soon as they’d sobered up, Ghost and Devil Dog roused a meek, shell-shocked Brianna from her bed, washed her down in the beach house’s shower, and threw a towel around her body. They led her to the truck and drove her to a field, where a black helicopter descended and two Arab men took her and flew off into the horizon. Destination: Saudi Arabia, where an aging Muslim sheikh who delighted at the thought of a pretty little Jewish lady to use and abuse awaited her with clasped hands and a rack of whips and bamboo rods. She would serve and pleasure him to the end of his days. He would see to it, In’shallah.

. . .

While his cohorts were doing their business with the Arabs, Mac drove off on an errand of another sort. A few kilometers down the road to a farm, where his trusted priestess Ayesha communed with the spirits. Like most members of Zoe Pound, Mac swore by the power of voodoo. And so Ayesha, being a lifelong practitioner and soothsayer, held great sway over the gang leader. Much more sway than he’d allow any female to ever hold over him.

So he humbled himself, next to her in her shrine, and breathed in incense as she pounded a drum and chanted lines of verse in African tongues.

She ceased her chanting and addressed him. “What do you ask from the ancestors?” she said.

“Enemies seek my blood, seek my life. I want them to fail. I want a long life,” he replied.

“You want the aid of Baron Samedi, my brother. He is the lord of life and death. No one passes from this world to the other without his say-so. He will protect you. If you give him some-t’ing nice.”

“What must I give him?”

“I t’ink you already know.”

. . .

“Wh-what’s going on? What are you doing?” Janelle stammered. Mac, Night Shift, and both their posses—all 11 men, in one group—surrounded her. They handcuffed her wrists and lay her down on a flat wood, two-meters-wide platform on the beach. She squirmed and flinched at the hot wood against her bare back, as they tied her ankles to metal spikes at the platform’s base. The sun was just beginning to set, and off to her right, the bonfire roared. Mac strode up, accompanied by a plump, older black woman wearing a bight headscarf and a multicolored gown.

“My brothers, the great Ayesha is here,” Mac called out. The men bowed their heads toward her. Two more young black men arrived, carrying drums. A third one walked up, wearing a black top hat, a black fancy dress-coat, and a hideous grinning mask. And a lengthy, phallic wood apparatus that hung from a heavy belt buckle and drooped nearly to the ground. 

“Someone please tell me what’s going on!” Janelle screeched.

“Hush now, woman,” Ayesha snapped. “You about to be given a great honor. You will have a new husband. A divine husband. Baron Samedi.”

“Let me out of here! Please!” Janelle hollered. But they no longer heard her. At that moment, the drummers started pounding out a steady rhythm, and all 11 gangsters began to prance in a circle around the fire and chant some sing-songy African chant. Janelle squealed and writhed against her confines. Then she noticed, with icy dread, that each man was clutching a knife.   

The men danced and shimmied as they circled the fire. Janelle saw some of them fall back and their eyes glaze over, as if in trance. “Baron Samedi, come for your bride!” Ayesha cried out. The masked figure with the wood phallus waddled over to Janelle.

“Nooo,” she mewled. But there was no stopping him, stopping any of them. The phallus lifted up and crashed through her dry pussy. Skin and muscle ripped away, and Janelle let loose a frantic scream. She screamed peals of agonized, half-crazed screams louder and louder as the phallus bore into her, ravaging a bloody path up to her cervix.

That’s when the knives came down. “Gaah!” she wailed. A blade nicked her shoulder. “Oww!” she yelped, as another ripped at her thigh. The circle of men converged at the platform and raised and lowered their knife-bearing hands. Janelle’s screams filled their ears, and her blood splattered their chests and faces, as they stabbed her again and again from her neck to her feet.

The masked, phallic figure bore his wooden tool in deeper. Her vaginal canal rent in two. But Janelle only mildly felt the rip. As pints of blood left her veins and her life dribbled away onto the sands. White light bathed everything around her, and her pain turned to unfeeling oblivion, as Janelle closed her eyes for good and departed this world for whatever might be there for her next. Maybe Baron Samedi. Maybe Doug. Who’s to say? All that mattered, in that moment, was that her hell in Haiti was no more.


May 10, 2018, 11:28:25 PM
Reply #13

Offline archon

so good.  Love your snuff scenes.   

May 11, 2018, 01:48:17 PM
Reply #14

Offline gscmar64

Only thing that could have made it creepier in my eyes would be if you rose the dead husbands from the grave for one last goodbye fuck with the girls! Excellent story Alastor 82

May 12, 2018, 04:24:08 PM
Reply #15

Offline Alastor82

Ooh. Ghost sex. Spooky. I like that.  ;D

May 12, 2018, 05:46:17 PM
Reply #16

Offline vile8r

Wow! What an ending! Excellent job Alastor! Hope to see more stories like this!

May 14, 2018, 03:43:57 PM
Reply #17

Offline Alastor82

@vile8r: Well, I can only wonder what’s happening to poor, pretty little Brianna, in her life of sex slavery in the palace of the sheikh. Maybe I should write a story about it and find out. 😉