WARNING!    You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex. This story is all fiction and no characters in it are meant to resemble any real person. That’s the legal part. Here’s the important part to me. This is fantasy, by the author, to be shared with readers who share in such fantasies. That is the story’s sole purpose for being here. In the real world, this sort of behavior is simply not acceptable, period, by any of the laws or morals of any humane people. That means you too. If you actually hurt someone without their informed consent, just stop. Take a deep breath and stop right now. That’s not your right. A surprising number of subs exist out there, so take the time to meet one and make your corner of the world a better place. Don’t trash two lives letting your frustrations get the better of you.

She Insisted on Telling

Chapter 1: Molly was just raped.

The masked intruder waved her phone in front of her face. Molly cringed, her jaw quivering. Just make him leave, she thought. Make them all leave. “We’ve examined your phone, cunt!” he spat. “We’ve downloaded all your contacts. Every friend you’ve ever had. Every family member. You report anything of this, tell any cops, tell any friends, and we’ll make you regret it. Everyone you’ve ever met will get a copy of the last twelve hours, and then we’ll come back to finish you off. And if we can’t find you, we’ll find, oh, Melissa, or Rachelle, or Tiff. Or maybe your grandmother! Got it? Nod if you’ve got it!”

Molly quickly nodded her head. She was lashed securely to her bed and couldn’t do much else. The man stood up straight. He pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it, at her pussy. “Remember, you shut the fuck up about all of this!” Another jab with his fist to her jaw reinforced it. Then he motioned, and all five of them took off. Molly was left weeping and shaking, naked and cold, spread on her bed. The ropes were so tight. Her used panties were shoved in her mouth, soaking wet by then from her spit, but held in by loops of duct tape. They’d been at her all night. She saw the faint hint of day glow from the window.

She tried to scream when they were surely gone. She pulled frantically at the bonds holding her. How could she keep it a secret if she couldn’t free herself by herself? But how could she get help tied and gagged. The terrifying thought of slowly dying in that spot of dehydration flashed across her mind. What if she never got loose? She would just lie there, hurting, dying, until a few days passed and she shriveled down into a dusty corpse. Fresh tears burst from her eyes at the idea – the worst possible thing she could do was cry!

Day glow turned into dawn, and then into a bright light shining in. Molly just lay there with numbing hands and feet bordered by bloodied wrists and ankles. She pulled so hard, and got such nothing. She screamed, but no one in the building seemed to notice. Her phone rang a few times. She received texts. With the phone on the floor, she couldn’t do shit to reply. She could only lie there. Eventually she had to lie there in her own piss, as it passed noon out and her bladder was overwhelmed. It soaked into her sheets and mattress. At least it washed away some, but not all, of the dried cum on her shaved pussy. They had shaved it. They kept the hairs, too. And with each passing hour, Molly stared up at the ceiling and died a little inside. She could feel her heart flutter in terror each time she considered her options. She had none. If no one came looking for her, she was going to die, right there, hurting even more than she already was. When the sun went down, she was left without even the comforting presence of her bedroom walls for company. She lay naked and cold, staring up into the void.

The coming of daylight told her she had endured the first third of her death. Three days, that was how long it took a human to die of thirst. One down, two left. She had spent over twenty four hours tied naked to her bed. How many women suffered that much and lived? How could her rapists not know they were killing her when they left her like that? Not tell anyone? She couldn’t tell anyone anything ever again! Why threaten her when they were murdering her?

She stared, her silent horror only broken by the occasional ringing of the phone. A call, or a text, anything unanswered that would tell her friends or family that something had happened. Didn’t they notice her silence? But did she always return calls? Was she conscientious about returning texts? No. There it was. Molly Meacham not getting back to you was nothing new. Maybe in a week someone would bother to notice. By then her neighbors would have reported the smell. She let out a long, hard scream in frustration and terror, only to break down coughing. Her throat was bone dry. Her panties were mostly dry now. Her coughing fit, with the pain of the dry throat, lasted over five minutes. She heaved and jerked so hard she feared the end would come right then and there. Did those fuckers care? They raped her and left her to die.

And just as she thought it was done, her dry, sandy throat shot out more waves of pain and desperate thirst, bringing on a new fit of coughing. Her whole body was wracked with spasms and cramps. Tears she could not afford at all, scant though they were. She strained, her muscles pulling all-out, her skin breaking and ripping against the ropes holding her down. She screamed in pure agony through her tortured, ruined throat. And then the miracle finally came.

Her left leg broke free. The rope was not strong enough. Her left leg was now able to move about. But that was it. She couldn’t untie her arms with her left leg. She couldn’t even reach her arms with one leg. She could reach her right leg, but she couldn’t untie it. All she could do was let it lie loose. Until she realized that wasn’t all. She turned as much of herself over onto her right side as possible, and then kicked as far over to the right as she could. And kicked the wall.

She could kick the wall! Suddenly she had a scant hope again. She began kicking. And kicking. She kicked as hard as she could. Surely someone would hear her! Someone had to hear that. If, of course, anyone nearby were home and not at work. It was about eleven in the morning. And she heard nothing from the other units. Nothing in the building. There were retirees around, but not in her immediate neighbors. Not rights upstairs, or right downstairs.

Trying to conserve her energy, and desperate to not cry, Molly lay back down flat on her disgusting bed. She wasn’t going anywhere for at least six or more hours yet. Six more hours to lie there and let her five rapists’ cum knock her up or infect her with crabs. Not tell anyone? How could she hide anything? And weren’t they just blowing smoke at her anyway? Like these five punks, big he-men with their ganging up on helpless women at night were really organized and smart enough to monitor Molly Meacham’s life and make sure she stayed quiet. Not that bunch of fucktards! When the workday was over, she was going to survive and get out and get all of their rapist DNA on record. Hell, the cops would probably match at least two of them right away, and they’d cravenly finger the other three on their own. Pay a visit to Grandma? Who was dead, by the way. They’d be paying a visit to Bubba Brute up in the pokey, where they would be pokeyed all day and all night for twenty years to life. Rape and attempted murder, that’s what they were facing.

The longest six hours passed her by, though she kicked the wall every half hour or so. And it was only at 4:30 that someone pounded angrily back. She kicked again, and again someone pounded back. She heard someone shout something. Probably Mr. Tessier next door. She didn’t really like him much. Nor dislike him, really. He was just kind of there. Now he was shouting at her, but that was the idea. She strained and continued kicking. After a few minutes, there was no further response. And by 5:15, she heard the rattling of keys in her front door. Molly felt something akin to joy for the first time in days.

“Miss Meacham?” she heard someone ask. Some woman, probably from the front office of the complex. Molly screamed through her gag. Soon the woman poked her head around the corner of the doorway and peered into the bedroom. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight of Molly’s beaten, raped body on the bed. “Oh my god!” she screamed.

“What is it?” someone outside asked. Tessier, probably. As the office women, Corrine according to her name tag, rushed to the bed, Tessier appeared at the doorway looking alarmed. He took one look and his jaw dropped.

“Oh, jeez!” he cried. “I thought you didn’t like my radio on so loud!”

“Call 911, please,” Corrine asked him as she tried to get Molly loose. Tessier was soon on the line. As Corrine fumbled with the incredibly tight knots, Tessier walked over and handed her a jack knife from his pocket. Soon the ropes were cut, and the two women worked on the tape around her head.

“Water!” Molly whispered as soon as they could pull it off and extract her panties.

“Yes, water!” Corrine replied. She ran for the kitchen while Tessier stood over her, talking to 911, and keeping at least one eye on Molly. She wanted to shrink from his gaze, yell at him to get out. But she couldn’t talk and lacked the will. She wanted to cry, but nothing was left. Corrine returned with a big cup of tap water.

“Go slow!” she urged as Molly grasped the big cup and gulped it down. She needed two hands to properly keep a grip on it, so weak and numb were both hands. And after guzzling half of it in seconds, her stomach heaved and sent it back up. She dropped the cup, puking water all over herself, running down her chest. But her throat was moistened at least.

She took another swallow. One. Just one. And she counted to twenty. And wished like fucking hell all that Tessier would leave the room and stop gawking at her! What was she, a peep show? But he was on the line with 911. Finally, though, he looked out the window. “Cops are here,” he said. “And I see the ambulance coming up the road right now.”

Molly had managed to get all the way to sitting up when her bedroom was flooded by first police officers and then moments later by paramedics. All focused on her. All staring at her. She wanted to crawl into a shower. Or anywhere. But that was not realistic. She could hardly tell them to away. Besides, she hurt. Everywhere. She needed to see a doctor. And for the rest of what was about to come, which she’d read about in magazines, well, there was no avoiding it. The examination. The rape kits. If she wanted to put them away, that was the price. There was always a fucking price!

At least she was covered with a sheet as they rolled her out, all eyes still on her. Even Tessier was still hanging around in the hall as she rolled by. A dozen cops and techies stayed behind, in her apartment, without her even there. Strangers picking over her home, and soon enough over her body. Always a price.

Chapter 3: Molly learned the severity of her situation.

The hospital stay itself was calming for a while. Unpleasant, to be sure. There was too much poking and looking at things already looked at, even if it was their job to look at her. But it felt safe. That gang of five was out there, and they had her entire life downloaded. But at least they wouldn’t come after her in the middle of Metropolitan Hospital.

Her mother flew in to see her. It was a long trip. Long enough to put Molly’s mind at ease a bit there. They wouldn’t go a thousand miles just to revenge rape her mother, or her older sister either.

But would they follow her a thousand miles to revenge rape her? “Molly, come home and stay with us a while, please,” her mom had begged her. “At least until you’re ready to go back to work.”

“That’s just a couple days, Mom,” she said.

“A couple days? No, that’s far too short.”

“It’s what the doctors say.”

“Molly!” Both women turned as her best friend Tiff arrived, out of breath, at the doorway. “Oh, hi Mrs. Meacham.”

“Hello, Tiffany. It’s been a while.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not kids anymore, so you can call me Mona now.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe. That’s so weird. I’ll try, Mona.”

“Mom got in this morning,” Molly said.

“Yeah. Um, yeah.” Tiff was clearly fidgety. Nothing new there, Molly thought. But her demeanor put her on edge.

“Is something wrong?”

“Um, well. Maybe we should talk, pr…” She paused. “No, no, this should, I mean we all need to, um, handle it.” She was tripping over words, she was so badly agitated. “Mona, have you checked your emails today?” she asked warily.

Molly felt her face turn white. The room temperature dropped five degrees in an instant.

“My laptop is in the hotel. Molly! Good God, are you alright?”

Molly reached her hand out to Tiff. “It’s cued up?” Tiff nodded and handed her her i-phone, then closed the door. They were in a double room, but the other bed was unoccupied. Molly saw it on a field of white. She hit play.

‘The habits of the slut and prostitute Molly Meacham vol. 1’ it read, the letters scrolling across the screen. She sucked in a deep breath seeing her name in print that way. Her other hand clutched the bed rail in a death grip. The film continued. It cut directly to her naked and beaten in her living room. The lighting was awkward. The lights were on, but her crotch as she crawled on the floor while they hit and kicked her was not in good focus. It was the flashlight in her ass. It was on, messing up the lighting on their camera.

“Please, please!” she was sobbing on the film. Her voice was so drained, so pathetic sounding now. It was a later scene, many hours into their rape.

“Say it, bitch!”

“I’m a slut whore I’m a slut whore,” Molly on tape repeated. Yes, that was what they’d demanded of her quite a lot. “I’m a slut whore.”

Someone kicked her belly hard, knocking her down. “Get that light out of your ass!” one of them demanded. Molly watched it happen. It was like brand new. So she’d had to pull it out herself. She remembered it wrong when she was talking to the cops. Should she correct it? Now that they were following through?

Tape Molly reached between her legs, sobbing wildly, pulling the flashlight from her anus and turning it off herself. Tape Molly looked at it in her hands, covered in brown, in obvious disgust. Real Molly felt her breath grow shallow. She didn’t want to watch anymore but couldn’t pull away. The order came, and Tape Molly slowly licked her tongue along the flashlight shaft, sopping up the shit, her own shit, that lined it. As Real Molly watched Tape Molly’s horrid ordeal, Real Mona fled the room, fighting back sobs of her own. Tiff just stared at the window, probably having already seen it.

“Do you like the taste, slut?”

“I love the taste of my own shit,” Tape Molly replied, dead, dull, mechanically. The tears gushing down her face showed she was lying. Then the scene repeated rapidly.

“I love the taste of my own shit.”

“I love the taste of my own shit.”

“I love the taste of my own shit.”

“I love the taste of my own shit.”

It continued as they made her fake a smile. Then the video cut out. Words scrolled across the screen. ‘A Molly Meacham production, starring Molly Meacham, filmed on location in Molly Meacham’s crotch at Molly Meacham’s home at 3786 Pinewood Ave…’ She stared wide-eyed as her full address scrolled across the screen. Then it went dead.

For several minutes, she just sat there on the hospital bed, clutching the bedsheet up to her neck, breathing hard, trying to keep the tears back. “Could you tell mom it’s done,” she finally said. Tiff nodded and hurried out, giving Molly a chance to finally let some real tears flow for a few moments. She wiped her eyes before they got back.

“Well,” Mona said, trying to sound strong now, but obviously with no follow-up.

“Yeah,” Tiff added. “You can’t go back there,” she said. “Ever.”

“I have to move.”

“Okay, but you have our gang with you. At least three of us.”

“Who is in this gang?” Mona asked.

“It’s just a group of friends, Mom,” Molly said. “I have good friends. I hope it stays that way. Tiff, they threatened everyone! You, Melissa, Rachelle, even my grandmother! They said if I told anyone what happened they’d put my film out and pay visits to women on my contacts page. I can’t even reach some of my old friends because the cops have my phone!”

“Alright, alright, alright. Let’s just be calm, okay. Calm,” Tiff said. She already knew that much, having visited Molly in the hospital earlier. “What did the police say?”

“How did they know you reported anything?” Mona asked. “How could they? They’re just a gang of rapists! They don’t have contacts at the police!”

Molly pointed to the previous day’s paper, still sitting on the chair. Tiff picked it up, still open to the metro crime blotter page.

‘A woman was sexually assaulted in her home in the 3500 Block of Pinewood Avenue, at the Carlisle Gardens apartment complex. Five men are reported to have broken into the woman’s home while she was out, and encountered her upon her return home. The attack lasted approximately twelve hours. No identifying characteristics were available from interviews. “We have physical evidence that is being tested in the crime lab,” a metro police spokesman said. “We have details of the crime, but no useful description of the perpetrators. They apparently wore hoods the entire time, and did not address each other by names of any kind.” The victim remained bound in her home until she was able to alert neighbors and the apartment management.’

Mona read the paragraph quickly. “Just enough about police interviews to let them know,” Molly said. “The police said they wouldn’t do anything. They’d be scared to poke around or approach me, and they wouldn’t send video through the internet because it would be too easy to trace. He was very confident of that. Very, very confident.”

Mona set the paper down, excessively paying attention that it was folded back properly and neatly. She patted the crease several times.

“I put you all in danger,” Molly said.

“No, Molly, don’t say that!” Mona cried. “What could you do, not go to the hospital? Not talk to the police?”

“I could have not talked! Maybe I should have shut the hell up! It’s not like anyone will catch these guys! I’ll bet there’s no DNA match.”

“I’m calling your aunt Angela,” Mona said.

“Why?” Molly asked.

“Because Rick used to work as a security consultant out in California before he got into insurance. He once worked protection for some famous people, I think. He’ll have some advice. And it will probably be for you to come home!”

“Mom, I am home!” Molly stated.

“Yeah, you are,” Tiff said. “You can stay with me for as long as you want. Or we’ll move you around, safe house to safe house.”

“Stop watching so much 24,” Molly said.

“But Molly, they’re not going to stop!” Mona cried. “They can keep sending these disgusting videos out. Who got them? Who’s on the list?”

“It just says MollyList,” Tiff said. “Everyone is bcc’d.”

Mona’s phone rang. She looked at the display and drew in a deep breath. “It’s your dad. Urgent.”

“Oh god,” Molly sniffed. “Did he have to look at that?”

“I’ll take it in the hall.”

“Do you think they’ll come after anyone?” Tiff asked when Mona stepped out. She was clearly scared. “I mean, I know you’re not a mind reader. But. You were there. Would they?”

“Maybe,” Molly said.

“I just want you to know that you’re my best friend, and whatever you want to try to do, I’m with you. We can room together, and buy a gun or something, and we’ll all help you move. And we’ll spread the word about the videos, and your real friends will just delete them on sight if they’re warned ahead of time, right? No one wants to see that! I’m stopping and deleting anything I get that’s one of those vids.”

“I know. I can always count on you,” Molly said.

Mona returned to the room. Her face was ashen, much worse even than when she’d watched half of Molly’s rape video. “Dad got a video too?” Molly asked.

Mona shook her head. She collapsed into a chair, atop the newspaper she had so carefully folded up. “Your cousin Shelly, in Springfield. She’s in the hospital.” Molly felt everything around her fade away. All of her peripheral vision cut out as she stared at her mother’s face. Springfield was only eighty miles away. Her mouth gaped open as she listened to her mom’s deadpan recitation of the facts. “She was raped last night. Five men broke in. She’s in intensive care right now.” Her voice seemed to trail off, but her eyes stayed focused. Molly waited for the rest. There was clearly a rest of the story. “They carved words on her stomach. They carved the words ‘it’s on’ on her belly.”

Chapter 5: Molly had to speak to them directly.

Molly sat on the old couch in the old living room in her parent’s old home. Her pain pills weren’t working well. The TV was on, but basic cable offerings on weekday afternoons were hit or miss, mostly miss. She was half asleep. The sleeping pills she took at night didn’t work well either. They didn’t keep the dreams away. But she’d had almost a solid week without harassment or having anyone she knew raped in retaliation. Hopefully they were done. Hopefully they weren’t coming a thousand miles for her. But she’d talked to the police on the phone yesterday. Their investigation was energetic, particularly since the issues of Shelly’s and Melissa’s rapes had been linked. Now they were tracking a serial rape gang. It was miraculously not in the press.

Tiff walked in. It was her hometown too. The two women flipped a coin each day to see which house they stayed in. No one could predict which one they would be in on any given night. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Molly said.

“I know I overslept,” Tiff said, plopping herself down on the couch. “Knight Rider? Really?”

Molly tossed her the remote. Tiff began flipping channels. She hadn’t gone more than a few stations when her phone rang. Both women tensed up. But Tiff looked at the screen and exhaled. “It’s just Rachelle. ‘After all this shit, you need a cute puppy video’.”

“How about a big Rottweiler reality?” Molly suggested.

“Isn’t your uncle looking into getting a gaaahhh!” she let out a small scream but recovered. Molly stared at Tiff, staring at the screen. She clenched her teeth and eyes. It wasn’t over.

“Let me see,” Molly said. Tiff slid over and they watched the video. It was an extreme close-up of Molly’s face as she sucked one of the cocks. Her eyes were bruised and gushing tears. There was a hard slapping sound off screen and tape Molly flinched badly.

“No teeth, whore, or we’ll rip them out with pliers! You want that, whore? Want your teeth in a jar, whore? Answer!”

“No!” Tape Molly sobbed, the cock still in her mouth. There was another slapping. Molly remembered them using belts on her ass, looping some under her legs to hit her pussy. She’d been kneeling at the time, legs spread wide. It was actually one of the lesser torments of that night. The video lasted only a minute. Then it cut to a simple text screen. ‘Tell her to answer her phone, Tiff’.

“Oh my god!” Tiff cried. “Okay, sorry. I’m here for you, Molly. They know my number. This isn’t anything strange.”

“You should get a new number,” Molly said.

“It didn’t help you any,” Tiff replied.

Molly nodded. She pointed to the coffee table, just out of reach. “Hand me the tracker.”

“This?” Tiff asked, picking up the nondescript piece of electronics.

“Uncle Rick said to just press the big red button if they ever contact my phone. It starts a trace, I guess. And a recording. Or tells the phone company to.”

Her phone rang. Unknown number. Molly stared at it. “I don’t want to do this!”

“Then don’t. But I’ll be right here.”

Molly took a deep breath. She answered the phone and pressed the red button. “This is Molly.”

She waited for several seconds. There was nothing on the line. But then the voice came on, heavily distorted, heavily electronic. “You will experience a time delay every time we speak. Do not get ahead of yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” she said. Again she waited for several seconds. At least five.

“Do you know who we are?” the voice asked.

“You know who I am,” Molly said. “You never introduced yourselves.”

Wait. “Correct. Well put, Molly. You don’t know who we are. I will tell you who we are. We are your nightmare. You intrigue us, Molly.”

She waited for more. “Um, okay.”

Wait. “You spoke to the police on the phone yesterday, Molly.”

“How do you know that?” she cried.

“We are five well-placed men in useful but overlooked corners of the social bureaucracy. Maybe we are the police! Maybe we are the doctors! Maybe we are the phone company! Maybe we are the city! We are everywhere and nowhere, Molly. You must remember this at all times!”

Tiff was listening, the volume was that high in the receiver. She turned ashen. Molly was feeling no better, but she was desperate to keep the call going. “They took me to the hospital,” she said. “How could I keep it a secret?”

Wait. “You will obey your orders or your women get hurt and your porn career gets larger.”

“I see.”

Wait. Wait longer. “Your orders are to move back to Ashtonberry. We do not wish to do this over a long distance.”

“Do what? What do you want from me now?” she asked.

Wait. “We want you to move back to Ashtonberry. If you are not back there in forty-eight hours, someone from your list will be raped, and it won’t be a pretty little rape like Melissa got.”

“Please, don’t do that! Just tell me what you want from me! Why are you doing this to me?”

Wait. “We want you in Ashtonberry, bitch! You now have thirty-six hours. We are not staying in your Podunk town just for you!”

“But why me?” she cried.

Wait. “You have twenty-four hours to go home, Molly, where you belong. We’ve waited long enough. And tell your friend not to sleep in so late!”

The call ended. The two women stared at their phones, and the tracker. They almost jumped when Tiff’s phone rang. She nervously looked at it. “It’s a picture message,” she said.

Molly took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” They opened the file. There was Tiff, handing Molly the tracker, as they sat on the couch not five minutes earlier.

Another story that needs to be binged read to get the true enjoyment from it!

Chapter 7: Molly had a sex-free chapter so the plot can advance.

The big dining room table rarely saw such a full grouping. Rachelle’s parents had the big house that was serving a double duty. It was large enough to house a lot of scared guests, and Molly never had it on her contacts list. She’d met the Espinozas, of course, but was not particularly close to them. Until now, of course, as she roomed with Tiff and Rachelle in Rachelle’s old bedroom and spent three straight days crying in despair. Only now did she emerge for more than bathroom breaks, finding her circle of friends gathered round the table.

“Molly?” Jessie asked, seeing her come down the hall. Everyone turned, giving Molly pause, but she continued.

“Sorry I look like shit,” she said, knowing no one cared, but eager to not be inundated with hugs and love right away. It did no good. Tiff practically lurched over to embrace her best friend, and the others followed. Rachelle’s father, seeing part of the scene from the living room, turned back to the TV, glad the girls could support each other.

“What’s going on?” Molly asked, seeing the clutter on the table.

“You first,” Melissa said.

“I talked to my dad, just now,” Molly said. “Mom’s okay. She tried to do what they said. She didn’t even tell him. Of course I told him right away, so when she collapsed he brought her right to the ER. And he told the police everything.” There was a moment of silence in the room. “But she didn’t. That should count. Maybe,” Molly said. “And it wasn’t like he could stay quiet. Not with her condition. So, I had a good long talk with Dad. It was, it was good. So what’s going on here?”

“Welcome to Girls with Guns, the movie,” Tiff said, gesturing to the layout on the table. We’ve got concealed carry permit applications,” she added, picking up a stack of papers. “And safety courses too. And self-defense classes. And we have the arsenal of taking back the night. The .357 Magnum revolver, capable of firing the .357 and the .38 special, ideal for home defense. We have the .45 Auto APC.”

“ACP,” Matt, Rachelle’s boyfriend, corrected her.

“ACP, it’s all A-okay.” Tiff said.

“Matt’s right,” Rachelle said. “We should get it right. I like this one. I tried it at the range this morning and it was awesome.”

“You hit the target sheet the most times with it,” Matt said.

“I’ll practice.”

“And then there’s this one!” Tiff said. Molly practically tipped over backward seeing the huge weapon swinging around. “A Remington shotgun in twelve-gauge.”

“Is that loaded?” Molly asked.

“Not right now. We’re going out tomorrow ski shooting.”

“Skeet!” Matt cried. “Leave the skiers alone.”

“Don’t make fun of us!” Rachelle said.

“But you make it so easy.”

“Looks good,” Molly said. She rolled over to the table to get a better look. They had over twelve weapons laid out on newspaper, with the bullets next to each one. Her eyes roamed over the arsenal.

“See anything you like, Moll?” Matt asked.

“What’s that wooden one?” she asked.

“That is a Tanfoglio 9 mm, compact.” Matt replied. He handed it to her. “It’s steel, not polymer, so it’s heavier but has less recoil. But it’s compact, so it also holds only twelve rounds.”

Molly picked it up and aimed at a lamp. “It’s not loaded, is it?”

“Nope,” Matt said, gently taking it from her hands. “And I’ll show you how to check, so you can do it yourself every time you pick one up.” For the next hour Molly joined her friends in a surprisingly feisty and informative discussion of arming themselves. Sitting in a house with seven other people allowed her the biggest sense of safety she’d known in a couple weeks, since her attack.

Up until all of their phones buzzed at the same time. The room became deathly quiet in a heartbeat. Rachelle moved closer to Matt, and her father stepped quietly into the room.

“We agreed,” Jessie said. “Phones in a pile.”

“Agreed what?” Molly asked as her friends dumped their phones onto the table.

Melissa took out a quarter and tapped Rachelle on the shoulder. “Heads one of us, tails one of you two.” She flipped and it came up heads. She faced Rachelle. “Call it in the air.”

“Tails,” Rachelle said. It came up heads.

“What’s going on?” Molly asked.

“There’s no reason for all of us to watch anything. One of us will do it, in case there’s needed information.”

“Oh, my, that is so…” Molly wasn’t sure how to finish. “But really, I need to view it. It’s about me, not you guys. And there are a couple hundred other people out there getting the same file, so…” She trailed off. So far no one in her life had said anything about what they’d seen. No one was looking at her funny. But she’d walled herself off from all but her closest friends and family. Somewhere there were dozens of people wishing they’d never met Molly.

“We made the plan a couple days ago,” Tiff said. “I guess if you’re sure you’re up to it.”

“I’m going to use the bathroom for this,” Molly said, wheeling herself down the hall and into the large bathroom. There she stared at her screen for a moment. There was a video file waiting for her. She took a deep breath and started it, keeping the volume low.

Tape Molly was screaming, but with the volume down it was very remote. Molly watched and remembered the time spent in the kitchen. She angled the screen away, just glancing at it for any flashes of text that might come up. They seemed to like multi-media. She found she could virtually ignore the film itself. She knew what had happened. She was clutching the phone harder than usual, but it was bearable. And then she saw the flash of large lettering at the end. ‘Call this back’ it said. She wondered if that was just for her. Maybe the others got different files. She stared at the number. She could so easily just pocket the phone and go about her life. But then someone would get raped. She still had Rick’s tracker with her. She turned it on and returned the call.

“How did you like the film, Molly?” the fake voice asked her.

“I barely looked at it,” she said.

Wait. “Others will watch it. Which of them should we rape next?”

“I haven’t done anything,” she said. “I haven’t talked to the police since you tried to kill my mom!”

Wait. “You told your father about her.”

“That wasn’t against my rules! I haven’t said anything more about my, my problem.”

Wait. “We don’t care.” Molly felt a knot of fear forming. So that was how they were. She said nothing in reply. “Who should we rape next for your punishment?”

“I can’t answer that! How can I answer that?” she cried.

Wait. “Pick a contact you don’t like very much. Pick someone you haven’t seen in a long time.”

Molly felt her skin crawling. Her hand was shaking. “I can’t do that!” she sobbed.

Wait. “You are absolved. We shall pick for you.”

“No!” she screamed. “No, please! Just, why? No! Oh god!” There was silence, but the line was still open. “Are you there?” she asked.

Wait. “We are here. Choose.”

“Do me again,” she whispered, forcing the words out.

Wait. “Louder!”

“Do me again,” she said in her regular voice. “I’m still in a wheelchair. I’ll be easy.”

Wait. “You give permission for us to rape you?”

“Yes.”

Wait. “And that table of guns your friends are building up? Will that be in our way?”

Molly’s head spun. They knew about the guns. Were the blinds open in the house? What good was protection if she could be coerced into giving up? And how often? What if they kept insisting on more and more and more? But for now, they wanted one.

“I won’t be carrying. I can meet you somewhere. Tell me where. And when.”

Wait. “No. You gave us permission. We will take you. Some time. Some place. Some day. You won’t see it coming. We will grab you. It will be bad. You will suffer badly. If you tell a soul about this conversation, we will start killing your friends completely at random. Not a word. Not to Tiff, not to your revolting mother. No one. Do you understand, Molly?”

“I understand,” she said quietly. “Don’t hurt anyone else.”

Wait. “Good. We will see you someday. Your mother talked to the cops when she was hospitalized. She will be punished by a rape from her contacts list, which overlaps yours. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t think our deal is off, and tell no one. We are serious. And we are still coming for you.”

“What!” Molly cried. “Wait, no, hold on!” The line was dead. “No. No.” she said into the phone several times. But the call was over. She sat, staring at the blank screen, tears dripping from her eyes. There was no way out. There was just no way to stop things. She could try refusing contact with the cops. Maybe. Maybe the DA would pester her. And her friends. Four of her closest friends were out in the dining room, waiting for her to finish watching her last rape. How could she explain she now had to wait, unarmed, unprotected, alone for her next one?

She took deep breaths. She splashed water on her face. She cleaned herself up, and brushed her mangled hair a bit. And then she rolled back out. Everyone was seated, mostly quiet, trying to look like they weren’t waiting for her even though they were clearly doing nothing.

She rolled past them to the kitchen. “Don’t wait on me,” she said from the fridge door. “I watched, it was unpleasant.”

“Did you talk to them?” Tiff asked. “I mean, we heard you talk to them.”

“Yes. I did. It isn’t the first time. They like to talk.”

“And?”

“And I can wind things down,” Molly said. “I can make them stop, but I have to just stop talking. And that means to you guys. I just have to, sit here! And shut my fucking mouth and say nothing, so that’s what I’m going to do and unless they’re just lying, it should calm down.”

“Oh, Molly! Is that what you really want?” Rachelle asked.

“I’m not jumping for joy here, but if I have to. What else can I do? The cops haven’t found shit! They’ve raped me, and got away with it. They raped you, Melissa, and got away with it. My cousin Shelly, raped! And they raped my…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, but no one doubted who she meant. “We just can’t win this! They’re going to get away with it all! And they’ll probably do it to some other girl next, but that’s not my problem! I’ve done my share of this.”

“So what now?” Tiff asked.

“I’d love to stay here a bit longer, while I find a new apartment. If that’s alright?”

“Sure,” Rachelle’s father said from the living room.

“And then, maybe learn to shoot. I don’t know. But it’s done, okay? It should be over. Just, quiet.”

Chapter 9: Tiff found the cost of freedom.

Tiff stood there, alone, hurting, terrified. It had been hours since she had seen anyone, days now into her hell. The chains allowed her to lower her hands down to about her neck level. She could scratch her face if she felt like it. And she could feel where they’d chopped a bunch of her hair off. It was at her feet. What was left was several inches long, enough to maybe make into a decent pixie cut. How vain was she, she wondered, that her hair was even an issue to her? But standing on her formerly long locks, she couldn’t help let her mind wander. Especially as the hours passed by.

It was cold in there, and damp; that was the biggest issue. She had little strength left after their beating her and torturing her and of course raping her. There were water pipes all around her. With luck a city worker would find her there and let her go, since she seemed to be in some underground tunnel system. Or maybe a building maintenance worker. Or they would just come back for her, like the last few times. Had the deadline passed yet? Had anyone gotten eight hundred thousand dollars together for her? Could anyone? Or even six? Or even four? Was that even feasible? Every time her mind even touched on those bolt cutters, or the worse option.

She shivered and sobbed. All this pain, and they might send her home in pieces anyway. What would it feel like, a bolt cutter lobbing off a finger in front of her while she stood shrieking, probably being filmed. Was she out on the internet yet? Was she a torture porn star yet?

The sound of footsteps and voices slammed her back to her immediate reality. They were coming for her, again. More rape? More cocks slamming into her unhealed, knifed pussy? Or just more fists to her face? They were in no obvious hurry, but finally they came around a bend in front of her. All five men, hooded and concealed in black clothing, and one naked woman in a slave hood, all leather, eyes blocked, mouth blocked, nose holes for breathing. She was handcuffed, legs shackled enough for walking, and her gait was awkward, slow, unsteady. Wobbly. Very very bad. Tiff gasped on realization that it was Molly under the hood. Walking on her own, probably too soon.

“There she is, our newest porn star,” one of them said as he saw Tiff standing and waiting. “You’re all over the place. That knife act you do, primo stuff!” Tiff said nothing. They walked Molly over to Tiff and began taking the hood off. Molly was sweaty and distraught under the hood, gagged tightly, but the gag also soon went. They took the cuffs off too, so she was standing nude but unrestrained.

“Don’t try to run,” one of them warned her.

“She shouldn’t even be walking yet!” Tiff cried. One of them picked up a crowbar from a ledge. “No, wait! I’m sorry!” Tiff sobbed, but he swung it hard into her belly. She wheezed and her stomach heaved, but there was nothing left in her to vomit up. He put the crowbar aside and unlocked her hands from the chain holding her. Now she was naked but unrestrained.

“Alright. We’re just about ready for the trade-off,” one of them said.

“What trade-off?” Tiff asked. “You didn’t give yourself up for me, did you?”

“Not exactly,” Molly said.

“You’re time is over, hers is starting,” a man said. “Except for one issue.”

“Both of you lie down on the floor!” another of them order, pointing. “Over there, where the puddles are. Right now, bitches!” Tiff helped Molly over, and she gingerly laid down in the greasy water, Molly beside her. The men were setting up cameras on tripods, getting them from three angles. “Make love. Right now. And make it count.”

Tiff lay there, shell shocked. Molly’s eyes were dead. Even as girlish play in childhood they hadn’t considered kissing, at least not each other. It was just too weird. They stared at each other, hesitant to begin, until one of their captors fetched the crowbar again. In terror, the girls began to kiss. They knew, of course, exactly what was expected of them. And their captors knew that. There would be no holding back. But who would be first? Which would grope the other’s tits first? Who would flick the first nipple? Or lick it? Who would make the first pussy grab? Who would go down first? Who would lick the first anus? All this while rolling around in greasy water on a cold cement ground being filmed.

Tiff was the first to start crying. Her strength and emotions were shot dead by then. She had nothing left to fight with. Molly took the lead in initiating most of the sex play as they embraced and rolled around wildly in the water, scissoring each other for a bit, licking breasts, but finally turning around for some sixty-nine action. Tiff had had her tongue in a woman’s pussy once before. In college. One time. It had been interesting but not very compelling. Molly, as far as she knew, was a lesbian virgin. Until now. They lapped at each other’s cunts, Tiff in agony as Molly’s tongue kept pushing the knife injury that was trying to heal. She cried out in pain from it. But they didn’t stop.

“Ooh!” Molly let slip as she tensed up. She tried to hide the orgasm, but it wasn’t fooling anyone.

“My clit! Do my clit!” Tiff cried, realizing it would hurt less and still satisfy their captors. She was right, and soon she was cumming too. They couldn’t stop yet, even after cumming. The men were eager for more. The show went on and on, back and forth between kissing and muff diving until the girls were exhausted and utterly sick of it. It was surely an hour, probably more. Tiff couldn’t guess. She finally sat, legs pulled up to her chest, shaking as they put the cameras away. Molly just lay sprawled out.

“Alright, that just about does it, movie star ladies,” one of them said. He grabbed Tiff’s arm and pulled her across the floor to a copper pipe in the wall. He put a handcuff on her wrist and the other on the pipe. “There, that should hold you.”

“I thought you were letting me go,” she asked, staring up from the ground.

“Yes,” he said. He was opening his pack, full of stuff not involved in the film shoot. “But the problem is the ransom. Your family didn’t raise enough money.” He pulled out a large saw. “So you can’t go home intact.”

Tiff began to scream, loud, panic overcoming her. She yanked with all her might at the handcuff on the pipe. But he just tossed the saw down at her feet. “That won’t cut copper,” he said. “But it will cut bone.” They pulled Molly to her feet and handcuffed her. She stared forlornly at Tiff as they started walking her away to her own doom. “We should be long gone by the time you gather up your courage, Tiff. So long! Oh, and don’t report this to the police or tell anyone about any of it. We have all your contacts. Well, you know the rules by now. So long.”

Tiff sat staring, her mind screaming. She was supposed to cut off her own right hand and not say anything to anyone? How in fuck did that work? But they were gone, her best friend with them, and she was left freezing in a dim, wet tunnel. With a saw. “Nooooo!” she shrieked finally, yanking again at the cuff. It held fast. She picked up the saw. And dropped it back down. There was no way she could do it. How long would that take to change? How hungry would she have to be? How scared? “Fuckers!” she screamed at them. They were an hour gone by then. Tiff could just sit there. Or she could stand up. The pipe ran vertical there. She could move the cuff about five feet up or down before being stopped by the clamps holding it in place on the wall.

There was no hope. None at all. Until the moment when there was a glimmer of hope. It was so dark she’d almost missed it, as they had. The crowbar was still down there. She tried to reach it. It was out of range of her left hand. But with her feet, stretching out her body, pulling her cuffed hand, stretching her toes. She could get to it. She could touch it. She could touch the top of it. She leaned every last bit of strength she had into leverage, fuck the pain, and got her big toe over it and pulled her leg bag. The crowbar slid an inch. Then she tried again and got it a little further. And then she had it under her foot and pulled it across the floor to her. She could be free!

She quickly tried to see what she could do with it. Not the handcuffs themselves. There was nothing to pull on. But the copper pipe. If she could pull it from the wall. She slid the end in, trying to figure out what was expected. Finally she got it right and heaved her weight against it. The pipe bulged out from the wall, but did not break. She looked at the clamps holding it on the wall. Maybe there. With great effort she positioned it and pushed. She had to fight it. Lean her body weight into it. Slam it with her body. Sometimes the clamp gave a little. Sometimes not. But it finally popped off and more of the pipe was bulging outward, but intact. With a cry of distress, Tiff realized it wasn’t doing anything for her. She tried to examine the pipe. It was dark, and she didn’t see a lot. But she realized that there was a seam in the pipe. Of course, she realized, they had to fit these things together. She would have to work her way to it.

With new energy and hope but scant strength, she worked her way along, popping each clamp with about twenty minutes of effort. The pipe turned up and down and sideways running along the wall. Finally she got to the seam, and found it welded. Somehow that seemed better to her. Better than the rivetted seams on the larger pipes. A weld could break easier, she hoped. She inserted the crowbar and worked it. The pipe pulled away. It didn’t break. She pulled it further, but the crowbar only moved it so far. In desperation she whacked the pipe with it. After much swinging and prying, it started to leak. And then it started to spray. She was breaking through. She was getting drenched with cold water, but she was breaking it. In a desperate frenzy she finally broke the seal entirely. Water was spraying everywhere, thin streams managing to shoot out thirty feet. It hurt to get in the spray. But the ends were still pressed against each other. She put the cuff at the gap and pulled, pulled hard, nearly breaking her wrist, trying to slide it out. For a moment the cuff was jammed in between the two ends, holding them apart, and really letting the water blast out all over her. She couldn’t even see as it smashed into her body and face. She leaned her weight into it, pressing her legs to the wall, and heaving as hard as she could. The cuffs flew out from the pipe, and Tiff went sprawling into the now standing water of the hallway. She gave a cry of elation, her first sense of joy in days.

She went the way they went. It was all poorly lit, and a maze. She wandered for twenty or thirty minutes but finally found a passage up. She pushed through some utility hatch and emerged at the side of a large building by a parking lot. It was dark out. She saw no traffic of any kind, but she seemed to be in the industrial part of town. “Help me!” she cried, looking around. She stumbled away from the door, limping, seeking anyone around. She left the parking lot and walked up the drive to a street. She saw some shops, a few bars. Very light traffic, but it was there. She stumbled out into the street. Naked or not, humiliated or not, she needed help. But she saw the flashing lights from behind her and turned to see the police car pulling up.

“Miss?” the officer said.

She heard, literally heard, the voice of a captor. “Oh, and don’t report this to the police or tell anyone about any of it.” And it was the absolute truth that he would act on it. Now there was a cop there.

“No, no cops!” she said. “I’m fine. No cops!”

“Miss, please calm down! We’ll get you some help. But you need to tell me what happened!”

“No!” she screamed. Just his presence in front of her was too much. She tried to turn and run.

“I’m sorry, miss,” he said as he ran after her. She felt him grabbing her.

“No! No! I didn’t do anything! I’m not talking! I’m not talking!” she screamed. They could hack his police video recorder and see that she wasn’t talking. If they weren’t already cops. She’d long suspected at least one of them had to be.

People were starting to come out of bars and a few shops to see the commotion. She was getting a crowd gathered, and some of them were filming her. A naked woman in distress, too good to pass up. “I didn’t do anything!” she continued to cry. The policeman seemed unsure of what to do. He wasn’t arresting her. He only held her enough to keep her from fleeing. Tiff kept screaming her innocence, and the poor rookie cop kept trying to talk her down. But she saw the ambulance pull up after a few minutes, and more men came at her. For a moment, they all seemed to have black hoods on, and she tried to bolt. But a sharp pain in her arm made it all right, and she sat down for a little nap in happyland.

Chapter 11: It ended; read on to see if it was happy or sad.

Molly’s eyes opened blurrily as the lid of the box opened. It was a wooden crate, coffin sized, and Molly’s home for the past couple days. Her hands were cuffed, in front of her blessedly. Her feet were cuffed too, not that the box allowed room for her legs to move. Not that she’d been able to move or feel much from her legs lately, except pain. The naked man with the hood stared down at her. “Rise, bitch,” he said. Molly yawned and sat up. At once she was confronted with the semi-stiff cock dangling in her face. She glanced up at him, and then opened her mouth to go to work on him. She took it in her mouth and worked her tongue over it, though his sweat was like stale lemons. “Yeah, suck it good, whore. Suck it like you mean it. Suck it like your daddy’s!” Molly just sucked, going fast only to get it over with, and soon enough she was rewarded with long ropes of sticky cum emptying into her mouth. He kept his dick inside her for the entire jizz, making her swallow it all, but not polluting her face with it for later.

They’d stopped trying to make her walk. When he was done, he grabbed her arms and dragged her out to the main room. She’d seen it briefly before. The amount of electronic and computer gear was staggering. It was no wonder they could fuck with her phone so easily.

“Molly, it’s about fucking time. I want to show you something,” Semi-leader said to her. They dumped her onto the floor beside his seat, but she could see the screen of a laptop he had open. He angled it down for her to view it better. “The one in green in your friend Rachelle. The one in blue is your other friend Jessie. Take a gander.”

Molly looked at the screen. They were texts. In green, she saw Rachelle’s: ‘Molly has had enough, take me.’ Then in blue she saw Jessie’s: ‘Molly has had enough, take me.’ It scrolled for a few before ‘me’ became ‘us’. ‘Molly has had enough, take us.’

“Those two have been texting each other that same message for a half hour now,” he said. Molly felt a surge of emotion. Terror and love. Joy. Horror. “They’re quite clever.”

“They know you’ve hacked everything we have,” Molly said.

“Even so. Your uncle Rick hasn’t tried to communicate directly with us. Shows where the brains are, huh? I have to give you and your batch of cunts credit, Molly. I’ve never seen this sort of loyalty. It, it kind of gets you right here, doesn’t it?” he asked, tapping his heart.

“Don’t take them. They don’t know what they’re asking for,” Molly said. “Please. Ignore them.”

“Don’t they? They’ve had plenty of time to visit Tiff in the hospital. Plus all of your vids they’ve seen.”

“It’s survivor’s guilt. Please, I’m begging you. Leave them alone.”

“Maybe. Maybe. But this is too good to pass up.” He turned to one of the others, buried in a station of electronics. “Are they alone?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Start the scrambler. Place the call. And put a gag in her!” Suddenly Molly’s head was yanked back, and a thick dildo was jammed into her mouth, tied off around the back of her neck. She could remove it on her own, but not without them seeing and bashing her face in. “Testing, testing,” he said, hearing the deep, mechanical, ominous voice come from the speaker. Molly heard the ringing tone. A few moments later, someone picked up.

“This is Rachelle,” she said.

“Use speaker phone,” he ordered. Several seconds later there was a reply.

“It’s on speaker. Jessie is right here.”

“Here I am,” Jessie said.

“You’ll experience a time delay as we make our call untraceable. Do not panic and do not get ahead of yourself. Do you understand?” he said. Molly heard his normal voice, but she heard his electronic version come back from the speakers, what her friends were hearing.

“We know,” Rachelle said. “Did you get our message?”

“Very clever girls,” he said. “Very loyal girls.”

“Just stop hurting her! You got your money! We’ve done everything you ask! No one’s spoken to the cops in weeks. Molly took her second rape. Tiff suffered. No one’s broken your rules! You made the rules. Honor them!”

He suddenly had to cover the microphone as he began laughing, but recovered quickly. “I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further!” One of the other men started laughing and had to cover his mouth. Molly listened in disgust. Jessie would at least get it. Rachelle would just be confused.

The girls didn’t respond right away. “So alter it to take us,” Jessie said. “Please! She can’t take much more.” Molly’s mind went back a few seconds. They had the money? Her family came up with a half million? How?

“Foolish bitches. We can take you at will!”

“Not if we hunker down. Say to hell with it. Or we can walk out into the countryside and you can just take us,” Rachelle said.

“If Molly is still alive,” Jessie added.

“Now you think you’re adding conditions?” he asked.

“We’ve not volunteering because we like it,” Rachelle said. “It’s for Molly. You’re killing her! You’re just killing her!”

“Two for one. Two healthy and in good shape for one broken down,” Jessie said. “If Molly is still alive.

Semi-leader leaned over and pulled Molly’s gag out, then handed her the microphone. “Talk to your friends.”

“Don’t do it you two!” she cried. And several seconds, a deep electric voice repeated her words.

“Um, as if,” Rachelle said.

The man quickly grabbed another microphone and stuck it in one of the dozens of jacks on the panel. He shoved it in Molly’s face. “Don’t sacrifice yourselves for me!” Molly screamed.

“Molly!” Jessie cried right away. “That’s really you!”

“Stay away from these…” She was cut off as he pulled the microphone from her hand.

“Molly, we have to!” Rachelle added quickly. “We can’t stay away!” One of the men shoved the dildo back in Molly’s mouth and tied if off. She had to sit at their feet, naked and gagged, and listen more.

“We will consider your offer. Make a show of good faith. Take off your shirts, open the blinds, and flash outside the window. Now, please.”

Right away, the men in the room turned to one of the monitors. Molly looked up to see an extreme telephoto image of Rachelle’s house. They zoomed to a window. A few moments later, a topless Jessie and a topless Rachelle appeared. They opened the window up for a better view, and were clearly trying to find the camera pointed on them. But their tits were flashing for anyone in the neighborhood who happened to look up.

“Well, maybe Rachelle,” Semi-leader said into the phone. “Jessie is kind of an uggo.”

Molly closed her eyes to try to hold the tears in. It was stupid, utterly stupid, to be humiliated on behalf of her friend when it wasn’t even a true statement. Both were considered hot, but Jessie was generally thought of as the hottest of the five of them, though it was close all around.

“Ok-kay,” Rachelle said. “Take me then. For Molly. You’ll kill her if you keep her!”

Semi-leader leaned back, smiling. They were all enjoying themselves. Molly just sat, feeling her body die. “Come back to the window,” he said. “Both of you. Fully nude this time.” Sure enough, a few seconds later the girls appeared at the open window. It was hard to tell from the angle, but they seemed to be bottomless as well as topless. “Stand up on chairs, bitches!” he shouted. The signal took the usual few seconds. They scrambled, but soon they were perched up on something. Now only their lower legs were hidden, and it was plain to see for anyone outside the window that both girls were naked.

“Play with your nipples!” he barked into the microphone. Molly watched in shame as they did as he ordered. It shouldn’t have been that way. It was just wrong. “Now, do you have any dildos in your house?” he asked.

“Are we getting Molly back?” Jessie asked. She was clearly several feet away from the phone.

“Find a dildo and stick it up your snatches or I’ll slit Molly’s throat and make you listen to her death throes!” he shouted. “You wanted this conversation, now you have to finish with it!” He turned and pulled Molly’s gag out again. He pressed his switchblade to her neck, hard. She could feel the pain of the point. She felt a drop of blood dribble down her neck. “Tell them what you’re feeling, Molly!” he shouted.

“A knife blade!” she cried.

“Molly?” Rachelle sobbed from the other end.

“Tell them what you’re feeling, Molly!” came the electronic voice on the other end. What an odd, disconcerting voice cluster, Molly thought. Then one of the men, the one in the middle of the pile of stuff, bolted up out of his seat, staring at the semi-leader’s console

“Hang it up!” he screamed. “Hang it up now!” Semi-leader reached over and pushed a button. “You fucking moron! You put her on the wrong line!”

“Hey, I needed an unscrambled circuit!”

“You unscrambled the voice, but you sent it on a regular phone line! They could have traced it!”

“A regular phone line? How can they have two lines going into the same call?” Semi-leader asked.

“Who’s the hacker, Bob? You?”

“Watch your mouth, VINCENT!”

“Shut up!” one of the others said. “Okay, can you find out if they did trace it?

“Maybe,” Vincent said. He sat down and looked at his displays. Molly watched him. His face turned white. “There are six phone calls leaving the Espinoza house right now. Two are going… going to the FBI field office. One to the Ashtonberry PD. One to 911. One to the Meacham home in Gloucester. One to a private firm.” He typed a few keys frantically. “A private security consulting firm.”

Two of the men quickly ran from the room. Molly couldn’t help but smile a little. They were all naked and hooded, probably waiting to gang rape her again. How much equipment was set up for her in the basement? Only the prospect of calling and taunting her friends had delayed them.

“There’s got to be something!” Semi-leader said.

“Ashtonberry PD is scrambling their SWAT team,” Vincent said. There was a momentary pause, and then all three men rushed from the room. Molly was left alone, chained, but not to anything. If she could just use her legs. She grabbed a chair and tried to pull herself upright with her cuffed hands. But she fell back again with a cry. Her legs were dead to her. Now she tried to crawl. With cuffed hands and unmoving legs, she tried to crawl from the room. If she was out of sight, maybe they would leave without her. Maybe they would not wait to find her. But she could only drag herself with her cuffed hands, inches at a time.

“No, no!” she cried. “God damn it!” She was weak, so very weak. She hadn’t had a healthy meal in days. Cum drinking was her sole protein source since they took her again. But two of the men fled out the front door without paying her any attention. She heard the squeal of tires.

Soon enough, Bob and Vincent appeared, clothed but still hooded. “Jeez, that’s a hundred grand in electronics right there,” Vincent said.

“Well back your car up, then.” He turned to Molly. “Well, Molly, this is a conundrum.”

“Just shoot her!” Vincent said.

“We haven’t killed anyone yet. Want murder added on, in case we don’t get out of this?” Bob asked. Molly was listening, cowering at their feet. She couldn’t even crawl away. Suddenly there was a bang. A shot. Then another. One of them sprayed her with blood. She looked up to see Bob and Vincent falling to the ground, each with a large gunshot wound. She looked back to see the remaining man, stale lemon cock man. Dressed now, and hooded like the rest. He reached down and simply grabbed Molly around her neck and dragged her out to his car. He opened the passenger side and shoved her into the floor section, out of sight. She didn’t fit well, but he used his foot to kick her and stuff her in. She cried out in agony as old wounds re-formed. He got into the driver’s seat, placing the gun at his side. Molly couldn’t even hope to reach it.

“You’re a hostage, bitch!” he said. “You move, I shoot you. We get cornered, you are my ticket out. I don’t give a shit if you live or die, but I care about me, so you’d better too. Got it?”

“Yes, please. I’ve got it.” It was the most he’d ever said to her. And…

“Who are you?” she cried. They were leaving fast. He glanced down at her.

“I guess I can’t drive through town like this,” he said, pulling the hood off. Molly gasped.

“Tessier! Mr. Tessier! You! But, you, why?” she screamed. “Why me?”

“You little cock tease. You shake it around like it’s going out of style. We had to start with some little whore. No one else had one picked out, so we went with my choice.”

“All this!” she screamed. “My mom! Tess! Melissa! Shelly! That other girl!”

“She was Bob’s pick,” Tessier said.

“You fucking crippled me! You sick sick fuck! You crippled me because you liked my ass! You’re a goddamned monster!” she screamed, lost in rage and hate.

“You should thank me, bitch! If I hadn’t used a weak rope on your left leg, you couldn’t have kicked the wall for help. Which I then provided.”

“Th-thank you? I’ll fucking kill you you piece of shit! You tortured everyone I love for nothing but a hard-on and a fantasy!” She was lying folded up, naked, handcuffed, and mostly upside down, but in Molly’s mind she could practically reach out of strangle him with her bare hands.

Suddenly there was a siren. Tessier looked out, but Molly couldn’t see. He sped up. Soon they were going fast, very fast. At least eighty. Or more. Molly heard more sirens. She cried out in terror every time Tessier yanked the steering wheel to one side. If they crashed, she died. She knew that. But Tessier was driving a big Lexus, with a big strong engine, and the power poles that Molly could see out the windows were shooting by in a blur, much faster than she’d ever perceived. How crazy fast were they going? There were more and more sirens. He took some more big turns and then they were moving most straight. There were no poles.

They had to be on the freeway. Now, unimpeded, the big normally-quiet engine was revved up. From the foot well, Molly could hear the engine screaming, red-lining. Tessier was sweating, desperate, barely able to control his car at such speeds, but trying to dodge cars, presumably. Each twitch sent them rocking and shaking. Molly screamed, crying, terrified of his incompetence. And did the cops even know she was in the car?

“If I die, you die, whore!” he shouted. “The air bag won’t save me at this speed, and you don’t get one down there!”

“Please, Mr. Tessier, please!” she wailed.

“Not so tough now, you fucking cunt!” he screamed at her. “Cock teasing little slut for brains!” He jerked his head up to look in the rear mirror. “Uh oh,” he muttered.

“What?” Molly almost said, but suddenly the rear end of the car shot out to the right. They were spinning, spinning wildly. She screamed instead. There was a thud. Screeching. Crashing of metal on metal. And suddenly their spin changed. They were not connected to any solid surface whatsoever. The spinning became three dimensional. Molly was jerked out of the foot well. She saw the world tumbling around her too fast to track. Several seconds of this went by. And then came the crashing return of asphalt into their lives. The car bounced, spun, flipped flipped and flipped again, bouncing off some unfortunate large vehicle, and sliding hundreds more feet to a stop upside down in the middle of the freeway.

Molly was not dead. Neither was Tessier. He was better off than she was, and quickly extracted himself from the seat belt and air bag. The windows were all shattered. He grabbed her by her still cuffed arms and dragged Molly out through the windows, over the broken glass, and onto the asphalt as cars screeched to a halt around them. Cop cars screamed up to them. Police and news choppers hovered overhead. Tessier got Molly about fifteen feet from the car, himself now limping on his left ankle.

He froze, then knelt down and rammed the big gun into Molly’s mouth. She felt pain, and tasted blood. “Back off!” Tessier screamed frantically. Molly just lay there, half paralyzed by then, staring up at the big revolver in her mouth, practically deep throating her. She imagined she was quite the spectacle, but this was a nude performance she wouldn’t feel any shame over.

“Back off or I kill the bitch!” he screamed. “I’ll shoot her dead I swear it! Stay back! Stay the fuck back every one of you motherfuckers! I’ll kill her dead! I’ll blow her whore brains out and decorate the road with them!”

He shifted position, lifting her up and wrapping one arm around her neck while the other kept the gun in her mouth. She was powerless to fight, least of all with her hands locked together. Now she could see the police, probably all of them in the city, circled around, surrounding them. There were hundreds of guns aimed at Tessier. How many would hit her? Was this how it ended? A naked, lurid spectacle on the interstate highway. How many kinky weirdos, she wondered, would be fapping to the newsreels tonight?

“There’s no way out,” someone on the bullhorn was shouting. “Don’t add her murder to your troubles.”

“She is my trouble!” Tessier screamed. “This is all because of her! Every fucking bit of it! Every last scrap of trouble is her fucking fault! She’s the…”

He fell away, even before Molly heard the shot, his hand sliding from the gun, the gun falling from her mouth to the pavement. Some of Tessier’s blood and brain were on her body, but he was done with them anyway. She slumped down and rolled off his body as well as she could as every law enforcer in town rushed forward.

“I can’t walk!” she cried to the police trying to get her away from there. She finally ended up carried away, and soon in an ambulance. And soon in comfort as the good drugs came out of the cabinets. And soon to rest.

Cool story.

Beautiful twisted logic used throughout this story, Such a pleasure t read from start to finish