Ellen tried to move for the thousandth time. The rubber and leather
straps wouldn’t let her. They were wrapped around each wrist, attaching them to
the crook of each of her elbows which were wrenched behind her back. They gave
with each pull or tug but only a millimetre - less, really - and made a tiny
noise of complaint ... one, she was sure, only she could hear over the roar in
her ears. Not really over the roar; actually they
became part of the roar as she pulled at her arms and at her legs.
Her legs vibrated, straining, for the millionth time as she tried to
bring them together. But the straps around her ankles wouldn’t let her do that
either. They were incredibly tight around her firm, lightly tanned, impeccably
shaped ankles, just above the even tighter straps of her impressive red
ankle-strap high heels which she teetered on. The shoe straps kept her lovely
feet imprisoned in the sexy shoes, while the leather/rubber straps kept her
feet wide, anchored to the floor, attached to the wall behind her.
She tried to scream for help for the billionth time, but the huge red
ball gag strapped unbearably deep in her mouth wouldn’t let her. All she did,
for the hundredth time, was gurgle, drool coursing out the corners of her
mouth, to slide down her chin, across her lovely throat, and between her aching
Her breasts...! She glanced down at them again, amazed at how her small,
brown nipples remained at abused attention, the tiny, tightly-bent paper clips
pinching them like tightened pliers. Ellen’s head went back, agonisingly,
refusing to look at how her tight red dress was hanging down, exposing her
chest, or even worse ...!
She tried again, for the umpteenth time, to force the night-stick out of
her vagina. Ten inches of it was forced up there, tied in place by thin, coarse
ropes which encircled the police batons perpendicular handle and anchored in
the grooves of her betraying hip bones. They didn’t even need to put the cords
under the micro-hem of the red mini-dress. Even over the thin cotton-spandex
cloth it held like solder.
Ellen groaned again, trying to remember how it came to this.
She remembered doing a favour for Tara ... something about a simple statement
at police headquarters... She remembered sitting down, smiling, using her
friendly Aussie charm on the polite detectives. The polite, black detectives.
The big, black, smiling, solicitous black detectives. The big, black, smiling,
solicitous, black detectives who started walking around her in the small, dark,
plain, run-down interview room with the single pane of glass ... the pane of
glass she suddenly realised wasn’t a mirror ....
That’s when the first hand was laid on her.
They grabbed her wrists. A huge, heavy, muscular black hand slammed
across her mouth. Her arms were wrenched behind her back. Feet swept her legs
back, forcing her front forward. She was suddenly locked down, her face
sandwiching the gagging hand between her lips and the table top. That wasn’t
the worst. The feeling of straps going around her arms wasn’t the worst. The
way her hem slipped up over her red-lace-pantied crotch wasn’t the worst. No,
the worst were the hands which did nothing other than continually, unceasingly
and unflaggingly maul her proud, strong, wide breasts all the time they bound and
Then, without ceremony, they took her. Incredibly they kept up a happy,
celebratory chatter while strapping her ankles to the table legs, forcing her
onto her stomach on the table top, ripping off her panties, yanking down her
dress top, grabbing her tits, and forcing their cocks up her rich, salty cunt.
First one; thrusting, thrusting, thrusting until he came inside her;
then another. Then another, until the fourth became bored with that position.
Then her ankles were untied and she was laid,
back first, on the table top. Her ankles were then retied to the chair arms so her next abuser could stand between the inverted “V”
of her extraordinarily shapely limbs and force his meat deep into Ellen’s
already throbbing crack. He continued to thrust until he also came, and then it
was the next man’s turn.
Ellen was more than stunned ... she was unable to completely comprehend
what they were doing. She was in a foreign land, in a police station, and what
she had spent her whole life denying the possibility of was now actually
happening without so much as an angry word or the slightest warning. They were
taking her at their whim, delight, and leisure, giving her no more credit for
existence than they would a blow-up doll.
She was taken six times with huge black cocks before they laughingly
decided to anchor the night stick dildo in her already abused clit.
“Look how she handles it!” one marvelled. “This is one amazing cunt!”
“Amazing that she could fit it in there,” said another, “considering all
the nigger jism she’s filled with.”
Dragging, pulling, and pushing her by only her tits, they secured her to
rings bolted in the wall by her ankles and throat, then, without so much as a
curse, left the room, locking the door behind them.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, shaking, her legs vibrating
like rubber bands every few minutes, the awful intrusion doing its work even as
she drew her ragged breaths.
Ellen heard the door to the adjoining room open. Her wet, tense eyes
widened when she saw Sophie enter, charmingly led by the detectives who had
Ellen began to shake in earnest then, only this time it wasn’t abuse or
exhaustion which drove her. It was terror ... but not for herself ... for her
friend; the richly formed Sophie, with her big dark eyes, her mane of dark
hair, her sweet, open expression, and her full, curvaceous body.
She tried to slam her body against the wall, but her bound arms were in
the way and her ankle/throat straps didn’t give her enough leeway. She tried to
call, but all that accomplished was to wet her naked torso again, droplets of
drool having even made their way through her bunched dress and jerking off the
hem of her red micro-mini.
Even so, she tried and tried again to alert Sophie through the
soundproofed walls and window, knowing that all Sophie saw when she glanced
into the glass between rooms was her own reflection.
And what a reflection. She was wearing a ribbed white cotton spandex
mini-dress with a scooped u-neck and white high heels. Ellen could clearly see
that her brunette friend wore no bra, nor did she need one. Her large,
pendulous breasts were big semi-circles of adipose tissue high on her chest.
Ellen could just imagine the white, lacy thong bikini brief she wore beneath the
hem ... although she also knew, with increasing despair, that she wouldn’t have
to imagine it long.
She was right. Just as Ellen became aware that the sound from the
adjoining room was being piped into her prison, she saw the detectives begin to
circle Sophie as they had encircled her. Her sparkling eyes widened and widened
as Sophie kept smiling and kept answering their questions, her head turning
this way and that.
Ellen screamed and screamed but no one heard her. Ellen jerked in place,
the night stick jerking into her, but no one saw. She had to stand there and
watch as the black hands grabbed Sophie’s wrists, the black hands slammed over
her mouth, and the feet swept her high heels back.
Ellen looked away, her eyes tightly closed, tears streaming down her
face like rain, but her ears could “see” them yanking down the short-sleeves of
Sophie’s dress. Ellen heard Sophie’s breasts pop free of the scoop top. And she
listened to the huge white ball gag being forced into Sophie’s gurgling,
choking mouth. Then the white lacy panties were pulled down the brunette’s
kicking legs and things changed. There was a man at each wrist and ankle,
pulling Sophie into a mid-air spread-eagle. Then there was a man between her
legs, gripping her hips like handlebars.
The last man was at her breasts, kneading, licking, pinching, sucking...
Sophie screamed into the ball as the first hunk of meat was rammed
unceremoniously all the way into her.