Carny Fun Ch. 04

At the next truck stop, Greg wasted no time in tapping into their wifi setup and uploading the video of my humiliation at Jim's hands. He listed the time of the webcam "performance," and within moments, seven requests hit the site.

On a trip like this one, the carnies made no attempt to travel in a caravan. Every driver knew the next stop, and as long as everyone made it on time, the owner didn't worry too much about it. Greg and Dave stayed together, and after the RV and the big rig had been fueled, they both pulled into the truck rest area. Realle bought a sack of burgers and fries, and they let me eat while they reviewed the requests.

Jim grinned at one and passed it around, causing the others to smile. Jim motioned toward me with a fry. "There's some seriously sick fucks out there who want their way with you. This guy wants a Great Dane to rape you."

An involuntary shudder went through me, but I knew better than to say anything, positive or negative. With my luck some trucker at the stop would have a Great Dane stowed in his Peterbilt.

Greg passed the slip to Realle and swallowed a chunk of burger. "I do like his idea of multiple objects."

Realle glanced at the slip. "Anything for me in there?"

Jim nodded. "I want you straddling her face during the junk session. In case she screams."

"I do love it when they scream into my pussy."

I fought hard not to show any dread, even though I knew I was in for a horror show that night. A show filled with pain that would probably make me cum more than ever. I loathed what they did to me, the humiliation and shame cowering me even as the thought of repeated orgasms made my body buzz with anticipation.

We all slept for a couple of hours, then Jim ordered me from the bunk. Greg had set up a large monitor adjacent to the laptop, so we could see exactly what went out over the web. He would do most of the web work, both operating a hand-held camera as well as taking the requests. The hand-held, he explained as if I cared, was better for a live event than the stationary webcam.

Each request would be posted, along with the user's name, as they enacted the request on me. A community-building exercise for their site, I suppose. After Greg typed the intro, they went live.

Jim, in his gravelly baritone ordered me to kneel, head down. The floor of the RV was cold and rough beneath my knees, grit biting into my skin. I jerked involuntarily as Jim spat on me, twice, then began to bark his commands.

"You are our slut! Our whore. You belong to us, to do with as we please. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my face burning.

"We've all seen how much you love cum. You crave it! In your pussy, on your face. Your slutholes love being abused and fucked. You belong to our users. You crave being treated the way they order. Don't you, bitch?"

I nodded.

"Say it!"

"I love to be used and fucked, Sir."

"Stand up and hold your hands out!"

I struggled to my feet and held my hands out.

"Realle, Dave, proceed with the first request."

With a wicked glint in her eye, Realle stepped forward and quickly cuffed my hands, then Dave hooked the chain between the cuffs over the hook in the ceiling, forcing me up on tiptoe. They began rubbing my body all over, massaging my muscles and breasts as my body swayed. Realle focused on my tits, cupping one in both hands, squeezing and lifting, pulling them out from my chest.

Dave grabbed my ass, his big hands tightening and loosening, over and over, on my cheeks.

I moaned as my body involuntarily responded to their increasingly hard grips. My nipples tightened and turned red, and Realle took one in her mouth, sucking it in deep, her teeth and tongue scraping over the sensitive bud. When she moved to the other, Jim poured flavored glycerin, the kind that gets hot when it hits the skin, on the nipple she'd just thoroughly sucked. I cried out, moisture building between my legs.

"Our slut loves getting her nipples sucked. And abused. Twenty strokes, Realle. On each."

Realle stepped back, and from behind me, Dave cupped both breasts and lifted them, so that the glycerin-coated nipples shone for the camera. Realle grabbed a crop and Dave released my tits as the first slap landed on my left nipple. I screeched and twisted, but she continued, each blow feeling harder than the last. After 12, I lost count, as the pain seared through my chest. When she stopped, my tits were red, welted, and soar. I fought to catch my breath.

"How wet is she?"

Realle jammed a finger roughly between my pussy lips. My body continued to betray me. She liked her finger, grinning. "Wet like a fucking waterfall."

"Our painslut craves abuse."

Realle reached for the nipple clamps and I shook my head. "No! Please!"

Jim slapped me, then grabbed my face in one hand. "You have no say in this, whore!" He released me and stepped back, nodding to Realle and Dave. Dave lifted my tits again, and Realle applied the clamps. As she tightened them, I screamed in pain, and Dave shoved a ball gag in my mouth. I gagged as he pulled the straps hard, fastening them behind my head.

As Jim stepped back to survey me, he pushed up his sleeves, and my eyes widened as I saw something on his forearm I'd not seen before. A tattoo. A very familiar tattoo.

In fact, my brother had one just like it. And a bizarre, insane plan began to grow in my head.

Tears streamed down my face as Dave took the chain from the hook. He released one of the cuffs and pulled my hands behind my back, recuffing me. He sat me on the table as Jim ordered me to lean back on my hands.

I did, and he and Realle each took a leg and spread me wide. Dave fingered my pussy as Greg circled with the camera, getting close-ups of my swollen lips and clit. Dave's huge fingers worked me steadily, firmly, arousing me almost to the point of climax. In his bass voice, he tormented me.

"You like having Dave's big black fingers on your slut pussy, don't you? Your juices are just flowing, your whoring cunt wanting more. Listen to that slick hole, bitch. Squishing in and out."

He pinched my clit, tugging at it. My body rocked and I tried to close my legs, but Jim and Realle held on tight.

"I already know you like my black cock in your pussy and your ass, slut. We already got that out there for the viewers to gaze at. They already know this bitch can fuck. They know this bitch loves to fuck."

He slipped two fingers in and out of my juicy hole. The slurping noises grew thicker as he added a third. Then a fourth. My body arched in resistance. And pleasure.

"Oh, yeah. You wanna fuck my hand, don't you, whore. You want all of it."

My eyes widened in surprise, and I shook my head. No!

"Oh, yeah, you're gonna love it."

He folded his hand and twisted his wrist and shoved. On the monitor behind Greg, I could see that his fist sank into my cunt up past the wrist. What I felt was a excruciating pressure. I fought to get away, but their hold was too tight.

Dave rammed his hand in and out several times, until I screamed into the gag again. He twisted his arm then, turning and pushing his fingers hard upward on my g-spot. The orgasm was instantaneous and powerful. My pussy tightened on his wrist, pulsing in waves as my body gyrated on the table. I sobbed into the gag, but he didn't relent, continuing to thrust until I came a second time.

Jim and Realle released my legs and my body sagged on the table, sobs from the pain and pleasure still wracking me.

"Roll her over," Jim commanded.

They turned me on my stomach, and I pressed my hot face against the wood. Jim would never give me time to recover, so I tried to steel myself for the next "request."

Someone shoved a pillow under my hips, hoisting my ass in the air. Rough fingers probed my sore pussy, spreading my cunt juice all over my asshole. Then came the coolness of lube, followed by the pressure on my asshole of something solid and large.

I whimpered, too weak to resist, as it penetrated me. With each thrust, it went deeper, and my sobs grew louder. The fire of pain and pleasure stiffened my body. I turned my head to look at the monitor.

I had what looked like a small bat protruding from my asshole. With a gasp, I realized it must be Dave's baton, the kind truckers use to check their tires. Jim worked it, twisting it, his face a rough mask. "This is what an ass slut looks like. She comes repeatedly when fucked like the whore she is, then she takes just about anything up her ass. Cocks, batons, bottles, cans, fruit. She loves it. Wants more of it."

He fingered my pussy, then showed it to the camera. "See. It makes her wet. It won't take much to make her cum again. Just watch."

He picked up a vibrator, turned it on high, and pressed it against my clit. A spear of pure pleasure pierced me and I jerked hard. He rubbed circles around the hot nub, and more dribbles of juices appeared.

"Get a close up, Greg, as I do this." He reached for another clamp, and as he pulled the vibrator away, he sank its teeth into my clit. My body turned raging hot, and I twisted like a mad woman as he shoved the vibrator into my pussy. Dave and Realle held me down as he worked the baton and the vibrator in and out.

He was right. I came. And I passed out.

"Sometimes sluts are weaker than you expect. They disappoint. Even though they crave fucking, crave your cock, crave being treated like the whores they are, they're weak.

I woke to the sound of Jim's voice, speaking at the camera. Cold water dripped off my face onto my tits, and I knew someone had splashed my face. I was upright again, still cuffed, but the gag, baton, and vibrator were gone. So were all the clamps.

Realle, her face strangely white and placid, held a cup of water to my lips. I drank, watching Jim. He was shirtless, now, for the first time, and sweat coated his back. He turned to me suddenly, and motioned for Greg to close in on my face.

Jim leaned over me. "Tell them, bitch. Tell them that you loved every minute, even the pain. That you can't believe how weak you are."

I swallowed hard, glancing again at his forearm, at his tattoo. I took a deep breath.

"I can't believe that a Marine who has served his country would do this to another Marine's sister. My brother, Sgt. Brian Smith, is at Pendleton. He wouldn't believe you would do this either. Kidnapping. Torture. Jim."

The silence was that of a tomb. They all froze, a tableau in the confines of the RV.

Greg reacted first. Mumbling "Shit," he shut off the camera and closed the lid on the laptop, ending the web connection.

Jim's eyes narrowed, fury lacing every muscle as he straightened. He raised his fist, and I had a flash that I might be about to die.

Dave stopped him, moving faster than I thought the big man could. His giant hand closed on Jim's arm. "No. It's done. Let her go."

Something like the onset of spring burst in the back of my head. Did he say, let her go?

Jim didn't move, then cut his eyes toward Realle. "Get her out of here." Then at Greg, "Get us on the road."

Realle moved like a sprite as she released my handcuffs and grabbed a blanket, thrusting it at me and bundling me toward the door. "I know the owners here," she whispered. "The Blackstones. They'll help you." Then she shoved me down the steps and out the door of the RV.

The parking lot was awash in light, from the ones illuminating the parking lot and the trucks rolling in and out. I blinked from the brightness and stumbled a bit as loose gravel on the parking lot bit into my feet, and I wrapped the blanket around me, walking numbly and with pain. My entire body felt battered and sore.

A trucker crossing to his truck did a double take at me. He was a big, bearded guy, a bear of a man. But his voice was gentle. "Are you OK, Miss?"

Behind me, I heard Dave's rig and the RV pull out. I shook my head. "I need help. And the police."

His face blanched behind the beard, and he put it together quickly – the retreating vehicles, the girl wrapped in a blanket who looked as if she'd been through hell. "Let's get you to the office inside. Can I touch you?"

I nodded, and he wrapped one arm around me. I collapsed against him, and he scooped me up, taking me inside.

It all happened very fast after that. The police wouldn't let me wash, taking DNA samples from every orifice. Mrs. Blackstone, who was indeed very nice, stayed with me, got me clothes, and called my family. Including my brother in California.

My desperate, gasped words had done the job. One of the webcam watchers had a brother at Camp Pendleton and decided to make some calls. It took a few days, and despite all their precautions, the cops caught up with the team near Lexington.

I wasn't their first victim. Realle was. She launched a mental defect defense based on that. Dave turned state's evidence against Greg and Jim. When a jailhouse rumor circulated that some of their victims had been underage boys, Greg took a shank in the back during lunch, dying almost immediately. Jim, the former marine, ably defended himself against the other prisoners until he could be separated from the general population.

So it was that Jim stood trial alone.

I sat in court every day, refusing to testify against him, an action that befuddled his own attorney as well as the prosecutor. But I refused to discuss why I wouldn't take the stand, in part because I wasn't really sure I understood why. Not fully.

All I knew was that Jim had released something in me, something primal, that would take me a long time to face.

Besides, they didn't need me. When the team's capture hit the press, women came out of the woodwork, previously too terrified to say anything. All had some kind of evidence, and each could easily identify Jim as the games operator who'd first tied them in the back room of the game booth. Each had been kept several weeks, fucked and tortured, displayed on the webcam.

Turns out that they had been doing this for almost five years. A total of 27 women. And only two of them could look at him for more than a few seconds. The rest, their expressions fluid, tentative, and twisted with terror, never even glanced at him.

I, on the other hand, could not look away from him. Now, at last, I could study him, the muscular marine, cool and stoic behind the defendant's table. His jaw never flinched and he seldom moved. Never lowered his gaze. At the end of each day in court, he stood at attention and waited for the handcuffs. A handsome, disciplined man who'd once proudly served our country.

Why? What had changed for this man? Now that I had his full name, I looked him up. Found the news reports, the coverage of his capture behind enemy lines, the medical discharge after a prisoner exchange. The rumors of his excruciating torture, never confirmed, at the hands of a woman.

Still. No excuse. If you're that damaged, you get help.

Instead, he got 25-to-life. The jury returned the verdict in less than three hours. When the verdict was announced, he turned, staring directly at me. I returned the stare, as stoic as he was. Our gaze stayed locked on each other until he disappeared behind the door.

I knew, without a doubt, that jail would never hold him. Despite the verdict, I would see him again. In some dark place in my soul, I was afraid that I would want to see him again. Need to see him.

I was right. On both counts.

Six months later, the authorities notified me that he had escaped. I thanked them, and assured them I'd take the appropriate precautions, even though I knew in my heart that if he wanted to find me, he would.

He did.

The packed subway jerked and rumbled around a curve, swaying passengers into each other. The crackling speaker finished announcing the next stop, mine, and I heard a deep growl in my ear, the voice I knew I'd never forget.

"Been to any carnies lately, my little slut?"