Flamingos Ch. 21

I woke when I felt her rolling out of bed. I could see in the scattered light as she pulled on that T-shirt and stepped into her jeans. She bent over the bed, kissed me, a nice soft kiss, and said, "thank you, David, that was fun."

And she was gone. I never saw her again.

It was still dark, so I went back to sleep.

I woke again, still in the dark, as Ashley crawled into bed with me.

I smiled and turned to her, planning to embrace her but her hands were covering her face, and that put her elbows between us.

And I could feel the soft shaking as she cried.

"What?" I asked, holding my voice soft and low.

"Tell me," she started but stopped and I could hear her crying some more so I just held her, letting my hands lightly rub her back, letting her cry it out.

"What?" I asked again as she wound down.

This time she got it out. "Tell me I'm not just a worthless cumdump," she said.

I laughed softly and said, "you are much more than a worthless cumdump."

She pulled her hands away from her face then.

"Ashley, what the FUCK!" I said, well, I yelled more like it.

I lifted my legs up and then rolled into a sitting position before stepping off the end of the bed, finding the light switch on the wall, and turning on the lights.

She looked like Sylvester Stallone after Rocky won the second fight. Her right eye was swollen almost shut, her upper lip was puffed out, and she had a hand-shaped bruise across her left cheek.

I didn't say anything. I just went into the kitchen, got some ice, wrapped it in a dish towel, and went back into the bedroom where I crawled up onto the bed beside her.

She winced when I laid the ice pack against the swollen eye but then I could feel her crying settle down.

I didn't say anything. I just tried to comfort her. As someone who has both won and lost fights, I had a pretty good idea of what she was feeling right then.

So I held her, using the dishtowel, as it got wet from the melting ice, to wash her face, assessing the damage. Her nose had been bloodied but it didn't appear to be broken. Her lip was a classic fat lip, but I saw no blood and, although I couldn't see, I doubted she had lost any teeth in the fight. That's a special pain and swelling and you tend to instinctively protect that. I know, one of my incisors was now part of a partial bridge.

When she finally managed to stop crying, she said, "thank you."

"Ashley," I said, "what in the fuck happened?"

She giggled, very softly, and then winced.

"The guy I left with wasn't really from the park," she said.

"And," I said, brushing hair from her face and putting the ice pack back against her eye.

"He had a motorcycle and said they were having a party if I'd like to come," she said.

"You know me," she went on, "I can't say no to a party."

She giggled again and I thought there was a little hysteria in her voice so I embraced her, holding her close and saying all of that calming shit you say in those situations. "It's okay," I said, "I've got you, Dave's here," you know, stuff like that.

Finally, she drew a very deep breath, long and shuddering. She smiled, a caricature of a smile through her distorted lips, and said, "make me a screwdriver, David, a triple please."

So I did. I helped her stand and then walked her into the living room, well, okay, the living area, of the travel trailer. Then I took my time, allowing her to gather herself.

I thought about it and found her a straw too.

She said, "thank you," and started sucking on the straw as I cleaned her face some more, making sure nothing was broken. It looked like she had taken that kind of a beating but nothing appeared to be.

She drank steadily for a minute or so, draining the glass and then holding it out to me.

"Play it again, Sam," she said, and giggled. I thought there might be an edge of hysteria in that sound but I made her another.

She drained that one too, as I held her and washed her face.

"Now, talk," I said, stroking her hair, almost petting her.

When she didn't say anything I did the two-fingers-under-the-chin thing I had seen my father do so many times, forcing her to look at me.

I kissed her forehead and said, "you are beautiful but you've been hurt. Now tell me what happened."

She managed a crooked smile.

"God, you are so sweet," she said, and managed to kiss me albeit an awkward kiss, her lips too damaged to allow much contact.

She took another of those deep, shuddering breaths and started.

Ashley's Story

He was handsome, David, and I just assumed he was part of the camp, you know. When he showed me his motorcycle, a big thing full of chrome and leather, and said that he wasn't from the camp but that he knew where there was a party I figured, "what the hell."

I felt young, you know, riding on the back of the bike, the wind and my hair blowing and all of that crap. It was fun.

When we got to the party, and it was somewhere in the woods and no, I couldn't begin to find it again, there were a couple of dozen people there. It looked to be all couples and I knew, right away, I had fucked up. Every one of them was dressed in leather and every one of them sported a bunch of tattoos.

"Look what I found," he said and no, I never did learn his name, "entertainment."

Well, hell, I shed the last of my modesty and my inhibitions long ago, you know, and when he started tugging on the hem of my T-shirt I figured "fuck it, it's not like I'm a virgin" and raised my arms.

He stripped me naked and they were all hooting and hollering, calling me granny and piggy and I don't know what all. But I knew I was in trouble and decided to make the best of it.

One of them came to me, no names but he was obviously the leader, and said, almost politely, "on your knees, grandmother."

So I got to my knees.

He grabbed my hair, jerking so I had to look straight up, my neck bent painfully.

"Now grandmother," he said in that same, almost polite voice, "if you bite I'm going to cut your tits off, one at a time, and cauterize the wound with that fire over there," and he pointed to a fire int he middle of the clearing, not quite what would qualify as a "bonfire" but more than a "campfire," "and then I'll do the other one," he went on, "and your fingers and your toes and you'll spend a very bad weekend dying."

He smiled then.

"Do you believe me, grandmother?" he asked, in that weird polite way.

I said I believed him but there was no need to be mean. I told him I enjoyed what he wanted and reached up to unbutton and unzip him.

They took turns, David. I was fucked in the mouth and the pussy. One guy with the biggest cock I ever say fucked me up the ass, that was mighty uncomfortable, but I don't think anything tore.

And, David, I tried to please them. I was scared, you know, and I didn't want to give them any reason to hurt me, well, hurt me any more than they were already.

She held out the glass and asked for a refill so I made her a fresh screwdriver. She took a sip and went on.

When they were done, and most of them wanted seconds, I thought I was okay. Oh, I was sore and humiliated and scared, but I thought I was going to be okay.

Then they turned me over to the women.

They made a circle and began pushing me back and forth.

David, I'm no fighter. I just tried to protect myself as much as I could.

That's when I got this she touched her swollen eye.

They pushed me around like that, punching and kicking and laughing.

Then one of them, a big woman with black hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in a month, grabbed me by the hair and started slapping me.

She's the one that said, "get a rope," and when I heard them start chanting "string her up, string her up" I panicked. I thought they were going to lynch me.

But two of them grabbed me and held my arms behind my back while that big woman with greasy hair used the rope to bind my tits.

And again I thought, "okay, this isn't too bad." After all, we had played bondage games before and tits like mine DO draw attention.

But then she frog marched me over to a tree and they threw the rope over a limb and that's when I panicked.

I mean, Jesus, David, I weigh in at about 210 and I was afraid they would tear my tits right off.

But there was nothing I could do. The men were sitting around then, laughing and drinking and chanting that awful "string her up," and a half dozen of the women started pulling on the rope and, well, they did it.

They strung me up by my tits.

My hands were free so I could hold onto the rope and ease at least some of the pressure. But my grip would fail and my full weight would come down. Christ, I looked like a damn fountain from all of that pressure on them.

She took a deep breath then and another suck on her straw.

And then they started using me as a punching bag.

I screamed myself hoarse. I couldn't even try to protect myself because if I lowered my hands all of my weight would be on my tits.

I passed out from the pain and when I woke I was laying in the dirt, the ropes still binging my tits.

The guy who had brought me tossed me my clothes, or anyway what was left of them.

I got the ropes off and then screamed again when blood started flowing into the starved tissues.

I dressed and then he walked me to his bike, helped me on, brought me here, and dropped me.

"Stand up," I said, and helped her stand, not liking the way she sort of hunched over.

"Arms up," I said, reaching for the hem of her torn T-shirt.

"Really?" she asked, the first signs of life coming back to her face.

I smiled and said, "I want to see if there's anything broken, Ashley, and then I'm going to take you to bed, give you three of the Tramadol I hoard for just such a need, and hold you while you go to sleep. Then I'm going to plot an assassination."

She giggled, winced, and lifted her arms.

I peeled the T-shirt up and off.

Her breasts showed a ring bruise where the ropes had been, and more distinct, smaller bruises where she had been hit. There were a few smaller bruises on her torso and one very dark bruise peeking out above the waistband of her jeans.

I turned her, gently, with my hands on her shoulders. Her back looked pretty much the same. Smaller quarter-sized bruises all over, I wondered if one of her assailants had a big ring, with a very dark, much bigger bruise showing low on her back.

I unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and pushed them down, wondering briefly where her panties might be.

She had obviously shit and pissed herself and I figured I would have to clean that up before I took her to bed.

The bruise at her beltline extended down, and I could almost picture a booted foot kicking her right in the crotch.

My biggest worry was the bruise low on her back, at her kidney. It was very black and I told myself to check when she went to the bathroom and see if she was pissing blood.

I got an old towel, wet it, and cleaned where she had messed. She winced and groaned a couple of times but other than that held more or less still.

I got out the promised Tramadol and gave them to her. "Take these, and finish your drink," I said.

She did.

"Now listen," I said, holding her eyes with mine, "when you go to the bathroom, look back. I'm afraid you might be pretty seriously hurt and passing blood."

She managed a wan sort of smile and said, "yes sir,"

"Now come on," I said, taking her hand and pulling her, gently, toward the bed.

She was getting bleary as she crawled up into the bed.

"I understand if you don't want me anymore," she said, her eyes moving to the boxers I still wore.

I laughed, kicked off the boxers, showed her my interest, and then crawled up beside her.

"Maybe tomorrow," I said, kissing her gently.

"For tonight, you NEED to sleep," I finished.

She was snoring in about 20 seconds.