Husband Couldn't Save Me

My husband and I had always wanted to go to Disney World. Our parents had never taken us, and we had never been able to afford it. One day, we decided to book the trip. Was it a little weird that we were there without any little ones in tow? Yes! Did we have a blast anyways? Hell yes!

We had driven there. We could have flown, but who doesn't love a good road trip? We got to visit many of the states we had never gone to before. It was fun!

Since we live across the country, we had to stop at motels along the way. On the way back, one of our bookings was at a motel in Wyoming. We arrived for the night a 6 PM.

Wyoming is... rural, to say the least. We were in a small town, and the "town center" was nothing more than a post office, a bar, a liquor store, and a few other small shops.

My husband and I were feeling cramped up from being in the car all day, so we didn't want to just watch TV and fall asleep. We decided to head to the only entertainment in the small town: the bar.

We walked in and the interior was what you would expect. A little run-down.

The only two others in the bar were two men in their 40s, drinking alone and halfheartedly paying attention to the two TV screens displaying one of the local college football games. It wasn't a party atmosphere, but it was way better than being stuffed up in the hotel.

The door opened with a creak and I heard the sound of boots stomping on gravel. I turned around and saw that a group of bikers was walking in. They were dressed in all black with leather jackets. Big and gruff men. Nothing like my husband. After they entered, the scent of the bar changed. I smelled dirt and sweat. An objectively unpleasant smell, but I found myself inhaling deeply through my nose and feeling a strange attraction to it.

They sat down at the bar and ordered a variety of hard alcohol. They started becoming rowdy, talking and laughing loudly with each other. These big tough bikers would sometimes look around the room and fixate on me like hounds. I would try to avoid eye contact, though I did slip up a few times. Each time I looked at one of them, I could almost read their minds. Their eyes were ferocious and shining as they looked at me. I scooted my chair a little closer to my husband, who was politely sipping on his beer. We hadn't talked much since the gang had entered and we found ourselves pretending to watch the football game, but really we were listening to their grotesque musings about riding, fighting, and fucking. I didn't really like sports anyways, so although my eyes were looking at the screen, my ears were all for them. I loved and hated what they were saying. I chalked it up to them being interesting; you didn't see anyone like that in our small town back home. All you saw were men like my husband.

They seemed like they were buddies with the bartender, but not the other two in the bar. At a certain point they got in an argument with one of the two men sitting near them. The man ended up leaving in a hurry. The other man followed him out shortly after, leaving my husband and I alone with the biker gang.

Their conversation turned to talking about prostitutes. I hated the idea of women selling themselves for money but found myself strangely curious as to what they had to say about it.

"You remember that chick Mary?" asked one of them.

"One of a kind," another replied.

"Shame what happened to her," said the original man.

I wondered what had happened to her.

"Still blacks only for you, Tom?" inquired one of them.

"Mhm," said Tom, taking a shot afterwards.

"So you're telling me you wouldn't get with that fine white bitch over there?" he asked. They must have been referencing me... I was the only woman in the bar. My heart fluttered.

Tom looked over.

"I would, but I wouldn't pay," he said. His buddies laughed.

"Well, I would," said the original man.

"How much, ma'am?" he asked, looking at me. I had been pretending to not be paying attention to their conversation but I guess they saw right through me.

"Not interested," my husband piped up. I thought I heard his voice crack. He took a sip from his beer quickly.

"As you say," said the man, and they all laughed, then turned their conversation elsewhere. The bartender looked scared, for some reason. He was polishing the bartop nervously. The bikers continued occasionally looking over at me in lust as their conversation continued and they got more and more drunk.

The gruff biker gang ended up leaving shortly afterwards. As they stomped out with their steel-toed boots, I couldn't help myself from looking at the big men as they did.

They started their motorcycles and the engines roared. As they pulled off, I felt a sensation between my thighs. My husband drove a Prius, which was very economical and safe, but there was something about their bikes that was so raw and masculine. I wondered if we should call the police; these men were clearly not fit to be operating such powerful machines considering their levels of intoxication!

My husband and I left shortly after they did. The bar was only a mile away from our motel, so we had walked. As we exited, I wrapped my arm around him and we walked onwards like a noble couple, trying to forget about the discomfort we had experienced in the bar. There were no streetlights.

We walked for about a half mile until we came to an abandoned lot on our left. There were a group of bikers in the lot, parked, and drinking. Rock music was playing loudly.

As we passed, we tried to ignore them, but they saw us in the darkness.

"Hey! That's that chick from the bar!" one of them said. The music stopped and I heard loud footsteps on gravel. They were approaching us.

"Say, what's your name?" asked one of them.

I told them my name.

"Girl like you shouldn't be walking out here all alone," said one of them. I was in fact walking with my husband, so I didn't understand what they meant.

"She's with me," my husband said, in the most commanding voice he could muster.

"Sure she is," said one of them. The rest laughed in unison.

"Say, why don't you two come have a few drinks with us? We want to meet the newcomers," he said, with a devious tone of voice.

I didn't budge. My husband was clearly very hesitant.

"C'mon, it'll be fun. You're on vacation, right? Best to meet some of the locals, don't you think?" said the man convincingly.

My husband looked at me.

"Well alright," he said. My husband was very trusting of others. Sometimes too trusting.

They handed us some cheap beers and we cracked them open, sipping them lightly. They were warm. I still didn't feel good about this. The men had gathered in a circle around us, and I could sense the ferocity within them, just waiting to be unleashed.

"Staying at the motel down the road?" one man asked.

"Yep," said my husband, taking a nervous sip of his beer. What the fuck! Why was he telling them this? Didn't he realize how sketchy this was? Not a single car had driven down this rural road since we had been walking. My husband was the type to try and befriend everyone. Alarm bells were ringing in my head. Why did he care about being liked by these men? We should just leave!

"Good," said the man. I heard a different man laugh quietly under his breath. Another man hit him in the arm after he did.

"So you never did answer our question, ma'am," he continued. "How much?"

My husband tensed up but did not speak. They were all looking at me expecting a reply. I caved in to the pressure.

"There's not a price high enough," I managed to squeak out, trying to sound indignant. The men behind us scoffed. A few of them chuckled. What was so funny?

The man who was speaking to us put his hand up to stop their laughs, then continued.

"Everyone's got a price, ma'am," he said. "Name yours."

I pulled closer to my husband. He finally took the lead.

"Not interested," he said again. The man questioning us took a step forward.

"Look now, the lot of us are just curious. Give us your price and we'll let you be on your way. We got a bet riding on this," he explained. His voice had become slightly more sinister and demanding and I didn't like how he had invaded our personal space.

My husband didn't reply and looked at me for guidance. All of the men were leering at me. By the looks of it I would have to give them a number in order to get out of this sticky situation.

"I don't know, a thousand dollars," I found myself saying.

The man raised his eyebrows.

"Just 1,000? God damnit," he said, spitting on the ground.

"Guess Tom and Dale are first then," he said.

He snapped his fingers and two of the men came up behind my husband and I. They quickly slapped pieces of duct tape over our mouths before either of us could react. One of them pulled my hands behind my back and the other attached a pair of tight handcuffs. I had never worn handcuffs before. I looked over in desperation and my husband was managing to struggle against the men, but they quickly overpowered him and forced him down into the dirt, attaching two pairs of handcuffs to bind his body, once at his wrists, and once at his ankles. One of the men put his steel-toed boot down on the neck of my husband to keep him from struggling. I tried to move away from the man, but he aggressively pulled me back.

"Alright, alright. Let's settle down everyone," said the ringleader. My husband tried to struggle again in anger but I saw the man above him apply pressure on his boot and my husband stopped.

They led me behind the only structure in the lot, which was nothing more than four walls and a roof. One of them dragged my husband over by his ankles so his face was dragging on the dirt. We were now all hidden from the road.

"Now listen here, ma'am," said the ringleader. "This is going to happen, and there's nothin' you two can do to stop it. Even if there's a call to local PD... well, let's just say that ain't going to help you. Got a few of them on our payroll."

"So we're going to take these cuffs off you, you hear? But if you try run or do anything, your husband gets it," he explained. He snapped his fingers again.

One of the other men came up behind me and unlocked my handcuffs. I rubbed my wrists together tenderly. Then he reached around me and yanked the duct tape off.

I took the opportunity to scream at the top of my lungs.

"HELPPPP!!!" I exclaimed. The man grabbed my hair and jerked my neck back and then replaced the duct tape. My screams became muffled.

"God damn it Trevor, not the tape," said the ringleader, approaching me.

"We like a little fight in our women, but just know that every time you resist, your husband gets some boot in his throat," he said menacingly. He whistled sharply and one of the other men dug his boot into the back of the neck of my husband. He couldn't scream, but by his body language I saw that he was in immense pain.

So I submitted and didn't struggle or scream.

The men stood me up against the wall of the structure and entered me one-by-one. They treated me like a dirty prostitute.

The first man was a bit of a romantic. In my vulnerability, he took the time to kiss my neck and rub my clit. Now that I was up close to them, their scent was nearly unbearable. It was in danger of making me faint. Did these men even shower? The man's fingernails were black with dirt and his fingers rubbing my kitty were filthy. The odor, along with the neck kisses and physical stimulation, made me wet. I was abhorred by the situation and frightened beyond imagination, but I couldn't fight biology.

Eventually he pulled down my panties, lifted up my skirt, and slipped his member into me. I gasped. He was so big! I bet his cock was dirty and smelly like the rest of my body. I found myself wanting to lift his cock up and deeply inhale the scent of his package. My emotions were going crazy. Half of me wanted to run away and half of me wanted to stay forever. I found myself pushing my behind into his penis to get it as deep as I possibly could. My justification for this changed second-by-second. I went from doing it lustfully, to convincing myself I just wanted them to finish quicker so I could leave, and back and forth and back and forth.

One of the men had adjusted the positioning of my husband. I would learn later that they made him watch me get ravished and were whispering in his ear about how they were about to ruin his woman and get me pregnant. For now, all I could see was the wooden wall in front of me, and feel the thrusts of the biker gang.

The first man accelerated his thrusting and I knew that he was close to ejaculating. I had run out of birth control about half way through our Disney stay (bad planning) and there was nothing to stop him from giving me a baby.

He started slamming into me and showed no signs of stopping. No! I snapped to my senses and tried to resist, but doing so only made me hornier. I felt my own orgasm building. But this was new. It felt tingly and forced, made from primal instincts rather than love. I felt him start to erupt in my and I instinctively started contracting around his meat. It was half pain and half pleasure. My knees got weak and the man had to hold me upright pressed against the structure. After he finished, he pulled out and gave me a slap on the ass. I felt his seed start to leak down my leg.

The next man took his place and had none of the candor of the first man. He just unzipped his pants and stuck his meat in me. Luckily I was well-lubricated already, so it didn't hurt as much as before.

This man clearly didn't like women.

"Dumb bitch, take this," he whispered. "I know you like that. You love this."

His words had an effect on me. I hated it. But I loved how it felt, for some reason. As he talked dirty to me, I found myself arching my back and pushing back into him like a little slut. Oh my God, what would my husband think of that? He was watching. I snapped to attention for just a second before my lust consumed me again and I continued trying to give the strange gruff man as good of an experience as I could. For some reason I preferred this violent and hateful man over the more gentle man before him. What the fuck was wrong with me? This was my worst nightmare...

As I was consumed in my thoughts I felt another orgasm building. The man felt it too. As I came, he dug his long dirty nails into my shoulders. So hard that he drew blood. I felt wave after wave of pleasure wash through me, this time with less pain.

The man pushed himself into me and released his pent up frustration. I felt a tear form in my eye. It was beautiful. This was my place.

The third man wanted me on the ground. He threw my down and forced my legs apart. The previous two men had been fully-clothed. I knew this because I had heard them unzip, and their dirty biker clothing had been pressed against me. To my shock, the third man was completely naked. The scent of his masculinity was even stronger and I felt myself even more primally attracted to him. He was such a big man, and so hairy.

This man also happened to be the best lover of the pack. He fucked me nice and hard but had the necessary rhythm to make my kitty sing. I had three forced orgasms while he was having his way with me, and was completely dripping wet.

Before he was about to cum, he stopped and took a few deep breaths, relishing the situation. Then he hit me with strong blows to the face. It hurt so much! I had never been hit beyond a playful slap. My face was throbbing but the violence had made me even more wet. As I was trying to hide my face from him to avoid the punches, my hips were unconsciously grinding into him, trying to make him ejaculate. He eventually stopped hitting me and steadied himself with his fists in the dirt, then pushed himself in and unloaded deep into me. I found my hands instinctively reaching around to his strong, hairy buttocks and pulling him even deeper inside of me.

I saw the fourth man begin to undress, but then heart a sharp whistle.

"Time to go," the ringleader said. "Got company. Car drove past. Went real slow."

The men quickly packed their things and took off into the night on their big motorcycles. As I heard them rumble away, I felt a sadness deep within myself. The ringleader was still here though. He walked over to us and my heart jumped.

He began taking off my cuffs and the cuffs of my husband. My husband didn't get up immediately. They had hurt him badly. I was exhausted from my sessions with the men and didn't move to run either.

The ringleader was holding our wallets. He fished out our licenses and read off our information to us.

"I'm gonna keep these with me, safe and sound," he said. "We hear anything about any fuckin' cops lookin' for us, and we'll come to your home. There's hundreds of us. Even if a few get caught from your snitchin', we'll be there."

Even though he was threatening me, I was looking up at him with a deep respect. I didn't understand my reaction to what had just happened. He walked over to unlock my husband's cuffs and I wished he'd jam his big thing deep inside of me before he did! But he didn't. He just unlocked them and rumbled away on his motorcycle.

My husband pulled me out of my trance by yanking me to my feet. His face was cut up and bruised, and covered in dirt. We trekked back to our hotel and got to our room without anyone seeing us. I looked in the mirror and recoiled in horror. My entire face was bruised, with two black eyes, and dirt and blood and sweat all over. My makeup was smeared. I looked like a prostitute that had just gotten herself into a terrible situation. I started bawling and also felt a tingling sensation between my legs.

My husband and I decided to not go to the police regarding the incident. We were scared. We believed them when they said they would find us if we did. We considered moving, but these days everything is so connected. I didn't doubt a gang with their connections could find our new address through extortion or bribery.

We went to a clinic, and thankfully, I had not contracted any diseases from the men. Their seeds had been pure.

My husband purchased plan B for me the very next night, but as you may know, there is still a chance you get pregnant, even with plan B. I did get pregnant. My husband and I had had an accident years earlier and I had ended up getting an abortion. But the abortion had scarred me, and I had vowed to never do it again. So I kept the baby, and my devote husband help me raised the child of one of those rough bikers. I hoped it had been the seed from the third man who had roughed me up. But we would never know.

We never saw the bikers again, thank goodness. But I frequently found myself longing for them, and when my husband and I were having passionate and loving sessions, I found myself fantasizing about the forced experience, where I had been the toy of those bikers against my wishes.

Those thoughts would stay with me for the rest of my life.