Moving Her On Pt. 02

"Rip her dress off, will you --- I want her naked --- see how her tits swing when the whip bites"

The fat one's voice. Against all reason, she feels safe, somehow --- perhaps he is going to whip her, but of all of them, she has had almost a conversation with him, had her orgasm with him. She is happy that he wants to see her breasts, and finds herself holding herself as best she can for them as they rip and tear at the flimsy dress. It's gone in seconds, her arms are tightly gripped, a hand grabs at her sex from underneath as she is bent over, and two fingers are pushed into her, curling, making her yelp through the jaw-spreader --- is he looking for her G-spot?

"Give it to her hard, now --- I want to feel it through her pussy."

Laughter and approving banter, while Chloe feels black dread rising at the thought of more pain, and bucks against the fingers that are rummaging inside her with no more finesse than if her pussy was a cutlery drawer.

'sssss-thakkKK'

'sssss-thakkKK'

'sssss-thakkKK'

Three in succession, hard; with no cock in her throat, her screams are full throated but inchoate, the awful thing in her mouth making her sound foreign even to herself, tragic, hardly human even; full of despair and helplessness.

"Did you feel much?"

"Not really --- best was the way she would jerk as it landed --- I think she probably hurt her pussy on my hand, then --- so I guess you could call it value for money, except she damn near broke my hand.."

Laughter.

A hand in her hair pulls at her then; hard, painful, making her cry out --- she is dragged --- outside, from the change in the air on her body. She is crying raggedly, lost in despair, as, pulled along with her head kept firmly at waist height, her entire attention is required if she is not to fall (she is mindlessly desperate not to fall; in her raw vulnerability, the slightest scraps of remaining dignity are as precious to her as oxygen). Her breasts jounce wildly as she is hustled across the gravel of the driveway, and terror rises as she wonders; where to, now?

A sudden halt, then new outrage impinges; thrown onto a car bonnet, her ankles are pulled up; into the air, backward, apart --- she is forced to fall forward until she's lying, face-down, the metalwork cold on her belly and breasts, her legs split wide, a terrible feeling of powerlessness and vulnerability as she is chaotically pushed and pulled around (confused orders and advice shouted; excited laughter --- an air of slightly feverish anticipation) until, with a horrible shock, she feels slick, cold metal at her sex and shrieks in outrage.

Chloe's outrage is, of course, highly entertaining and just what they want from her, so her shrieks bring nothing but an intensification and renewed effort towards their goal; her shoulders are lifted, her hips are clumsily jammed forward and whatever it is enters her at a skewed angle with bruising force, making her shriek, forcing her to wriggle --- to work herself now to in order to accommodate the hard, cold shape, which feels so huge and awkward inside her, with the minimum of pain.

It's insane, but undeniable --- there is a large, cold, metal something pushing outrageously into her soft, tender pussy; now her whole body revolts; she rejects the invader from the depth of her soul, bucks and jerks wildly, grunting and screeching hoarsely, the jaw spreader preventing her from forming any words, dehumanised, reduced to the condition of a wild animal, trapped, tighly held by strong hands, controlled. Her movements only increase the awfulness of the penetration, immovable and hard as it is, and very soon, already exhausted from the multiple struggles and atrocities of the last 18 hours, she is defeated, her despair a wrenching agony, hearing for herself how distorted and inhuman are the noises she is making --- the hated spreader making it impossible for her to communicate.

Held fast by her ankles, thighs spread obscenely wide, pulled into the front of the car, lying face down over the bonnet, she is appallingly impaled, the hood ornament (it must be) stretching her, hurting her, sobbing weakly, broken.

Hands reach over --- at least the awful spreader is being removed;

"We want to hear you scream and beg now, pretty."

Her weak;

"No.. no.. please.. please get it out of me, please.." is ignored, and now the whip comes again, harder than before --- laid on with real force;

'whwhSSSS--thWacKK!'

Her scream is a banshee wail, but elicits no pity; only amused exclamations, approval and encouragement for the man behind her (she still has no idea which of them it might be), who lays it on again;

'whwhSSSS--thWacKK!'

She is begging, babbling, pleading --- the involuntary jerking of her hips, the vain writhing of her body as it attempts somehow to avoid the blows only bringing added misery from the appalling invasion of the metal in her sex --- which also serves to fix her in place --- so that she is effectively fucking herself on the cold metal dildo of the car while being whipped --- and she can't, can't hold herself still --- her body will not do nothing in the knowledge of another terrible swipe of the whip --- keeps on with its futile attempts at escape, so that she cannot stop herself from fucking the car.

One of them makes a comment to this effect and she wants to die of shame as the laughter spreads.

'whwhSSSS--thWacKK!'

Pain trumps shame and she screams again, begs again;

"Please, please.. anything.. please.. no.. no more, I.. I beg you.. anything?"

"The problem for you pussy, is that you've done everything we want already. And right now, this is what we want. Last three strikes though, so it'll be over soon."

Another voice;

"Not quite that soon --- I'm going to see how she takes it in the ass, held like that. I've never double teamed with a car before --- still less a Jaguar!"

She realises from the voice that it's the small man, but before the meaning of this hits her, there's a cold drip of something at her already torn anus, the hurt from which has been a dull fire all day, and which now erupts into new agony as a dick which feels as if it must be a firehose is pushed into her ass. Later, she remembers that the small man's dick is small, too --- that it was the combination of the leaping chromed jaguar embedded in her sex and the extreme soreness from the previous night's usage which had magnified the sensation. The explanation does nothing to lessen the wrenching awfulness of the memory --- of an experience which at times she feels defines her.

It's not as searingly painful as being whipped, but the psychic impact is immeasurable.

He fucks her slow, as hard as he can, and this time it's working for him; his pace increases gradually, as he mouths a continual torrent of crude abuse at her under his breath, working himself deeper and deeper into her asshole, grinding her pussy onto the metal beast that skewers her, she emitting hoarse cries of anguish at every stroke, otherwise silent, keening softly, feeling with dread a familiar warmth building, unasked, unwanted, in her groin as he works her. It's not that she is going to come --- that's a million miles off --- but that she feels a sexual heat at all appals her. She can't hide it, either --- no matter how desperately she wishes she could, the events of the last half hour have left her unable to control anything at all --- not even the tenor of her gasps and moans, the movement of her hips, and the change is noted.

"She likes it, the cunt --- she fucking likes it --- listen to her --- its turning her on, being fucked like this. Jesus what a fucking slut!"

He reaches down, then, his fingers clumsy as he mauls her clit --- but to some effect --- she lets out a soft, long wail of shamed intensity that brings more laughter and a loud wolf whistle.

"He's fuckin' it --- Neil is fucking it right --- and it fucking likes it!" comes a shout.

When at last he comes, bucking hard into her, rapid jerks of his thighs making her cry out as her sore pussy is mashed into the metal cat and his fingers crush her clit, she knows that if he had been able to hold out longer, caressed her breasts a little, been a little more careful with her clit, she might have been unable to hold back an orgasm, and the knowledge eats into her.

Somehow the last three, awful stripes from the whip seem fitting --- appropriate --- necessary even --- even though each has her crying out brokenly.

At last, they let go, and she slumps to the ground, still blindfolded, wrists tied, naked, on her knees in the sharp gravel, abandoned; crying softly, helplessly, almost gently, ignored as bantering goodbyes are said and cars crunch across the driveway. The Jaguar engine throbs to life right next to her and she jerks in shock, crying out, nerves shot, to patronising laughter, and then it, too, is rolling away, engine a suppressed, throaty roar. The car that fucked her.