Tracking Evil, a Podcast Pt. 09

Unable to support herself, she fell against the body of the man beneath her. Her mouth still hung open, her eyes wide, staring sightlessly. Deep pussy stroke, ass fuck, deep pussy stroke, piercing harsh against the tightness of her ass, back to her pussy again.

In and out, out and in. Bound and helpless.

In and out, out and in. Drooling and moaning.

In and out, out and in. Cumming again and again.

She cried and moaned till her throat burned and grew hoarse. Her muscles spasmed and eventually went limp from the crashing climaxes her body endured. The lesson continued. Hour after hour. Each man would cum inside her, pussy or ass. Sometimes both together, sometimes one alone.

Eventually they were fucking her but no longer ejaculating, just banging away at her body till their stamina flagged.

Arlene knew by now that they had taken some stimulants, chemical aids to enhance their already prodigious stamina. They had fucked her till she was limp and flaccid, barely able to whimper in response to questions or commands. And they had kept going. They fucked her till she passed out and continued while she was oblivious and unconscious, waking to find them ready to start again.

Even chemicals have their limits, the mental drive of these two men might have remained strong but their flesh was weaker. She couldn't be sure but a day or more had passed as she'd been taught her 'lesson'. Arlene almost welcomed the greasy rag that was pushed against her face, the cloying scent of the chloroform inviting her to a sweet release of drugged slumber.

When Arlene came to, she was in the backseat of her SUV. The men had obviously driven it from the retirement home when she'd been kidnapped. Now she found herself naked on the rear seat, her body covered in dried cum and what smelt like urine as well. She didn't recall either man using her as a toilet but that unmistakable ammonia smell was proof that at least one had.

The vehicle had been pulled up onto an old track, probably somewhere two locals like those henchmen would know she'd be unlikely to be discovered. Her phone, the one she had used to record Linda Mae was smashed and ruined, a heap of broken and bent plastic and electronics on the seat beside her. Arlene checked, yes, they had left the keys in the front. Her clothes, there was no sign of them but hopefully they hadn't bothered to loot the small bag of spare clothes she had stored in the back.

There was nowhere to clean up, she hadn't any water on her so Arlene just pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt so that she could get back on the road. Once she figured out where she was, the first order of business was to get to a motel and get showered. Jesus but she smelt rank right now!

Arlene gunned the engine and began driving back along the track, keeping an eye out for some sign of a proper road or better yet the highway. As she drove, she ran things through her mind, planning keeping the images of her assault at bay, deadening the discomfort of her body.

First things first. Shelter and a shower. Next step, contact Erica, give her the information she'd gleaned from Linda Mae while it was still fresh in her head. Third step, contact Sondra, see if she was in the mood for a road trip.

Arlene turned the steering wheel too late to avoid the pot hole, the jolt as she drove over it sending a twinge of discomfort through her posterior.

Let Erica have Butterman, let her tie Zahhak to this creepy spider kid that Linda Mae had mentioned. That was what Erica did and did well, finding links. Arlene had no interest in running back home right now. Erica could have the paper hunt, the quest for clues in reams and reams of files. Arlene needed a different kind of hunt, one that would end in blood!

'Coming for you!' she muttered, picturing the masked figure of The Hockey Fan as he set his monstrous henchmen on her. Slotting that bastard was going to feel righteous.

She'd get Sondra here, the two of them would find those hick sons of bitches who had defiled and fucked her, one of them would talk and then die. The other would talk and die real fucking slow.