Trucebreaker

Five gangs come up with a unique way to create and enforce a truce. But what happens when someone breaks that truce and your sister is the one who will bear the brunt of the punishment needed to restore peace?

This story gets into pretty intense non-consensual (apparently) blow jobs, gang bangs, anal sex, three male on one female sex, forced (apparently) female-female oral sex, spanking, electro-sex, forced orgasms, and punishment spankings. If this is not your cup of tea, don't read this story.

The first two sections-- Prologue 01 & Prologue 02-- are pretty slow and are primarily there to set up Felicia's story, which is told in Chapters 01 through 04. Her story makes a lot more sense if you read the prologues, but if you want just the heavy sex stuff, skip to the first chapter.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Prologue 01: The Truce is Made

Carlo Benito didn't want to make the truce, but something had to be done to stop the killing. The five gangs were dropping each other's members on an almost daily basis and the cops didn't seem to care. One of the West Forty-Nines said that he had solid information that the cops were waiting for them to kill each other off before they stepped in and took down the winner.

A truce was absolutely necessary, and this time it had to be a truce that could be enforced. There had been truces before between some of the gangs, but they had only lasted a few months, or even just a few weeks. This had to be a truce that held and it had to be a truce among all five gangs.

The leaders of the five gangs met at a neutral spot, a church located more or less at the intersection of the gangs' territories. One of the priests there had helped negotiate the meeting. It didn't take long to work out the details of a truce. Boundaries were already set. The five areas were culturally different. So, as much of an issue as that might be in other parts of the city, it wasn't here. This wasn't a war about territory, at least not as in territory under solid control where the people living there owed allegiance to a particular gang. This war was about illicit business. This was a war over where you could sell your product, whatever it was. There was also concern about being able to move through each others' areas without triggering conflict.

After many hours of discussion, an agreement was reached on exact boundaries; on free passage through each others' territories; and most importantly, that none of the five would do anything or make any sales within the other gangs' territories.

That simple agreement would bring peace. The problem was that none of the gang leaders trusted each other. Emmanuel Gomez, from the North Thirties said that he wouldn't believe the others were sincere unless they swore on their mothers' graves.

"My mother's still alive," Carlo responded angrily. "You will just have to take my word at face value."

The response to that was laughter from the other four gang chiefs. Then one of them-- Juanita from the Brookman Queens-- said, "Then, maybe you should swear on your sister."

"What the hell does that mean?" growled Rick, head of the skinhead gang that called themselves "The Righteous Ones."

"We all have sisters," Juanita said firmly. "... sisters that we have kept out of the action." She looked around the table and said, "What if our little sisters were the guarantee of the truce. If you break the truce, your sister gets punished by whichever of us was wronged." She looked around the room and said, "And all of us make sure that the guarantor is turned over as promised... or it is four against one when the truce breaks. You break the truce, your little sister is your enemy's for twenty-four hours. She comes back to you alive and not permanently injured or permanently marked, but punished in whatever fashion the wronged gang decrees."

There was silence in the room for several minutes. Then Rick said slowly, almost in a whisper, "I swear by my sister."

Juanita answered him with "I swear by my sister."

Emmanuel said it in Spanish, but then added the English, "I swear by my sister."

Morris took a deep breath and held it for what seemed like forever. Then in a whooshing gust of breath, he said, "I swear by my sister."

That left only Carlo. He stared out at the others, but he wasn't seeing them. Instead, he was seeing the face of his little sister, Felicia. He had kept her safe all of these years and even kept her out of the gang life. She was almost eighteen... almost a woman. Could he risk her? Could he put her forth to be punished if one of the Knights broke the truce? She was smiling at him, her dark hair framing her olive-hued face. He couldn't bring himself to look into her innocent brown eyes. A loud cough from one of the other leaders brought his mind back to the table and the issue at hand. Four leaders looked at him in silence. He opened his mouth four or five times, but nothing came out. Then finally in a very tense, almost whisper, he said, "I swear by my sister."

Prologue 02: The Truce is Broken

The cops couldn't figure out what had happened. Suddenly there was a patch of the city with almost no daily violence. The normal illicit activities continued and even flourished, but there was no gang on gang violence. Evidently Juanita had found a way to make the truce hold. And the other gangs in the city weren't quite ready to take on the five united gangs. So it went for over a year. Everything was smooth between the gangs. ... Then came the tagging.

The symbol of the Knights was a large K with the lower leg of the K formed by a lightning bolt that extended above and below the K itself. Often it would be enclosed in a diamond. That symbol appeared throughout the Knights' territory, and sometimes on their product, but it did not appear anywhere in the other four gangs' territories... until that night.

Someone in Knights' colors was seen tagging a building on the corner of Willmont Avenue and north Thirtieth Street-- nearly in the middle of North Thirty territory. Whoever it was ran very fast, but not fast enough for their face not to be seen briefly by several North Thirties. Besides wearing the Knights' colors, the tagger had the characteristic lightning bolt tattooed on their left cheek. He was definitely a Knight. The truce had been broken.

Somehow, after tagging the building, the tagger was able to run back to Knights' territory. At one point, the six Thirties chasing him almost caught up with him, but when they turned the corner, there was no one there except some sweet young thing carrying groceries home from the store. If they hadn't been otherwise engaged, they might have stopped for some action, but their minds were too set on catching this Knight who dared to tag an area in the heart of North Thirty territory. When they explained what had happened to their leader, he yelled that their minds were always on pussy and if they had just ignored the girl they might have caught the tagger.

If it had been a murder or something like that, bloodshed would have followed bloodshed that night, but Emmanuel said that they would demand the tagger be turned over to them or they would invoke the guarantee and demand Carlo's little sister for punishment. He gave Carlo twenty-four hours to deliver the tagger... or his little sister... at the corner of North Thirtieth and Rail Street, the border between the Knights' and North Thirty's territories.

To say that Carlo was angry is a great understatement. He was beyond furious. He demanded that whoever had been so stupid so as to break the truce in this fashion step forward. But no one did. The trucebreaker, whoever he was, remained silent.

Felicia, however, spoke out. "You have to turn me over," she said firmly. "It is the only way to keep the truce."

"No!" her brother screamed. "Don't you know what they will do to you?! You're a woman and they are men. They will hurt you and use you and then send you back in the most disgraceful way possible."

He didn't add that he knew this because that was exactly what he and his friends would do to another gang's guarantor if they had broken the truce.

"You knew this could happen when you made the truce," she said. "You have kept me locked up on a shelf since I was twelve years old. I'm still practically a virgin because everyone is afraid to touch me. But I am a grown woman now. I know what I have to do. Tomorrow, I will walk across Rail Street and give myself to the North Thirties. I am strong. I will survive this. It must be done."

Carlo looked at her in silence. There was nothing he could say. Everything that she had said was the truth. Finally, he said angrily, "So be it. But if... no when... I catch this trucebreaker, he will be punished ten times as severely as you will be."

Felicia replied, "So be it."

Chapter One: Felicia's Story, Ready to be Punished

It's too late now to back out. It was too late as soon as I sprayed the Diamond Knight on the side of that building in the middle of North Thirty territory. I wonder what they would have done to me had they caught me then? They almost did. I was barely ahead of them when I ran around the corner.

I intentionally wore slightly over-sized jeans so I could rapidly slip them off. I was wearing my dress like a shirt, tucked into the jeans... and no panties. The dress was part of my disguise. The no panties was... just because. As soon as I ran around the corner, I slipped off the jeans and tucked them into the two grocery store bags along with the hat and can of spray paint. I quickly rubbed the eye liner lightning bolt off my cheek with a makeup remover wipe and put it in the bag. When the North Thirties came running past, I gave them a nervous smile and looked down like I was afraid of being caught by so many men while I was alone on the sidewalk, which I actually was.

My smile became much wider when they ran past yelling things like, "Later, Chica. We'll be back." I forced myself to walk slowly for two more blocks before jogging quickly back into Knights' territory. Then all I had to do was wait.

This is what I was waiting for. This is what I had been fantasizing about for weeks-- no, for months. Momma never understood why I had become such a disobedient young woman. "You were always such a well-behaved little girl," she told me so many times in the past year. She would scold me and then say, "What has gotten into you since you turned eighteen?"

She would then take me downstairs to the laundry room in the basement of our apartment. "Do you think you are too old for me to spank?" she would say as she pulled me through the door. "It is almost as if you want me to punish you," she would add angrily.

If the laundry room was empty when we got there-- which it always was-- she would push me over the big laundry sink and pull down my jeans and panties. I always kept my body held close to the sink when she did that, not because that was what she wanted, but because I didn't want her to see how wet I was. Also, I wanted the edge of the sink to rub against my clit while she punished me. Once I was bent over with my hands grabbing the top of the washing machine on the other side of the sink, she would start spanking me with that wooden spatula that she never used on food, only on my ass.

"I am going to keep going until you say you are sorry and won't ever do it again," she would grunt at me as she was slamming that spatula into my ass. She never counted. She kept going until you broke.

I would hold out until I couldn't bear it anymore. But it wasn't the pain I couldn't bear. I would hold out until it got to the point where I couldn't hold back my orgasm any longer. Then I would scream, "No more, Momma, no more. I promise I will be good. I promise I will never do it again."

She would always give me one more, really hard, smack after that. Then she would pull the timer out of her apron and set it on one of the washing machines. "You stay there bent over that tub until the timer goes off," she would say. "Then you can come back up to the apartment."

"But somebody might see me," I would always whine, and she would answer, "Good! Then they will see what a bad daughter you are."

As she left, she would lock the door on her way out. She cleaned the hallways and public areas in the apartment building for a portion of our rent, so she had keys to places like the laundry room. I secretly wished she would leave the door unlocked so someone could come in. As I lay across the top of the sink with my hands full out over my head, I would imagine all of the tenants standing in the doorway. I could see them watching as I backed up enough so that I could lay my shoulders on the edge of the sink and then bring my hands down so that I could rub myself to a wonderful orgasm.

Chapter Two: Felicia's Story, Punished by the Men of North Thirty

Carlo was very upset. He was almost crying and kept saying he was sorry as we walked to the corner. I was wearing a bright yellow sundress. Momma hated that dress because I always wore it without a bra and because you could see my well-developed ass through it as I walked. She would have hated it even more if she knew that I normally wore it without panties. Today I was wearing panties beneath the dress. They were a light yellow so they wouldn't show through the thin fabric. They weren't a thong, but they weren't granny panties either. I think the official name for them is high cut. There was a thin strip of fabric between the front triangle and the back. The back was smaller than my smallest bikini, and the front was only big enough to cover my carefully trimmed bush... but it wasn't a thong.

The clock in the church tower rang twelve and Carlo said slowly, "It's time."

"I know," I said and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Be strong," he said as I started walking across the street. Once I reached the other curb, I was in North Thirty territory.

Emmanuel met me as soon as I stepped up onto the sidewalk. "You won't be needing this," he said as he grabbed the front of my dress and ripped it from my body. He was surprised at how easily it pulled apart, but I wasn't. I had spent over an hour last night with a seam ripper, weakening the seams so the dress would easily pull off my body.

He then grabbed for my panties. I hadn't done anything to them because they were so light and wispy. Despite their fragile appearance, however, they withstood all his efforts to rip them from my body.

"Slide them down," I said very softly and he pulled downward with his hand. The panties didn't exactly slide off my body, but they did come down to my ankles. I stepped out of them before he could let go of them with his hand. I was now standing naked before the North Thirties and before the Knights who had gathered to watch from Knight territory. I knew that Momma and many of my family and friends were also watching from the roof of the apartment building a few blocks away. I heard a couple of gasps from the Knights who were seeing my naked body for the first time. I wasn't the little girl they thought I was. I had ample breasts and a more than ample rear end. I was a woman.

"Come with me," Emmanuel ordered almost angrily and I walked slowly behind him. I sort of wished that he had told me to take off my shoes. I was wearing the highest heels I had. But it wasn't because they were even higher than my fuck me red heels. They were the only ones that matched the yellow of the dress. He began walking faster and faster and I struggled to keep up with him. As I walked, I had to put my feet in line with one another to keep my balance. Using a model's walk caused my hips to sway, but it was the only way I could keep up with him. As my body jiggled and bounced, I felt like a whore displaying her wares, but then I guess that is exactly what I was. I had set all of this up so that I would be used and punished by the North Thirties.

Once we stepped through the doors of the old school building, Emmanuel growled, "Leave the shoes at the door," and walked down a hallway. I had to nearly run to keep up with him as he suddenly turned and slammed open a set of double doors.

It was the old gym. Thirty-five or forty or maybe even fifty or more young men in North Thirty's colors sat on the low bleachers. There were an equal number of North Thirty girls with them. Since it was an elementary school gym, the floor was some sort of tile rather than wood, and there were different colored lines drawn across the floor to outline courts for basketball, volleyball, and who knows what else. He took me to the middle of the room and pointed to a large dot painted in the center of a large circle.

"On your knees," he ordered and I dropped to my knees on the hard tile.

"We have decided that we will give back ten times for what was given us," He said loudly and everyone sitting on the low bleachers cheered loudly. "And we will start by seeing how well Carlo's little sister sucks cock."

A group of men stood up and formed a line behind Emmanuel. "I'm first," he said as he lowered the zipper on his jeans. He didn't look that big, but it's hard to tell when a prick is totally limp.

"It's your job to make it stand up for you," he said with a sneer. "Maybe if you look sexy while you do it, the others will be ready for you when you get to them."

I took his flaccid penis into my mouth and began sucking on it like it was a piece of candy. I could feel it starting to stiffen and push over my tongue. As soon as I felt it touch the back of my throat, I knew that it was a mistake to take the whole thing into my mouth while it was soft. With my face pressed up against Emmanuel's jeans and held tight there by his hands, there was no place for his growing cock to go but down my throat.

I had tried deep-throating my dildo, but it had always gagged me. Maybe that was because it was too hard, or maybe I was pushing it in wrong, or maybe I just wasn't ready. In any case, I didn't gag as I felt Emmanuel's prick slide past the back of my tongue. I drew my head back a little and he let me. His prick slid up slightly on my tongue and I was able to grab a quick breath of air through my nose. Then he slid me back forward.

With the help of his hands pulling on my head, I was able to once again slide his prick down my throat. I pulled back again and grabbed a breath and he once again pulled me forward. It didn't take long for us to get in sync. I was pulling back and breathing, he was pulling forward and forcing his prick down my throat. This wasn't a blow job, I was being face-fucked.

As I tried to keep from suffocating, I could hear people hooting and jeering. "Look at that," one female voice cried out. "She's dripping on the floor like a slut in heat."