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Squealer - Part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
SQUEALER
(Part 1/3)
By Parker
WARNING: This story contains all sorts of non-consensual
intercourse, bondage, domination, humiliation and all that
kind of stuff. It is not politically correct! If you do not
want to read this sort of material, I suggest you stop now,
before it is too late. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Copyright 1994 by me (Parker). Feel free to reproduce and
disseminate (unaltered, of course) but be discrete.
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PROLOGUE
This part of town was not what it used to be.
Not like the old days. Martha Cripmore never tired of
pointing this out to her husband. Every tuesday night, on the way
home from the bridge club, he would take Central Avenue through
town and then turn left on Ginger Street. In the early '70s, when
Bert and Martha had been just out of high school, this had been a
nice area. But the recession had hit hard. The mine which had
employed a good many people from the town had shut down; stores
had closed; people left town... All that remained along this
once-popular strip was a bunch of empty lots, a couple of run
down gas stations and a well-guarded and heavily barred
convenience store.
And, of course, the hookers.
This was the red light district.
Still, Bert always insisted on taking this route home from
the bridge club. Every tuesday night without fail. It was
quicker, he said, and avoided the highway traffic. Martha
complained of course, but he always took that same route: down
Central and left on Ginger.
Every time.
After a while, Martha came to recognize many of the hookers,
having seen them regularly. Not that she knew their name or
anything about them, of course. They merely became familiar to
her - sort of like a landmark. Or, in this case, a well known
eye-sore. The girl with the pink miniskirt; the fat black one,
with the wild hair. She seemed almost to make a game of pointing
them out.
"Look Bert," she said on this particular trip. "There's a
new girl."
Bert looked over from where he was hunched, white-knuckled,
over the wheel (Bert was a nervous driver). The girl his wife had
pointed out was standing directly under a street light. As Martha
had stated, she looked new. True, she wore the same type of
cheap, tacky clothing as the other hookers - short skirt slit up
the side; bright red halter top under a gold, spangled jacket
with fake-buckskin fringe; plastic high heels - but on her it
looked out of place. Uncomfortable. She wore the same heavy,
overdone makeup as the others, but the face underneath looked too
pretty - too fresh - for it. She was a strikingly beautiful girl,
with thick, brown hair (teased up with too much mousse), a young
looking face with large eyes, and a tight young body. Nice tits.
She couldn't have been more then twenty.
At the most.
"Bert!"
Bert wrenched his attention away from the girl as he
suddenly realized that he had drifted the car into the opposite
lane. Luckily, there was no oncoming traffic, and he quickly
rectified his mistake. By that time, however, they had passed the
girl. He glanced up at his rear-view mirror just as a car pulled
up to her and the girl leaned over to talk to the occupant. Then
he turned off onto Spencer Avenue, and the girl was lost from
view.
Martha sniffed. "That street," she concluded, shaking her
head. "It's not what it used to be."
Bert, however, wasn't listening, his mind on the girl; he
couldn't help but wonder how she had become a whore in the first
place...
*****
Sandra Little ('Sandy' to her friends) was not paying
attention. Living in a big city like LA required a certain amount
of caution; a certain amount of awareness of what was going on.
Street smarts. Sandra, however, had grown up in a small town and
had only recently moved to the city in order to attend
university. She was just in the middle of her first term of med
school, and her mind was on other things - books; classes;
tests - anything other than what it should have been on as she
crossed the street at night on her way home from a long day at
school. She did not have much in the way of money, and what
little there was had gone to cover books and tuition. Hence, she
had been forced to take up residence in a somewhat unsavoury
area. Still, there always seemed to be people about, and Sandy
felt fairly safe there.
Still...
"Hey babe," came a rough voice, breaking her out of her
thoughts, "Wanna have some fun?"
Startled, she looked up to see two young men leaning up
against a rusted, battered car parked on the side of the road.
One was white and the other black. The black man - a tall, short-
haired kid wearing torn jeans and a tee-shirt - laughed and took
a long swallow from a bottle. Sandy saw the label: whisky. She
wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell. She was not a drinker.
The other man - the white one - was short and fat, with long
greasy hair.
"Excuse me?" Sandy was not sure she had heard right.
"Wanna have some fun," the white man - it had been him who
had first spoken - repeated the statement. "Me 'n my buddy just
happen to have a little time free, and..."
"No thanks." Sandy dropped her eyes, embarrassed. Her brown
hair slid down in front of her face, hiding the fact that she was
blushing. "I don't think so." She turned to continue walking.
"I don't think so," came a high, mocking voice from behind
her, mimicking her words and tone. Now frightened, she started to
speed up her pace, but a pair of hairy arms encircled her from
behind and pulled her back. Her books went flying from her hand
as she was jerked backwards. She opened her mouth to scream, but
instead had the breath knocked out of her as she was slammed
against the door of the car. Gasping and coughing, Sandy
struggled weakly as her assailant - it was the white man - jerked
open the back door and shoved her inside. His companion was
already in the driver's seat, starting up the engine. The white
guy followed her inside, slamming the door shut behind him.
"Go," he cried. The man in the driver's seat threw the car
into gear and started driving. Sandy kept struggling, flailing
wildly with her arms, but the man just grabbed a handful of her
thick, brown hair and jerked her down onto the floor in front of
him. She opened her mouth to scream, but he slapped her viciously
across the face. The young medical student stopped struggling,
frozen in shock as the pain coursed through her body. She had
never been struck before by anyone, and the shock was almost
worse than the pain.
Almost.
By the time she overcame the shock, it was too late. They
were out of her neighbourhood and onto the highway, heading
toward the centre of the city.
'Tug' Holbrook laughed as his prize struggled ineffectually
on the car floor between his thick, jean covered legs. It had
been so easy! Almost too easy. Bitch. He took another long
swallow from the bottle, enjoying the warm rush that spread
through his chest.
"Hey man," Jimmy called back from the front seat. "Save some
for me."
Tug laughed nastily. "The booze or the bitch?" he asked.
"Both."
The fat man took another drink before answering. "Don't
worry Jimmy boy," he called out. "There's plenty of both."
Jimmy fell silent, concentrating on the driving, and Tug
turned his attention back to the girl as she looked up at him
from between his legs with wide, frightened eyes. What a babe!
This couldn't have worked out better if they'd planned it. He
felt his cock stiffen in his jeans. He reached down, grabbed a
handful of hair and jerked the girl upwards until her face was
rubbing against his crotch.
"Feels good, huh?" he asked roughly.
The girl began to cry. "N-no... please..."
Tug just smirked. Stupid bitch! He released her hair and she
fell back onto the floor. With his now-free hand, he undid his
pants and slipped them down along with his underwear. His thick,
greasy cock hung free, long and hard against the hair-covered
rolls of fat on his stomach. The girl just cringed. "C'mon," he
ordered. "Give it a kiss." The girl shook her head, tears running
down her face.
Tug grunted at her refusal. The bitch was particular. Better
loosen her up a little first. He reached down and jerked her up
so that she was sitting on his lap with her back to him. She
squirmed as his exposed cock rubbed up against her slacks, but
could not get free. Tug was too strong. He encircled her with one
thick arm, grabbed at one of her breasts through her blouse and
squeezed. Hard. Writhing to break free, she moaned with pain and
humiliation. (Tug loved that sound!) With his other hand, he
brought the bottle around and pushed it up against her open
mouth.
"Swallow," he ordered. She shook her head, holding her lips
tightly closed, but he ground his fingers tightly on her nipple
and held it. She twisted and gurgled with the pain, but he kept
twisting her nipple until she finally gave in and opened her
mouth. Immediately, he released the nipple and brought the bottle
up to her lips. This time, she accepted it, taking a long swallow
of the alcohol as he tipped the bottle. She started gasping and
coughing as the burning liquid flowed down her throat, but she
opened her mouth to accept more when he brought the bottle up
again - his hand was still on her breast; still teasing her
nipple.
This continued for a good fifteen minutes, until she had
drunk down almost a third of the bottle. Not a drinker, Sandy was
already feeling the effects of the alcohol when her assailant put
aside the bottle in order to have both hands free. She tried to
struggle when he started to rip open her blouse, but her body
seemed to be losing co-ordination, losing strength. She was
unused to alcohol, but not totally inexperienced: she knew she
was getting drunk.
The young medical student squirmed ineffectually as the fat
man finished ripping open her blouse and then jerked her bra off
with one twist of his beefy hand. Her breasts, large and firm,
fell free and lay exposed on her chest.
"Fuck man," the guy said. "Look at these jugs." He reached
around and began kneading them.
The black man driving the car looked back and grinned in
appreciation. Blushing, Sandy tried to bring her hands up to
protect herself, but the fat man just slapped them away. She
squirmed, but was unable to escape as he kneaded her tits,
squeezing them and rolling them around in his hands. Moaning, she
gave up and lay back, resting her head against the man's
shoulder. She was beginning to feel dizzy and confused as the
alcohol did its work on her. She didn't even protest when he
undid her slacks, hooked his fingers under the waistband of her
panties and pushed downward. Within seconds, her pants were down
around her ankles.
Tug began to run his sweaty hands roughly up and down his
victim's near-naked body. The girl was now too drunk to protest
or struggle effectively; too drunk to do anything other than lay
back on his lap while he fondled her tits. After a while, he ran
his hands down to her pussy and began rubbing. Thoroughly drunk,
the girl giggled the tried to push his hands away.
"Don' do..." she slurred. "Nod..."
Tug ignored her, rubbing his chubby fingers first up and
down the outside of her pussy and then slipping them inside. The
girl twitched in pain as he did so. She was dry as a bone, but he
didn't care. His cock was about ready to burst. Shifting her body
upwards, he spread her long, slender legs with one knee, and
slowly settled her pussy down onto his rigid cock.
Finally, it was all lined up. With one shove, he rammed his
cock into her unready pussy...
The pain of the sudden rape cut through the fog of alcohol.
She was being fucked.
FUCKED!
Sandy Little, legs spread and pussy impaled on her
assailant's cock, began to struggle and squirm about on his lap,
desperate to escape. The man ignored her struggles. He just
grabbed her by the breasts and began jerking her up and down on
his lap, fucking his cock in and out of her pussy. There was
nothing she could do except go along with his movements; even to
the point of using her legs to support the movements. If not, she
felt like her breasts would be ripped from her body. So, she soon
found herself actively fucking back against her rapist, using her
own strength to push her aching pussy up and down on his cock.
"That's right babe," he muttered, appreciating her
assistance.
He didn't last long. Within minutes, she felt him stiffen
and then felt the warm surge of sperm as it boiled out of his
cock and into her pussy. She shuddered with rage and disgust as
he came inside her, but there was nothing she could do about it.
When it was over, he shoved her off his lap and she slid
back down onto the car floor. After taking a long swallow from
the almost-empty bottle, he once again grabbed her hair and
jerked her tear-stained face into his crotch and up against his
glistening cock. Knots of sperm slid down his tool and congealed
in his crotch hair.
"Clean up your mess," he told her.
She shook her head.
No. She had never done that before.
He brought his hand around and slapped her - once, twice...
and then a third time - on the face. Then he leaned back, legs
spread wide and grinned down at her.
"Clean it," he smirked, "And we'll let you go."
The words 'let you go' registered on the half-drunk and
wholly frightened girl. Let her go!
Shaking, Sandy leaned forward into his crotch. The alcohol
made everything blurry, but she could clearly make out every
vein, every ridge, every contour on his glistening member.
Hesitantly, almost throwing up, she reached up and grasped the
base of the cock. It twitched in her grasp, dripping cum onto her
fingers. Shuddering with revulsion, she opened her mouth and
began to lick at the now-soft penis, gagging at the taste and
smell, but doing it nonetheless.
'Let her go' he had said.
Jimmy Patterson turned off the highway and took the exit
ramp into the city. From the seat behind him, he could clearly
hear the loud slurping sound as the little slut sucked hungrily
at his friend's cock.
That was enough.
Jimmy pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the
car. He turned just as Tug came again, his hands tightly clenched
in the bitch's thick, brown hair, holding her mouth over his cock
as he pumped a load of sperm down her throat. She gurgled and
moaned, hands thrashing, but couldn't pull away.
"OK," Jimmy said, sliding out the door. "Let's switch. I
want some of that."
Tug nodded in agreement. He'd had enough. He pushed the girl
away and clambered out of the back seat. Jimmy grinned as the
white girl, a thin trail of white cum dribbling out over her
lower lip and onto her chin, looked up at him as he climbed into
the back seat.
This was going to be great!
END PART ONE
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