Victim 18 Post 2

  With that, Wren hears the clunk of the mechanism releasing the latch, and suddenly the lid pops open.  It is dark outside, but it is not the same absolute darkness as inside the trunk.  Wren feels like she has at least some hope again just by being outside in the fresh air.

“Well, you might as well climb out of there.”

As she starts to climb out of the trunk, she realizes just how sick to the stomach, cramped, and weak she is.  She feels as though she could vomit, and her legs feel like they are made of gelatin.  Yet, as she moves, they start to sear with the prickly pain of being asleep, caused from being in the same cramped position for so long.  She slips and stumbles as she gets out, causing her to fall backwards into someone that she would later find out to be Clarence.  He catches her like the gentleman she knows he isn’t.  She is right, as the first thing he does is to start gently squeezing her breasts with both hands.

“You two did good!  She’s cute, and from the feel she isn’t padded or silicone!”  

Then, with a hard push, Clarence sends Wren falling into the two girls.

“Now, take her over and get her ready for the night’s fun and games.”

This leaves Wren to wonder: “So, am I supposed to be the fun, the game, or both?"

They lead Wren off towards a small wooden shed, passing it on the left and continuing on some distance, ducking branches in the dark and occasionally stumbling over an exposed root until they get to a small clearing.  The clearing is dimly lit with a single camping lantern hanging high in a tree.  As they enter the clearing Wren notices two holes dug in it some ten feet apart.  The girls lead her around the edge, and Wren stares down a steep hill and out into the thick woods surrounding her.  A faint breeze brings the sweet, oaky smell of campfire smoke to her with a chill that makes her shiver hard.  Her gaze is now focused down the hill at what appears to be a large roaring bonfire.  Her curiosity is now running at a fever pitch, wondering how all of this is going to play out, while her fear and reasoning tell her how it will.  She is grabbed roughly by the arm and led to the hole closer to where she now stands.

“Now, don’t you be thinking about that fire!  You’ll be near it soon enough.  So you just hurry up and strip off those clothes.  Put them into that hole and no funny stuff, or your night will end really soon.”

She does as she is told, too wobbly to run, with no clue where to run to, and with a very menacing looking gun pointing at her head.  She pulls off her shoes, stepping down on to the cold earth, and tossing them into the hole.  She notices in the combination of the lantern’s light and the thin sliver of moonlight other clothes already lying in the bottom.  She follows in rapid order with the rest—jacket, skirt, blouse, bra, pantyhose, until at last she stands naked and shaking in the cold.

“Now over to the other hole, and make it quick!”

It was that voice again!  Where had she heard it before?

“I mean now!  Move it!”

Now the voice was backed up with a sharp smack across Wren’s now bare buttocks and the icy cold steel of the gun shoved hard into the center of her back.

She goes to the other hole and stands beside it.  A thick, eye watering, gut wrenching stench is coming out of it, and Wren tries not to think of what could possibly be making the smell.

“Now you’re going to stand real still while we make sure you’re clean and ready for the boys.”

She is bent over so her back is now parallel to the ground and can feel something small and round being pushed up into her butt.  Immediately afterward she can feel icy cold liquid entering her, as she well remembers the horrible feelings from childhood.  She knows she is being given an enema.

“Now, you hold that in there, because we might as well get it right the first time and not have to do it again.”

She feels as though she stands there half the night before they move her so she is straddling the putrid hole.  Then, they force her into a deep squat.

“Okay, you can let it go now.”

Wren feels the instant relief as she empties her rectum into the hole.  When she is done she can see one of them walk up to her with a douche, and the girl roughly shoves it up past her labia and into her vagina.  When she is done douching her, Wren can feel the other girl behind her wiping her bottom with something.  Then, something else is pushing against her anus and forcing her face into the chest of the girl holding the gun in front of her.

The voice is now coming from behind her.

“This is petroleum jelly.  It’ll help you later.  So just relax so I can work it in as far as I can.”

“Yea, we’re not completely heartless”

The two girls share a coarse, almost chilling laugh.  In the meantime, Wren feels like she will be split open.  Just when she feels it is over because the fingers pull out, the fingers are back.  She feels like the girl is trying to force her whole arm up into her anus. Over and over this repeats before the girl is finally satisfied with her work.  Wren is then led across the cold rough ground, the occasional sharp rock poking hard into the soles of her feet or the hard roughness of a stick felt, as she walks ever so gingerly to the shed.  She is feeling oddly wobbly from her butt being stretched open and emptied; a feeling causing her to feel like she had had a few drinks.  As they enter the shed, she can feel a slight warmth coming out of the door.  It is lit by another lantern hanging from the ceiling over a small table in the middle of the floor.  On the table is a steaming plate and a plastic cup of what looks to be a weak tea.

“Go ahead and eat.  You’ll need your strength.  You’ve got a long night ahead of you, and I promise that it’s not poison.”

Wren sits down on the cold metal lawn chair—an act that makes her shiver violently.  Once she calms down from either the chair taking on her warmth or her just getting used to the cold steel holding her up, she starts timidly poking at the food before her.  She was famished, but she wanted to upset this whole thing, to have it all over with, and yet she didn’t see a way out.  She starts to eat rather slowly, it is beef stew.  Not that she doesn’t like beef stew if it is well made; however, this is not well made.  It is greasy, the meat is tough, and it is mostly gravy.  She had seen dog food that looked better.  There were a thousand different things she would have picked for a last meal, and she knows this is to be her last.

Her last meal, the sound of the thought in her head isn’t right.  She has so many other things she wants to do with her life, this couldn’t be her last meal.  She takes a big sip of the tea only to find the strong taste of alcohol as the tea turns out to be cheap bourbon and soda.  The flavor is a bit off, and she just assumes there is some drug in it.  Wren finishes in a bit of a hurry, part from hunger, part from fear, and part of her just wanting to get it over with and die as she knows she will.

“Finished already? Still hungry?”

“ I’ve had plenty to eat, I’m still just a little bit thirsty though.”

“Do you want some soda, bourbon or both?”

“Just pour me a glass of bourbon.  I might as well be good and drunk seeing as I’m going to be raped shortly.”

“You sure are different from the rest we’ve brought out here.  No one else has ever just accepted it as inevitable like this.”

“What’s the point?  I’m what?  Victim eighteen, aren’t I?  And if I run you chase me down and catch me.  If I fight, there are at least three of you, and by the fact that there is a bonfire going in the woods, I’d say there are more than that to fight back around here.  If I’m going to be raped we might as well get it over with.  Though, I never thought I’d lose my virginity to a rapist.  So why not do two things at once that I never thought would happen to me.  Lose my virginity to a gang rape and be murdered by a rapist.  Let’s just get this over, because the drugs in that first drink are really making me dizzy.”

“How did you know the drink was drugged?”

“It didn’t taste quite right.”

Wren downed the glass of bourbon in one long drag and slammed it down on the table.

“Well, you’re right.  The drink was drugged, but probably what’s getting to you is the wine in the enema.”

“Whatever.  Let’s just get this over with.”

“Lie down on your back on the floor then.”

She does as they told her.  Then, they tied her wrists together and then her ankles and called for Clarence.  He comes in with another guy she hadn’t noticed before.  Where he had been during all this she doesn’t know.  It surprises her that she hadn’t though as she finds him attractive.  He is about six feet tall, thin, but well muscled, his hair red, but not the fiery ginger red like hers.  It was dark, almost brown, like the color of red rust.  His skin isn’t fair like most redheads but dark like hers.  If she had met him anywhere else she would have gone out of her way to talk to him.  However, she now viewed him with contempt for being where he is and preparing to do what he obviously intended to.  They run the long pole first through her tied wrists then through the binding at her ankles.  After it is in place, the girls tie her once again just below her knees and around the pole.  Then, the two men hoist the bar up to their shoulders.

They carry her out the door like some long awaited wild animal being hauled into a remote starving village in some far flung corner of the world.  As they leave the shed, the sudden transition from its meager warmth to the cool night air is sharp and stinging to her skin.  They make a left as they go out the door, passing by the shed on its right, and onto a thin trail masked by the new spring growth of grass and weeds on either side.  Soon they are going down a steep hill on a well maintained path.  Wren is going head first and has to hold her chin on her chest to keep from banging her head on the wooden boards used to make the steep steps that keep the trail from washing away.  Occasionally, one of them steps on a board, and it creaks as it rubs on the large spike holding it in place.  Her head feels heavy to her at this angle, and it is tiring to hold it there for so long.  She tries to concentrate on something, anything, but all she can see is darkness above and about her as the new leaves are just large enough to block out the sky.  She can hear crickets and birds as they walk down, the scent of the bonfire drifting to her mixed with pine and dew-soaked loam.  Occasionally, her eyes catch a glimpse of a star in the sky.  When they reach the bottom of the hill, she can feel the trail level out and can tell by the movement of the trees around her they are turning sharply to the left.  The scent of the fire is growing now, as she knows they are getting closer to it with every step they take.  The sky now opens up above her as they enter a large circular clearing.  The stars suddenly jump out from above the trees, the pale sliver of moon glows brightly against the thin and wispy passing clouds.  Someone turns on a loud stereo as they enter the open space.  Within this clearing is another circle, a circle of large campfires, five in all, blazing high and hot, flames leaping and dancing from within their rings of stone.  Each fire is encircled by three sleeping bags each, knapsacks and backpacks lying near at hand to each.  Just outside of these fires are crude tables of saw horses and boards.  Food is piled upon some, beer, wine and liquor on others.  Men stand everywhere all around the campfires.  To Wren they actually look little more than boys, but what does it matter?  To her the outcome will still be the same.

The men are milling about talking, laughing, and playing handheld video games against each other.  All are in various states of undress, and a few appear to actually be naked.  It is definitely quite the party atmosphere with all the trimmings, and Wren knows she is to be the centerpiece and main attraction, as she is the only woman to be seen.  Looking about from her position she sees that some ten feet or so within the circle of fires is a very large tire.  It had to be from an extremely large tractor or a piece of heavy equipment.  It is mostly buried in the dirt so that all that sticks up is about three feet of it at its highest point.  Yet, it is obviously only a small part of the whole.  The light from the fires are playing across its surface, giving it the appearance of motion as though it were made of soft rubber and shaking as if it is trying to dance to the loud hip hop beat, but can’t get the rhythm right.  It is to this tire she is now taken and unceremoniously dropped in the dirt beside it.  Her back feels the sharp impact fully from its being arched toward the ground.  She looks at the tire, her eyes widening as she studies it.  It is more or less smooth, the tread long since worn away.  Part of the surface appears polished to a point that the reflection of the fires shows in the rubber.  Only the rusty eye bolts sticking out of the sides near the ground defy this smoothness.  Ropes are already tied to each bolt, and Wren knows without having to be told the position she is to be put into.  They untie her and she stands up, still wobbly from the alcohol and drugs that are making her feel drunk and uninhibited.  Wren is also beginning to get used to her nakedness around all of these strangers, and she figures that modesty no longer matters.  Since some guy she doesn’t know has just spent a good quarter of a mile staring at her naked bottom.  Besides, she knows she’ll be dead soon enough.  Yet she surprises even herself by speaking.

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