The Hooters Girl
by Rod Harden
Copyright 2000
Headlight beams pierced the blackness of the deserted dirt road. Greg drove
slowly, guiding the black Chevy Blazer deep into the forest as Hank peered into
the wall of trees that lined the path.
"This looks good," said Hank at last, pointing to a small clearing.
Greg nodded and turned off the road. He stopped just inside the clearing,
leaving the engine running and the lights on. Both men climbed out quickly and
headed to the back of the vehicle. With the tailgate lowered, they paused for a
moment. The heavy canvas sack inside undulated rhythmically, accompanied by soft
muffled grunts. The men watched the writhing sack, transfixed. Both pairs of
eyes narrowed, as if they could see through the thick fabric to what lay inside.
Greg reached in first and grabbed one end of the sack. Hank took the other end.
Together, they pulled it out of the vehicle and carried it to the middle of the
clearing. The muffled grunts crescendoed to an urgent fortissimo as they let the
sack drop to the ground. They hurried back to the Blazer, returning with coils
of rope and rolls of duct tape.
Greg stooped down to unzip the sack while Hank cast a length of rope over one of
the massive tree branches overhead. By the time he looked down again, the
contents of the sack lay exposed on the forest floor.
She was young and firm. Her shiny orange shorts seemed to glow in the eerie
light cast by the headlights. Despite the chill in the night air, her cropped
white tank top was drenched in sweat, clinging tightly to her abdomen and ample
bosom. Her long tanned legs ended in sport socks and slightly scuffed white
tennis shoes. If not for the silver bands accentuating her limbs and head, she
would have looked like any other Hooters Girl.
The strips of unyielding duct tape held her in a strict hogtie. It was wrapped
tightly around her ankles and knees, her wrist and elbows. It connected her
ankles to her wrists. Still more tape encircled her head covering her mouth and
eyes. It was strapped on without regard for her long, silky blonde hair, which
poked out between the sticky strips of tape and fell in thick waves to the
center of her back.
Greg pulled out a pocket knife and cut the tape forming the hogtie. "It's
playtime, darlin'," he said, chuckling.
Together, the men lifted the girl to her feet. In the beams of light, they could
see bubbles of snot around her nose as she tried to breathe through her sobs.
"Shit," snorted Greg, "you look like hell, bitch." He pulled her top up and
wiped her face with it, then began cutting and tearing the shirt with his knife.
The owl logo on the front was split right between the eyes. He threw the torn
and crumpled top to the ground. "You won't be needing this anyway," he grinned.
The girl shook her head and struggled as the flimsy top was ripped from her
body. Hank stood behind her, gripping her by the arms. She continued to squirm
and hop on her bound legs until she felt the sting of Greg's vicious backhand
across her face. She yelped in pain, sagging against Hank. Greg slapped her
again across the other cheek.
"These are the rules, bitch," said Greg. "We do whatever we want to you, and you
take it. Is that clear?" The girl seemed dazed. Her head wobbled unsteadily.
Greg grabbed her by the hair, wrenching her head back. "I asked you a question,
bitch! Is that fucking clear?"
This time, she managed a half nod, moaning "yes" through her gag.
"Good girl," whispered Greg, as he patted her cheek lightly. Stooping down
again, he cut the tape binding her ankles. He stood and stepped back a few feet.
To Hank he said, "Toss her here."
Hank shoved the girl toward Greg. With her knees still bound and her arms
useless, she half ran, half stumbled blindly in the direction of the shove,
falling into Greg's waiting arms. He turned her around and crushed her taped
arms against him. He reached in front and squeezed his fingers deeply into her
firm tits. Again and again, he clenched his fists as hard as he could into her
tender flesh. After a few seconds, he pushed her back to Hank. "Your turn," he
laughed.
Again the helpless girl lurched into the arms of one of her tormentors. Hank
took a turn groping her, reaching his hands down her shorts, fingering her hot
cunt. "Oh shit," he called out. "You are fucking wet, you little slut! You love
this, don't you?" He continued exploring her pussy with one hand, as he slapped
her roughly on the ass with the other. Greg stepped over, took her nipples
between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching, twisting, pulling them.
At last, Hank pulled back. "Let's fuck her now, man. I'm fucking ready to
explode."
"Yeah," agreed Greg. "Grab the rope."
Greg took a handful of the girl's hair, forcing her to bend over, and led her to
the spot where the rope hung down from the branch. She whimpered, awkwardly
trying to keep up and not fall. Greg laughed. "Dude. Look at her titties
bounce!" he called to Hank. Indeed, the girl's rose-tipped breasts dangled and
jounced about, slapping and slamming into each other.
Soon, Greg had the rope tied to her wrists. Hank puled on the other end until
the girl's arms were hoisted painfully high behind her. She shifted her weight
but remained bent over, trying to relieve some of the stress on her shoulders.
Greg's knife made quick work of her shorts and panties, as well as the tape that
bound her knees. Hank unzipped his jeans and pulled out his erect cock. He
spread her legs and guided himself toward the flaming pink target.
Greg held her still, laughing as she grunted against the violation she was
helpless to prevent. "How is she, man?" he asked.
"Tight as a fucking glove! Uh!" He grimaced as he quickly came, spurting his
sticky hot jism inside her.
"My turn now. Hold her," said Greg, reaching for his zipper. As the men
exchanged places, the girl panted desperately through her nose, groaning
pitifully. Greg growled like an animal as he shoved himself inside her abused
cunt. "You ain't kidding, man. She's fucking wet too! Suh-weet!"
Greg pounded himself into her, slapping her ass as he did. Hank grabbed her
nipples, pinching them mercilessly. The girl shook her head, her muffled pleas
barely audible through her gag. She screamed and cried as her fingers grasped
desperately at the suspension rope.
At last Greg finished. As he pulled out, Hank began to peal the tape from around
the girl's mouth.
"What are you doing?" asked Greg.
"I wanna hear her scream when we whip her. Ain't nobody around for miles."
Greg thought about it as he zipped up, then nodded. "Yeah, sure," he agreed.
"Might be more fun that way." He untied the rope and pulled the girl upright.
With the tape removed from her mouth, a patch of yellow was visible between the
girl's widely separated lips. Hank slipped his fingers into her mouth and pried
out the grapefruit-sized foam ball that had been packed inside.
She gasped for breath, licking her lips. Tears streamed down her face from
beneath the duct tape blindfold. "P- please," she sputtered. "Let me go. Don't
hurt me anymore."
Hank again slapped her already bruised face. This time her scream of pain was
not muted. "The rules, bitch!" he screamed. "You forgot the fucking rules."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she pleaded over and over.
Greg cut the tape from her arms, as she wept quietly. For a few fleeting
seconds, she stood naked, free of all the constricting tape except the strip
forming her blindfold. She let her arms hang limp briefly, then she hugged
herself, shivering.
"Uh uh, bitch," said Hank, grabbing her wrists. "No hiding the goodies." He
yanked her arms in front of her and began circling rough cord around her wrists.
He cinched the rope tight, then tied her bound wrists to the overhead rope
again. Greg took the other end and yanked at it. Her arms snapped up over her
head. Another yank lifted her to her toes. With Hank's help, the two men pulled
until she was hoisted about a foot from the ground.
"Oh God!" she screamed. " It hurts. Let me down. Please!"
The men ignored her pleas and secured the other end of the rope. They stepped up
to the dangling piece of girl-flesh and fondled it some more, turning it,
spinning it, slapping it, swatting it. She kicked out, only to have her legs
taped together once again. The men continued manhandling her, laughing at her
screams. Again and again she begged them to stop.
And suddenly they did stop. The girl uttered guttural, agonized groans as she
swayed and twisted from the momentum of the men's abuse. A slight metallic clink
and soft whooshing sound were her only clues that they had removed their belts.
For the next few seconds all was silent.
The men positioned themselves on either side of the suspended girl. Greg nodded
to Hank and silently counted to three. The whistle of leather through the air
ended abruptly with a loud smack that reverberated against the trees and
disappeared into the black of the night. The first blow fell in the middle of
her back. The second landed almost simultaneously against the front of her
thighs.
With renewed vigor, the girl pitched and writhed against the sting of the
leather. Her screams and sobs were like a melody of pain, sung against the
driving rhythm of the belt-whipping.
After several minutes, the men stopped, sweating from exertion. The girl moaned
and cried, her breathing raw and ragged. Vivid red stripes punctuated her pale
skin from her chest to her toes. The men had concentrated their efforts on her
breasts, her cunt, and her ass.
Greg took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Hank. They lit up and
inhaled deeply as they observed the results of their handiwork. Hank stepped
forward and traced a finger along several welts right at the tip of the girl's
breasts, directly over her nipples.
"Nice placement," he observed. "Hurts, don't it, bitch?"
"Ow. Yes," she answered in a hoarse whisper.
"This is what happens to cock-teasing sluts." He stubbed out his cigarette on
her right breast just above the nipple, and stepped back to let Greg do likewise
on her left breast. The girl only managed a sad whimper in response to the new
assault on her body.
"Guess we should get going," said Greg. "But let's fuck her mouth first."
They lowered the girl to the ground, where she lay huddled and moaning. Soon,
duct tape again restrained her arms behind her and connected them to her bound
ankles. They lifted her to a kneeling position. Hank held her steady, while Greg
stood in front of her, unzipping.
"Don't even think of biting down, bitch, or what we just did's gonna seem like a
fucking Sunday picnic."
She hardly had time to nod her understanding when he rammed his swollen cock
between her lips. She gagged and retched as he thrust hard and deep. Stroking
himself at the same time, he quickly began spurting down her throat.
"Swallow it, bitch. Every fucking drop." Choking and sputtering, she lapped the
creamy hot cum down. The men exchanged places, and Hank took his turn with her.
After he came, they let her fall to the ground where she tugged spasmodically
against her bonds..
The men began to shove her back into the canvas sack. "We're gonna drop you
close to your car," said Greg. "Say anything to anyone, and you're fucking dead,
cunt! Understand?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice shaking.
Before they pushed her head in, Greg retrieved the foam ball and casually
brushed the dirt off it. "Now open wide," he commanded.
"Oh God, please don't-" Her plea was cut short as he forced the ball between her
lips, where it swelled up again inside her mouth. Immediately he wrapped a
length of duct tape around her head, sealing the ball within. They zipped up the
bag, gathered their stuff and hauled everything back to the Blazer.
The men climbed in front. Greg backed slowly out onto the narrow road. As he
started back to town, he turned to Hank. "You ever catch her name?" he asked.
Hank shrugged. "Nope."
