You're no fool. You know just how wild the world has come… just ask Gwen. Stealthily you keep to the shadows, easy enough in the darkness, and risk skirting along by the base of the 7-Eleven at the corner of the junction. There is plenty of cover here, two crashed, toppled and burnt out wrecks of cars between you and the wild party but there's also an awful lot of glass on the ground.
You edge closer. The problem with the technique is that there's no denying you're up to something if they catch you. The men sound drunk. Lucky bastards, it's been an age since you've had a decent drink.
It's all about using your brains as well as your brawn. You keep down low and shuffle carefully along the base of the wall until you've a good position. You want a view of the men and you want an easy escape should things go bad. Past the 7-Eleven with its broken windows there are the burnt out remains of a shoe shop. You can tell it's a shoe shop as dozens of odd boots still litter the ground. The door to the shop's open but looks solid enough and there still seems to be a bolt on it. If you have to run and the men have to chase then shutting and bolting the door will buy you a few minutes. There's light from the other end of the shoe shop too, a back door which is also open. You can just make out the flickering light of yet another burning car. You could run in here, bolt the door and escape out the back way.
With the escape route behind you planned to perfection you turn your attention to the scene in front of you.
There are about two dozen men. They're half dressed - pants and shoes but no tops - and armed. As they dance around the fire the gang wave planks of wood, clubs and nailed curmudgeons above their heads. Primitive but effective, you had to admit. And the men do look primitive, many of them are decorated in paint and a fair few of these guys have red crosses painted on their backs. An emblem or badge, you note. The leader is easy to spot; a large, bald, tattooed punk who's sat sprawled on a rusty deckchair. A naked chick, barely a woman, kneels behind him.
There are other women too. Two more. Two more toys for the wild men.
One woman's being raped. She's thrown over the remains of a sofa, her arm caught in a back lock and being fucked from behind by another naked punk. The sofa she's thrown over is a similar model to the one you're now crouched beside. There must be a furniture shop nearby too.
The other woman is doing her best not to be raped. She's doing her best to oblige. Unlike the sofa woman, she's naked, sat on the ground in front of a small crowd of jeering wild men and sucking cock. Her fingers curl around the thick shaft of a burly black guy, guiding his cock into her mouth.
It occurs to you that the unfortunate woman on the sofa might spot you if she looks up. Just as that possibility enters your mind the possibility vanishes. Another of the half-naked, painted, men marches around the sofa and stands in front of her. You can't see what's happening but the chances are pretty high she is having to suck cock while being fucked from behind. |