A Honeymoon That Would Never End

To organized motorcycle enthusiasts who read this story. It is not my intent to generalize or demonize those law-abiding folks who enjoy riding as a past time, but the stereotype works for this piece of fiction. No disrespect intended.

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Carla continued to kneel, not knowing what else to do. If she stood or did anything other than what she was told, they might start beating George again, or worse yet start beating her. To this point they hadn't struck Carla. In fact they hadn't hurt her at all, if you didn't count bruising her throat as they had forcibly face-fucked her, or pinching, pulling and biting her nipples, or ripping her clothes away from her body to get at her concealed charms. They had only used her mouth, so far, but Carla had no doubt they would do what they wanted with her and George for that matter, until they were through with them. Hopefully that would be soon and they wouldn't kill them when they had no further use for them or grew tired of using them. The thought caused Carla's pussy to convulse and get wet. She quickly rationalized it as a defense mechanism she had no control over and not some form of arousal as her body responded and betrayed her.

She reasoned her pussy convulsing was to cause her juices to flow and her juices flowing were so they wouldn't rip her apart when they fucked her. She knew they would fuck her but refused to see that quite possibly the real reason for her body's lust reaction just might be her enjoyment of the rough usage she had endured to this point.

She did chance cleaning the cum from her face and tits. Her beautiful wedding gown had been ripped down the front exposing her smallish B-cup breasts, the charming sweetheart neckline of the vintage wedding gown torn irreparably to her waist.

George was Carla's husband, for all of the last 8 hours. Both 29 and college educated professionals, they had dated for nearly three years before George had finally asked her to marry him, then another year of planning and saving money before they had married, six months of that living together to save even more money. The wedding had been this morning. Carla had wanted a garden wedding and to be a June bride. The heat in their Southern state in June could be brutal, and the humidity certainly was. So Carla had planned a late morning wedding before the day's heat settled in, in earnest.

The wedding had taken place in the arbor garden of the quaint little country church they both attended and where they had met. It had been performed in the garden immediately before the regular Sunday morning church service. The preacher had conducted an abbreviated sermon service and then the wedding party had left for the reception.

Afterwards, George and Carla had left the reception to go to their shared apartment, change clothes and head for the airport to fly off to their planned honeymoon on one of the romantic islands of the Caribbean.

On the secluded county road on the way from the church to their semi-rural apartment, they had had a flat. George had gotten out to change it when the bikers showed up. About fifteen to twenty of them, they had seemed friendly and hospitable at first.

Eyeing George's fancy suit from the wedding the first biker approaching George in a group of about a half-dozen heavily-muscled, grizzled, mean looking men, spoke,

"You are too finely dressed to be getting down and dirty changing a tire, let us do that for you." Then looking in the car and seeing Carla sitting in her wedding gown added, "and a newlywed too. This isn't right on your wedding day." George had merely smiled and mumbled his "thank you." Then opened the trunk for them to get to the task.

They had changed the tire and then got angry when George tried to pay them. The man who had done all the talking to this point and seemed to be the leader spoke again, angrily this time,

"We do you a good deed, a gift on your wedding day, and you dis us by offering money? What kind of a sorry individual are you? Did your parents not teach you courtesy and respect?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect...." Was George's stilted reply. He was obviously confused at this sudden turn of events. Another of the bikers stepped up, interrupting George. A mountain of a man and joined in the suddenly heated discussion.

"Sorry is right. Looks like you need more lessons in courtesy." The huge man swung his arm and it landed in the pit of George's stomach. His wind suddenly deprived from him George doubled over, grabbing his assaulted midsection with both hands. The mountain with legs suddenly swung his arm again, and the open palm of his huge hand slapped the side of George's head knocking him to the ground.

Then strangely, he lifted George to his feet and helped him into the driver's seat of the car. As if on que a dozen or so of the biker's that had stayed on their bikes at the back of the pack, drove around and took up positions in front of the car.

After Mountain closed the car door, the leader stuck his head in the window.

"You will follow these gentlemen," the leader swept his hand to indicate the group of bikes in front of the car, "if you don't we will kill you." He said tapping George in the side of the head with a large automatic pistol. "Understand?"

"Yes" replied George, nervously.

The bikers in front started off and George fell in behind them the others quickly returning to their bikes and falling in behind George and Carla's car, so the car was surrounded by roaring motorcycles. Carla had noted they all seemed to have a different club name on their leather jackets. Some said "Sons of" something, others had names that had either 'Devil's' or 'Satan's' in the name. Yet, Carla had also noted they all wore a red "1%" on the breast panel of their jackets just above the heart. She was committing as much detail to memory as she could to be a good witness if what would surely turn into a criminal case, materialized. She was scared and asked George for his assessment on the trip that followed.

"What do you think they are going to do George?" She asked a tremble of fear tingeing her voice.

"Anything they want probably. I don't know baby, but we must go with whatever to stay alive." George didn't want to scare Carla, but felt she needed to understand the gravity of the situation if she didn't already, so added, "they might kill us otherwise."

Carla already realized that death was a possible outcome. And George's 'anything they want' comment had Carla realizing sex would likely be involved. The prospect of being raped and used by these cruel men scared her but also excited her to a degree. She felt her pussy throb and her juices flow as she pondered the possibilities.

The lead bikers turned onto a dirt road about two miles up from where they had found George and Carla on the side of the road. The small rutted road, wandered through woods until about a mile in it came to a clearing. Three singlewide mobile homes had been set up in a horseshoe configuration. Around the edges of this horseshoe compound were small rustic cabins. The lead bikers stopped in front of the trailer compound and after George had stopped the car in the parking area by the horseshoe-configured dwellings, the bikers drove to the various cabins and begin to dismount their bikes. At one of the far cabins, a naked woman emerged as the biker who had pulled up in front, turned off his bike and dismounted. The two returned to the cabin's interior.

The leader and a few of his cohorts walked up to the windows on either side of the car and ordered George and Carla out of the car. The two were alternately led and dragged to the mobile home in the center of the compound. It's front had an awning that created a small courtyard between itself and the two anchoring trailers on either side, littered with old furniture. Carla was pushed onto an old dirty sofa, while George was set in a wicker-bottom chair and his arms tied behind him. The leader walked over to where Carla was sitting.

"On your feet bitch." He said as he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet in front of him.

Carla stood trembling as the leader looked her up and down. She couldn't bring herself to look him in the face and kept her face inclined toward the ground, submissively. Her nipples had suddenly stiffened when he had jerked her to her feet.

Carla hadn't worn a bra under the gown. Her breasts were still firm and stood up like a young teens do, without support, so when the antique gown she had located on the Internet had a sweetheart neckline, which had looked so good without a bra, she had decided to go braless for the wedding. The gown after all was made before bra's existed. Now her nipples pressed the gown and could not be denied in their excited presence.

The leader grabbed the front of her gown. Before Carla had a chance to react to his hand slipping into the bodice of the gown, he had jerked his hand toward the floor. The beautiful vintage gown ripped to the waist and Carla's breasts sprang free of their restraints. The leader reached out and grasp a hard nipple. Carla's hand came up to stop him, but he grasp her hand with his other hand and pulled it away. He pinched the nipple hard and twisted it.

Carla didn't flinch, but she kind of winced as the pressure increased followed by the pain. The leader positioned Carla's hand that had tried to stop his manipulations of her turgid nipple, at her side. When he released her hand, she kept it at her side. He now used both hands to pinch, pull and twist her hard nipples. At first she tried to twist her body away from the painful attention he was applying to her nipples. Having smallish tits, they were extremely sensitive. As his painful manipulations continued, the pain started to become pleasurable and, almost imperceptibly, she started at first leaning into his manipulations, then to slowly respond to them. She was ever so lightly pressing her breasts into his hands. As the pain became pleasurable to Carla, she felt her juices begin to flow copiously. She couldn't understand it, her mind was screaming no to the degradation, pain and humiliation being heaped on her, but her body liked what was she was being forced to endure. Gradually at first, but the pain was becoming pleasurable none-the-less. When he bent and took a turgid nipple into his mouth, Carla let out a quiet moan.

The leader suckled first one breast while continuing to handle the other roughly. When he switched from one breast to the other he suddenly bit down on the button sticking out so turgidly from the underlying breast flesh. The pain flashed through Carla and she jumped. The leader was prepared and didn't lose his hold on the erect nipple.

"Ouch!" exclaimed Carla, but the pain quickly turned to pleasure for the woman, and at the very instant she uttered her protest, she arched her back and pressed her abused breast harder into the biker's torturous mouth.

Her wedding gown was a three-piece affair. A bodice over jacket designed to be worn over a corset or similar style lingerie, to which Carla had layered over a white bustier to cover her upper body. She didn't need the restrain or manipulate her figure at all as it had all the right curves in all the right places. She had chosen it because it was the kind of lingerie George liked, and she didn't have a corset and the bustier was the style that had garters to hold up her stockings. A separate taffeta overskirt covered the antique petticoats she wore. Underneath, her pussy was freshly shaven and framed by the stocking suspenders that originated at the bustier. She had decided not to wear panties when she had decided not to wear a bra. The skirts were ripped from her body now, leaving her only standing in stockings, bustier, and heels. Her face lowered where she couldn't make eye-contact with her tormentors, she blushed a deep crimson on both cheeks, yet the juices had begun to flow so freely they were now starting to trickle down the insides of her thighs.

"On your knees slut." The leader bellowed at Carla. She knew instinctively what would come next and refused with the only smidgen of defiance she had in her body. Her knees locked into a rigid stance and she made no move to comply.

Reaching between her legs, the leader cruelly and viciously jammed a finger into her swampy cunt. Carla quickly swiveled her hips to rid herself of the invader.

"I said on your knees" the leader repeated. His hand came off her crotch and when she swiveled her hips back to center, the palm of his hand smacked loudly on her pussy.

The pain was momentarily intense and Carla felt a tear form in one eye and slowly trickle down her cheek and a wave of nausea swept through her stomach, but she refused to utter a sound. After a brief instant, the pain turned to warmth that felt like it was vibrating through her crotch and belly.

When she again defiantly stood her ground, he nodded at his Mountain sized cohort.

Mountain moved to where George was tied to the chair and struck him hard on the side of the head with his sledgehammer-like fist. George's head bounced off the opposite shoulder and Mountain open-handed him across the face as his head came back to upright. Blood immediately appeared at the corner of George's lip and squirted from his broken nose.

"On your knees slut." The leader bellowed again. When she was slow to start to respond, again standing defiantly, Mountain struck George again knocking the chair and him over from the force of the blow. Mountain righted the chair with George still tied to it, upright again.

"I'll do as you say," the defeated Carla said swallowing hard, "please don't hit him any more." Carla began to slowly sink to her knees.

The leader slid the zipper on his fly down and pulled his semi-erect cock from his pants. He gestured toward Mountain, who went to George and pulled his slacks and boxers down to his ankles. Reaching for George's cock and balls, Mountain began to apply pressure while pulling a large hunting knife from the sheath in his belt.

The leader turned toward the kneeling Carla. "Now suck it slut, and if you decide to get overly aggressive or use too much teeth, Mule here will just cut off your husbands cock and balls and feed them to the dogs. That wouldn't make for much of a married life now would it?"

Carla didn't answer the rhetorical question and tentatively reached out and grasp the leaders awakening cock in one hand, looking up just enough to see the obvious pain in George's eyes as Mountain squeezed his cock and balls. Carla leaned in and flicked her tongue along the head of the cock in her hand. Though his precum tasted similar to George's, he also tasted of salt, sweat, and urine, almost as if he hadn't had a bath in days. Carla loved sucking cock, but George usually took a shower immediately before they made love and so tasted neutral and clean. This cock was dirty tasting. Moreover, her husband was watching her service another man orally.

"I said suck it slut, not play with it." The leader bellowed.

Carla was just about to refuse when Mountain moved to George's side again ready to strike him some more. Also at that moment George's words in the car came back to Carla. "...we must go with whatever to stay alive, they might kill us otherwise." Though George literally emasculated was a concern to Carla, the thought that scared her more was he would probably bleed to death as their captors did nothing to help.

Carla opened her mouth and took the leader's nasty tasting cock into her oral orifice. She found that after only a moment his dirty taste diminished and became more of just a manly-scent like taste. She began to suck the cock with diligence and attention. As long as she was going to have to do this and it was to save George and possibly her from a beating or worse, she was going to do a good job.

Originally there had only been three or four bikers standing around, but while Carla sucked the leader's cock, others began to wander up. They began to heckle Carla as she sucked.

"Look at the slut suck. I think she is getting off on sucking your cock boss." Said one of the observing bikers.

"Yeah boss, watch her. It looks like she is trying to suck your balls out through your cock. Maybe she eats balls for breakfast, so be careful boss."

The group cackled at the degradation their heckling was heaping on Carla.

Carla felt a momentary sense of pride at the heckling accolades she was receiving and redoubled her efforts. The overwhelming feeling though was humiliation, but that spurred her on in a strange way to try to gain respect.

The leader's hands grabbed fistfuls of Carla's hair and began to thrust his hips in counter-rhythm to Carla's head bobs. Each thrust a little more of his turgid fuckstick would disappear into Carla's face. She wasn't sucking him as much as he was fucking her face. The first time his cock tried to enter her throat, Carla gagged, briefly.

Carla had not yet learned to deep-throat, though she had tried it with George. She steeled herself, because she knew she would 'learn' it now. On the next thrust, the entire head of his cock slipped forcefully into her throat. She gagged and felt a moment of panic when she realized she couldn't breath with his cock in her throat. Quickly gaining control of her panic and resigning herself to what was occurring, Carla began to try to establish a rhythm to her breathing to correspond with her tormentor withdrawing from her throat.

After a moment she was able to take his cock all the way in her throat and not suffocate, too. The leader was a bit larger than average, yet Carla was taking all of his cock into her mouth and throat.

After a couple of his throat-clogging thrusts, Carla's gag reflex turned off. She began to suck again, drawing a vacuum on his cock in her mouth. The leader stopped his vicious thrusting and allowed her to resume her sucking. Carla acquired a good technique quickly, as a matter of survival. She would bob her head three or four times on the head end of the cock, then she would take him to the balls in her mouth and throat. Drawing a vacuum she would slowly draw the cock out of her throat until just the tip remained and then start the cycle again.

After two or three cycles like this, she would take him out of her mouth and lick his balls, then up the shaft and begin the whole process over again. Bob, bob, bob, throat, vacuum, slow withdrawal. She was working so diligently after a time it was no longer the forced task it had started out being. Carla loved a hot, hard cock in her mouth and without any thoughts on the matter in her mind, she began to enjoy what she was doing. This resulted in added effort to her rapidly improving oral talents.

With Carla doing such a good job, it didn't take long for the leader to feel his balls draw up as his cock prepared to spew the contents of his balls. The first shot caught Carla unawares and it and the next one quickly filled her mouth with his spew. Carla didn't know what to do, she had never taken a load in her mouth except by George on one occasion when he had lost control. She had been mad at him for days after that event. Now though she felt she must swallow without being told to do so. But her mouth was filling quickly and she couldn't swallow with her mouth full of cock. Fortunately, the airway through her nose was clear so she could breathe. The leader answered her dilemma though as he pulled his cock out of her mouth. The next jets from his cock splattered Carla on the face and tits. Ropes of his sticky goo hung from her forehead, nose, and just below one eye and adorned both breasts and her upper chest.

With the cock gone from her mouth, Carla quickly swallowed the mouthful of cum, and it occurred to her the taste wasn't that objectionable and in an instant the thought flashed through her mind 'Why do I object to swallowing a man's cum'?