Bill pushed me toward the fence. "What are these buildings anyway?" I asked him. "They look like a theatre of sorts."
"Ya," he grunted as I hooked a foot into a strand of fence and vaulted over. "The owner belongs to an outdoor club that hike these trails in the summer. They stop here for talks on nature stuff, hiking technique, equipment, you know, that sort of thing." His heavy frame followed mine over the fence.
Once Bill and I had climbed over the fence, things happened fast. The straps holding the muffin on the litter were removed and she was carried into the larger of the two cabins. It smelled musty and woodsy with autumn leaves. Along the back wall was a dirty mattress on a box spring with posts attached to the corners and top rail for restraining a victim. They laid the muffin on her back and started to remove her clothing. Bill fired up a propane heater in the corner to keep us all warm during the debauch to come.
Harold unzipped her track top and pulled her arms out of the sleeves. All clothing was folded neatly on a little wooden side table. Then he pulled her T-shirt over her head and removed it. Her white bra didn't quite conceal her full breasts. She looked eighteen or nineteen, compact and well built, not skinny or obese, but pleasantly plump. I was aroused.
As he worked, I asked him, "So what happens after we fuck her? I don't want to be involved in a murder."
Bill shot me a quick look. "You wouldn't have much of a choice, would you?" he said with a sneer. "But it won't come to that. You see we've been doing this for years now. Harold there is a medical doctor, and he's come up with a memory drug. When administered, it causes amnesia, blanks out the last week or so in the patient's memory, erases it totally. Works somehow on the part of the brain responsible for short-term memory. So we just take the muffin to some place near where we found her, administer the drug while she's out cold, and when she wakes up, she won't remember anything about us."
Slim—Alastair—had a tight smile. "It's worked like a charm. They don't know anything about us or what we did to them. Just go back to their lives with sore pussies, and when they get pregnant, they can't even tell their parents who fucked them." He laughed.
Bill now pulled down the muffin's track pants, exposing her white panties. I could clearly see the outline of her pussy in the cotton fabric. Bill caught me staring hungrily at her crotch. "Go ahead," he chuckled. "You're going first anyway. Do what you want to her."
I had for a long time lusted after these bits of teen fluff that walked past my door every day on their way home from school, giggling and wiggling their butts and pressing their books against their big tits. Watching all that porn had helped my sexual imagination to run wild. Now my fantasies were becoming real.
I rubbed her crotch with my fingers, feeling the puffy lips of her cunt. Then I grabbed her waistband and pulled the panties slowly down her legs, revealing the brown muff of her pubic hair and the coral lips of her sex slit. I moved my fingers up and down her slit, feeling them sink between them into warm wetness, bumping against her clitoral hood, and dipping down into her vaginal entrance.
As I held my fingers to my nose, smelling her sex juice, Bill asked, "How do you want to do her? Missionary? Doggy style?"
At that, she stirred and rolled over, waking up, though still dazed from the drug they gave her. "Where am I? Who are you? What are you doing? Ahhhhhggggg!" as she realized she was naked.
The others grabbed her and held her down. Bill looked at me again. "How?" he asked.
"Tied," I said, "missionary style, on her back. Hands over her head. Legs spread."
Bill grinned and nodded. "Man after my own heart." So he held the muffin down while Alastair and Harold got to work.
