Author's Note: Spare me your flaming e-mails. This story is about forced sex. If that isn't your thing, read another story. For those of you who like this stuff: Enjoy!
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The three men had watched the weather radar all day. With each passing hour, the storm front grew in intensity until a fifty mile stretch of Midwestern farmland was covered in various shades of red and purple on their computer screen. This was a big one. And their pulses raced.
The first tornado warning was issued at 2:55 PM. When the local TV weatherman confirmed the sighting, the men knew it was time.
"Let's go," Tom said. "Get your stuff."
Pete and Mike grabbed their backpacks, tossed one to Tom, and scrambled out to Tom's SUV amid the gusty winds and pouring rain. They drove in the direction of the darkest, most ominous clouds. The flat terrain normally allowed them to see many miles in every direction, but this storm was obstructing the view with rain and hail that threatened to burst through the windshield.
Twenty minutes later they were situated in the center of the fast-moving storm system.
"Over there!" Pete said with excitement. "I thought I saw some debris."
Tom and Mike turned their eyes in the direction he pointed and squinted.
"Yeah. I see it," Mike confirmed.
Tom turned onto a narrow two lane road and slowly made his way toward the spot. Each tenth of a mile led to more debris. Finally, small tree limbs smacked against the SUV.
"There! Tornado!"
All three saw it at the same time. A huge, black funnel appeared seemingly out of nowhere. They guessed it was five miles away, perhaps closer, and moved from left to right on a path that would take it directly in front of the SUV. Confident they were far enough away to sit and watch, they scanned its path for houses.
"There's a farmhouse," Mike said, pointing to the right. "It looks like it's going to get hit."
"And there's one more beyond that," Tom added. "We should be able to tell from here."
The next ten minutes would give them an answer, and if the tornado skipped past the properties without causing major damage, they would try to follow the funnel as long as they could. Certainly a tornado this size would hit a house at some point. And they were ready.
As the tornado moved forward, their view was disrupted by continuous torrents of rain, driven by excessive winds that also carried an assortment of limbs and leaves. Tom's windshield wipers tried to keep up, but as the funnel passed in front of them, it got worse. The men were barely able to discern that the first house was spared.
"Let's move up a little," Tom said, driving the SUV another quarter mile.
Outlined against the horizon, the second house appeared to be in the path of the tornado.
"That's the one. Hopefully, it's not totally destroyed," Mike said.
They watched as the tornado skirted past the property, as if in slow motion. All sorts of objects rose from the ground and circled around the funnel. The men saw siding from the house ripped off, and portions of the roof disintegrated before disappearing into the dark cloud.
"God," Pete mumbled. "That is awesome."
"That's our target," Tom said.
They waited five more minutes, and then sped down the road leading to the house. The closer they got the more convinced they were that significant damage was done, but if there were people inside and they took cover, they should have survived. Ideally, the residents were alive, and very shaken.
As they pulled up to the house, the tornado could still be seen plodding across the countryside. In the immediate vicinity, Tom had to weave around fallen trees, siding and shingles, to find a place to stop. The farmhouse was dark and looked badly beaten—but standing.
"Remember," Tom said, "I'll give a sign if we're staying. Pete, you'll be the first to guard the door. Ready?"
Pete and Mike nodded. With backpacks in hand, they got out of the SUV. Three times in the past, the men in their mid-twenties chased tornados and approached storm riddled homes under the guise of offering assistance. On one occasion, the age of the residents caused them to leave. On the other two trips, women paid the price for being in the way of the storm.
The previous home invasions occurred a year apart and in locations widely separated. This was the closest one and, so far, the biggest tornado. The men advanced toward the front door confident of their technique.
Tom was in the lead and leaned around an evergreen to peer inside the front window. Furniture was strewn about the room, but nobody was in sight. They walked up to the front door together.
Tom knocked once, but instantly tried the handle on the door. To his surprise, it opened after a good push.
"People in the country really should lock their doors," he said softly to the others.
They stepped inside the modern, but very disheveled, living room.
"Is everybody OK?" he shouted.
After a momentary silence, a man's voice said, "Yeah. I think. Carly? Where are you?"
The men stood still until they could get a handle on who was where. Pete closed the front door the best he could in the distorted frame. Footsteps could be heard in a nearby room.
A frightened looking man in his late thirties or early forties came around a corner. His shirt was wet in spots and at least one cut was visible on his leg, below his shorts. Then a woman came into view right behind him.
Tom's heart skipped a couple beats when he saw the tall, thin woman with the tousled hair. Her dark eyes were wide with panic, adding to the natural beauty of her appearance. She was stunning in her loose fitting blouse and tight jeans.
Tom looked back at his partners and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"You OK?" he asked the man and woman.
"Yes. Who are you?" the man said.
"We were driving when the tornado cut us off. We saw that it ripped up this house pretty bad and wanted to make sure everybody was OK," Tom replied.
The woman looked at the steps leading upstairs. "Carly? Where are you?" she shouted.
Almost before the words were out of her mouth, another female voice from upstairs answered, "Up here. God damn, I thought we were dead. I didn't come down because stuff was blowing all around and..."
She appeared at the top of the steps and stopped when she saw the three strangers in the living room. Despite the remnants of the tempest outside, you could hear a pin drop in the house when the girl came into sight. The mother looked stunning, but the daughter was nearly angelic.
"...and I was scared," she finished in a faulting voice. "Who's here?"
"They just stopped to help," the father replied. "It's OK, hon."
The men couldn't take their eyes off the nineteen or twenty year old girl in the t-shirt and shorts. She had dark features, like her parents, and a body will full curves. What they didn't like was the fact she was on a different floor. The next move would be crucial.
Mike tried to casually take a couple small steps toward the stairs without raising suspicion. He knew it would be his job to get her. He waited for Tom, who had secretly reached into an open pocket of his backpack while the girl spoke.
"No, it's not OK," Tom said, pointing a small handgun at the mother and father.
Instantly, Mike was running up the stairs, skipping every other step. The girl screamed, turned, and ran. Mike was able to see what room she ducked into and saw the door slam shut. He jumped over debris and pushed aside a hanging wood beam on his way to the door.
On the floor below, the mother was screaming, "Carly! Carly!"
"Shut up!" Tom yelled. "Nobody's going to get hurt, unless you keep screaming."
They heard a thunderous crash as Mike kicked in the already damaged door. He deflected a book thrown at him by the girl and moved inside the bedroom. She was holding her cell phone with a look of sheer panic in her dark eyes. When Mike was within about five feet of her, she hurled the phone at him, hitting him in the shoulder. Mike never slowed down, diving for her with athletic speed and agility.
Carly screamed as Mike grabbed her by the t-shirt. She turned one way, but he pulled in the opposite direction and Carly was thrown off balance. With one, last violent tug, Mike tossed her onto the bed.
In the living room, Tom and Pete were making sure Carly's parents made no attempt to help their daughter. Tom's gun acted as the main deterrent.
"OK," Tom ordered. "Let's get out of this front room. Do you have a den or family room?"
"Now just wait a minute," the man said defiantly. "You can't just walk in here and..."
Tom pointed the gun at him. "Do you want to live through this?"
The man stood as if frozen.
"Where's the family room?" Tom asked again.
The man and woman turned in unison and walked around a hall corner before entering a fairly undamaged room, except for the ceiling. It contained a couple chairs, a couch, a TV, and assorted tables. Tom followed them. Pete guarded the front door, with the task of keeping anyone away by assuring them everything was alright.
Tom opened his backpack, put his gun inside, and pulled out a piece of rope.
In Carly's bedroom, Mike had landed on top of the girl. He let his backpack fall to the floor while he fought off her weak punches. Once both of his hands were free, he clenched her wrists in one hand above her head and slapped her across the face.
"Owwwww!" Carly shrieked.
Mike was in no mood to reassure her that she wouldn't get hurt. She was by far the best looking thing the men had ever had and he was going to take immediate advantage of it. Her unkempt hair gave her a wildly sexy appearance, and one shoulder strap of her t-shirt was halfway down her arm. Mike felt himself getting harder by the second.
He yanked up on the bottom of her shirt and quickly had it just above her tits. Carly managed to free one hand and was starting to pound on Mike's body. He looked up at her in anger and said, "If you don't stop it, I'll kill you. Got it?"
