Daddy's slut girl(29)

"Oh, Lordy!" exclaimed Slim, withdrawing from her. "That's nice tight pussy." He zipped up and sauntered back to the circle of grinning guys, while another guy came eagerly forward to take his place. "Hey, Donny," he called, "give that little filly a good ride!"

Donny, the one who had held her. In spite of her frustration, Cindy was curious to see what he looked like, and she twisted around to stare at him.

He was a stocky muscular guy with dirty unkempt brown hair. Nothing special – and his cock was less than special. Cindy was keenly disappointed when Donny unleashed a skinny little four-incher and rolled her over on her back for a standard fuck.

"Oh, baby, baby," he whined as he began to screw her. "You're so fuckin' tight."

Donny was intensely excited, but Cindy felt almost nothing. His little jerking cock was insufficient after Slim's brutal fucking. She just lay there looking at the sky, and in a moment the screw was over. She felt the brief splat of his cum, his shrinking cock…

"Hey, Little Willie! Go, man!" someone was shouting. The cheers and applause were louder than ever for the last of Cindy's attackers. She looked up to see an ugly fat guy waddling towards her. His greasy black hair came to his shoulders, and he had tattoos on his thick arms. He was doing his best to look like Hell's Angels, right down to the beer belly that nearly obscured his belt. Ugh, thought Cindy.

Little Willie wasn't one for conversation. He flipped her over onto her hands and knees, grunted as he knelt behind her, and only then unzipped his jeans. Cindy waited, glad she didn't have to look at him, hoping he was well-hung. She felt thick stiff meat rubbing her pussy, and she wriggled excitedly. He might be gross and ugly, but if he could fuck, she'd welcome him.

Little Willie fumbled around, trying to get his swollen cock-head in place. Cindy heard a burst of harsh laughter from the gang, then felt a searing pain, pain so awful that she almost fainted.

"Ahhhh, noooo!" she screeched.

Little Willie had forced his thick, iron-hard meat up the tiny, virgin passage of her asshole.

"Hey, Willie, you got the wrong hole!" somebody taunted.

"No, I ain't," Willie grunted, breaking his silence at last. "They's always tighter here. Beats cunts any day."

Cindy didn't hear the rest of the talk. She didn't hear the laughter and shouts, for her pain blotted out everything. Willie's thick cock tore and stretched the tiny mouth of her bung, ripped and raked the delicate narrow lining of her asshole. She screamed and sobbed as he fucked her ass in deep, plunging fast strokes.

"Oh, please, no!" she wailed. "Stop it, please! Oh, please!"

No one paid any attention to her agony, and after a while she felt herself losing consciousness. It was ironic, she thought, that Willie lasted longer than any of them. He was still grunting, puffing, and fucking her ass as she fainted.





CHAPTER SEVEN




Cindy came to, moaning. Her asshole burned with pain, and she was lying naked in the gravel, bruised and aching and cold. She saw that the sun was going down, the gang and their cycles no longer there. Dizzily she sat up and inspected herself.

Well, she was going to live, but that was about all. A gingerly inspection of her buggered asshole revealed no blood. Her shoes and jeans were dirty but undamaged. Everything else was a mess. Her panties, bra, shirt, and jacket were ripped beyond repair. Her hair was full of dirt, her body reeking of male sweat and jizz. They'd taken her money. Things could hardly have been worse.

She wanted to break down and sob like a baby, but she resisted it. What good would it do? She was more determined than ever now to get to Los Angeles and her mother, to escape the horrible reality of life on the road. She put on her jeans and shoes, wrapped her torn jacket around her as best she could, and staggered painfully out to the highway.

There were plenty of cars heading into Denver, but all the neat, clean, middle-class passengers looked at her in horror and passed quickly by. "Bastards!" Cindy shouted. Couldn't they see she was hurt? But, she decided, she shouldn't be surprised. It was always that way in New York. Nobody wanted to get "involved".

She'd just about given up hope when a rattling van rolled up beside her. It was painted in wild psychedelic colors and had California plates. A young man looked out the open window and gawked at Cindy.

"Jesus," he said, "what happened to you?"

Cindy studied him warily. He was a hippie – long hair, full beard, beads, a gold earring in his left ear. Pop had always told her that hippies were drug fiends and crazies, to stay away from them. But then Pop was always full of shit. This guy had gentle brown eyes, a sensitive face. Cindy liked him instinctively.