Note: The following story is a work of fiction that depicts a rape fantasy. The author does not condone forced sex in real life. The word “teenager” and any other such teenage-related expressions only refer to characters who are 18 or 19 years old.
The Black Horseshoe Club
When you’re young and high on a crest of happiness, fate is just behind your shoulder.
The Black Horseshoe Club was one of the most despicable motorcycle clubs that ever wore black leather jackets. Their leader was Carlos.
Carlos had opened the club in 1946 along with three fellow war veterans, which he called his Devils. There was Big Norman, Harvey “Golden Gloves” and Jack “Coco Head”. Five other trusted members had joined them since then.
They did a job about once every two months, each time in a different State. They all had money; each rode a Harley. Robbery was never the motive. The Black Horseshoe Club were middle-aged men who had a thing for teenage girls.
For that particular job, the agreed-on date was November 15th and the target was near a town called Riverdale in New York State.
They just had a close call with the Highway Patrol in California, so they went North East. The weather being cold over there at this time of the year, they drove in cars to the log house they had rented at a secluded spot. That log house was near a small lake called Devil’s Mirror.
Like he had learned to do as a soldier fighting in France, Carlos did a full recon on Thursday. The spot was located way out of the town by a country road that winded into the Appalachian hills.
It was a popular spot where teenage lovers would go and park. Their plan was to wait and strike when there would be only two or three cars left. November 15th was a Friday.
Carlos picked the hiding places. Six or four men would hijack the cars while the others would bring back the band’s own cars to the cabin. They drove a 1956 Chevy station wagon, a 1948 woody Ford station wagon, and a 1957 Ford Fairlane. No red cars; all displayed popular colors—forest green for Ford, teal and white for Chevrolet.
As an added precaution, they screwed stolen licence plates just prior to swinging into action. None of the victims would see their true plates. They never killed; rape did attract some police attention, but the murder of youths would stir a red-hot, devilish kind of rap that Carlos was unwilling to trigger.
On that Friday night, the waning crescent of the Moon illuminated a clear sky. Carlos and his men were hidden behind bushes on a ridge overlooking the spot, where four cars had been parked for nearly an hour.
One motor got ignited. As the Chevy 1952 started to move away from the other cars, Carlos ran to the Ford Fairlane and the Chevy station wagon. He ordered them to move in and set a roadblock near the trail junction to keep these kids from driving away.
Six men in black denim trousers and leather jackets made their swift and stealthy descent on the three unsuspecting couples, who were kissing and making out in each other’s arms, oblivious of the world outside their American wheels.
Carlos had his pistol trained on a red-haired guy who was kissing a long-haired brunette. She screamed “Archie!” when she saw the menacing silhouette emerging from the night and taking hold of their window frame as well as their lives for the immediate future.
All three cars got similarly hijacked. Carlos and his Devils didn’t waste time and drove them to the log house.
Since the weather was gentle, the nine-man gang decided to make a campfire and remain outdoors.
They took a closer look at their captives.
Six teenagers were lined up in a headlight beam. One of the guys tried to fight and he was unmercifully pummelled and kicked into a bloody mess while his blonde girlfriend screamed “Reggie! Oh, Reggie… Please, don’t hurt him!” The other lads stayed put.
All three girls were eighteen years old, which was confirmed by their papers inside their wallets. Carlos and his Devils loved to call a girl by her name when they were raping her. It added a personal touch to the fun.
“So, raven-haired beauty, you’re Veronica… And what size is your bra?” Carlos asked as he noticed her perfect hourglass figure and her average-sized breasts that seemed to look up at him in defiance as she shook her pretty head in refusal.
“Don’t tell them you wear C-cups, Veronica!” bellowed the ginger-haired genius.
“Thanks, Archie!” Veronica said with a sarcastic tone.
The blonde whose boyfriend was still out cold was a Betty. She was as American as apple pie—simple clothes and perky assets with sunlight in her ponytail.
The third couple was interesting. The guy was a glass-wearing type named Dilton; he was short with a diminutive frame, but his driver’s licence said he was born in 1938, so he was nineteen. His girlfriend was Sabrina, a sparkly blonde wearing a black ribbon above her golden bangs while the rest of her hair plunged down to her shoulders and encased her highly kissable face, adorned with a nearly childish nose and subtle freckles.
Sabrina remained surprisingly calm given her predicament while the other girls started to panick and scream as it dawned on them that these men were not there to talk about the weather.
“Archie!” Veronica said in alarm. “Archie! Do something!”
“Yeah, Archie, do something!” said Harvey to the ginger-haired tough guy, who wore a stupid-looking bowtie with an indigo sweater adorned with a capital “R” that obviously stood for Riverdale.
Harvey, a former Golden Gloves runner-up and the only colored man in the Black Horseshoe Club, gave the lad a killer punch to the liver. Archie went down like a sack of beans and men quickly tied up his hands and ankles.
Other men did likewise with the nerdy guy and the half-unconscious lad named Reggie.
Then came the moment Carlos perhaps enjoyed the best. The teenage girls stood in front of them, each one with her arms restrained. The men were all drooling over them in wild anticipation.
Veronica, the sophisticated-looking girl, wore an expensive dress that went a couple of inches under her knees; it was royal blue with a thin belt that emphasized her slim waist and her slender, yet curvy hips. She wore black stockings and half-heel shoes. The jewellery around her neck spoke of a wealthy father. Veronica was a classy chassis.
She was presently yelling at them and ordering them to let her go at once, her and her friends, or else her father would have them sent to jail for life. Carlos grabbed her head and forced kissed her.
“Here’s your answer, rich girl!” he jeered as she looked back at him as if she had just been kissed by a 2,000-year-old mummy.
Betty frantically writhed in men’s grasp as Big Norman contemplated her shapes and lines; she wore a green-and-white striped sweater over a navy-blue skirt that covered her down to her knees, no stockings, only bobby socks and saddle shoes.
Sabrina, the other blonde, remained stoic, but tears started to stream down her pretty face.
Carlos had picked Veronica. He already had a raging erection while she was still held fully clothed in front of him.
Big Norman, a 350-pound fat and dirty man, kissed Betty and cupped her boobs. He had a strong erection pushing his pants. Betty shrieked “Nooooooo!” as she saw this—her meaty fate.
Sabrina remained calm as she gulped her saliva. A heavy ball of terrified curiosity took hold of her while tears kept bathing her reddened cheeks.
Sabrina shivered, but she didn’t protest when they ripped her polo shirt and did short work of her bra while the entire place became filled with girly shrieks and sharp sounds of tearing fabric.
Carlos would never forget the moment when Veronica’s pure-white breasts and brown nipples danced and jiggled in front of him as his men quickly stripped her naked, before holding her for him.
“Ahhrr! Yeaaahhh!!!” Carlos screamed in triumph as he forcefully entered the rich teenage girl. Veronica screamed her life out as she was held and shaken horizontally, forced to offer her jiggling breasts in plain sight as she kept screaming in pain, shame and anger while Carlos took his pleasure.
Carlos growled and spewed a massive load, then watched the next man show Veronica how the real world works. She quit resisting; she took his strokes while silently sobbing; then she took the next man, her head bobbing on the ground and her eyes looking at the emptiness of the night sky.
Betty was barely able to breathe as Big flabby Norman pinned her under him on the forest floor as he showered her with his profuse sweat before filling her with his seed. He screamed like a fat banshee who had too much to drink as he took his piggish relief.
Then, Jack “Coco Head” enjoyed Betty doggy style. The bald, overweight man felt his erection powerfully expanding as he contemplated her curves. Her derriere proved too much to handle. He held her slim waist and blissfully screamed as he exploded inside her teenage pussy. It was so gee-whiz good!
Sabrina’s butt was serious competition for Betty’s. Two men had her bent over the hood of the Chevy station wagon. They took turns in rear-ending her and had the time of their life as they filled her up while holding her alluring waist.
Surprisingly, she also had her bit of fun; her body broke loose and forced her to moan as it took her through several climaxes. She was herself pushing her butt against the man to increase the blissful pressure.
Archie was informed that his Veronica was a crowd favorite. Four men took their relief inside her, while Betty had three and Sabrina entertained two others.
Someone left a car door open and played the radio as the teenage girls were subjected to a second round of forced sex.
Veronica got mounted doggy style by Big Norman while the radio was playing My Memories Of You, a jazzy, slightly up-tempo doo-wop hit from the Harptones.
Sabrina had her delicious feet licked and kissed with religious fervor by Carlos and his pappy’s mouth, then he pinned her legs against his shoulders and coiled her lithe body into a visual number six as he forcefully raped her with her feet close to his face while Artie Malvin and The Brigadiers Quartet sang a feel-good serenade called Memories Are Made Of This.
Sabrina hit yet another jackpot and nearly howled at the moon crescent while the Quartet sang about dreaming under a silvery moon. Carlos soon gave her a deluge of cum as he screamed against her feet.
Betty was taken by three men, who tried her in different positions. Harvey took her missionary style and looked straight into her eyes as he gave her the full benefit of his Baltimore gun.
She took it while looking into his African eyes with fascination as she quickly surged up to cloud nine. Without thinking, she kissed her rapist and wrapped her legs around him as she groaned under a rolling orgasmic fire.
Then, Harvey shot his jizz deep inside her while the radio started playing Thanks For The Memory where the Ray Anthony Orchestra sang about castles on the Rhine.
The girls spent the night as playthings for the Black Horseshoe Club.
Veronica took cumshots on her face. Carlos yelled his bliss as he splattered her pretty face and slimed her sleek hair. Betty became an expert in swallowing and Sabrina, the most cooperative of the three, became a confirmed cowgirl who rode old men and sucked them back to a youthful life.
The girls were left naked and bruised on the ground by the dead fire at the light of dawn. Their crazy-eyed boyfriends untied themselves. Each raped the nearest girl.
The Black Horseshoe Club made it back to Illinois; their hunting trip had been a cinch. These teen girls were so easy to catch and so much fun to rape.
Veronica had been the only girl who didn’t scream “Please, I’m virgin!” Archie wasn’t a loser on all counts after all.
