Chav Ch. 03

The bikes were parked up inside the converted flat, the girls were hoisted out of their seats and freed of their bonds. The gang surrounded them, pressing in close so the girls were corralled by greasy, fat, stinking male bodies. They shuffled en masse, bullying them across into the filthy living area, through the tarpaulin beyond the garage.

The plastic sheet caught on a few oil drums stacked against one wall and stuck there, leaving a sizeable window.

Strangely, one of the bikers from among the last to return was growled at by a few of the older, more grizzled men. They shoved at him and waved him back toward the entrance for some reason. He seemed to argue and protest but it was obvious he wasn't about to make any headway.

Finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat and he stomped off back through the garage area alone, taking a plastic garden seat and setting it down near the entrance.

He seemed to have been made to go on look out duty for the rest, probably a punishment for some misdemeanour or other.

He put his feet up on a nearby oil drum and grabbed a dog-eared glossy magazine, huffing and puffing to himself and taking long longing glances back though the tarpaulin.

At once the remaining members of the gang split into two teams maybe six or seven each, one girl with each of them. The men were laughing, prodding, ogling, slapping and stroking at the girls.

The blonde whimpered and tried to dodge their questing hands, she cringed physically at their verbal abuses, as though struck, or at least humiliated.

Derby was much more physical in her reactions and much more aggressive in her attempts to defend herself. She growled obscenities that made the men laugh and respond in kind, she slapped at their hands, which made them more fierce and aggressive in their molestations. And, interestingly, it wasn't long before a couple from the blonde's group had swapped over to Derby's, they seemed more interested in enjoying breaking Derby's feisty abrasiveness than the blonde's whimpering cooperation, however prettier she was.

Hands snatched playfully at the blonde's pyjamas, tugging the satin pants down to expose tanned flesh for a moment before she, panicking, tugged them back up again. A hand cupped and squeezed one of her small high breasts and she whirled to free herself from it.

Another hand darted up the loose tails of her pyjama top, got a hand on one of the naked orbs beneath and the blonde yelped and twisted free again.

She didn't see the sofa that she had been wrangled toward until she tripped over it and stumbled back onto it's filthy stained cushions.

The men pounced on her then, like a pack of wolves. She was buried under horny, fat, greasy skin, excessive body hair, stained denim and dirty leather.

Derby took her defensive aggression too far. She slapped one of the men across the face and actually drew blood, and things took a more serious turn from that moment.

She was slapped back, hard, one cheek and then the other, powerful strikes that jarred her jaw and shocked her. And then they started raining open hand slaps all over her body, while she tried to protect herself from them but there were too many hands to defend against.

Then the bloodied biker grabbed her by the throat tightly, took hold of the neck line of her vest top and ripped it brutally from her body.

The elastic and synthetic fabric bit into her naked flesh before it finally gave. He ripped two or three times before the ruined garment was free of her body and she found herself naked from the waist up. Now there were tears rolling down Derby's pale cheeks too.

"For that, you just bought yourself a real long'n hard cluster-fuck, you dirty little whore." Snarled the biker with his hand at her throat. "We gonna rip your holes up something rotten you nasty little slag."

Then he turned to one of the gang busy stripping the blonde on the sofa.

"Spick! break out the blue diamonds. Gonna need five hours worth'a stamina to do this one the way she deserves!"

The man called Spick muttered something, grabbed the front of his apparently loosened leather pants and shuffled over to a drawer against the wall in the meth lab area, came back with a coffee jar half full of blue tablets. The jar was quickly passed around and multiple doses were swallowed by everyone.

Meanwhile, three other pairs of hands had grabbed Derby's tracksuit pants and tried to make them follow the fate of her vest but her feet lifted up off the floor and they slid off her bare legs and nearly bowled the three bikers over.

Her thong did follow the vest though and Derby was wailing in pain and crying and cursing through flowing tears and mucus and spittle, as it bit deep into her most sensitive skin before tearing free.

But Derby was naked then, apart from her stolen trainers, and that was it for her.

Hands grabbed her breasts and pulled cruelly at her nipples, spread her ass cheeks and prodded multiple fingers into both orifices.

Derby was wailing and struggling and crying amid the horny, angry, drug-fuelled bikers, while they hoisted her up off the floor, spread her legs wide apart, as if she were a wishbone. Then a dozen hands assaulted her anywhere and everywhere they could.

Moments later she was dumped on the floor, seemingly on her knees, in the circle of a dozen brutish bikers who crowded tightly around her, all reaching for the fastenings of their trousers as one. Even Becky had to look away.

"Jesus." Emma muttered.

"Wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even that freak slut." Becky murmured.

"We really have to get out of here." Emma moaned.

Movement at the entrance caught Becky's attention and she looked over in time to see a tall woman, late thirties, early forties, standing there with a worried and dubious expression, talking to the lookout.

She was wearing an oversize dark reddish brown coloured jumper, like a cricketer's v-neck, and tight jeans with maroon leather court shoes and a handbag on her shoulder.

The big jumper she wore made it obvious she was trying to hide the size of her bust but it was pretty much impossible, it looked like she had two bowling balls shoved down it. If it wasn't for the dark drainpipe cut jeans she wore she'd look fat.

She had collar length permed hair with dark red flecks in it curling around the nape of her neck and at her slender shoulders.

No chin to speak of and thin pursed lips, but she had big, pretty eyes and a little doll's nose and looked undeniably attractive.

"I'm glad you're all back. I've been waiting for you." She said, her eyes darting into the gloom of the garage area, she could hear noises of the men enjoying themselves and the two girls either whimpering or gagging noisily.

"Okay, woman, okay. So what do you want?"

"You know Zoey, my niece, up on Dowling avenue? She a crystal meth addict, she buys her drugs from you..."

"I know Zo, she's a friend of the Hell's, but she don't get no drugs off us. We don't do that shit. We just ride around and help the poor communities when we can."

The woman started, looking confused. Becky could see the desperation and panic, writhing just under the barely calm surface. Then the biker's play-acting seemed to click.

"No, I know you don't, I'm confused. But I thought you might know where I can get some. I have money. And she's in bad shape."

"You a plain-clothed-officer-of-the-law are you?"

"No! Of course not! I'm just trying to help my sister's daughter!"

"Okay. I think I actually believe you. Give me your bag though, I'll have to check it for recording devices and shit."

She hesitated, sighed, uncertain, torn by suspicion and worrying about her niece. Becky saw the decision being tossed about in her eyes, then her expression tightened into something like annoyed resignation and she silently passed her hand bag over to the biker.

He grinned, rifled through it. Pulled out her purse, opened it, did a quick count of the notes. The woman baulked, thinking that this was it, she'd be robbed and sent on her way by these evil drug dealers. But the man quickly passed the purse back with it's contents intact, startling the woman. The only item he did keep was a white envelope with an official looking letter in it.

"That's just my water rates."

"You've paid it already?"

"Yes, on my way here. Why?"

"Then I think I'll keep hold of this."

"For heaven's sake why?"

"'Cause it's got your home address on it." He replied with a slightly more menacing grin.

"Let me explain a few things to you. We want Zoey on the ragged edge. We don't want no one helping her score. What we want is her walking the streets selling her skanky little ass in back alleys to perverts to make the money to score. That way we can make more money off her when we find her whoring on our turf without our protection. Doubles our intake you see. Plus, we enjoy seeing all the little local sluts selling themselves in our alleys, makes us horny."

"You disgusting, filthy, evil...!"

"Yeah, yeah. I ain't finished though. I've got your address 'cause we already know who you are. Zoey told us all about her family one time, when she was fucking us and getting high. Her mother works nights in an old'un's home. Her cousin Rachel's her best mate but they've grown apart. Her auntie's a stuck up bitch who think's she's better than the rest of the family. That's you by the way. She showed us a picture of her cousin, Rachel. That's your daughter Rachel. Lives at this address with you?" He smiled and wafted the confiscated letter in the air in front of the aghast woman's face. "Your Rachel is 100% hawt! That deep tan, blonde hair, them big grey doey eyes. Bit skinny for my taste and you didn't pass on your humungous tits when you popped her out did'ja but she's a fine piece all the same."

"You leave her out of this! She's innocent, she has nothing to do with this!"

"Shut up! Hawt as she is, she don't deserve to be all innocent. But be that like it may. I thank we can come to some arrangement. First of all, you can forget about scoring for Zo. Like I said, we want her sucking and fucking diseased pervert cock on the streets to make the cash to get her glass for herself. You don't get to help her. But you can help Rachel."

"What do you mean." She asked in a suddenly terrified whisper.

"We could happily pop down to yours for a bit of an all-nighter, the two of you'll easy entertain us till the early hours, I'm sure. But I'd be willing to forget I've got this address, altogether. Might take a bit of convincing though."

"I... I don't believe this..."

"You should. You really should. I'm serious. We were all very interested in your Rachel when we saw that picture. I remember we talked for an hour about what we'd like to do to that little hot piece. It'd make you blush the things we came up with. Made me blush it did!!" He laughed maliciously.

"I... I have money... I can..."

"That's a start, I suppose. But to be honest I'm actually a bit on the chilly side sittin' in this drafty doorway and I could do with something to warm me up, if you know what I mean. So, what else do you have to offer?"

Her eyes, wide, panicked, filled with tears, danced all over the place.

Her brain was in overload, looking for ways out, wanting to reverse time, undo all her mistakes since deciding to help her stupid bitch of a niece.

She was also looking for physical ways out, but she knew he had her over a barrel. If she just walked away, the gang would be at her house, maybe waiting for her and both she and her beloved daughter would find themselves on the receiving end of a violent, protracted gang rape, probably followed by forced addiction to drugs and then find themselves, mother and daughter, in the same mess as Zoey. The woman bowed her head and sighed in resignation.

"Fine, I'll do what you like. Just promise you'll leave my daughter alone." She murmured, barely in earshot of Becky. She heard the biker's responsive laugh easily though.

"What's your name anyway?"

"Jill."

"Right Jill, get them huge fucking udders unleashed for starters!"

Becky turned back to Emma and smiled grimly.

"Well, they're all well distracted at the mo."

"Can't just walk out the front door though can we?"

"No we can't... Hang on..." Becky was looking at the wall to their rear.

"Think you can fit through that window, Em?"

Emma looked back. There was a single window with a half open awning at the top. Emma's eyes lit up with renewed hope.

"Probably be a bit of a squeeze, but I'll fucking well force myself!"

"I'd better go first in case you get stuck."

"I won't get stuck."

"I can pull you out if I go out first."

"Okay, fine, but promise you won't leave me here."

"Fuck off! What d'you take me for?" Becky said, with mock offence.

The thought had actually occurred to her, but she might need a friend down the road. They were in enemy territory and Emma could still be of help in getting home. Even if she was just a distraction to allow Becky to get away. And in her world, Becky had long ago learned that on offer tits, ass and pussy were the best kind of distraction.

"I'll shift a couple of these crates to get us up there."

"Okay, but be fucking quiet." Emma hissed.

"You don't have to tell me. Just keep watch."

Emma turned back to the door and had another look.

The lookout was getting a thorough tit fuck, the mature MILF's hands cupping that huge pair of tits around his short and fat looking cock while he gripped her nipples between thumbs and forefingers.

She was shafting her tits with vigour up and down his embedded shaft but her gaze and attention was completely averted, as though she was trying not to be there at all.

Emma looked off to the left, Derby was all but invisible in the crowd of a dozen bikers.

They were pressed in tight and most of their hands were moving rhythmically, tossing off exposed erections and waiting for their turn at fucking her throat.

Emma could see both of Derby's hands manically fisting two shafts and there were glimpses of her wild brown curls dancing a furious, super-quick back and forth jig and she worked hard and fast on which ever erection was filling her mouth.

A couple of the men appeared to be crouching down, probably shoving fingers up her holes and mauling her small naked tits.

There was plenty of heavy breathing, the odd masculine groan, some laughter and a lot of loud, wet, heavy, gagging sounds from Derby herself.

Over on the sofa the blonde was being held down and stretched out by two of the bikers by her wrists and ankles. She was naked, her lovely deep tanned skin glowing lushly against the pale dirty concrete and dirty tan patterning of the sofa.

The other two men were leaning over her, one forcedly Frenching her while he molested her small shuddering breasts, worming his tongue around and inside her mouth, spitting in her face and laughing at her whimpering, cringing, terrorised reactions, while his fingers tortured her young breasts and the fear stiffened nipples.

The fourth man was at her crotch, one arm across her narrow hips, like an iron bar, to hold her as steady as he could. His mouth was locked like a lamprey over her shaved pussy, sucking and mouthing her while his other hand was shoved down between the tops of her tanned thighs to reach between her buttocks from below and finger fuck whatever orifice interested him.

"I'm through. Em, c'mon." Becky hissed urgently from behind.

Emma had one last quick glance at the entrance lookout but he was busy with the huge pair of, now tear spattered, tits wrapped around his cock.

The teenage brunette got to her feet and quietly crept over to the boxes that Becky had shifted to give them access to the window, she hoisted herself up and then, as quietly as she could, pushed herself feet first out of the open window.

It was a little bit of a squeeze for her and there was a moment of worry as her belly met the window frame but she sucked in her gut and pressed on. In another few seconds, she was carefully easing her head through, with her heels braced precariously on the narrow window ledge.

Then she hopped down to the concrete walkway beyond and looked around for Becky.

The other girl was just a few yards away, waving at her to come over.

"So far so good." Emma breathed, self consciously adjusting her rucked up clothes.

"Right." Becky nodded. "Except that will have been the easy bit. Now we have to get off this estate without being recognised. If anyone realises we're not from here we'll be in a fucking world'a trouble."

Emma just nodded.

"C'mon, this way." Becky muttered and then led her along the wall down the shadowy, unlit walkway, as it passed between two buildings around the back of the biker's appropriated flats.

It went well for all of five minutes but then they were spotted by a small group of bored and stoned looking twenty something's, loitering near the steps to the ground floor.

The girl's took a side passageway but as they glanced back they saw the men following them, at a distance, to begin with.

"Oh shit." Becky muttered.

"You know them?" Emma asked, her renewed fear evident in her tremulous voice.

"No, but I know it's not good."

They rounded another depressing grey corner and spotted a half open apartment door and a worn, grey face looking out at them through it.

Becky and Emma hurried over and almost surprisingly the door remained open.

"Let us in." Becky snapped, though she did come across as more desperate than angry.

The man's eyes looked appraisingly up and down, then shifted over to Emma, who looked more desperate and more obviously afraid, her eyes glinting with unshed tears.

"Please let us in mister, please." Emma moaned.

The man cast his gaze over both girls again and then stepped back and widened the gap just enough for them to get through before he shut, locked and bolted the door. There were six different locks on the door, mortis, Yale and draw bolts aplenty.

They stood in the living room. There were three doors off it, all closed. One opposite the front door, another in the same wall to the right, and the third to the opposite end of the wall that housed the entrance.

The living room was well stocked with furnishings and furniture, a sofa and arm chair, cabinets and bookshelves, a lot of books and video tapes, a plush white sheep skin rug on the thick carpet in front of a lit and flickering gas fire. The lushly decorated walls were adorned with both framed photographs and paintings of landscapes and countryside villages. All in all it looked clean, cosy and inviting. Not the sort of place Becky was used to seeing in these kind of council estate flats.

The man was standing in front of the door looking through a peep hole. He watched in silence for a while, his head slowly turning from left to right in a smooth arc. Then he smiled with apparent satisfaction, turned and stepped away from the door.

"They've gone lass." He said.

He was dressed in polished black heavy shoes, light brown old style trousers, pressed with pleats down the front, a shirt with a woollen cardigan over it. He was probably sixty with receding wavy grey hair, maybe a hint of a rusty colour in a few of the strands, hinting at the colour of youth, and a deeply lined face but he still looked stocky and fit for his age. He stood there with his hands in his pockets.

"I've lived here a long time and I don't think I recognise either of you two." He said with a soft, warm Scots accent.

Those appraising eyes slid up and down Emma and Becky's figures a number of times. Those kinds of looks were certainly something Becky was used to experiencing on these estates.

"Your names?" The man persevered.

"I'm Emma and this is B..." Emma was interrupted by the older chav brunette.