I'm too weak to struggle anymore against my captors. After two weeks of transport and about two days worth of food, the two large russian men escort me from the back of the van and into the warehouse. I silently curse the drunken father who sold me off on my 18th birthday to pay his gambling debt, to these mobster brutes no less.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask, terrified.
No answer.
"Please!" I beg.
One of them slaps me, "Learn your place, whore!"
We trudge on into the woods. They are thick, hopeless-looking. Even if I tried to run, I'd get lost and starve to death. I know nothing good is waiting for me; nobody buys a tiny blonde girl for good reasons. The oversized t-shirt that they threw over me for the walk provides no protection from the autumn chill, sloping over my full breasts to create a cold void between the fabric and my body. They didn't try to hide their intentions by handing me anything to put on under them, not even underpants.
As terrified and angry as I am, I can't help but feel a strange excitement. I've always been the good girl, the placater, trying to make up for my father's horrible reputation by being some chaste little martyr. Now I'm half-naked, vanished from society, an object to be bought and sold and used no matter what a "good girl" I was in my old life. I can feel my virginity drip, hot arousal turning almost to ice as soon as it leaves my body.
The structure looks like an abandoned storage rental center. I hear a mechanical whirr before the building is even visible, and seconds after I can hear what sounds like the echoing of lost souls through the October night. My chest tightens with anxiety, and each step feels like it covers twice as much ground as the last. There is both too much time and not nearly enough between us and the door.
When it opens, I can't believe my eyes. The walls of the lockers have been knocked down to create one endless hall. The entire place is lined with rows of gurneys, with so little space between them that it doesn't look like there would be enough room for the large men to walk. Both ends of each gurney have been outfitted with a strange, craning machine. At first, to my horror, I think they are drills. When i realize what is happening, I can't decide if that is better or worse.
On each gurney, a girl is bound with her legs spread impossibly wide. Some are wider than others, bent completely the wrong way behind their heads. Others are halfway there, held in place by sturdy metal bars. Coming from the two craning "drills", three shining metal pistons pound mercilessly into the orifices of the trapped women. Their mouths, pussies, and asses are all gaping to absolute capacity with the brutal mechanical phalluses, some beaten purple with bruises by the force.
"You are pretty girl," one of the men smirks at me. "Today, we spare you. Tomorrow, no luck." He winks, making my stomach churn, and with that he pulls a lever next to the lightswitch. All of the leg bars crank wider and back a notch, to the sound of pained groaning. Their protesting moans are quickly drowned out by an increase in the mechanical whirr as all of the pistons speed slightly as well. I notice now that they are all slightly different speeds, and it makes sense that the ones getting it the hardest must have been here the longest.
"We are merciful men," the other boasts. "Give you time." Chills run through my body, and I feel frozen to the spot. However, I dare not stay still when they nudge me forward. Girls, some my age and some a little older, all turn their heads to look at me with sorrow in their eyes. One, who I quickly turn away from, has gone limp against the pounding and I wonder with terror if she is even still alive. I don't know if I'm relieved when I see her blink, not following me with her pupil.
They lead me to my cot, stained with blood and pussy juice.
"For our films" he explains, nudging me to lay my back on the cot, "We need pussy that can take pounding." His laugh almost sounds good natured while he clamps my wrists down. Then he fastens my feet to the bar, and turns a crank on the side of the bed that forces them back and wide. I being to plead when it becomes painful, but they keep going. They turn it ten cranks past when I'm sobbing, sure that my hips will pop out of the sockets at any second. I'm in too much pain to even think about what's coming.
I feel a cool, wet finger probing me, a sensation which sends me back to reality. It swirls in my pristine pussy, stretching to the limits without breaking my cherry. As soon as I start to like it, it's gone. It finds it's way into my ass next, in and out, as they slick me with a strange, chemical-smelling goop. I wince in pain, and they laugh to each other once again.
"Little Princess, finger too big?" they mock.
I get the joke when I really study the side of the pistons hanging over the bottom of my cot. One is as thick as a liter liquor bottle, the one behind it like a beer can. They are barely tapered, a blunt curve their only allowance for adjustment. If I didn't know how useless it was, I would beg. The one above me comes down before I have my chance to. It forces my jaw painfully wide, pushing deeper and deeper until my head is backed against the mattress. Deeper still, it forces to my gag reflex. When it hits it, my entire throat goes numb from some sort of bitter medication that trickles slowly. I wonder to myself how many girls must have thrown up and choked before they sprung for that expense. The lowering machine blocks my vision of the other pistons, something i'm almost thankful for.
"Tip for you, little girl," One of the men says. "When lose teeth, spit out, yes? Or will choke, yes?" I glance around the floor as much as the machine will allow as it pins my head in place, and notice small white pebbles littering the floor. Too terrified to cry, I give an affirmative grunt.
I hear the second piston being lowered. The cold, lubricated metal lines up against my pussy and I feel myself contract with the chill. One man operates the switches while the other guides it, spreading my pussy lips to give it access. I cant tell if he is taking advantage of my vulnerability or trying to comfort me when he begins to caress my clit.
He says something to his partner in russian, and the piston begins to vibrate. I feel my virgin pussy blush with anticipation. I know it will be painful, but after a few minutes of rumbling I can't stand the empty feeling inside of me anymore. I need to be filled. As if he could read my mind, the the man begins to extend the piston into me. At first, all it does it push my body to the limits of my restraints. I feel the tension in the different pieces of metal, and it excites me to wonder which is stronger. There is no way, I reassure myself, that the piston will fit inside of me. It's too big, and still pressing forward to meet only equal resistance.
When the relentless robot enters me, my entire world disappears into a pinpoint in the middle distance. It moves slowly, patiently, slipping to my furthest depths and stretching me so wide that I'm sure there is a visible outline on my skinny stomach. The one in my mouth, still gagging me, takes even my ability to scream from me. All I can do is accept it as it probes further and further into me, the very fabric of myself threatening to rip around it.
I forget all about the third one until it, too extends. This one slides in easier, my body already untensed with resignation, a sharper pain to contract the burning stretch. I was vaguely aware of more russian being shouted over me, and each piston beginning a slow but solid rhythm within me. The two mobsters stood over me, each taking their liberties with the body that I resided in but was very clearly no longer mine. Each kept one hand on his cock, one twisting my sensitive nippiles while the other rolled his knuckles along my swollen bud.
I couldn't even squirm in response, eyes squeezed shut in agony and ecstasy. My body was a ship being battered in a storm, and I was just a lowly passenger cowering inside as the hurricane raged around me. My heart was beating so fast that I was sure everybody could hear it even over their own machines. As I climaxed, feeling my bruised pussy convulse around the metal, I was struck with the grim realization that there would be no end to it. The machine continued without a second of wavering, pounding away to keep me forever captive. This was my existence now; three holes to be pounded and nothing more. With that realization, I felt two spurts of hot cum hit my face.
There was an odd feeling of abandonment when the two men put themselves away and left my bedside. It was just me and my machine now, my last connection on this earth. My eyes followed their forms to the limp girl form before. They pressed a button, and her machine stopped. She didn't appear to notice; not them, not the respite, not even herself as they unchained and lifted her to feel that wouldn't stand.
"She's ready to be movie star!" The man announced to his partner, and then they were gone.
