PROLOGUE

     This part of town was not what it used to be.

     Not like the old days. Martha Cripmore never tired of pointing this out to
her husband. Every tuesday night, on the way home from the bridge club, he
would take Central Avenue through town and then turn left on Ginger Street. In
the early '70s, when Bert and Martha had been just out of high school, this had
been a nice area. But the recession had hit hard. The mine which had employed a
good many people from the town had shut down; stores had closed; people left
town... All that remained along this once-popular strip was a bunch of empty
lots, a couple of run down gas stations and a well-guarded and heavily barred
convenience store.

     And, of course, the hookers.

     This was the red light district.

     Still, Bert always insisted on taking this route home from the bridge
club. Every tuesday night without fail. It was quicker, he said, and avoided
the highway traffic. Martha complained of course, but he always took that same
route: down Central and left on Ginger.

     Every time.

     After a while, Martha came to recognize many of the hookers, having seen
them regularly. Not that she knew their name or anything about them, of course.
They merely became familiar to her - sort of like a landmark. Or, in this case,
a well known eye-sore. The girl with the pink miniskirt; the fat black one,
with the wild hair. She seemed almost to make a game of pointing them out.

     "Look Bert," she said on this particular trip. "There's a new girl."

     Bert looked over from where he was hunched, white-knuckled, over the wheel
(Bert was a nervous driver). The girl his wife had pointed out was standing
directly under a street light. As Martha had stated, she looked new. True, she
wore the same type of cheap, tacky clothing as the other hookers - short skirt
slit up the side; bright red halter top under a gold, spangled jacket with
fake-buckskin fringe; plastic high heels - but on her it looked out of place.
Uncomfortable. She wore the same heavy, overdone makeup as the others, but the
face underneath looked too pretty - too fresh - for it. She was a strikingly
beautiful girl, with thick, brown hair (teased up with too much mousse), a
young looking face with large eyes, and a tight young body. Nice tits. She
couldn't have been more then twenty.

     At the most.

     "Bert!"

     Bert wrenched his attention away from the girl as he suddenly realized
that he had drifted the car into the opposite lane. Luckily, there was no
oncoming traffic, and he quickly rectified his mistake. By that time, however,
they had passed the girl. He glanced up at his rear-view mirror just as a car
pulled up to her and the girl leaned over to talk to the occupant. Then he
turned off onto Spencer Avenue, and the girl was lost from view.

     Martha sniffed. "That street," she concluded, shaking her head. "It's not
what it used to be."

     Bert, however, wasn't listening, his mind on the girl; he couldn't help
but wonder how she had become a whore in the first place...

                                     *****

     Sandra Little ('Sandy' to her friends) was not paying attention. Living in
a big city like LA required a certain amount of caution; a certain amount of
awareness of what was going on. Street smarts. Sandra, however, had grown up in
a small town and had only recently moved to the city in order to attend
university. She was just in the middle of her first term of med school, and her
mind was on other things - books; classes; tests - anything other than what it
should have been on as she crossed the street at night on her way home from a
long day at school. She did not have much in the way of money, and what little
there was had gone to cover books and tuition. Hence, she had been forced to
take up residence in a somewhat unsavoury area. Still, there always seemed to
be people about, and Sandy felt fairly safe there.

     Still...

     "Hey babe," came a rough voice, breaking her out of her thoughts, "Wanna
have some fun?"

     Startled, she looked up to see two young men leaning up against a rusted,
battered car parked on the side of the road. One was white and the other black.
The black man - a tall, short- haired kid wearing torn jeans and a tee-shirt -
laughed and took a long swallow from a bottle. Sandy saw the label: whisky. She
wrinkled her nose in disgust at the smell. She was not a drinker. The other man
- the white one - was short and fat, with long greasy hair.

     "Excuse me?" Sandy was not sure she had heard right.

     "Wanna have some fun," the white man - it had been him who had first
spoken - repeated the statement. "Me 'n my buddy just happen to have a little
time free, and..."

     "No thanks." Sandy dropped her eyes, embarrassed. Her brown hair slid down
in front of her face, hiding the fact that she was blushing. "I don't think
so." She turned to continue walking.

     "I don't think so," came a high, mocking voice from behind her, mimicking
her words and tone. Now frightened, she started to speed up her pace, but a
pair of hairy arms encircled her from behind and pulled her back. Her books
went flying from her hand as she was jerked backwards. She opened her mouth to
scream, but instead had the breath knocked out of her as she was slammed
against the door of the car. Gasping and coughing, Sandy struggled weakly as
her assailant - it was the white man - jerked open the back door and shoved her
inside. His companion was already in the driver's seat, starting up the engine.
The white guy followed her inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

     "Go," he cried. The man in the driver's seat threw the car into gear and
started driving. Sandy kept struggling, flailing wildly with her arms, but the
man just grabbed a handful of her thick, brown hair and jerked her down onto
the floor in front of him. She opened her mouth to scream, but he slapped her
viciously across the face. The young medical student stopped struggling, frozen
in shock as the pain coursed through her body. She had never been struck before
by anyone, and the shock was almost worse than the pain.

     Almost.

     By the time she overcame the shock, it was too late. They were out of her
neighbourhood and onto the highway, heading toward the centre of the city.

     'Tug' Holbrook laughed as his prize struggled ineffectually on the car
floor between his thick, jean covered legs. It had been so easy! Almost too
easy. Bitch. He took another long swallow from the bottle, enjoying the warm
rush that spread through his chest.

     "Hey man," Jimmy called back from the front seat. "Save some for me."

     Tug laughed nastily. "The booze or the bitch?" he asked.

     "Both."

     The fat man took another drink before answering. "Don't worry Jimmy boy,"
he called out. "There's plenty of both."

     Jimmy fell silent, concentrating on the driving, and Tug turned his
attention back to the girl as she looked up at him from between his legs with
wide, frightened eyes. What a babe! This couldn't have worked out better if
they'd planned it. He felt his cock stiffen in his jeans. He reached down,
grabbed a handful of hair and jerked the girl upwards until her face was
rubbing against his crotch.

     "Feels good, huh?" he asked roughly.

     The girl began to cry. "N-no... please..."

     Tug just smirked. Stupid bitch! He released her hair and she fell back
onto the floor. With his now-free hand, he undid his pants and slipped them
down along with his underwear. His thick, greasy cock hung free, long and hard
against the hair-covered rolls of fat on his stomach. The girl just cringed.
"C'mon," he ordered. "Give it a kiss." The girl shook her head, tears running
down her face.

     Tug grunted at her refusal. The bitch was particular. Better loosen her up
a little first. He reached down and jerked her up so that she was sitting on
his lap with her back to him. She squirmed as his exposed cock rubbed up
against her slacks, but could not get free. Tug was too strong. He encircled
her with one thick arm, grabbed at one of her breasts through her blouse and
squeezed. Hard. Writhing to break free, she moaned with pain and humiliation.
(Tug loved that sound!) With his other hand, he brought the bottle around and
pushed it up against her open mouth.

     "Swallow," he ordered. She shook her head, holding her lips tightly
closed, but he ground his fingers tightly on her nipple and held it. She
twisted and gurgled with the pain, but he kept twisting her nipple until she
finally gave in and opened her mouth. Immediately, he released the nipple and
brought the bottle up to her lips. This time, she accepted it, taking a long
swallow of the alcohol as he tipped the bottle. She started gasping and
coughing as the burning liquid flowed down her throat, but she opened her mouth
to accept more when he brought the bottle up again - his hand was still on her
breast; still teasing her nipple.

     This continued for a good fifteen minutes, until she had drunk down almost
a third of the bottle. Not a drinker, Sandy was already feeling the effects of
the alcohol when her assailant put aside the bottle in order to have both hands
free. She tried to struggle when he started to rip open her blouse, but her
body seemed to be losing co-ordination, losing strength. She was unused to
alcohol, but not totally inexperienced: she knew she was getting drunk.

     The young medical student squirmed ineffectually as the fat man finished
ripping open her blouse and then jerked her bra off with one twist of his beefy
hand. Her breasts, large and firm, fell free and lay exposed on her chest.

     "Fuck man," the guy said. "Look at these jugs." He reached around and
began kneading them.

     The black man driving the car looked back and grinned in appreciation.
Blushing, Sandy tried to bring her hands up to protect herself, but the fat man
just slapped them away. She squirmed, but was unable to escape as he kneaded
her tits, squeezing them and rolling them around in his hands. Moaning, she
gave up and lay back, resting her head against the man's shoulder. She was
beginning to feel dizzy and confused as the alcohol did its work on her. She
didn't even protest when he undid her slacks, hooked his fingers under the
waistband of her panties and pushed downward. Within seconds, her pants were
down around her ankles.

     Tug began to run his sweaty hands roughly up and down his victim's
near-naked body. The girl was now too drunk to protest or struggle effectively;
too drunk to do anything other than lay back on his lap while he fondled her
tits. After a while, he ran his hands down to her pussy and began rubbing.
Thoroughly drunk, the girl giggled the tried to push his hands away.

     "Don' do..." she slurred. "Nod..."

     Tug ignored her, rubbing his chubby fingers first up and down the outside
of her pussy and then slipping them inside. The girl twitched in pain as he did
so. She was dry as a bone, but he didn't care. His cock was about ready to
burst. Shifting her body upwards, he spread her long, slender legs with one
knee, and slowly settled her pussy down onto his rigid cock.

     Finally, it was all lined up. With one shove, he rammed his cock into her
unready pussy...

     The pain of the sudden rape cut through the fog of alcohol.

     She was being fucked.

     FUCKED!

     Sandy Little, legs spread and pussy impaled on her assailant's cock, began
to struggle and squirm about on his lap, desperate to escape. The man ignored
her struggles. He just grabbed her by the breasts and began jerking her up and
down on his lap, fucking his cock in and out of her pussy. There was nothing
she could do except go along with his movements; even to the point of using her
legs to support the movements. If not, she felt like her breasts would be
ripped from her body. So, she soon found herself actively fucking back against
her rapist, using her own strength to push her aching pussy up and down on his
cock.

     "That's right babe," he muttered, appreciating her assistance.

     He didn't last long. Within minutes, she felt him stiffen and then felt
the warm surge of sperm as it boiled out of his cock and into her pussy. She
shuddered with rage and disgust as he came inside her, but there was nothing
she could do about it.

     When it was over, he shoved her off his lap and she slid back down onto
the car floor. After taking a long swallow from the almost-empty bottle, he
once again grabbed her hair and jerked her tear-stained face into his crotch
and up against his glistening cock. Knots of sperm slid down his tool and
congealed in his crotch hair.

     "Clean up your mess," he told her.

     She shook her head.

     No. She had never done that before.

     He brought his hand around and slapped her - once, twice... and then a
third time - on the face. Then he leaned back, legs spread wide and grinned
down at her.

     "Clean it," he smirked, "And we'll let you go."

     The words 'let you go' registered on the half-drunk and wholly frightened
girl. Let her go!

      Shaking, Sandy leaned forward into his crotch. The alcohol made
everything blurry, but she could clearly make out every vein, every ridge,
every contour on his glistening member. Hesitantly, almost throwing up, she
reached up and grasped the base of the cock. It twitched in her grasp, dripping
cum onto her fingers. Shuddering with revulsion, she opened her mouth and began
to lick at the now-soft penis, gagging at the taste and smell, but doing it
nonetheless.

     'Let her go' he had said.

     Jimmy Patterson turned off the highway and took the exit ramp into the
city. From the seat behind him, he could clearly hear the loud slurping sound
as the little slut sucked hungrily at his friend's cock.

     That was enough.

     Jimmy pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. He turned
just as Tug came again, his hands tightly clenched in the bitch's thick, brown
hair, holding her mouth over his cock as he pumped a load of sperm down her
throat. She gurgled and moaned, hands thrashing, but couldn't pull away.

     "OK," Jimmy said, sliding out the door. "Let's switch. I want some of
that."

     Tug nodded in agreement. He'd had enough. He pushed the girl away and
clambered out of the back seat. Jimmy grinned as the white girl, a thin trail
of white cum dribbling out over her lower lip and onto her chin, looked up at
him as he climbed into the back seat.

     This was going to be great!