Community Service – Part Three

“Move that fat, pale ass down there, she-devil!”

The words rang out from behind Margo, filled with irony, as it seemed as if she was descending into hell. She stood at the top of the basement staircase, glancing fearfully into a dark abyss. The angry suited thug stood just behind her out of sight, shoes drenched in vomit and a heart drenched with hate.

“Listen. I am so sorry about your dress shoes” she whimpered meekly. “I will buy new ones. I will clean them. I’ll lick them clean if you want!”

Margo couldn’t believe what she just offered, but she truly was terrified of the abyss. She didn’t know what waited below, but she knew it could only be worse than what she had endured before. If fiction had taught her anything, basements were cold and poorly lit, and buried far enough below ground to bury every scream and shriek from earshot.

“Yeah, you will lick them clean, honkey,” the livid assailant sneered. “As soon as you get your cave bitch ass downstairs.”

Behind her Mar could hear one of the other thugs laughs at these comments. The other four had all remained seating, returning to the television and weed on the table. If the suited man was going to kill her, none of them seemed too bothered by it. The lack of humanity offered by her captors truly horrified Margo.

“Don’t take out too much anger just yet,” D’Marcus lectured like a nosey teacher. “None of us has even had a chance to try her ass out yet. Leave her breathing enough for that.”

Those words alone were enough reason to faint, but instead Mar started the slow death march down stairs and her heart pounded wildly. The throbbing was only matched by the one in her pussy at the moment. D’Marcus had ridden her roughly and all the thugs utilized her ass as a punching bag. The little blue, present bow g-string was on, but pulled completely to the side from the rape, leaving Mar’s entire ass visible. With nearly each trembling footstep she felt some semen slide around or drip to the stairs below.

Something as simple as traveling down a flight of stairs had now been turned into a grueling, slow process. Each awful detail stood out. She had only taken three uncoordinated steps when the squeaky, old door closed at the top and trapped her in the hell below. She was only six steps down when the awful odors of urine and wet dog hair reached her nose. And Mar was only half way down the staircase when her tormentor, tired of her slow speed or just enjoying her torture, decide to shove her.

With a mouse-like squeak, Margo flipped forward and began to tumble down the staircase at full speed. Her exposed, pale skin slid and cut against the rough wood stairs. The young coed tried desperately to grab onto the half-broken railing or even the wall to slow her descent, but couldn’t find a grip. After the third full flip she finally reached the ground below, but it wasn’t a graceful landing in the slightest. The back of her head, and already abused ass, slammed into the unforgiving concrete wall as her right ankle filled with a burning sensation. The weak, wooden dam inside her shattered once more and Mar began to scream and sob at the bottom of the stairs.

“Quit lying around and get that fat ass up,” the suited man barked as he straddled over her, his hand reaching out to slap her face and ass.

“I can’t,”she shrieked up at him. “I think I broke my ankle.”

The suited man shook his head in disbelief, a small smile forming from something very comical beyond on the assaulted girl’s understanding at the moment.

“Then crawl like the white bitch you are,” he ordered without compassion or understanding.

She struggled to pull her body up,more tired than at the end of any swim meet or volleyball game. Even to rise on all fours, which she was sure was a pleasing sight to the brute, took all the remaining energy she had stored up. Her scraped knees and bleeding elbows ached against the filthy dirt floor.

Completely robbed of her dignity, Margo crawled like a dog towards the main area of the basement. Her eyes quickly darted around, desperate to remove her fear of the unknown with a full understanding of the new predicaments she had descended into.

Very quickly it had become evident where the smells were coming from; in eight undersized pet carriers sat some of the meanest, malnourished, lunatic dogs she had ever seen. Their furs were a mess, covered with bite marks and dried blood, and each snarled at the new girl. Mar would have felt great pity for these abused creatures if her mind was not preoccupied with fear that her fate waited in one of their jaws.

Further in the basement was a long wooden table set up with all kinds of powders and chemicals. Clearly where the gang made their supply of drugs. Parallel to it was another work table decorated with a sea of different guns and ammunition. Margo’s heart raced faster again, the fear of the single handgun up stairs having been multiplied.

On the opposite side of the room sat a solitary chair under a low hanging light bulb, an image that instantly conjured up memories of spy films and dime novels.