THE LIBRARY: Trailer Trash Part 4

Trailer4TRAILER TRASH Part 4 {Continued From Here}

{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by ROUGIN. We thank them for letting us share it with you here}

The teen’s father had raped Kelly, of course, smashing her on her back to the bedroom mattress, wedging himself between her legs -- whose ankles were still tied to each thigh, though the ankles were no longer tied together -- and filling her tight cunt with his huge, knobby shaft as she writhed beneath him, screaming uselessly into the gag.The first time had been like an animal attack, her bra torn off, her dew-drop breasts squeezed in his paws like water balloons, his member slamming into her like a hydraulic pile-driver, his mouth slavering all over her pretty face. When he came, it was like an explosion inside her, cannoning a ball of jism against her vaginal walls.

The next time was even more agonizing, as he sat her slim, violated, sweat-soaked   shape on him, his hard-on impaling her as he lay on his back beneath her, holding her up by her kneaded chest, admiring her sweet, lolling, blindfolded and gagged face. Then it was slow torture as he carefully moved her up and down on his erect shaft, pinching and twisting her clit, until she trembled, shuddered, and groaned in unwilling orgasm three times.

Then he held her desperate body down as he savagely defiled her a second time.

Lying beside her, her elbows uncinched, his big body wedged between her arms, one hand squeezing her tits while the other was hooked deep in her cunt, he made hickey after ugly hickey on her creamy, smooth throat -- rumbling between slobbering sucklings; “Now...whatever are we going to do with you?"

 The boy’s father watched as the grave housing authority officials instructed the crew to hook up the trailer to the truck in preparation for the long drive north. He even kneeled, seemingly to see if the axle remained firm enough to hold the load.

"Don’t worry," said one man, misunderstanding his concern. “These things are  strong enough to carry battleships."

The father smiled reassuringly back at the housing authority man, who’s expression reflected the disappointment that their young, pretty, recent hiree wasn’t there to appreciate all their hard work. “Young girls today," he thought for the hundredth time. “So undependable...so hedonistic. Never even showed up for her first day’s work."

As the housing authority man turned away, the father’s smile changed to a demonic satisfaction. “No," he thought. “Even the workers couldn’t see from that angle...."

Because, of course, Kelly was there to appreciate all their hard work, but in no condition to tell them. Not the way her mouth was filled to the breaking point by the expanding rubber plumbing joist, and the way her lips were crushed and her mouth sealed by the plumbing duct tape that encircled her lower face so tightly it was practically a layer of her skin.

And, of course, she was in no condition to alert them...not the way she was spread-eagled, naked, under the trailer, in the very center, attached to the underside with straps around her neck, wrists, ankles, and waist, wired to bolts affixed through the floor.  The workers not only couldn’t see her beyond the overhanging lip of the trailer, but they didn’t even notice the wires hanging down from the trailer bottom on either side of the exhausted, panic-stricken girl’s face -- carefully placed so that when the trucks picked up speed on the interstate, the wire ends would flick up from the roadway, stinging her rich, hanging, tits again and again and again....

Kelly writhed frantically one more time, trying desperately to dislodge the dowel wedged deep in her cunt before the motors started. But it was held there by the thirteenth bolt in the floor -- a bolt and dowel which would surge with every lurch of the trailer. She screamed in terror and dread -- a hysterical hum that was easily drowned out by the truck’s throbbing motors.

Then the trailer began to move...inch by inch, slowly, until the truck had cleared the area and turned lumberingly onto the connection road.

The father turned slowly, seeing the line of old, decrepit cars waiting on the other side of the abandoned park. There, behind the wheel of the head car, was the squatter. The father slowly nodded at him. As if following a command, the squatter led his rag-tag parade of displaced park derelicts onto the road behind the trailer.

As they all quietly followed the mobile home to its destination, the squatter glanced at the seat beside him...where a torn cream-colored silky shirt, ripped bone-colored lace panty, severed matching bra, tattered blue miniskirted suit, scratched high heel pumps, and cracked glasses lay....

THE END

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