Detour to Pain: Whipped Women Read online

  Detour to Pain

  Chapter One

  My name is Lisa and this is an account of what happen to me and three of my friends a couple of years back. This will be my first time to reveal this experience and when you reach the end of my story, you will understand why. You will also understand why I may be using a fictitious name as well. I am the telling the story because my friends delegated the task to me since of us four, I am the only one having any inkling of writing skills.

  Early that morning the four of us left Needles, California in route to Palm Springs where we were to attend a retail convention. At first I was going to take I-40 and travel through Barstow and on to San Bernardino to Palm Spring as one would normally do. One of the girls suggested we take a pioneer spirit and a sense of adventure and travel across the open desert by taking Highway 95 directly south.

  That was fine with the rest of us since we had plenty time. No matter what route we took we would still be there early. We’d have time to rest before we hit the nightspots and partied for a while. Once we intersected Highway 62, I pulled over and consulted my map to decide whether to turn west here or to continue south and take Interstate 10. I decided to turn west and continue in the desert. That was fine with the rest of my passengers.

  We had only been on 62 for a short distance when I spotted an old gas station. The other girls had spotted it as well. It seemed we all had to pee. I also wanted a cold soda pop. Not needing gas (I wasn’t sure I’d have bought fuel out the old rusty pumps had my tank been low.) and not wanting to block the two pumps, I parked away from the building.

  After inquiring about a restroom, we were told it was behind the store. All four went, but only one could utilize it at the time. The other three held it and waited. Once all of us had gone, we went into the store to buy whatever knickknacks might be available. I was the last in line as we enter. I glanced back toward my car and saw an old truck parked a few feet behind it. When I say old, I mean thirty years or so. The paint was faded and the fenders were rusty.

  Once inside the store, I spotted what had to be the occupants of the truck. Two tall and muscular redneck looking individual were checking out a large container of beer. They looked as if they might have been straight off the set of Deliverance, but they had the bodies of weightlifters. I suppose they did lift weights. How else could they have got those abs unless their work was mighty strenuous?

  They started eyeing us even before they finished paying for their beer. As they were exiting, I saw them glancing back. I could feel one’s eyes on my bottom which was barely covered by the pair of loose cotton shorts I had chosen to wear while driving. I’m sure the bottom part of my butt was hanging out. Get a good look, buddy. You’ll never see anything this fine again. I silently chuckled at my own thought.

  A few minutes later, with the knickknacks and soda pops we had procured from the antique facility, we made our way back to my car. At first I didn’t notice the old truck was still setting several feet to the rear of my vehicle. When one of the men opened the creaking door of the truck, I became fully aware of this. He walked toward us.

  “Ladies, I couldn’t help but notice you have a low tire,” he said. His friendly demeanor belied the badass look about him. His muscular abs were displayed as the wind blew open his partially buttoned shirt.

  One could imagine my start at hearing this news. I studied the right side of my car and the two fully inflated tires for a few seconds before I asked, “Which one?”

  “On the rear driver’s side,” he stepped back a few feet to point to the tire still hidden from my sight. His companion was just now stepping out of the truck.

  I took about five hurried steps to move around the car and survey the damage. The tire appeared about half inflated. My heart sunk. This car came equipped with only a “donut” for a spare. I had no idea how far I would have to drive before I found a place to either repair or replace the tire.

  “It was fine when we pulled in here,” I declared.

  The man simply shrugged. “It was probably going down and you didn’t notice. It could have picked up a nail.”

  As if it would help to know what was responsible for this suddenly developing dilemma, I bent over to run my hand over the tire treads. Distracted by the situation at hand, I completely forgot about my loose shorts. They were not made for bending over. The fact I wasn’t wearing underwear hadn’t come to mind either. Suddenly aware that these two strangers were likely not only looking at my pussy, but my butthole as well, I quickly straightened.

  “Where is the nearest place I can have this fixed?” I asked. I was blushing from the unintended display of my private area.

  “There’s a tire repair place about fifty miles from here, but that tire ain’t going to make it that far,” the man said.

  It was the other one’s time to speak. “There’s a junkyard just up the road off the highway. The man there fixes tires. If it’s too damaged to fix, he’d have a used one that would get you to a tire store.” This one was muscular and tan. He had striking blond hair. “You don’t want to wait too long. That tire is still losing air.”

  That sounded like my best option. “I’ll try that,” I agreed. “How do I find that junkyard?”

  “It’s a little hard to spot if you’re not from around here. It’s back off the road. We’re going that way if you’d like to follow us.”

  At the time that didn’t sound like an unusual offer. I was glad for the help.

  The two men got into the truck and pulled around my car. They waited at the blacktop as me and my crew piled back into my vehicle. Once we were ready, they pulled onto the highway. I was right behind them.

  They must have driven a couple of miles before giving a left-hand turn signal to pull onto a narrow dirt road. As I turned I was wondering if the two might not try to come onto me now that we were away from the little store. The way my short were now twisted since I hadn’t taken time to straighten them once I took a seat, I was sure they had seen my butthole and at least the bottom part of my pussy. They might misinterpret that as being intentional. It wasn’t. Not that I’d be above something like that in the right situation, but at that moment I hadn’t been thinking.

  We drove farther than I’d been expecting, but we did finally come to something that looked like it could be a small junkyard. There were a few old cars scattered about. There was other junk as well. An old house set in the middle of the assortment. The men got out of the truck and the driver walked back to my car.

  “There’s a bad dog here so you ladies might want to stay in the car and let us get the owner out,” he said.

  We took his advice and watched as they entered the house without knocking. Assuming it was a business, I thought nothing of it.

  A few minutes later an older man wearing overall stepped out and looked in our direction. Staring for a moment, he ambled our way. The two rednecks followed in his wake. Rather than approach my window and present even a cursory greeting, he stopped about five feet from the rear of the car and studied the tire.

  While he was perusing the tire, what must have been the bigger brother of the banjo picker from Deliverance stepped out the door of the building. He paused once he was a few feet from the entrance.

  The two from the truck now stood alongside the junkyard owner. They were discussing something. I assumed it was the tire. A few moments later, the driver of the truck stepped over beside my window. Just as he did, the old man yelled at the weird-looking fellow standing by the building.

  “Open the shop door, Clete,” the owner shouted. The retarded appearing individual moved toward a building behind the house.

  The driver of the truck pointed toward the outbuilding, �
��Pull into the shop and he’ll fix your tire. Just stay in the car.”

  For the first time, I felt a little uneasy. Not a lot, but a little. Then, if he fixed things he would likely have a shop. I nodded in agreement and cranked the car. I had yet to see this vicious dog for which we were supposed to be on the lookout. By the time I got to the building, the odd-looking man had the sliding door open. Once I pulled inside, he closed the door behind us. Now I was worried. It was dark in here.

  From a man-size entrance alongside the sliding door, the two from the truck stepped into the building.

  I got out of the car. “Why is he closing the door?” I directed to the two figures silhouetted by the outside light.

  “To keep the dog out,” one replied.

  The older man and the retard stepped in shortly behind these two. If I had been expecting the place to suddenly become illuminate by electric light, I would have been disappointed. Someone had flipped a switch and a solitary overhead bulb came on. It certainly wasn’t enough light by which to work. Something wasn’t right about this picture.

  “Open the door,” I demanded, “I’ve changed my mind.”

  In what little light I had, I glanced from face to face for some sort of reaction. All four stared at me blankly. Then the old man laughed.

  “It’s a little late for that now, girlie.”

  I hurriedly turned back to the open door of my car. Before I could reclaim my seat the one who had been driving the truck grabbed me and pulled me away. The retard ran to the other side of the vehicle to pull Wanda out before she could put up any defense. The redneck passenger from the pickup opened the rear door and motioned the other girls out.

  I struggled as Wanda and I were pulled toward an enclosure like a horse stall. In fact, in a matter of seconds I realized it was a horse stall. It was now evident we were in a barn and not any type of automotive repair facility. Lucky for us the stall hadn’t been used recently. Although it didn’t appear to have been cleaned lately, there wasn’t any fresh manure.

  I was pushed in first and Wanda shoved right behind me. Although the opening was about shoulder high, it would prevent us from running. At least while they were taking the other girls into captivity. The tall slender blond was Sarah. The not so tall dark-haired girl was Anna. Once they voluntarily got out of the vehicle, the older man and the redneck pinned their arms behind their backs and push them to another enclosure across the breezeway. I would soon learn that room was a feed bin.

  “Let us out of here,” I screamed as I kicked the plank door across the opening. If I thought they intended to simply rape us and then turn us loose, I might not have been as frightened. They couldn’t afford to turn us loose now that they had taken us into captivity. I had no doubt we would be killed before this was over.

  After Sarah and Anna had been forced into the feed bin, the four directed their attention to Wanda and me.

  “Get those two in there too, before they try to run and we have to chase them down,” the older man directed to his three companions. “Better tie them up.”

  The two from the truck opened the stall door. One grabbed me by the hair of my head and steered me back out into the breezeway. In a blur of pain, I looked back and saw they had Wanda in much the same grasp. I knew it would be useless, but I chose to fight. Despite the tautness it caused my hair, I spun around and kicked my captor in the shin. It was indeed a useless gesture. Not only did I deliver a glancing blow, but a clump of my hair came out.

  Wanda was a little smarter. She grasped the other rednecks hand and pressed it to her scalp to lessen the pull on her hair. The one holding me slapped my face. It stung. In a couple of minutes, they had Wanda and me in same enclosure with Sarah and Anna. With the heavy planking, it would be all but impossible to get out even if we were left to our own devices.

  It would have been completely dark in here if not for the dim light spilling through the numerous cracks between the planking. My face was still stinging as I peered through a larger than usual separation between the plank about shoulder-high. I could see the four sons of a bitches still standing in the breezeway. It looked like they were congratulating themselves on the fine job they’d done of imprisoning us. One was teasing the retard.

  Anna was crying. “What are they going to do to us? Are they going to kill us?”

  I didn’t have the answer to her question.

  I continued watching and saw the old man walk back toward the door through which we’d driven the car. I thought at first, he might be intending to move my vehicle. That wasn’t the case. In a couple of minutes, he came back into my sight. This time he stood about twenty feet away from the others. He had something in his hand I first mistook for a coil of rope. I realized it wasn’t a rope when he flipped it toward the other three and snapped it back. It sounded like a gunshot. It was a whip!

  Oh, Lord, no!

  I knew then that they were going to beat us.

  He made a couple more cracks of the whip toward the other three. One jump in mock surprise. “Ok, fellows, let’s get the spit setup and get this party started,” I heard him say with a laugh.

  A spit. What did he mean by a spit?

  It took several minutes for me to understand what was going on as I watched the rednecks disappear from my sight for a while. Wanda was now standing alongside me, looking out another section of the crack.

  A couple of minutes later the two reappeared. Each carried a large sawhorse. The first picture forming in my mind was that of a whipping bench like that found in a dungeon. Were they going to put us on the sawhorses and whip us? Just having to lie on something like that would hurt enough. Add a lashing from a whip and it would be unbearable.

  I soon realize what the old man was calling a spit when they turned the sawhorses about ten feet apart and placed a large pole between them. At the center of each horse was a semicircle notched out for the pole to rest inside so it wouldn’t slip. This did resemble a spit over a campfire or a grille.

  The old man returned. This time, he did carry a coil of rope. For the first time, I saw him look toward the enclosure where we were held prisoners. “Get that one whimpering first.” Raising his voice, he said, “I can hear you in there. I’m going to give you something to cry about.”

  That only made Anna cry that much more. She knew they were coming for her.

  “Don’t let them hurt me, Lisa. Don’t let them hurt me.”

  I didn’t tell her there wasn’t a thing I could do to help her. I considered fighting them, but it was useless. We would only suffer further injury and likely make our situation worse. The retard was the one to enter the crib and snatch Anna by the arm to pull her out the door. One of the rednecks relocked the door once they had her out. I returned to the crack in the wall.

  Anna’s shorts were a little more modest than mine, not that I had intended to be immodest. Mine were just comfortable so long as I didn’t bend over. I hadn’t known I would be bending over, more so in front of a redneck. Likely, the only butthole he’d seen before was his sister’s. Or, perhaps, his brother’s.

  One removed Anna’s shorts while another held her arms behind her back. They then removed her panties, blouse and bra. Once she was nude, they tied her hands to her front. They then bound her feet together. I wasn’t sure what they intended until they dragged her to the center of the pole and forced her to bend over it. They then tied her bound ankles and wrist together and positioned her so she hung from the pole by her arms and legs with her back parallel with the ground. I know she was in pain just having to hang that way. Now they were about to use the whip on her.

  Everyone backed away when the old man began twirling the implement over his head. He twirled it several times before he snapped it at Anna’s bottom or the back of her thighs. It was hard to tell since he hadn’t scored a hit. He tried again with the same results. In the moment while the end of the whip lay on the ground a few feet from Anna, I saw it had several narrow strips of leather resembling shoestrings extending from the main portio
n. These would likely cut the skin once making contact.

  The third time he cracked the frightening device, Anna screamed. The son of a bitch had made contact. At first I had thought perhaps he was just trying to frighten her as well as the rest of us, but that proved no longer the case. He had now inflicted injury.

  From where I watched, it was impossible to see what damage had been done. In the position she hung, the back of her thighs, her vagina and her anus were exposed and subjectable to injury. I hoped she had been struck on the back of the thigh or thighs rather than those more tender areas where serious damage could result.

  For a moment, it looked as if Anna had gotten a reprieve when one of the redneck held up a hand to stop the old man from wielding the whip. He then stepped around a sawhorse and stood in front of Anna. “Hold on, Buster. Let me see what you done did.” He squatted down to inspect Anna’s bottom. “Damn, Buster, you only nicked her on the back of the leg.”

  Buster laughed, “What do you think I was trying to do? I’m just playing. You know I don’t really want to damage these goods. Move back, I want to do it one more time.”

  The redneck stood. “You know who I’d like to whip?” It appeared he directed the question to Buster. “The one with that pretty butthole. The one what was driving. I’d like to whip her butthole.”

  My butthole literally pucker at hearing these words. Damn, why hadn’t we took the interstate?

  “No problem, Joe. Take her out when we put this one back in. I want to pop this one more time. Now get the hell out of the way.”

  The older man twirled and cracked the whip four more time before he scored another strike on Anna. Her scream was blood curdling.

  The redneck, apparently named Joe, took a long-bladed knife from his boot and sliced the rope holding Anna to the long pole. She landed hard on her back. She lay there squalling before Joe nudged her with the toe of his boot. “Get up, sugar-bugger, that’s all for the day.” He reached down and pulled her up by the arm.

  I was scared. They intended to inflict sever pain on me. My mind raced trying to think of some way, no matter how futile, to escape. There was no way. Even if I could break loose and run, they would catch me. It wasn’t even a matter of running and hiding. In this part of the world, in this desert, one could see for miles. They’d find me in no time.