THUNDERDOME 1 by Danté & Regis

Feature Writer: Danté / edited and enhanced by Regis

Feature Title: THUNDERDOME 1

Published: 30.12.2022

Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Death, Murder

Warning: This is a story of pure fantasy. There are no such people, places, and no such incidents every happened. This is entirely derived from the lusting imagination of the author, for his own amusement and yours. Never engage in any acts anything like those depicted here, outside of normal, consensual sex. There is not much of that contained in this document. You must never attempt to influence minors in areas of sexual behavior, or expose them to the kind of activities herein described. Even the delectable little girls described in this story, with their precious little beautifully presented genitalia are not real, so what is described could and did not really happen, and never should. Enough said. Now grab your own ready and eager equipment in a fist and start reading!

Thunderdome 1 (Death-Riders)


The daring cheerleaders’ kicks were higher and bolder than either had ever guessed possible. Tammie thought she saw a flash of pink as the gorgeous groins were exposed right before them. They had front row seats at the rally, and were enthralled at the performance. The two freshmen coeds were excited with the daring and in-your-face antics of the high energy entertainers.

What they were seeing was so much better and spellbinding than the basic stuff they had done when they were in their school corp, waving palm-palms and kicking their legs almost in unison as they screamed those silly cheers their teacher had taught them. They had been so amateur compared to these outstanding and well trained sexy athletes.

This was real college cheer-leading. Tammie and Wendy had gone all the way through high school as best friends, and now they were starting their college careers together, as roommates and registered in the same classes. They were bonded as only girls who have come so far together can be.

They had sworn their friendship was so solid they would die for each other. They were the closest of friends. They even dated together, to ensure neither of them got into trouble. They each looked out for the other, and agreed to stay together right through college.

Now they were in college, they were away from home for the first time. They had lived in an Ohio farming community, the daughters of wealthy merchants, and had lived idyllic protected lives. Now they were free of direct control by their parents and the prying eyes of neighbors.

They felt an urge to break other boundaries of behavior, to live the lives they saw on television and in movies. They wanted to experience the kind of wild parties they both knew happened at colleges, and to have access to the virile young men they saw all around them.

Now that they had broken away from home, they felt no restraints, and they pledged to make the most of their new-found freedom. Their chance to get personally involved in the exciting and sexy college parties they knew were part of campus life came to them sooner than they thought possible. It all came together at the frosh orientation fair in the student center.

This was where the group of cheerleaders entertained, doing their incredible acrobatic dance routines, to the admiring stares of the young men and women who had never seen such a high energy performance close up. Their costumes were totally overt, and so sparse and daring, with their breasts and vulvas barely covered. This was a first-class show!

The boys were particularly impressed at the tiny halters that mashed the full breasts of the dancers as they turned and twisted their shapely torsos, and the slender band of material through their groins that scarcely covered their privates when they did the splits and high kicks. These tiny shots were so tight the girls Couldn’t possibly be wearing panties!

When the cheerleaders finished their routine they moved among the crowd, selectively hand out free tickets to the next football game. Both Tammie and Wendy both received a ticket, and they were excited at the prospect of meeting football players, until they saw on the tickets that it was an away game, to be played in Chicago. How could they possibly get there?

The free tickets were for the girls, and the guys had to buy their own. Noticing all the gorgeous girls that were going, that was not a problem. When all of the tickets had been distributed, the head cheerleader announced there would be provided a free bus and accommodation for the girls, so all they’d have to buy was their meals. They’d have to eat even if they stayed home, so that was no additional cost.

The game was on a Saturday afternoon. The bus would leave early Saturday morning and return Sunday, so they would not have to miss any classes. It was perfect, and the two small-town girls were excited at the chance. The only other announcement was even better news.

There would be a big party after the game that would likely go on all night, and they’d get to meet all the players from both teams. When they heard that, the two novice girls were definitely in. They were going to meet football players and party with them, and get to dance with them and everything.

This was so was incredibly exciting, and together they decided that if they were lucky enough to get to a party and to be asked to put out, they would definitely do it. At home protection was not only unnecessary, but impossible to obtain without their parents finding out, but as soon as they arrived at the college they both went on the pill.

They didn’t have boyfriends yet, but did it just in case they got lucky. They had been away from home less than two weeks, and their big chance to do a pole dance on a rigid erection had come to them. They were going to show these guys they had no inhibitions, and were determined to have the time of their lives even if it killed them.


Harley Davidson dealer Joe Gobi had been taking in trades for a couple of years, and had also bought up old wrecks of 1200 Harleys from all over the state. He had even bough up a lot of trashed junkers that had not run for years. He said he needed them for parts.

Nobody knew how many he had obtained, but some believed he had collected nearly 100 of the classic bikes. The powerful old motorcycles were completely disassembled, including their engines, then they were rebuilt into remarkable machines that had little resemblance to the famous originals.

The dealer took his inspiration from the monstrous fantasy machines in the painting on the cover of Heavy Metal Software quarterly, depicting nude women strapped belly-down to huge cycles, with a troll mounted on them, at the beginning of a race that could only have a drastic outcome.

The working design for such a machine that the dealer came up with was to accommodate a female rider, nude, lying belly down on the big cycle, as in the painting on the cover of the magazine that gave him his inspiration. The fuel tank was moved to the left side of the bike, and another was added to the right side, making the vehicle much wider.

The motor was rotated so that the fat two cylinders lay horizontal, and the frames of the big machines were rebuilt, cut down to allow the naked rider to lie on her belly on a thin leather- covered pad on top of the powerful motor. The pad was sloped up toward the rear, to attach to the back fender.

In this position it would thrust the nude girl’s buttocks into the air, and was so lightly padded that it would give the rider’s internal organs substantial and continuous vibration as the engine roared. She would have the feel of the bike, and know she was on a powerful steed that was also a very dangerous machine.

This configuration gave the two wheeled vehicles he built a very low profile, and a lowered center of gravity, making them more stable than the famous bikes they had been built from. With this remarkably low configuration, they were also more difficult to

This new version was designed exclusively for power and speed, with no concerns for the safety of the rider or those who got in her way. In fact the purpose of the extraordinary design was to make spectacular fatal accidents not only a possibility but probable. These converted Harleys were specifically built to be monstrous killing machines.

The handlebars were gone: broad fenders were manufactured to cover most of the extra-wide wide wheels, and extensions were built onto the front fender above the axles as handle grips. One grip was the normal throttle; the other was a turbo drive control, that kicked in a fuel mixture blower, providing a sudden burst of acceleration.

There were no brakes, for with the intended purpose of these incredible machines, there would be no need for stopping. These were go machines, and with the dual gas tanks, the large engines would run for nearly an hour while full open, which was more than enough time for the cycle with an inexperienced rider to crash.

There was enough surplus fuel to ensure a spectacular burst of flame engulfing the rider and whoever she hit. Special remote-control systems were built in to control both the steering and the throttle. A few of the incredible vehicles were also fitted with nitrous oxide injectors, for even more rapid and unexpected acceleration.

These incredible speed boosters were controlled only by the remote system, and were out of the hands of the rider. When a rider showed even a little reluctance to participate, the machines could be driven entirely by a controller, who would be following her at a safe distance.

The completed highly altered bikes were also made to be much more dangerous to ride: the exhaust pipes were designed to continually build heat, with the capability of becoming red hot, and they were laid along the outside of and very close to the twin low-slung gas fuel tanks.

The tanks had been ground down to be paper-thin in places, to ensure they could be easily punctured. When cornering, the tanks were in a position to scrape the pavement, generating a shower of sparks while wearing at the tank’s thin walls. In short, these machines were deathtraps for the riders, designed for self-destruction, and were capable of producing mayhem.

These incredible competition machines were designed for excitement, not safety. They had been commissioned by a billionaire financier who had a common interest with the Harley dealer: they were both deeply involved in a secret private club who loved speed and danger.

Members had tired of the stock car circuit where imposed safety measures had reduced spectacular crashes and made them more survivable. These people wanted the thrill of witnessing horrendous accidents, and the rush of seeing highly visible fatalities to scantily clad or naked drivers.

They had the power to ensure the participants were at the least maimed, and preferably killed in the brutally violent sports they had devised. They had also built a facility in which their victims of choice, fit and nude young women, could feed their highly developed lust for witnessing violent deaths.

Most members of the group were enormously wealthy and influential, while others were admitted because of their ability or potential to produce the hardware required for the club’s activities. Whatever their circumstances, the members of the club all had something substantial to contribute, and all of them did so on a regular basis, allowing the practice of their thrilling but costly and highly secret sport.


Tammie and Wendy were surprised there were no males on their bus. The eight charter buses that were to take them from their college dormitory to the football game in Chicago had been parked at the curb in the court between residence buildings. Three men had greeted the students as they arrived, and got them organized for the start of the trip.

The men checked their game tickets, and assigned them reserve seating tickets for the buses. They explained that the seating arrangement was for insurance purposes, and they would not allow trades. The girls were glad that they had not been separated, but as they got under way, they felt that it was almost as if they had been sorted.

At least the trip and game tickets were free, donated by one of the college’s industrial sponsors who felt the team needed support on this important game. The all-night party on Saturday night meant they would not need accommodation, so this was going to be a very inexpensive and exciting weekend.

The eight buses left in a convoy, but after an hour their bus gradually lagged behind, and when they reached Chicago it took an exit that would not take them anywhere near the university their college was to play. The driver explained they were going to have a rally first, and that their team would be there to take part, so the girls relaxed.

They were here to party after weeks of hard work, and they believed now the party would start earlier than they had expected. This trip was proving to be well organized, so they decided to enjoy it. Several of the cheer leading team were on their bus, and they decided to start their party while they travelled.

The excited girls danced in the aisles, and the three male guides who accompanied them on the trip got the whole bus load of girls singing risqué songs, to pass the time on the trip and, they said, to get the girls in the mood for the festivities to follow. They were in for a great time, they were promised.

The best part was not the football game, but the celebration afterwards, with the players, that went all night. The girls knew or cared little about football. It was the players that interested them. After the games there were always all-night parties, which was the reason the girls were given the free tickets and bus ride, they were told.

Every player had invited half a dozen girls to come along, to ensure the party would be well stocked with pretty pussies. The host team always provided the beer, and the visitors the cunts. That way the host team would be less inhibited with the girls, and would set the tone for the unbridled sex orgy that was certain to follow at the party.

The cheerleaders were the only girls who had been through at least one season of such activity, the guides explained, and they knew the ropes. They of course always serviced only the players of their own team, but made offers to the players on the other team to sample the most intimate charms of the young girls who had just commenced their college careers.

The experienced cheerleaders started things going with dirty dancing that quickly became a striptease that went all the way. When they were nude the outrageous girls openly masturbated themselves to get the men and the less experienced girls in the mood for the orgy that followed.

The veteran cheerleaders and freshmen girls would collect semen in their wombs from all of the players, except for the five Catholic girls, who could not be on the pill. These cute Catholics would instead collect the fuck-crazy football players’ semen in their throats and colons.

The second and third rounds were more even for the girls, because although their throats, genitals and rectums were still used as cock holsters, the athletic young men would withdraw from whichever portal they were using, and ejaculate onto the pretty faces of the gorgeous college girls.

These wild post-game parties always produced two or three pregnancies, of course, particularly after a loss, when the girls would try extra hard to console the players. When a pregnancy occurred, the unfortunate girl was expelled from the college for her indiscretion.

Because she could not return home in her condition, she would often turn to prostitution to survive. It was usually shunned and desolate college girls who were drawn into the gross debasement of earning extra much-needed cash by performing a live birthing in a private sex show.

Most often the young mother was violently butt fucked as she delivered her baby on an elegant coffee table in the home of a wealthy businessman before a collection of invited guests. The babies produced at such shows, if they survived their rude arrival, were reluctantly given up by the mothers.

The girls only agreed because they believed that wealthy parents would raise their sprogs, and in fact they knew nothing of the baby’s real fate. The infants were raised in a secret seraglio of children used for private sexual enjoyment by the most powerful people in the State.

That kind of terrible outcome was always the farthest thing from the minds of the young co-eds, who’s only interest was a good time. Tammy and Wendy were going to a football game, and their intention was that with luck what followed would lead to a real date with a football player.

These gorgeous young women were too interested in short-term outcomes to ever think of the negative consequences of their lifestyle. For them life would be tough enough when they grew older, and they thought only of the fun they could have while they were young and beautiful.

Their conversation stayed with the prospects of a wild party as they noticed their bus was coming into the outskirts of Chicago, and they were determined to have a weekend they would never forget. Their virginity, so well-guarded for so many years, would become history.

Each of them was determined to discover the debauched slut at the core of her being. They both realized there was a chance they would chicken out and retreat, but they determined to support each other in exploring the extent of their wild side.


When the prototypes were ready, the enterprising group tested two of the new machines by taking them out into the desert, on highway 318, where there was little traffic to interrupt their fun, Temperatures were scorching and the skies cloudless. Conditions were perfect, and there was little traffic on the roads.

They had brought along a special high-speed camera to record the effectiveness of their high-powered boy-toy, and a pair of extra high-powered chase cars to carry the observers who would also handle the remote control of the cycles. The vehicle had to be capable of following a speeding motorcycle.

They also had a helicopter for a camera and observation platform, to ensure perfect timing. Using the helicopter to patrol the highway, they spotted a pair of beautiful young showgirls, a redhead and a blonde, who were travelling north from Vegas in a bright red Chevy convertible.

The gorgeous long-legged girls were dancers, but dressed like call girls. In fact, they made most of their money after the shows by satisfying the sexual urges of well-heeled men. The redhead was in a tube dress that was consistent with the latest fashion, and did not cover the lower fold of her buttocks, nor the red garters holding up her black nylons.

The blonde wore an open fronted blouse which revealed as much cleavage as the tight tube dress worn by her friend, and tight jeans with a seam that ran tightly through her crotch so that the jeans hugged her firm buttocks, and the fold of her vagina was not disguised.

These two showgirls, probably on their way from Vegas to Reno, were a perfect fit for the experiment with the two innovative motorcycles to be tested. Taking them was easy. The test crew were already seated when the girls stopped for lunch and a beer at a roadhouse.

They both wore high heels, and their revealing clothing accentuated their wonderful figures. The test crew left the roadhouse well ahead of the girls, knowing the direction the girls were travelling. There was little traffic on the highway; and the bright red Chevy was easy to spot and the girls easy to waylay.

One of the chase cars, a white Cadillac, was parked at an angle on a secluded stretch of the highway, blocking the road, with its hood up. The other car, a turbo powered Audi, approached from the opposite direction, making passing the stopped car dangerous.

The driver of the Audi slowed as it approached the Cadillac as if to help, making it necessary for the girls in the Chevy convertible to stop. It was a pleasure taking them captive, as they swore at the obstruction and hurtled profane insults to the two men who walked over to their car.

They were jerked out of the vehicle before they could respond. Their suitcases were pulled out of their trunk, the Chevy was set in gear, and a large rock was thrown onto the accelerator. The horrified girls screamed as their car spun its wheels and raced away toward a precipice.

They heard it splinter the roadside barrier and careen over the edge, bouncing its way down a steep slope until the gas tank burst and the new vehicle exploded. They saw none of this, as they were promptly thrown onto the floor of the Cadillac’s back seat, one on top of the other.

Two of the men climbed on top of them to hold them down. The men tied their wrists behind their backs, and bound their ankles together to keep the struggling cunts under control. Just as quickly as that, the gorgeous young blonde and redhead showgirls were captives.

After a twenty-minute ride on the floor of the car, the shocked girls were relieved to feel the vehicle come to a stop. One of the men got out of the car, then it moved forward again, driving along a dirt road. In less than a minute it stopped again, and this time the motor was switched off.

The girls were pulled out of the car, and were surprised they could not see the highway. They assumed the small hill beside them masked it from view, and them from view of travelers. What surprised them most was the pair of strange two-wheeled machines they saw beside them.


They were like incredibly altered motorcycles, but like none they had ever seen before. The redhead was untied, and her tube dress was pulled up over her head and removed. She wore tiny panties under her black garter belt, and no bra to contain her sizeable breasts.

When one of the men ripped off the flimsy panties they were startled to see she wore four diamond engagement rings which pierced her inner labia. The diamonds had been removed, to be converted to cash. She boasted they had been given to her by amorous suitors in various bars she had worked, and now she wore them as trophies.

The men laid her onto her belly on one of the altered Harley’s, with her breasts bulging out beside her and her ass propped in the air, displaying her ringed genitals to anyone behind her. Cuffs were used to attach her wrists and ankles into position on the strange bike.

She was a remarkable addition to the bike, completing its design with her pink nakedness displayed, contrasted by her black transparent nylon stockings and her red heels and garter belt. Her pink and slightly puckered starfish rectum was fully displayed in the spread hollow of her buttocks.

Her neatly trimmed vagina gaped above the rear fender like a trophy. Her big bare breasts bulged out beneath her arms and hugged the spread frame behind the broad front fender. Her chin rested on the front fender’s black painted metal, and her cuffs limited her movement.

When she was secured in this position, an American flag was produced, attached to a foot-long and inch-thick dowel. One of the men spit on her rectum to provide some lubrication, then as a joke thrust the shaft into her colon, making out of her an obscene standard bearer.

The flag flew just above and behind the rear wheel of the strange motorcycle. The men took several pictures of the obscene young showgirl lying in that profane position on the bike built so low it’s very style implied high speed. They were proud of their new creation, and had given this beautiful and impudent young stranger the privilege of being the first to ride it.

The blonde was now also stripped naked, leaving on only her shoes, and her ankles were cuffed to the handles of the two suitcases. The large Samsonite travel bags were opened, rocks were piled in on top of the clothing they contained, and then the heavy bags were securely locked.

This proved to effectively hobble her. She could be safely left unattended while she roasted naked under the merciless early afternoon sun. There was no shade for her, but the men were not in the least concerned for her comfort. After all, they didn’t know her, but that wouldn’t have mattered, she was nothing bot a cunt to them.

The gorgeous young showgirl could be safely left alone here for hours, and would be still here ankle-cuffed to the suitcases when they returned for her. The two bags, even empty, would not allow her to move the several hundred yards to the highway. It would take her several hours to get there, and the men intended to be back in a couple of hours.

Suddenly the helicopter appeared, but instead of landing, the pilot spoke to one of the men via a radio in the Audi, then the craft climbed away. The men kick-started the big bike, and one of them climbed over the girl cuffed to it and rode it out onto the highway. He started it going, then let her control it.

It took her just a few hundred yards to get the knack, and he let the brake-less vehicle roll to a stop as it came to a hill. The bike had passed its first test: a total novice attached to it could control its direction. He hopped off, got it rolling again by gunning the accelerator, then got into one of the following cars.


The screaming nude redhead was on her own on a one-way ride to hell. Appearances confirmed the old abandoned arena had been empty for years, and the renovation inside had been done with absolute discretion. As far as anyone in the district knew, it was still empty.

To the best of the locals’ knowledge, the building had remained unaltered since it had been abandoned several years earlier. There was little demand for real estate in this part of the city, and demolishing the big concrete building would be too expensive to make it worthwhile.

It was assumed the owner was just waiting for land values to shift to his advantage. At the cost of nearly two million dollars, the billionaire financier had quietly created what mostly resembled on the inside a velodrome, but it was much larger, and had several significant differences.

The old ice-making equipment had been stripped out and the two hundred foot long by eighty-five-foot-wide arena floor extended, at the expense of the stands. All of the seating area on one side and half on the other had been removed, as was all seating at both ends of the arena.

The new enlarged floor was excavated into a huge oval bowl, two hundred and sixty feet long and one hundred eighty feet wide. It was enormous, highly impressive, and also somewhat frightening. It was larger and had steeper sides than any velodrome or other form of indoor track.

Instead of a hardwood bicycle track, the steeply banked sides of the oval were constructed with rough concrete, similar to the floor beneath the ice in a hockey rink. It would certainly tear the clothing or rip the flesh of anyone unfortunate enough to fall on it while moving. This was, of course, the intention of the builder.

There were metal-rimmed holes in the concrete everywhere, designed to anchor special equipment such as jumps and barricades that could be fixed into place anywhere on the track or in the bowl. Set in the concrete was the refrigeration piping, so that the entire surface could be frozen, or any of several sections.

The remaining seating area was built into large steps which were carpeted and fitted with two hundred luxurious lounge chairs and coffee tables. It provided ample seating for the exclusive club’s full membership to watch the bizarre and unique events they had devised and produced.

The ceiling and walls were insulated with thick slabs of dense Styrofoam to reduce the escape of sound. The roar of motorcycle engines running full out would not escape the building, nor would the screams of young ladies either in their way or riding them to their death.

The security was complete, and enhanced by the large empty parking lot that surrounded the large arena. The razor wire fence and the expanse of open space scanned by monitoring cameras ensured the security of the facility and the total secrecy of its outrageous sports events.

This facility was designed for spectator comfort. There were four bars along the length of the arena, and ramps for serving girls to bring refreshments to the spectators. The club, financed mostly by it’s enormously wealthy patron, owned not only the arena, but all of the buildings surrounding it.

Leases had been given only to club members or to practicing Jews and Seventh Day Adventists, to ensure that the businesses would be closed on Saturdays, and the surrounding blocks would then be deserted. The club employed a security team to patrol the area to ensure there were no criminals or innocent citizens stumbling upon their secret.

To complete the security arrangement, a factory a block away with a high fence around its parking lot was used as an entrance. An abandoned sewer tunnel had been renovated, and used as a connector, with a mini-train pulled by an electric golf cart used to pull the passengers from the factory to the arena.

This special arrangement ensured their arrival would not draw attention to the apparently abandoned arena. Absolute secrecy was critical to the men, for reasons they fully understood. What they were doing was so far outside the norms of society that they would be in extreme danger themselves if their subterfuge were ever discovered.

What went on inside this abandoned arena was not the kind of thing that any of the members could tolerate having discovered. If discovered, they could face life imprisonment, or possibly the death sentence, for the incredibly creative and violent death-sports they had designed and enjoyed monthly.

Preparations for the desert test of the prototypes were made very carefully. A week prior they had scouted the location, driving the full weekend on various secondary highways, looking for just the right conditions for their two planned tests. The first location chosen was at the top of a hill in a curve.

The cameras were ready and manned, and from high overhead, the helicopter pilot gave instructions on timing. The man who had started the bike going now held its remote controls, which kept it going at the speed he determined from the safety of the car. For now he left steering to the naked girl strapped onto the unruly machine.

Her only agenda would be to keep it on the road, because the ditch was strewn with boulders, and an accident would likely prove to be deadly. The redhead cuffed to the big altered Harley was approaching the hill from a rolling bench on which the highway was laid out in a series of gentle curves.

Her naked curves were accentuated by the way she was lain across the top of the big thundering machine, and she made a sexy topping for the metal monstrosity she rode.

The nude girl was actually having an exhilarating experience as she rode the big machine, feeling its powerful engine vibrating through the thin pad on which she lay, and feeling the warm wind generated by the bike’s rapid motion whistling over her. The beating of the flag on the pole up her ass caused an incredible stirring inside her guts, but it was more stimulating than painful.

She had no way of gauging her speed, but guessed she must be doing at least 70. It was a bit disconcerting when the bike did not respond to her steering, but followed the road. Someone had switched even the steering to remote control. Her destiny was entirely in someone else’s hands.

She could neither see nor hear over the roar of the big bike’s powerful engine the two chase cars and helicopter following her, nor could she anticipate the old rusted and under-powered Volkswagen van coming up the hill that lay ahead of her.

She felt her bike slow gradually, then accelerate incredibly to what had to be more than 150 as the helicopter pilot coordinated the timing of her approach to the crest of the hill with that of the slow moving Volkswagen. The ancient van carried a young family of itinerant farm workers, moving from the peach orchards of Georgia to the olive groves of northern California.

The unmarried young man and woman, both twenty-five, were eating sandwiches in the front seats while their three young girls and one boy played on a layer of old quilts in the unfinished back of the van. The mother was in the last stages of her last trimester of pregnancy.

Her belly was huge, with her fifth child due in a week, as nearly as she could calculate. The young adults in front wore only cut-off jean shorts, the mother’s with the fly open to accommodate her huge belly. The van was so old it was not equipped with seat belts or air, and the temperature inside it was sweltering.

Between the mother’s bare feet lay a dirty t-shirt, ready to pull on to cover her big milk-bloated tits whenever they approached a town. It was too hot in the desert for her to keep it on, and there was virtually no traffic. Whenever a car or truck would approach, she would cross her arms over her chest, providing her with all the cover she needed.

Their children playing in the back were naked. The old van had no back seats, just two dirty old mattresses and blankets that had not been washed since they had been stolen a year ago. The only light in the back came from the front window and whatever could seep through the dirty back windows.

The children had complete privacy, and in this heat, without air conditioning, clothing was only a nuisance. Besides, they were perspiring so much in the desert heat that even under-shorts would be impossible to keep clean. In the back of the old minivan the naked kids were engaged in the oldest child sport in the world, being cruel to the youngest.

The oldest girl was eleven, and she lay on her back, with the youngest girl, who was seven, lying on her back on top of her, with her little cunnie positioned in front of her older sister’s face. The older girl held the seven-year-old still and licked the little twat with her tongue, biting the tender little genitals to make her little sister scream.

The other two, a boy of nine and a girl who was eight, took turns standing over the pair, pissing into the seven-year-old girl’s screaming mouth. This was a game their mother and father had taught them to play for the entertainment of strangers, and they liked to play it to pass the time while they were traveling.

They would earn money late at night out behind roadside bars, entertaining customers drunk enough to pay to watch naked children perform such obscenities. The eleven- and eight-year-old girls had also made good money for their parents by fucking their pet dog for show, and then taking strangers who liked to fuck little girls into the back of the van.

Their mom always went in with them, insisted they take off their pants to enjoy the kiddie sex as much as possible, and she would empty their wallets while the girls kept the drunk men busy with their little cunnies. All three girls had become very proficient fuckers, and generated much-needed cash.

They were a poor family, and their dog had unfortunately been sacrificed to the stew pot when they were stuck in a town where there were no bars. They always made do, and they stuck together as a family no matter what difficulties they faced, always taking on challenges together.

Suddenly the pregnant young mother in front spit out the large bite of sandwich and screamed as she saw the most unlikely sight. An incredible motorcycle with a nude woman lying on it, trailing a flag, was bearing down on them at incredible speed. It was steering a collision course!

The young man behind the wheel jerked the van over toward the ditch in a desperate attempt to get out of her way, but he was travelling far too slow to move over quickly, and he was shocked to see the bike adjust its course. It appeared the bitch intended to purposefully hit them!

The hippie couple’s eyes bulged as they saw the screaming face of the beautiful nude redhead riding the bike, as if she were frozen in space in the instant before the bizarre bike slammed into the front corner of their old van on the driver’s side at full speed.  The slow-motion camera in the helicopter overhead caught the violent impact perfectly.

The enormous difference in the speed of the colliding vehicles caused the motorcycle to crush the frame of the van and its driver, pushing both back into the rear compartment where the naked children were playing their filthy game. The bike’s twin tanks burst on impact, an instant before the van’s tank was split open, soaking everyone in highly volatile gasoline.

Two seconds later ignition from a shorting severed wire ignited the rich fuel-air mix and caused an immense fireball, engulfing the vehicles which had merged into one, as well as the people in them. The high-speed camera positioned across the road captured the collision in extended slow motion, catching all of the incredible destruction of the victims before they were consumed by the explosion.

The well-chosen camera angle produced an excellent picture of the topless pregnant woman in the front seat being crushed behind the glass that folded in on her. The remarkable slow motion shot captured her big belly, breasts and face being grotesquely flattened and bulged out against the glass before they burst open from the incredible pressure.

Her bloated breasts and enormous belly were split wide open from the incredible impact, and the baby in her belly was pushed out through her cunt, split open her jeans, and flew out over the front bumper, stretching the mother’s umbilical cord, and otherwise unrestrained now that the entire front of the van had been ripped away by the impact with the big bike.

The striking slow motion shot also revealed the nude bike rider’s ankle cuffs failed on impact, allowing her remarkably fit body to fly up so hard she was sheered in half at the waist by the split roof of the van, and her severed lower half, trailing a steam of intestines, flew over the combined vehicles.

The naked show dancer’s lower half landed, legs obscenely spread, the diamond ring-decorated genitals on full display as the half carcass of the dissected young redhead lay in the ditch beyond the wreck, the stout post holding the stars and stripes still firmly anchored in her rectum.


In addition to the big 1200’s, the Harley dealer had obtained several old BMW bikes, tall and narrow single cylinder models from the fifties. They were also altered, to make them even narrower, while building their weight by filling the upper part of the pipe framework with lead.

The center of gravity was raised on these bikes, as the rider was forced to stand. This made the bikes far less stable, and added to the danger the riders would face. Each of the bike’s seats were removed, and replaced by long vertical steel inch-thick posts with a rounded end welded on.

The nude rider was to be lowered onto the bike so that the ball on the end of the post would thrust into her rectum and run deep up into her colon. Even standing up straight, the girl would have the shaft as deep in her gut as she could endure. Once on, she could not get off without laying the bike down, an incredibly difficult move with the post impaling her anally.

The bike’s front tire was replaced with a steel wheel cut from a half-inch thick sheet, with the edges ground down to less than 1/16 inch thick, so that it effectively served as a dull blade. These bikes had no remote controls, but were entirely in the hands of the rider.

A dozen mountain bikes were also prepared, and they had required little alteration. The seats had been removed, and stout vertical shafts similar to those on the BMW motor bikes had been installed, but the riders would have to pump their legs to peddle these bikes with the shafts up their rectums, giving them a significant ass fuck while they rode.

To make things more interesting, the front axle on these rugged mountain bikes were outfitted with blade spikes that stood out and spun from the front axle, similar to the devices mounted on the wheels of chariots in ancient Rome to rip the legs of infantrymen as the chariot was driven through them.

The club had grown from twenty powerful men to its present size of nearly two hundred men and a few women who found sexual gratification in staging events of incredible violence, usually to attractive young females. The group of wealthy men with a common interest had begun as a club several years before at a party of executives in a hotel.

They had celebrated together with a pair of well-paid prostitutes as entertainers. After the girls had danced, stripped, and teased the guests into a state of sexual arousal, the men had ejaculated into and onto the tall beautiful whores, specially selected for their large firm breasts and slender waists.

The girls’ throats, colons and wombs had been filled repeatedly, and their tanned nakedness was slicked with creamy spunk. The ladies of the night were earning their keep. When the last hot spurting jets of sperm had been deposited, the nudes were required to clean each other with their tongues.

The men had particularly enjoyed the part where the ladies were made to clean out each other’s anus and vagina with their probing bitching-muscles. The members of the newly-formed club had not brought along any whips, but when the urge to punish the ladies arose, they improvised.

Several of the men pulled off their belts, and went to work lashing the writing flesh of the lovely nudes. These experienced ladies of delight were very accommodating, knowing their terror, cowering and attempts at evasion were exactly what the guests wanted from them.

They screamed hysterically at the boundless lashing of their shapely nude bodies. This was not exactly what their pimp had promised, but they saw they were pleasing the guests as their protests accelerated the pace and force of the blows to their defenseless bare meat.

No matter what happened to them, they would be paid for it, and these were professional whores, who knew they had no control over what they would have to take at parties like these. No part of the totally exposed young women was spared: their cunts, tits, faces and asses received equal treatment.

As the men’s blood pressure rose, they reversed their whips, using the metal buckles to batter the bleeding meat of their now reluctant subjects. One of the girls lost an eye to a vicious blow to the face when a buckle burst her eyeball. The other young bitch screamed and shit on the floor when she saw what had happened to her friend.

This damage and resulting excrement evacuation excited the men to increase the ferocity of their vicious attack, splitting skin and cutting muscle, so that the nudes were soon covered with their own free-flowing blood. That was when the vicious beating moved into high gear.

The excited men quickly decided that too much damage had been done, that these quivering cunts could not be permitted to survive the evening, and laid into them with renewed energy. When their arms tired, the men put down their belts and moved on to new forms of torture.

One of the unfortunate entertainers had the other bitch’s foot thrust until it was buried in her cunt. Then the other girl, denied the use of her en-cunt-ed foot, had a whisky bottle driven deep into her cunt, then smashed, so that the shards sliced into her tender bottle-gripping cunt-meat.

She kicked so hard in her incredible agony that she not only ripped up the interior of her own groin, but also did incredible internal damage to the first bitch. The men picked up with the action and continued with the belts, lashing the squirming nudes locked foot-to-cunt.

They flailed pitilessly at the hide of the battered ladies, mercilessly attacking the bucking naked forms until the carpet was soaked with their blood. The battered bodies quivered; and at last sagged, as the last signs of life had passed. When the party was over, the entire carpet had to be replaced, and the hotel suite redecorated.

The club had set its agenda, and the brutal bitch-murder parties became more organized, and their featured events more sophisticated. The only challenge the club faced was supply of beautiful young disposable females. This was a challenge the group was up to meeting.

When the enormously wealthy people found they had created a pastime they wished to continue and develop, they formed a committee of men well positioned to develop the very secretive society, and designed systems necessary to pursue the evil they found so enticing.


The CEO of a steel company took leadership roll and along with the president of a bank devised a way to finance their expensive hobby without leaving a paper trail. The owner of a national health club chain, a dance studio magnate, the president of a large Midwest college, a vice-president of a major trucking firm and the general manager of a regional bus line took on responsibility for procurement of appropriate young ladies for participation in the sport, as well as transportation and disposal.

The violence of their parties increased. It became clear they would need a private facility for their sports when they held their first beast event. They had found a farmer who had built a special barn for the highly illegal but lucrative blood sports of cockfights and dog fights.

The man had several hog barns but only one to raise hogs. The others included an impressive exotic chicken operation to supply fighting cocks, well secured supply rooms, and a kennel well stocked with a variety of vicious dogs. These would prove to be very handy in producing exciting kill sports.

His staff consisted of a couple of hired hands who kept the animals on the edge of rage, and three girls who were the animals’ handlers prior to the fights. The farmer had learned the value of barely covered tits and ass to get his guests hormone levels elevated prior to each extreme fight.

Three of the new club’s members visited the farm to inspect its facilities. They would need a few adjustments, but were deemed to be satisfactory. The farmer usually had invitational hog sales whenever he had a fight day, and when regular hog buyers had left, the gamblers remained for the excitement in the fight pit barn.

That covered the appearance of cars in the field he used for parking, and he used a professional auctioneer to handle the sales, leaving himself free to prepare for the fights. The sales barn was at the far end of the half-dozen buildings, but the buyers presented little problem.

The cars and pickups of those who came to buy at the auction were quietly marked by the boy he hired to supervise parking when they arrived, and their departure was confirmed before anything else began. It would never do to have a regular buyer stumble upon what they were really up to.


The society had the capability of safely obtaining the females required to execute the remarkable new motorsport. The bus load of college girls were a bit surprised at the rundown industrial area of Chicago the bus entered, with virtually no people on the streets, but it was a Saturday.

They were even more surprised when the bus drove in through the service doors of an old arena, and parked under the stands inside the building. The old ice-sports structure appeared to have not been used for years. The windows and doors were boarded up, and they could see broken windows up under the high rafters. It was creepy from the outside, and dark inside.

Something was terribly wrong. Wendy, Tammie and the other college girls suddenly feared they would never learn the outcome of the important college football game, and would not get to take part in the exciting victory party after the game. This was not going as they had expected.

When the large entrance doors were closed, the driver turned off the motor, told the girls to remain seated until he found out where they were to go, then he got off the bus and closed the door behind him. The girls babbled in a growing anxiety they all shared, and fed in each other

Five minutes later the driver was back. He started the engine, and drove down to the end of a tunnel, moving so close to the wall that the right side of the bus was inches from the cement-block wall. He stopped when the bus door was aligned with a door in the wall, and again he got off, this time telling the girls they could follow him.

When she got to the front of the bus, Tammie saw that the sign painted on the wall read, “Visitors’ dressing room.” This was not a football stadium, so the guys would not be in here. Was this where the cheerleaders got ready for the game? Even that made no sense, as the more experienced girls were even more concerned than the freshmen.

They knew this was not where they were supposed to be, for certain. Something was very weird, and not right. It was almost as if they were being abducted or something equally as bizarre. Where the hell were they, and what was going to happen to them in this old place?


When the cars and helicopter returned to the seclusion provided by the small hill beside the highway, the naked blonde was a bright glowing pink in the shadow areas beneath her chin and in her armpits, and the exposed parts of her skin were approaching lobster red over most of her body.

She had been struggling the whole time the men had been away, and in doing so had turned herself enough to be evenly cooked by the searing sun. She had moved only a few yards, unable to pull the rock-weighted bags further. They each weighed nearly two hundred pounds, and she had limited success in dragging them over the scorching sand.

The men un-cuffed her, and opened the suitcases. After removing the rocks, they found one of the bags contained thigh-high black leather boots with spiked heels, and a chain costume that covered nothing but accentuated the wearer’s nakedness. These girls were into more than simple show-business. They put the chain harness and boots on her, then laid her on the second big converted Harley.

She looked incredible, and they were pleased with their work. When he found out she was only seventeen, one of the men painted a, “One,” on her left buttock and a, “Seven,” on her other. The white paint stood out well against the red of her sunburned meat. The numbers could be easily read from a distance behind her.

He also painted the, “Number 17,” on the exposed sides of her bulging breasts, pressed severely out to the side as they bore the weight of her upper body. During their absence, the men had moved the remote high speed camera to a new location beside a long straight stretch of highway.

Now the helicopter took off, and the men watched patiently as it climbed and moved off to the north. Several moments later it radioed in, and the waiting men promptly went into action. The same man started the big cycle and rode it straddling the naked blonde girl in the chains and boots cuffed onto it.

When he reached the highway he gave over control of the bike to the young naked rider, and she too quickly mastered it, out of necessity. He set her going on her way as he had the redhead, and before she got the heavy machine up to speed, he easily dismounted and got into the Cadillac.

He took over remote control of the bike’s throttle, accelerating the big nude- bearing machine more rapidly than he had with the redhead, as there was more urgency to get to the selected site on time. Timing was everything, because of the placement of the high-speed camera.

The helicopter swooped low, running only ten feet above the heat-gleaming pavement straight toward the big truck carrying high octane jet aircraft fuel. This was the super high-test stuff used in navy fighters. The driver was forced to slow, then the chopper circled and landed in the middle of the highway, forcing the driver to do an emergency stop.

There was so little room for a stop the big rig lost its back end, and fishtailed across the highway, exactly as they intended it to do. One of the passengers on the chopper got out, walked over to the angry driver, and drawing a 38 semiautomatic, pumped five bullets into the man’s belly and another through his head.

Having disposed of the driver, the man moved beneath the big twenty-six wheel tanker that straddled the highway, and opened the cocks on two of the containment sections. He got quickly out of the way to avoid being soaked in the highly flammable liquid.

He then ran four hundred yards south along the highway to join another two men who had got off the helicopter. They pulled sections of a big ramp they had deposited there the day before out of the ditch and set it up in the middle of the highway, attaching the sections and spiking it solidly to the pavement.

When they were satisfied with their work, they got back aboard the chopper and it took off. The driver of the big tour bus that was approaching had lots of time to see the big tanker blocking the roadway, and she easily pulled to a stop fifty feet from it. That would normally be a safe distance.

She saw the driver lying on the road, and the liquid gushing from the cocks on the belly of the big tanker trailer. She leaped off the bus, telling everyone to stay where they were, and ran to shut off the gushing fuel cocks. Her passengers were too curious to remain on the bus.

They climbed off to see what the vivacious young driver and tour director were going to do. The driver was too preoccupied with her act of bravery to see the ramp beyond the rig, or to hear the strange cycle with its remarkable rider being chased at high speed by two cars until it was within a quarter mile of her.

When she looked up it was too late. The incredible machine was roaring toward her at more than 150 miles per hour. It hit the solidly built ramp and leaped high in the air. The bus driver realized that part of the sound she heard was the shrill high-pitched scream of the big bike’s rider.

The front wheel of the bike rose too high, the back of the bike moved in underneath it, and the large vehicle flipped around so the nude passenger in her boots and chain flew head down and backwards as she and her machine struck the pavement. The bike had twisted as it dropped, and the nude blonde with the bright red sunburn went down on her right side, immediately severing her right arm at the shoulder.

The big bike skidded along the pavement at high speed, leaving a trail of blood as the rider’s right breast, side, hip and leg were worn to the bone, which also was ground by the pavement sliding by. The bike’s metal was also being ground as it skidded, and the right tank quickly ruptured.

The fuel ignited immediately from the sparks, and the big bike, skidding rapidly toward the tanker, took on the appearance of a rocket. In what seemed to the shocked viewers as an eternity, it finally skidded under the polished stainless steel of the big tanker, through puddles of spilled fuel.

By this time more than two thousand gallons of high-test jet fuel had spread on the ground. It ignited with such intensity that it instantly cooked the startled female bus driver to the bone. The flash burned off the clothing on the front side of the people standing by the bus, and deeply seared their flesh.

The shock wave that immediately followed the hot flash blew them all over backwards. Four of the burning passengers were knocked under the bus, and within thirty seconds the bus’s tanks, filled with light diesel fuel, ignited, triggering a series of further spectacular explosions.

The experiment had proven the quality and capabilities of the new two wheeled killing machines. The havoc created in the two afternoon events had taken fifty-six lives, and provided entertaining film of the events. The equipment and the concept appeared to be sound.

The next big test would be in their specially designed velodrome arena. Then they would see if large groups of innocent young women could be coerced into killing each other on these and the other types of murderous bikes the group had developed for this very purpose.


The dressing room door was closed and locked when the last of the college girls had left the bus. Tammie noticed that the forty-five girls in the room were nearly identical in height and build. That was strange. The odds of that happening, she guessed, were one in several thousand.

They heard the bus start and leave, and were getting quite nervous about what was happening. Three walls were lined with lockers, and in front of the lockers were standard single-plank locker room benches. The girls were babbling in speculation about what was going on when a door opened at the far end of the dressing room and three women entered.

The girls were startled at the women’s outrageous outfits. They were in light and dark grey costumes that were, to the college girls, bizarre. One of the women wore a military hat, blouse, shorts, long black gloves and black spike-heeled boots. On her belt was a pistol and a knife.

She stood with her hands on her hips, with her legs apart, and Tammie noticed how deeply the seam of her shorts cut into the mound of her vulva. Her blouse was tucked into her shorts and unbuttoned to the belt, revealing an impressive cleavage and a tight tummy. She was clearly in command.

The other two wore similar outfits, but their boots had only three-inch heels, and although they had no weapons on their belts, they both carried curled whips. The room came to a hush as the girls took in the strange sight. Suddenly the lead woman signaled with her hand, and the other two uncoiled their whips. The co-eds were startled, and moved back.

“There’s a locker for each of you,” she said, “You can store your bags and clothing in them. You’ll find a costume in the locker that should be a good fit.”

Wendy took an aggressive stand.

“There aren’t any locks on these lockers. Our things won’t be safe,” she said, “It’s not secure! There aren’t any locks on these lockers.”

In answer, one of the long whips snaked out, and the tip struck her across the breasts. Even with the fabric of her sweater and bra as a buffer, the blow stung. She could not imagine the pain had the vicious whip struck bare flesh. She screamed, and all of the girls moved to the lockers.

Wendy took the one beside Tammie’s, and she was surprised to see what lay inside. Each locker contained a pair of brightly polished brown spike heeled boots that came up nearly to the knee, a pair of similar leather gloves, and a strange helmet, made of curls of leather tubes strung together, with a protective pad on the chin strap.

One of the cheerleaders, who was wearing her miniskirt and loose sweater outfit, took off her shoes and socks, then started to put on the boots. The other whip lashed out at her, coming up under her buttocks with a smack that rang through the dressing room.

“Get naked first, please.” said the leader.

“But there aren’t any panties or bras in here!” protested another girl.

Before she finished speaking, a whip slashed her across the face, splitting her lip.

“Are there any other comments?” the leader asked, “Speak up now, girls, so we can identify any of you that will require further discipline!”

The girls stripped silently, folding their clothing and stacking things neatly before piling them on the shelf inside the locker.

They were reluctant to remove their underwear, but the memory of the highly skilled women with the whips convinced them to comply with the leader’s demand. Soon all of them wore the boots, gloves and the strange leather helmets. And nothing else. They were bizarrely naked.

The leader set out small electric razors along the benches. She instructed the girls to shave. The girls were shocked.

“You can leave a small patch above your pubic mound, but I want to see your arm pits, your crotches and your ass-cracks shaved clean and smooth.”

A few of the girls moved to the bench and sat down. The others looked with disgust at the leader. The woman showed her control by raising a hand and pointing at one of the reluctant girls. Both whips assailed the co-ed’s naked flesh, knocking her off her feet with their powerful blows. She writhed on the floor, stunned, and the whipping continued.

The women with the whips were making an example of the girl whose breasts were smaller than any those of the other girls. They were hurting her severely, and spared no part of her body. The violent blows to her neatly trimmed cunt from the merciless whips were so vicious that her pubic mound swelled, flaring her vulva.

Still the fast paced and violent whipping of the girl continued, until at last tiny drops of blood surfaced along the angry welts that covered her entire body. When at last the leader signaled the women to pause, the girl was breathing heavily, but was not otherwise moving. Tammie believed the girl was unconscious from the inhuman whipping she had just endured.

“Do you think she has taken everything she can?” the leader asked the girls.

Clearly the question was rhetorical, and just as clearly, the girl had taken as much as she could endure.

The girls screamed, “NO!” in unison when the woman signaled the resumption of the whipping.

The naked co-eds quickly jumped onto the benches, spread their legs, and began shaving their naked cunts. The beautiful young women were sobbing as they did the degrading task. The leader and her two assistants walked along the line, inspecting the progress of the body hair trimming.

Some of the girls, ranging in age from eighteen to twenty-one, had little to do, as they kept their armpits bare and their crotches neatly trimmed so they could wear revealing bikinis. Most of them had little body hair between their buttocks, but others had significant growth there.

Those with hairy cracks had to raise their legs high and roll back on the bench to get the razor into the seam. When the humiliating operation was complete, all of the college girls were all as slick as babies, with the exception of a signature puff of pubic hair above their pretty and now fully displayed cunts.

They had also learned an important lesson. When the leader told them to do something they did not want to do, they were all now ready to comply. They were not aware of the purpose of their abduction, nor the reason for their naked costuming, but they were becoming compliant, because immediate obedience appeared to be necessary for survival.

The club’s acquisitions committee had been busy. A team of female roller blade skaters had been snapped up from a Detroit bar where they had been celebrating their victory over a rival team. The team they had defeated had also been abducted from another bar, and both teams had arrived by sealed windowless buses at the private Chicago arena.

The athletic girls had been drugged for the trip, and had to be off-loaded by the swampers. The two buses from Detroit had arrived and the girls had been secured in the “home” dressing room less than an hour before the college girls’ bus had arrived. The roller blade skaters were to be the opening act that evening, but needed less preparation than did the college girls.

They would appear in their own roles, wearing their own skates, in a diabolical variation of their favorite sport. As they slept, one by one they were propped up in a barber’s chair and had their hair done. The girls were injected with a general anesthetic to keep them asleep while the hair dressers worked.

The team that had won the competition the night before, all of them white, had their hair dyed black, and done into tight French braids. The team that had lost, who were all mahogany-skinned blacks, had their hair chemically straightened and bleached blonde, then both sides of their heads were shaved clean, leaving them with flowing golden Mohawk cuts.

At six o’clock in the evening, as the girls started to awaken, piping hot pizza arrived for them, along with cases of cold cokes. The girls had not eaten since the previous evening, and it was important that they have their strength for the up-coming event. The three women in the quasi-military costumes were there to greet them when the woke up, and used the whips to get them all alert and paying attention.

Both the white and the black team were shocked to see their hair, and were stunned that they were being held captives. The last thing any of them remembered was being given a free round of beer by some friendly stranger. Now their dignity had been disturbed by the shocking change to their hair.

As the girls heads cleared, they discovered they had been abducted and were being held against their will in a strange dressing room by three weird ladies. They were famished, so they were unable to resist the stacks of pizza and cases of cokes. At least their bellies would be full.

Equally as important as feeding the skaters was having the college girls’ bellies empty. They were not going to need energy beyond what they had obtained with their breakfast. All of them were fit enough for the event slated for them, and it was important their waists be as narrow as possible to enhance the effect.

It was also important that they not have food to digest, so that they would become more aggressive with the drug they would be given an hour before they were to perform. While the roller blade skaters feasted, the trio of women returned to the visitors dressing room, and herded the nudes in their gloves, boots and helmets out into the receiving area.

Only the girl who had been so severely whipped was left behind. The two women with the long singing whips drove the gaggle of forty-four girls down the long wide passage, and through a double doorway that brought them onto the stage of a small theater. The lighting was so bright that it was blinding.

The only elements on the small stage were two pieces of furniture. One of these was an enameled steel table. The other looked like a gynecologists examination chair. The main difference was bizarre: the chair was sloped, with stirrups to hold the patient’s spread legs as she was lying back.

It also had arm rests, with straps to restrain the patient’s arms and legs. The entire device was made of stainless steel! Tammie, Wendy and the others were shocked at the cold, clinical, inhuman appearance of the thing. They knew immediately that they were all going to be required to sit in it.

Their freshly shaved cunts were quivering nervously, and with good reason. They all understood their genitalia would be the focus of attention once they were strapped in. The whole purpose of the design of this chair was to make available the cunt of the woman who would be strapped into it.


“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you our collection of fearless Thunderdrome-Riders!”

The disembodied voice boomed from the excellent sound system. The abrupt announcement was followed immediately by applause, and the girls realized that there was an audience filling the theater. They were being watched as they stood there, naked and exposed. These people were disgusting.

“These forty-four lovely ladies may look like a group of pretty nudes at the moment, but we are about to transform them into true cyborgs, so that they might become one with their powerful machines.”

The girls looked around for the source of the voice, but there was no sign of him.

That changed when a curtain parted, and a man strode out onto the stage, carrying a doctor’s medical bag. He was wearing white pants and shirt, like a hospital internist. He placed the bag on the table, then he wandered among the girls on the stage, staring deep and long into the eyes of each.

With these stares he was somehow testing their metal. With this simple but effective psychological test, he selected two dozen girls, and instructed the remaining twenty to stand at the back of the stage. One by one, he instructed the girls he had selected to climb onto the stainless steel examining chair.

The two women with the whips enforced his command, and one by one the nude girls, trembling with anxiety, complied. These were college students, and were not used to being treated like livestock. With their arms and spread legs securely strapped to the device, the man took a strange tool from his bag.

It appeared to be a very large pair of pliers, but one that had an exceptional difference: there was a long claw-like hook attached to one side that fit into a hole in the other. With this device he pierced a hole through the top of each girl’s vulva, locating it just behind the clit.

With a second equally imposing tool, he squeezed closed a large steel ring through the hole. Grasping their nipples, he pulled each breast out severely, then attached through the tender titmeat behind the nipples a set of similar rings. As he worked he explained to the audience what he was doing.

“The purpose of these stout metal rings is to attach the girls permanently to their machines, making them no longer human, but mere extensions of the steel muscle, and thus they become rudimentary but true cyborgs. They came to us as bright young college girls. Now they will live or die as part of their machines.”

The audience enjoyed the genital piercing, and the piercing screams produced by the girls, both from the horror of what was being done to them, but also from the pain. The man took no time for anesthetic, but drove the hook and then the rings through their delicate and sensitive genital meat as if he was punching tickets at a stadium.

Wendy was the seventh girl to get into the chair. She trembled with fear as she stepped up onto the chair and was strapped into place. There was no alternative but to comply. It was clear that the women with the whips would flail alive any girl who was not fully cooperative.

The searing pain of the vaginal piercing was incredible. She screamed at the top of her lungs as the claw was driven through her meat, to sink into the hole on the other side of the nightmarish pliers. It was even worse as her breasts were savagely pierced and ringed. Wendy was sure she was going to faint.

She was sobbing and shaking when she was released, and she stood, staring at herself and the damage done to the most intimate parts of her body in disbelief. She realized for the first time how truly inhuman her captors were. They had no concern for the pain and humiliation they brought on the girls.

In fact, they were clearly enjoying it as much as did the audience, as if this was pure entertainment. She thought she was going to vomit, but somehow managed to keep her nervous stomach under control. After twelve girls had been through the ordeal on the chair, those that followed went more quickly, as they had only their cunts pierced.

Tammie was number fifteen, and her beautiful firm breasts were spared the deforming piercing and ringing. Having a big heavy ring flopping against her cunt was bad enough. She was surprised that the man had forgotten to pierce the tits of several girls, but realized that he might have different plans for some of them. The talk of attaching them to machines and steel muscle scared her.

She wondered if they were going to get really weird and amputate limbs to make them into cyborgs. She remembered the Six Million Dollar Man with the artificial legs, and an artificial arm. These people were so brutal they would probably not hesitate to remove a limb just for the fun of replacing it for their evil intent.

That thought scared her more than anything else. She was sure she would die if they cut her. When all of the girls who had been selected had been pierced, the horrendous chair was tilted back, ready for another operation. The girls who had been pierced blanched, but were relieved when they were herded to the back of the stage. Now it was the turn of the twenty who had yet to get onto the chair.

Tammie and Wendy actually watched the debasing proceedings with interest, now that it was clear they were not going to be part of the next operation. The twenty girls who had not been pierced all received identical treatment. The chair had been set so they lay rather than sat, with their pelvises tilted up, presenting their cunts to the doctor.

He used a tool similar to the one that had pierced the others, but with a significant difference. The arms were longer, and an open ring with a sharp point on one side was loaded into it. Tied to the ring was fifteen feet of leather thong. When the ring was in place, the instrument was inserted deep into the womb of the girl lying strapped to the tilted chair.

The instrument was thrust into her full depth, then the ring was clamped into the meat of her uterus, at the cervix. From the incredible screams the girls produced, it was clear to the others that cunt piercing was not nearly so painful or shockingly traumatic as having their gonads pierced deep inside them.

These girls were getting a long leather leash attached to their sexual core. This was more humiliating than anything either Tammie or Wendy could have ever dreamed up. These people were truly evil. The piercing of their internal sex organs was clearly as painful as it appeared.

The girls were gagged as they got onto the steel chair, and while they were being pierced, they strained with incredible energy, lifting their thighs and twisting in the confines of their binding. Tammie grimaced and covered her eyes as the relentless internal organ piercing continued.

The muted screams of the gagged girls revealed their true level of hysteria. When each was finished she was unstrapped, her gag was removed, and she was made to stand, sobbing in anguish at her fate, along the back of the stage, her new leash dangling to the floor from the parted fold of her vagina.

The treatment they were receiving was totally degrading, and was bringing the girls who were forced to endure this deep organ piercing not only pain but also a level of humiliation deeper than they could have guessed to be possible. Even dogs wouldn’t be leashed this way.

In an operation that lasted less than three minutes, each of these beautiful young ladies was reduced to below the level of a common house pet, with a permanent leash attached deep inside her cunt. Their captors were teaching these fresh young co-eds a new value for women.

This level of treatment of humans was one so low it was below the girls’ wildest imagining. These were innocent young college girls, who had never seen the dark underbelly of society. They knew nothing of the degradation given to professional prostitutes by their pimps.

Even experienced prostitutes, low-life whores, would be shocked at the preparations of these lovely creatures. Veteran whores would, however, be well aware that there was still much more to come, and that this brutal treatment was quite light compared to what they faced.

Most of the audience was seated in the lavish viewing area of the converted arena. A few of those who had arrived early to witness the preparations of the combatants were still coming up from the small theater beneath the stands, while others were still ordering their drinks from the bizarrely decorated nude waitresses.

These exotic creatures, in their early teens, were part of the stable of call girls run by one of the members, who was the head of organized crime in Chicago. They were incredibly beautiful, most of them thirteen, and were bound to their owner by threat of an immediate death to their parents.

These girls had been to similar events many times before, and were nearly immune to the violence that was about to unfold.
The drinks the members ordered were laced with opium, to give them a euphoric high as they watched the violent drama that was about to be played out for their entertainment.

Even the most ardent fan of this excessively violent and brutal Thunderdrome sport required a lift to get them through the bloody carnage that faced the bus-loads of captive girls. The amazing Thunderdrome was built to become a death pit for motorized blood sport, and that was how it was used.

This was not a sport that produced experience for the captive participants, as they were not only expected but required to die as the brutal game progressed. The extensive sprinkler system had not been installed as a precaution against fire, but a practical way to deal with blood and gore.

These were the staples of the degenerate action that was about to follow, human internal works that would be spilled as the evening of violence to the naked women unfolded. The seductive nude waitresses, drugged with both opiates and stimulants, served another function.

Their job was to see that everyone was having a good time. One of their duties was to tease male members into removing their penises from the privacy of their pants, and to ensure that all male guests sported rigid erections before the events began. They were also charged with restoring sagging pricks that ejaculated during the action in the arena.

Some of the men were new to this level of entertainment, not highly experienced at these blood sports, and when a man’s penis dropped, there was a danger he might become sickened by the horrors in the arena, reducing his pleasure in attending. These girls were to act as penis cheerleaders.

Their job was to make obscene and stimulating moves with their bodies and in revealing their sex organs, to keep these men aroused. They were costumed very much like the motorcycle riders, but had not endured the painful genital piercing the college girls had just faced.

The women in the audience were also well attended to. Half a dozen bronzed bodied naked young men with an incredible degree of muscle development moved through the audience, openly masturbating their large erections and doing obscene dances to keep the ladies interested.

These powerfully built young men carried riding crops, and were under instructions to use them liberally on the flesh of the nude waitresses. From time to time, when they noticed a woman’s attention flagging, they would drop a waitress to her knees and anally rape her.

While he was humping into her rectum, he would force her to crawl between the legs of the eagerly awaiting female guest and orally stimulate her vagina. Prepared for this lavish attention, the women came to the event wearing no panties under their skirts. The women who were invited to see the action knew what to expect, and when to expect it.

When the girl was properly dominated, the man would withdraw his penis from her anus and put his whip to work on her buttocks and vulva while she continued to orally service the genitalia of the guests. This was a time to party, and for these people, sexual violence to attractive young females was what stimulated them most.

They treated their female servants as badly as any of their captive girls, but with less severity. Unlike most people, these few were able to bring to life their most violent fantasies, but only at the expense of the beautiful young women they captured in large numbers to be performers.

The lights in the seating area of the Thunderdrome dimmed, and the lights flooding the action area seemed to get even brighter. The music blasting from the high-quality sound system had progressed from smooth rock to a more harsh, demanding beat. Things were about to get going!

As the tempo of the music increased, so did the volume, until the sound of the raucous music dominated everything. Excitement built throughout the Thunderdrome with the increased drive of the music. The first production ever in this facility was about to begin! It was approaching showtime!

Wendy and Tammie were stunned at the amount of extravagant preparations they saw. Several burly male handlers moved them into rows, keeping them organized. They and the others had been herded up a long wide concrete ramp that brought them from under the stands to a large elevated launching platform.

That was the only phrase they could think of to describe it. It was near one end and at the lip of the huge oval that lay before them. It was like a staging area. There were mountain bikes with high posts that bent forward, in place of seats, old BMW motorcycles with the same kind of post where the seat should be.

Behind these, parked against the back wall like sinister monsters, were large low-slung motorcycles unlike anything either of the girls had seen before. They were twice as wide and half as high as big motorcycles, but there the resemblance ended. These looked to the girls to be pure evil.

Loud driving rock music filled the whole arena, making it hard to think. The girls looked out over the huge Thunderdrome, and saw that there was an audience seated above one side of the bizarre arena. There were naked girls and men serving the guests, and entertaining them with obscene performances.

This was really gross, but there was no way to get out of here. They felt trapped, and terrified at what might be expected of them. The bowl of the Thunderdrome was lined with small barricades, ramps and jumps, and part of the surface near one end was milky white and shiny.

Suddenly the girls realized that what they were seeing was ice. The steep curve approaching one corner was sheeted with a blanket of ice. Then they spotted the most frightening thing of all: the sides of the Thunderdrome, all except for the launching area where they stood, was a wall covered with three-foot-long spikes.

These incredible lances were sticking out horizontally. The sight of them was enough to discourage anyone from coming within several feet of the side walls. They were truly trapped here, and they knew they were about to experience horrors worse than they could guess.

There were more girls collected at the staging area than had come on the bus with them. There were two teams of twenty nudes, one of the teams was black, wearing helmets like theirs over bizarre dyed hair styles, featuring lots of shaved scalp. They wore roller- blades, and each had a big brass-studded glove with the fist sewn closed. They looked fearsome.

Just then the two women with the whips brought up the ramp the girl from their group that had been so severely whipped after they arrived here. Her head was bowed, and her arms were tied tightly behind her back, making her firm round breasts bulge and point forward obscenely.

One of the BMW’s was rolled forward, and the woman who was in charge of the two with the whips removed her shorts and was lifted high in the air by two of the male assistants. One of the whip women applied a clear gel between her leader’s buttocks, then she was lowered over the stout vertical steel post until the round head of it pressed against her anus.

The men then literally dropped her, and the shaft was driven by her weight deep inside her. She stood on posts on the side of the bike’s frame, but the shaft was still more than a foot and a half inside her. One of the men kick started the bike while the other held it up, and the girl with her arms bound was pushed out into the bowl of the huge Thunderdrome.

Except for spike heeled boots like the others wore, she was stark naked. The launching pad was curved, and the sides of the bowl were steeper than they appeared. The girl stumbled forward, screaming at the top of her lungs, struggling to keep upright in those spike heeled boots.

The woman on the bike revved the engine, but let the girl run. When the naked fugitive was nearing the bottom of the slope, the woman gunned the engine again, and this time the bike leapt forward into space. This was the first time Wendy and Tammie noticed that the front tire of the bike had been replaced with a steel two-and-a-half-foot diameter disk.

They heard the crash of the steel striking the cement and saw the shower of sparks when the bike landed. They watched in horror as the bike closed on the running girl. The woman was going to intentionally run her down! The bike was so horrible a machine it was clear the girl on foot could be seriously hurt, or even killed!

Tammie could not believe the woman would intentionally want to injure or even kill an innocent girl. This was a shocking nightmare. The captive girls on the elevated staging area watched in horror as the motorcycle accelerated down the slope of the huge bowl, running straight at the running girl.

The woman on the bike ran a course that was just to the right of the girl, and as she came up to her she kicked out viciously with her boot at the girl’s buttocks, and sent her flying. With her arms bound tightly behind her, the girl had no protection. She lifted her head and landed on her chin.

She was protected only by her helmet’s chin strap. The rest of her weight came down on her protruding shoulders and her bulging breasts, which had no protecting strap. Her firm round tits were flattened, and severely abrasions when she skidded to a stop on the coarse concrete.

The bike turned as it ran up the far wall of the bowl, and the girl was barely back on her feet when the bike hit her. She stood facing the accelerating machine, bracing herself and screaming in terror as it roared toward her. The woman swerved at the last second, and the bike skidded into the girl, flipping her in the air as the vicious vehicle once more sped off.

The spectators realized with horror how dangerous that steel wheel was. Had it hit her straight on it would have cut her badly. The helpless bitch landed on her back, and was clearly dazed from the violent blow of the bike and the hard landing that followed. She twisted around, and attempted to crawl on her back toward the shelter of a near-by barricade.

The young woman on the motorcycle came roaring down the Thunderdrome wall at another angle, and this time launched herself with one of the jumps. The fallen girl was lying tits up, moaning in agony from the impact and her violent fall. The college girl on the bike was approaching her at a right angle, and would hit the girl’s side with that horrific steel wheel if the fallen nude did not spring to her feet quickly.

Her aim was perfect. The steel front wheel of the speeding bike sliced deep into the girl’s waist, and the spinning rear tire finished the job. The naked girl was chopped cleanly in half at the waist! It was incredible. She had been deliberately murdered in the most horrible way.


This event was staged to make the most of shock value, and the woman on the bike knew exactly how to shock her audience. The incredible mutilation of the college girl was also designed to be a stern warning to her friends awaiting their turn. The girls in the staging area screamed in disbelief, while the audience cheered the display of unfettered and completely gratuitous violence.

The captive girls realized now the full extent of the plans these evil people had for them. It looked like there was a good chance they were all going to be killed, just for the entertainment of these people in the stands. The door to the ramp had been bolted shut behind them, and they were now trapped.

They stared, stunned, at the two separated halves of the violently murdered girl lying spread apart on the broad concrete floor. They realized they would all be called upon to go down into that monstrous Thunderdrome to perform. Now that the horrific example had been set, it appeared the outcome for many of them could be deaths as terrible as hers.

They sobbed in anguish. They could imagine no escape from this incredible living nightmare. They were doomed. The motorcycle ran back up the launching ramp, and came to a stop in front of the girls. One man held the bike while two others lifted the woman’s anus off the incredible bent anal-impaling shaft.

The ball on the end emerged from her stretched asshole with a loud, “Pop,” and then the woman was set on her feet. She looked with satisfaction at the blood of the dead girl smeared on the front blade-wheel of the motorcycle. Her naked flared and open cunt was dripping with sexual arousal.

The girls from small-town Ohio were stunned. Killing the helpless girl had actually been sexually satisfying for her!

“Not all of you need to die today,” she said as she scanned the multiple rows of beautifully terrified young bitch faces, “All you have to do is give it your best, and you might survive.

“Just like me, he best killers will have a chance to walk out of here alive. I can assure you, there is no other way. I know it won’t be easy for you. It will mean taking out a few of the others to earn your freedom, but it will all be worthwhile if you can live to tell about it, won’t it!”

The girls stared at her in shocked disbelief. She was asking them to compete to kill each other! They had just witnessed the senseless killing of an innocent girl, and now the horrible woman was telling them they had to do the same thing! It was absolutely gross! Several of the naked captive young ladies began to pee from sheer terror.

“That’s the spirit, girls!” said the woman in command, “When you’ve got to get your feelings out, there’s nothing like a liquid expression of fear! It’s down and dirty time, ladies! The show must go on! Let’s get at it, girls!”

The men helped sort the female captives, and Wendy and Tammie were divided. Tammie was lifted high in the air and had her rectum lowered onto one of the shaft-seats of the high-rise steel-wheeled BMW’s. She did not enjoy the benefit of a lubricant, but instead the forward-bending dry shaft was driven through her dry and impossibly stretched rectum and a foot and a half deep into her colon.

A total of twelve girls were similarly mounted via their anus onto these altered motorcycles. A short chain from the frame of the motorcycle was clipped onto their cunt rings, to ensure they could not move up to lift their anus off the posts to dismount from the classic motorbikes.

Wendy and the other girls who had both their vaginas and breasts pierced got to ride the monsters. They were made to lie on the padded sloped bench between the front and back wheels of one of the low slung but enormously powerful looking cut-down Harleys. Wendy shivered as she lay there, and squealed as her cunt ring was clipped to a ring on the rear fender.

With her ass propped high and her legs spread wide over the fat gas tanks, her cunt and anus were fully displayed. She felt more naked than she was. Her chin strap rested on the front fender, and she felt jolts of pain as her breasts were pulled down on either side of the platform she lay on, stretched so that her nipple-rings could be clipped to rings on the machine’s frame.

Next she was forced to stick out her tongue. One of the men grabbed the extended female bitching muscle and pulled it out painfully from her mouth. Then he jammed the incredibly stretched tongue down on a curved spike that stood up from the bike’s front fender.

The spike drove up painfully through her tongue, bursting out through the top in a spray of blood, impaling her elongated pink mouth organ and holding it severely extended from her open mouth. He pulled the hinged spike forward, and clipped it into place, forcing her eyes to bulge with the pain, and effectively holding her chin firmly in place against the bike’s broad front fender.

The strain which was suddenly pulling at her pierced cunt, breasts and tongue was incredible. It felt as if all four points of her forced attachment were so stressed that the rings were in danger of being pulled right out of her flesh. Her tongue felt like it was about to be ripped out.

Wendy lay quivering in her nakedness, painfully linked to the powerful machine. She was now one with it, no more than a human attachment, an ornament that had some but only limited control of the mechanical monster. She reached forward and gripped the handles to brace herself.

Her ankles came to rest on support posts on the rear wheel’s broad fender. She was now fully attached to the machine, positioned to ride. She could not move her head or torso, although her limbs were free. She had become one with the steel and leather, a naked rider on the bizarre motorcycle, unable to remove herself from its grip.

Wendy could turn her head no more than half an inch in either direction without causing a surge of pain in her tongue. Her eyes had more mobility, and she could see the other girls being mounted on their machines. She watched the young ladies, all of her size and build, being clipped in place on the incredible motorcycles.

As they were mounted and attached, she realized how well designed these machines were. The naked young women were well displayed on the low tilted pads that thrust their spread buttocks high. They actually looked very sexy with their long legs spread wide over the broad twin gas tanks that extended back on either side of the rear wheel.

They looked like frogs in the middle of a leap. It was an incredibly revealing and sexy posture. She had forgotten how stimulating the shape of a well-built female’s back could be, when properly presented. She realized that these machines had been designed to put the naked female riders of identical size into a bizarre action pose.

Even in her pain and anxiety, she saw the bizarrely erotic side of the way she and the others were being displayed. Wendy was close enough to the viewing stands to see the grossly obscene gestures of the nude young waitresses, who were striking overtly erotic masculine poses.

They were rotating their pelvises and thrusting their naked cunts as if they were equipped with large penises, and were profanely masturbating their invisible cocks. She was both disgusted and excited at their wanton behavior. These young ladies belonged in the bubble gum set.

Instead, they were performing naked like wanton whores. It was incredible to her that they allowed those muscular boys to move in behind them and rape their bums even as they danced. She could not believe this kind of outrageous behavior from women her age, let alone school girls like these.

Worrying about that kept her mind occupied, and away from the horrendously desperate situation in which she now found herself. She looked at Tammie, standing as if she were in shock, on the stationary BMW with that obscenely thick steel shaft stuck deep into her colon.

From her position behind Tammie, she could see her friend’s rectum spread desperately wide to grasp the steel post that invaded her fundament. Although Tammie was her roommate and best friend ever, she had never before noticed how great her legs were. She was a very sexy looking girl.

When all two dozen girls were mounted on their motorcycles, half of the girls with cunt-leashes were mounted onto the anus-shafts on the mountain bikes. The ten bikes were equipped with nasty triple-pronged blades that stuck out two feet from either side of the front axle.

The axle on these bikes had been rigged so that the blades would spin when the wheel turned. The other ten leashed girls were given what looked like policeman’s nightsticks, and were lined up at the front of the ramp, but were not mounted on bicycles or motorbikes.

“Okay, ladies, like I said, its showtime!” the lead woman said, “Its kill or be killed in this sport, so let’s get down and dirty!”

Wendy noticed that she had not bothered to replace her shorts. The woman was an exhibitionist. “I told you that many of you are going to die out there, and the audience is expecting it.

“Only the most aggressive girl will survive. Basically, it comes down to kill or be killed. There are no other options. You will see we have stationed snipers with high powered rifles around the Thunderdrome, and they have orders to blow away any of you who show any reluctance to kill out there.

“We’ve broken you into teams, to make your chances better. Work together, help each other kill, and you will improve your chances of making it. We’ve got to kill each other out there?” shouted one of the white roller blade girls, “This is fucking insane!”

“Indeed it is,” agreed the boss woman, “That’s part of the charm of it, isn’t it? There are no rules, so sanity has nothing to do with it. This is pure entertainment! You’ve all got to keep killing each other until there is only one girl left. That’s the only guideline we’ve provided for you! Those studded gloves we’ve given you are enough to kill with, and that’s how we expect you to use them.” She had to shout to be heard over the driving beat of the rock music, “Alright, ladies, let’s entertain! Remember to give it your best, or the men with the rifles will take you out!”

The male assistants moved up behind the leash girls who were armed with the clubs and pushed them over the sloped ramp out into the arena. The screaming girls slid in their high heeled boots, and many of them stumbled. They quickly regained their feet and ran out into the middle of the Thunderdrome, unsure of what they were to do.

They knew where to look, and looked up to see the rifles pointed at them. They could spot four unobtrusive marksmen positioned around the Thunderdrome, their rifles leveled. The girls tentatively swung their batons at each other, striking backs, buttocks and breasts.

Suddenly a voice boomed through the public address system over the rock music.

“These ladies are really getting into in the spirit of things,” the powerful male voice said, “They are so vicious they are attacking other members of their own team! It’s too bad they don’t show more team spirit!”

There was a sudden crack of a rifle, and one of the girls leaped high in the air, one of her fat breasts blown open with a powerful bullet. A second slug from another angle ripped through one buttock as she flipped in the air, and she crashed to the cement floor and bounced, back on her feet and still grasping her club.

The other girls on the Thunderdrome floor screamed at the horror and merciless nature of the attack. The bitch’s breast was totally ruined, blown open like a roast of raw meat, and her buttock was not much better off. They all suddenly attacked each other, swinging their hardwood batons at each other with a vengeance, screaming like branded banshees.

With the example of the girl split entirely in half by the motorcycle, and now with the demonstration that the snipers were for real, they were instant converts, willing to at least hurt each other for the chance that they might live through this monstrous, shocking nightmare.

At that moment the black roller blade team was launched into the Thunderdrome, rolling quickly into the battle, each of them armed with a metal-studded glove. They were a bizarre sight, their blonde Mohawk mains flowing in the air behind them as they sped down the slope on their in-line skates, whooping like ferocious warriors.

The girls on foot spun around to face them, and moved to do greater violence by the frightening wave of the oncoming attack, met the speeding skaters with vicious blows with their batons.
Half a dozen of the skaters were promptly knocked off their feet, and as many of the girls with the clubs were knocked over.

One of the black skaters took a direct blow to the face with a club, which smashed her nose, fractured a cheekbone, and burst open an eyeball. Another nude girl had a kneecap smashed with a club, and as she fell with her legs spread she pissed a sparkling arch of golden urine from the pain.

The beautiful young blue-collar women were quickly warming to the heat of the battle, driven by retaliation as they were struck by their opponents. The cunts who were working girls and had been on the roller blade teams were more aggressive at first, but the college girls soon learned to go for severe injury.

Self-defense was soon overtaken by feelings of anger and outright aggression. These girls were bright, and quickly grasped that killing was the only way they were going to survive the murderous mayhem. The skaters used their speed to their advantage, but had to contend with the greater range of the clubs.

The next team released into the Thunderdrome was the cunt-leashed girls mounted on the 18 speed mountain bikes. They screamed like banshees as they were pushed onto the ramp, and they raced down the steep slope of the bowl, knowing their limited chance for survival.

It was to take out the girls on foot and skates with the flashing spinning blades on their front axles. One of the skaters made a quick move, so that the whirling blades narrowly missed her legs, then she quickly moved behind the bike as it flew by, and quickly stomped on the leather leash that dragged behind the bike rider. She needed to bring the bitch down.

The result of her move was spectacular. The leash jerked tight, the bike flipped into the air, and the bent post jerked out of the rider’s anus. The blades on the flying bike slashed the face and big tits of one of the black skaters, ripping deep into the light meat under her dark skin.

She fell, screaming at the top of her lungs, and the bicycle fell on top of her. The event had just started, and already these captive girls were performing beyond the expectations of their captors. The black skater who had stopped the rider pounced onto the fallen college girl.

Driven by rage, she began driving her metal-studded gloved fist into the bitch, pounding her big breasts and her face with all the violence she could muster. The black slammed her gloved fist repeatedly into the screaming white face, and the weapon did it’s job, just as it was designed to do.

Suddenly a bike rushed by, it’s spinning side-blade ripping open the kneeling black girl’s side. She screamed, sat bolt upright, and suddenly a baton smashed into the back of her head with such force that it knocked off her leather helmet and crushed the back of her skull, mashing her brain.

One of the lovely young college girls had committed the first intentional kill of the afternoon. The innocent young cheerleader had in one short afternoon become a killer. The number of brutal bitch kills began to mount. In what seemed a short time, several naked and severely damaged female carcasses lined the Thunderdrome floor.

A bicycle riders took a skater’s studded glove to the belly, and as she collapsed, still impaled up the ass with the seat post, a spike heeled boot from another cunt-leash girl kicked out an eye, then the heel drove in through her ear, fatally impaling her brain. The dead bitch could not experience bladder relief from the stream of hot piss that shot from her cunt.

A bike rode past her as she stood with her boot stuck in the downed girl’s skull, and she fell forward onto her big tits as her leg was severely slashed. She dropped her baton as she fell. A black skater snatched it up, and drove the thirty-inch-long weapon with all her strength into the fallen girl’s cunt.

She thrust the baton so deep that only six inches of the handle stuck out of the impaled cunt. The other end had driven right through the fallen bitch’s internal organs and the end pressed against her pounding heart. Her life expectancy was minutes, and she would not regain her feet alive.

The team of white roller blade skaters were released next, but these girls were less inclined that their black opponents to fight. That made them fair game for the marksmen with the rifles, who were positioned to encourage active and eager participation in the deadly mayhem.

Four shots rang out within half a second from the marksmen, and one of the girls who was evading pursuit was hit by two of the highly destructive bullets in each knee, neatly amputating her lower legs. She fell on her back, skidding on her bare ass, her big eyes bulging as she saw the long kicking stumps where her gorgeous legs had been.

The others screamed, and some of them pissed as they quickly got the extremely direct shocking message, and got into the fight with surprising vigor. As the numbers of participants increased on the floor of the huge Thunderdrome, the area of violent killer action expanded.

The girls on foot ran after and away from the speedy skaters, and the girls on the bicycles with the spinning blades gave chase, taking advantage of the sloped walls to gain speed. Tits, butts, head and limbs were all fair game, and the blows were now all intended to terminate the opposition. They had not yet grasped that the opposition included everyone. They were on their own, with no allies.

One of the white skaters got herself trapped between four of the cunt-leash girls, and the unfortunate bitch was brutally beaten to death with the brutal hardwood clubs before assistance could arrive. Her tits were battered so violently that the flesh split, and strands of fatty tit-meat dangled out.

Several of her ribs were cracked, and jagged edges of white bone stuck out through the bloody rips in her side. Her cunt was severely battered, and then her skull was cave in with a dozen repeated blows. Other girls converged on the violent killing scene, and with the incredible violence in the bowl of the monstrous cavern, more of the naked young women were recided to battered carcasses.

The only justification the hysterical girls could make for the killings was that each dead girl was one more that could not kill her. This was a desperate situation, and called for desperate rationalization in order to survive. It was, as the woman in charge had told them, kill or be killed.

The weak died, and none of the girls wanted to appear weak. This was the basest of all base behaviors, and was meaningless except to their captors, who were in total control, and enjoying every moment of it. The nude girls struck out at each other with amazing energy, performing like seasoned professional pit fighters out of frantic necessity.

Suddenly the air was filled with a frightening new sound. Over the high energy pulse of the heavy metal rock music came the roar of motorcycle engines starting. The men were kick-starting the BMW bikes with the deadly steel front wheels. These were true carnage machines.

The battling girls stopped their frenzied fighting for a few seconds to see the new more deadly threat that was about to descend upon them. One of the black roller blade skaters took the opportunity to bring down the girl nearest her with a spiked fist to the back of her head, and she fell hard onto her belly and tits.

The black girl pounced. She drove her tightly bent knee into the white girl’s upper spine between the shoulder blades, using her full weight on the knee to pin the bitch to the cement floor, bulging the big white tits severely. She grabbed the pinned girl’s hair to hold her head up to get at her neck.

She drove her metal studded fist into the back of the white college girl’s skull at the nape of her neck, making a vegetable of her. The blow to the top of the spine caused the most incredible spasm, and the bitch’s body kicked and leaped in a single bound, almost tossing off the black girl who had struck her.

Tammie felt a surge of fear as her BMW bike was wheeled toward the launching ramp. The bikes were lined up in pairs, and she was in the third row. She was just getting used to the feel of the thick post thrust deep into her colon, but it was a whole new feeling when the bike was moved.

Now that the motor was started, there was a constant vibration of the shaft inside her, and it made her feel more than ever that she had to shit it out, which was impossible as long as she was standing on the bike, with the ring piercing her cunt solidly chained to the frame.

When all of the bikes were lined up and their motors started, the first two were pushed down the ramp. The screaming riders had little experience with motorcycles, and they got too close to each other. The second pair were on their way when the first two brushed against each other, and one of the riders fell.

The second pair managed to veer around the fallen bike and rider, when without warning Tammie felt herself being launched. She could not believe the rapid acceleration as the motor roared and gravity pulled her and the bike downward. The steel wheel in front did not handle like a rubber tire.

Sparks flew, and the handlebars felt rigid, vibrating right up to her shoulders. She stood as high as she could on the bike, but the vibration of the steel shaft inside her colon was terrible. Suddenly she was much too close to the fallen biker. She leaned to the right as far as she could, but she was too late.

She grimaced and fought to hold control as the steel front wheel of her bike passed over the neck of the screaming girl, cleanly severing her head. Tammie looked back in horror and saw the decapitated nude female body jerk as the neck stump spewed triple jets of crimson blood. The detached head rolled down the bank after her.


There were too many bikes, pedestrians and obstacles in this decadent Thunderdrome. The whole thing was a series of fatal accidents waiting to happen. This was not a good day for the girls, but the highly enthused depraved audience was having a ball.

They were screaming encouragement to the desperate women in the arena. Tammie was stunned at the horror she was forced to endure. She had just accidentally killed a girl who lived in her dorm. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her body was not taking this well, but she was somehow keeping her head under control.

This whole Thunderdrome nightmare was really sickening, but she knew there was much worse ahead for her. She knew there was little chance she would live to see the end of this bizarrely violent sex show, but she had a strong will to live which kept her hopes alive.

She knew deep down that she would do anything to survive the horrors of this incredible odyssey. She gunned the engine, and the motorcycle responded with a burst of speed. Tammie had learned to ride her boyfriend’s motorbike when she was sixteen, and was surprised that the skill was not coming back to her.

Standing on a vibrating post that ran up inside her was not exactly like sitting on a padded seat, but she was able to manage. She swooped up near the top of the wall, then swung around and ran down through a pack of runners, skaters and cyclists. She cut behind one of the cunt-leashed runners, and ran over the trailing leash from inside the bitch’s cunt.

She felt the jerk as the leather thong came tight. The girl flipped in the air screaming, and Tammie turned in time to see her hit the concrete. Her arms and breasts were scraped, but as she struggled back to her feet, it was clear that the real hurt she had endured was inside.

Tammie realized that the jolt to her inner sex organs must have been tremendous, as painful as anything could be for a woman. She also realized that she didn’t particularly care, because as she had approached the girl had half turned, and had actually swung her baton at her.

She gunned the engine, and roared up the side of the bowl, following another biker that had cut in front of her. As the other bike approached the apex of her turn, the rider was suddenly hit in the shoulder by a bullet. The astonished girl twisted with the stunning blow, and lost control of her bike.

Tammie watched in amazement as the bike tipped, and the nude rider flew forward, ripping the metal ring out of her pubic mound, and there was a, “Pop,” of the ball emerging from her rectum as she soared in a spread-eagle position off the bike’s steel seat post and was impaled on several of the long horizontal spikes that lined the wall of the Thunderdrome.

In less than three seconds the beautiful young co-ed had been turned into a piece of dead meat. Tammie pissed uncontrollably onto her bike as she came to the top of her arc. The wide eyes of the girl on the spikes stared in blank horror as Tammie rode by her. The end of a steel spike stood out of her gaping mouth like a bloodied pointed tongue.

Her wrecked bike slid down the steep slope of the bowl, the engine still revved up, as the carcass of the naked girl hung, displayed where it had landed on the spikes. Tammie almost barfed when a spotlight caught the impaled girl, caught in the midst of her flight on the impaling spikes.

The rigid shafts had driven right through her. This was more than a warning. The bitch had been killed by the marksmen because she had not aggressively tried to kill one of the others. Tammie realized that it was time to see if she had what it took. Was she going to be able to kill another girl?

She knew now that her survival depended on it, and her time was quickly running out. She cruised high on the upper level of the Thunderdrome, like a hawk, soaring as it sought out its prey. She saw what she was looking for. One of the white roller blade skaters was down.

The hapless bitch had just had her leg broken by two of the leash girls with their clubs, and they were hammering her arms and her rib cage, smashing their clubs into the vulnerable bones, with devastating effect. This would be a great first target, as she was quickly becoming dead meat anyway.

As Tammie turned her bike to dive toward them, one of the girls smashed the downed girl’s face, and they both looked up with horrified faces, looking for another victim in order to reduce the odds they would lose. They spotted the killer-bike racing toward them almost at the same time, and both turned to run.

Closing fast, Tammie selected her victim and aimed the steel front wheel of her machine straight at the seam of the nude’s buttocks. The wheel ran onto the trailing leash, and the girl pitched forward as the leash jolted on her uterus. In an instant, with her target flying forward as if in a dive, the spinning steel wheel hit her, cutting deeply into her naked crotch like a circular saw blade.

The wheel rapidly rolled up the fallen girl’s spine, crushing the vertebrae, and then split her skull in two. Tammie felt the split bitch’s warm blood splashing on her legs as she rode over her, and she felt a rush of power. She could do it! Another girl dived out of her way just an instant too late, and the wheel took off the pretty black roller blade skater’s left skate, along with the foot strapped into it.

Tammie felt a rush of power as she raced up the wall of the bowl, and with a sudden impulse, ran her front wheel into the back tire of a bike above her. She flinched as she saw the rider skid her bike into the long wall-spikes, which impaled her so that she hung, her anus still gripping the steel seat-shaft of the BMW.

She then saw a girl on a BMW take a desperate run at one of the jumps. When the bike was in the air, Tammie knew the girl was too upright on the bar up her ass, and would have trouble on the landing. As she guessed, the girl came down hard, bending her knees and sitting far too deep on the post.

The result was catastrophic for the stupid bitch. The had landing drove the shaft of the seat post through her colon and deep into the tight pack of her guts and organs. Out of control, the bike slammed through three other girls before it raced up the side of the bowl and crashed into the spiked wall.

The hit impaled the rider horizontally, with the bike’s seat post impaling her up through her rectum. Tammie knew she could take the jump successfully, and made a run at it. She saw one of the cyclists moving into line with her landing, and she adjusted her course to take out the unwary girl.

It was kill or be killed in this sport, and she had no intentions of being on the low side of that simple equation. Her only reality at this moment was one of desperate survival, possible only if she became a ruthless killer. There was no time in this outrageous sport for even horror.

She cursed the cunt chain that kept her from getting any higher on the bike, but leaned far forward from the waist as she hit the ramp. The bike was thrust up hard then was launched four feet above the floor and still rising. The spinning steel wheel caught the bicycle rider in the chest between her big tits.

It hit the girl so hard it crushed her sternum, and then cut it down through her belly as she was thrown backwards, split wide open like a fresh shrimp. Tammie had to fight to keep control of the bike as it hit the ground with the girl and the mountain bike beneath her.

She revved the engine, with the front wheel lifted and the rear wheel spinning, the motor bike leapt forward out of the mess it had made, with blood spraying from the rear tire. She felt a surge of her own power as she felt the increased vibration of the shaft in her colon. She was mastering this bike, and was a formidable killing machine.

A new, frightening sound broke through the combined roar of the BMW’s, the raw-throated screaming of the hysterical participants, and the raucous music. It was a deep, powerful bark that smoothed to an assertive roar. It was the sound of the big cut-down Harleys being started.

The ultimate killing machines were about to be released into the melee. These were the major stars of the show, machines fitted with nude young women to guide them until the club’s senior players chose to take total control. The bloody battle of college girls and industrial workers who made up the teams at war was about to take on a frightening new dimension.

Wendy could not believe the sheer power of the motor rumbling and vibrating so close beneath her belly. She also felt the vibration through her pierced tongue, breasts and vagina, and she sent a golden stream of steaming urine jetting over the back fender of her bike.

She had watched with awe the incredible and unbelievably rapid transformation of innocent young women into willing violent killers. She had watched the spectators shamelessly masturbating as they watched the carnage, and the young nude male and female entertainers performing their obscene sex acts to stimulate their owners.

She was not a biker, and wondered how well she would be able to control her incredibly cut-down bike while lying flat like this. She guessed that the high point, her buttocks raised in that obscene posture, were no more than two and a half feet off the ground. Would she have the nerve to actually run over another girl, could she take a ramp, and survive the landing?

She knew she was soon to find out. The dozen big Harleys were lined up in three rows four across. Wendy’s bike was in the third row, so she would be one of the last to be released into the Thunderdrome. She hoped that would improve her chances of survival, and reduce the number of girls to be killed.

She wondered how she would know when the event was over. She revved the engine to get the feel of the controls, and as the power surged, she realized there was little chance she would live to find out. She had just touched the throttle, and the vehicle had jerked, straining to be released.

She had never felt such sheer power before. How in the world did they expect her to control it? The first wave of Harleys roared to life as they were released down the launching ramp. Those below who were still capable of moving scattered as the four big bikes descended into the center of the Thunderdrome.

Three of them roared across the flat bottom of the bowl and up the other side. The fourth struck the edge of a barricade, and exploded in a monstrous ball of flame. The blast was deafening, and the flash of heat burned the flesh of any girls too close the explosion.

Wendy screamed through her extended tongue as she saw the burning bike skid to a stop on its side, with the gas-soaked flesh of the still living rider aflame. One of the three that ran up the far side did not turn quickly enough, and the arm, hip and side of the rider were deeply gouged by the vicious wall spikes, although somehow the girl kept her powerful mount under control.

The three big bikes roared around the end bank of the oval, then swooped down on an angle across the middle, looped high on the bank at the other end, and established a figure eight pattern. Their turns were at different heights, so that they were soon spread out. As they crossed the floor of the arena two of them hit others.

One struck a mountain bike broadside, breaking the rider’s back as it threw her and her bicycle high in the air. She landed on her head, snapping her neck and crushing her skull. She lay on her back, her long beautiful limbs akimbo, displaying her genitalia as her carcass jerked and spasmed in death.

The other hit the steel front wheel of a BMW, knocking the smaller bike flat, smashing the rider to the ground with such force that she bounced. The solid crack of her skull against the hard cement could be heard above the wild cacophony of other sounds that filled the arena.

The nude Harley rider inadvertently hit the turbo switch, and the big bike roared up the other side of the huge bowl, smashing the young woman she had knocked from her BMW into the impaling spikes. The dead girl’s bike exploded, and her freshly skewered meat cooked to a crisp to the cheers of the spectators.

The steel wheel of the bike it had struck had ripped through the front tire of the Harley, and the rubber quickly shredded, so that the powerful bike was running on its rim. The rider slacked off on the throttle, so the controller high above her took over, and gunned the engine.

The bike ran high on the bank, then swung around and dropped quickly into the bowl. The controller caused the big bike to broadside a BMW, then run up a jump, with the BMW stuck on the front fender. Both the turbo and the nitrous oxide were kicked in, and the acceleration on the ramp was fantastic.

The locked bikes flipped in the air, and landed at high speed with the two riders pinned beneath them. The combination of bikes and riders skidded through sprawled carcasses and living girls, then exploded in a burst that hurled large bloody chunks of bitch meat across the arena.

The second wave of big Harleys was released, and one of them collided head on with one from the first wave. One of the cut-down bikes flipped, and skidded across the concrete on its back, leaving a trail of blood as the rider’s head, shoulders and buttocks were worn down with the weight and friction.

The other bike smashed through a pair of roller blade skaters who were locked in battle, punching each other’s battered tits and faces viciously with their metal studded fists. The big bike then struck a girl on a mountain bike, then skidded on its side, spewing a trail of gasoline that was ignited by sparks from the skid.

The bike and screaming rider burned for several seconds before the other tank exploded, blowing the burning girl right off her tongue and gentile tether rings. Much more quickly than she expected, the third wave of Harley’s was released, and Wendy found herself being propelled rapidly down the launch ramp.

The breeze generated by her movement cooled the beaded sweat that had formed down her back and into the crack of her spread buttocks. She saw that this had turned onto a deadly demolition derby, the kind of event she knew well. She had even driven in one organized by the students at the college, and knew she could handle herself well.

Even though this was much more serious than the event she had driven in, she knew that now that she was between a rock and a hard place, she had to be capable of killing these girls. Her life depended on it. She didn’t even know most of them, and anyway, they were all going to try to kill her.

By her way of thinking, she had every right to get them first. Even though the odds were that she was going to die, she determined to take out as many as possible before her number came up.
She had kept her eyes on Tammie, knowing that the worst thing that could possibly happen would be that she might have to kill her best friend ever.

It was very difficult to keep track of her friend because all of the girls looked the same in those leather helmets and mounted on those bikes. Tammie’s hair was a very light golden blonde, and that was her only distinguishing feature. At least that bright hair was visible from all angles.

With her head held down on the back part of the front fender of the Harley and her tongue impaled on the horrendous spike at the front, Wendy wondered if her friend could even recognize her. The raised spread asses and shaved cunts and assholes of the Harley girls had to look a lot alike.

Tammie had never seen her genitals so outrageously displayed, and surely could not recognize her by them. More than half of the girls mounted so obscenely on the Harleys had strawberry blonde hair like her own, so it would be terribly difficult for her to be spotted zooming around this incredible Thunderdrome.

She wondered if, in the heat of battle, she would be able to be sure which of the BMW girls was Tammie. She had watched Tammie run her steel-wheeled motorcycle purposefully into a roller blade skater, and had seen her run down the cunt-leash runner, splitting her right up the back.

That told her that her friend was fully engaged in the murderous mayhem these evil people required of them. Tammie was a real killer! The question yet to be answered in her own mind was if she would also be capable of the same kind of desperate behavior. Now that she and her machine were rolling, she was going to find out quickly.

There were few options available to her. Wendy was running her murderously altered Harley at more than sixty miles an hour around the outside of the big bowl, sizing up the action. She felt she was hunting like a wolf, and the anxiety level in her gut was making her brain pound. What was spinning through her mind was the nagging fear of the snipers.

Riding along the upper rim of the Thunderdrome, she was flying past the impaled bodies of the girls who had been hesitant to kill. As she rounded one end of the Thunderdrome she saw ahead of her a big Harley chasing a screaming girl on a BMW. Wendy felt herself creaming from the raw sexuality of the chase, and its likely outcome.

The girl standing on the smaller motorbike was chased up to the wall, and driven right up into the spikes. Her violent crash onto them was spectacular. The Harley turned in time, but hit the ice and skidded, sliding over onto its side. When it hit the far side of the ice it flipped back onto its wheels, but was still out of control.

A shower of sparks flew out from the thin metal of the low-slung gas tanks as it rocked from side to side, and suddenly the tanks exploded. The rider was blown apart in the middle, her binding rings were ripped out of her meat, and the three parts of her split carcass cartwheeled high in the air.

Wendy rode right under the parted hips and legs, and barely missed the bitch’s upper part. She was sprayed with blood jetting out of the ripped tongue and tits of the girl. She was now properly christened into the extreme violence that dominated the incredible Thunderdrome.

Suddenly a sharp pain burned her right buttock. What could have hit her? It was not the feeling of a piece of shrapnel from an exploding bike, and none had blown up near her. Her eyes roamed quickly to the upper corners of the arena, and locked on one of the marksmen.

His gun was leveled at her! She had been shot! She couldn’t believe the marksman had missed. Every other girl she had seen them shoot had either been creatively disabled, or had been killed outright. It was hard to believe that he had intentionally nicked her bum. It had to be a warning shot.

She gunned the engine, to show her intent to get at it. She was still questioning her ability to kill, she now determined she would try to do it. The opportunity presented itself immediately. A cunt-leash girl was scrambling up the incline at the middle of the Thunderdrome directly in front of her.

The cunt was being chased by a black roller blade skater who had got hold of the white girl’s club. Wendy leaned hard to adjust her direction. The black girl turned in surprise as the bike thundered toward her. Without hesitation, Wendy struck her dead center, between her spread legs.

The handle grips hit the black girl’s knees, crushing them, and Wendy heard the bitch’s raging scream when her leather helmet struck the skater’s cunt as she flew overhead. The naked black, thrown backward, tumbled in front of the speeding bike, and the large front wheel rode over her.

She was crushed by the big bike, and caused Wendy to lose control of her roaring mount. The bike’s front end dipped, and sparks flew from the dragging right tank. With a gutsy move, Wendy gunned the engine, and suddenly the bike was hurling down into the middle of the bowl.

A ramp lay directly in front of her, and she had no time to adjust her course. Suddenly she was thrust upward as the wheels hit the ramp at an angle, and the big Harley was airborne. It hit a mountain bike rider head on, and crashed down in top of her, so that she broke its fall.

Knowing that the only way to keep control of the bike was to gun the powerful engine, Wendy revved it as the bike’s big wheels slammed the girl against the concrete, and the rear tire ripped the fallen girl’s belly open, spewing tangles of elongated guts out behind the big bike like a rooster-tail wake.

The big machine bolted forward, and it was all Wendy could do to turn it before it reached the top of the bowl and the awaiting wall of spikes. She made another run around the Thunderdrome, gaining speed, and she saw the girl on foot whose life she had saved moments before.

She was still up on the rim of the bowl, quivering in stark terror. She was going to pass her by, but realized that if she didn’t take a run at her the snipers would put another bullet into her ass, and that the girl was dead meat anyway, because otherwise a sniper bullet would take her out.

She would die at any minute for not fully participating in the meaningless bitch battle. Wendy reflected that the lives of these young college girls, of which she was one, were not of much significance in the scheme of things, and with the emotional strain she was being put through, she had little regard for their lives.

She had watched at least twenty killings in the past hour or so, and by now they all seemed to run together. With what was at stake she had little remorse for running down that black roller blade skater or the girls on the mountain bikes she had so heartlessly destroyed.

With each kill it was easier, and each one that died was one less cunt that could kill her. Wendy ran her big bike as close to the spikes as she dared, forcing the girl away from them. The naked teenager was having difficulty in those spike-heeled boots on the steep slope of the concrete.

The coarse material was designed to give traction to the rubber tires of a speeding motorcycle. The girl hesitated, but at last moved away from the spikes. At the last instant Wendy swerved her powerful mount, just as the girl tried to dive out of the way, and she hit the pretty naked college girl in mid-air. The results were spectacular.

The girl bounced forward off the front fender, and then swung around, as she flew ahead of the speeding bike. When the bike hit her on the way down, it rushed between her spread legs and her cunt hit hard just in front of Wendy’s face. Both warm blood and piss splattered on her face.

The girl was tossed into the air a second time, but this time the bitch was driven onto the long spikes, so hard that she was totally impaled, and smashed flat against the wall, held by the base of the metal shafts. She had become one more chunk of erotic dead meat on display along the upper wall.

At that instant Wendy had a different concern. One of the mountain bikes had become caught up, along with its rider, in the front assemble of a BMW bike. The poor girl who had been riding the mountain was now suspended above the spinning steel front wheel of the BMW.

Now with every bounce her side dropped onto the upper surface of the wheel. The bloody action was slowly sawing the nude cyclist in half at the waist. The girl riding the BMW was so horrified at what was happening aboard her bike that she was not watching what she was doing, and was heading up the side wall of the bowl, headed straight for the spiked side wall.


Wendy saw her chance to score a double, and headed across the BMW’s path. She set the throttle to maximum, and aimed her heavy bike to clip the BMW’s rear wheel. That would be enough to send it sliding sideways into the long spikes, impaling both of the young nudes.

Her bike roared ahead, and closed fast on the duo. Even with her conviction to do what she was doing, Wendy screamed in horror at what was about to happen. These girls were going to die within seconds anyway, but she was about to contribute to their deaths, and to get credit for their dying.

Suddenly and without warning her own bike leapt ahead with incredible additional acceleration. It was as it the machine was possessed. One of the remote operators overhead had hit the nitro switch. Instead of hitting the rear wheel as she intended, she struck the much heavier steel front wheel.

The struck BMW with the mountain bike stuck to its front slammed around against the lower side of her bike. It slashed her arm, and scraped deep gouges down her hip and leg. The BMW’s rider was thrown over Wendy, ripped off her cunt ring and landed upside down on the spikes, her back against the wall.

Wendy fought hard to keep the big Harley from running against the deadly spikes, and the task was so difficult she barely missed them. She ran down the side of the Thunderdrome and swung back up to see what had happened. The BMW had slid more than 100 feet with the cyclist pinned beneath it.

The naked girl had left a trail of blood as inches of her meat had been peeled off. The bitch was laying on her back, her upper body pinned under the bike, and with her spread legs kicking in agony. Sobbing hysterically, Wendy ran her Harley at the girl’s deeply sliced waist, and mercifully finished what the steel wheel of the BMW had started.

The lower half of the girl, completely severed at the waist, was hurled into the air, and landed on another Harley, with the cunt pressed in the face of the rider. Blinded, the rider swerved to the left, knowing the spikes were on her right, The bike hurled down into the middle of the bowl, and slammed directly into a barricade.

The machine exploded, and another girl, soaked with gasoline, began to burn. Tammie just missed being hit by the big Harley before it slammed into the barricade. She saw the face of the rider was covered with the crotch of the severed lower half of a nude girl, so she was not sure if it was her friend Wendy.

She had spotted Wendy twice, which was amazing, because those Harley riders, with their tongues pulled out and spiked to the fender of their bikes, looked all alike. In this seemingly endless nightmare of a sport it was impossible to keep track of the people involved.

It was all a matter of avoiding being killed, and killing the other girls before they could do it to you. There was no order to the battle, and no rules to follow, other than self-preservation. One of Tammie’s breasts was split from cruel pounding by the batons, and several of her ribs were cracked.

Both of her hips were severely scraped and bleeding from punches with the studded gloves of the roller blade skaters, but she had killed three of them, as well as four of the cunt leash girls on foot and two of the mountain bike riders. She had also taken out a Harley, for the amazing score of ten kills.

She had grown up in a small town, and had played boys sports, boys ways. It was only because of her proven toughness and aggressiveness that she had avoided date rape throughout school, and at college as well. That was also part of the reason she was so successful in this remarkable bizarre battle.

Tammie hated most other girls, because the boys went after them and left her alone. Her only close friend was Wendy, and there was nothing she would do to endanger that relationship. She hit the rear wheel of a mountain bike as a Harley hit the front wheel from the other side.

The Bigger cycle hit with considerably more authority, and as the bicycle flew above the Harley, the blades on it’s spinning front wheel sliced murderous gouges into the sloped naked back and buttocks of the Harley’s rider. Blood spurted from the carved back of the girl strapped to the Harley.

The big bike suddenly leapt forward with a roar, out of the control of the badly injured girl. It caught a BMW nearly head on, demolishing both the smaller bike and its naked rider, then exploded into the side of a jump, throwing flaming gasoline over half the lower floor area.

This served as clean-up, igniting several dismembered female corpses and severed chunks of women. One of the unlucky cunt-leash girls on foot was covered with the flaming liquid, and ran up the slope, screaming and trailing flames as her flesh burned with flames fanned by her movement.

Tammie was by now at the other end of the arena, and saw ahead of her the roller blade skater whose lower legs had been shot off at the beginning of the contest as a warning to the others. Somehow the girl, wiggling on her back, had avoided further contact with the other fighters.

Obviously, they thought of her as dead meat, and not worth the effort to pursue. Although the bitch had lost a lot of blood from her knee stumps, some of the major arteries had apparently been sealed by the explosive bullets, because she was still alive and able to hold her head up as she wiggled on her back, squirming to get out of Tammie’s way.

Tammie, fully aware of what was required of her and of the results should she fail to perform, aimed the front wheel between the screaming girl’s invitingly spread legs, and hit her cunt dead on. She was doing more than sixty miles an hour when she hit the bare crotch of the nude who was flat on her back.

The murderous steel wheel split the naked female torso right up the middle. Tammie felt the jolt as the sharp steel front wheel hit the girl’s chin with enough force to split her skull cleanly in half. Glancing back, she saw that was exactly what had happened. Another cunt was dead meat.

This was easier than she had thought. It was not as if these girls meant anything to her. She was expected to kill as many as she could, and it was, after all, the only way she could ever hope to get out of this horror alive. Besides, the horrible bitches all wanted to kill her.

She was just doing what she had to, without any choice. It was getting easier. The bike was a wonderful killing machine, and it made the girls she chased afraid of her. That gave her a sense of power, and she was confident she could take out others the way she had the girl she had split open like a shrimp.

Thinking of them as nothing more than animals made it easier, and after all, that’s all the naked girls really were. She didn’t know anything about any of them, other than that they were likely spoiled by their parents, and pampered by the college staff, as most rich kids were.

Tammie ran her bike up to the rim of the bowl to get a measure on what was left to do. There were smoldering female carcasses everywhere, and the roar of cycles had been reduced, with fewer of them still active. She swung parallel to the spike wall with its array of impaled female cadavers,

She thought they looked like animal carcasses in a meat market, and looked over the arena floor at the same appearance. She saw only three of the big Harleys left, and one other BMW. The mountain bikes had all been wiped out, and most of their riders had been separated from the anal mount.

There were a couple of skaters and a cunt leash girl still alive, but all had taken severe leg damage, so were downed and no longer a threat. The best they could do was take a swing as a bike passed, or concentrate their efforts on killing each other. The latter strategy was exactly the course being taken.

One of the big Harleys was running across the bottom of the bowl, and Tammie set an intercept course. She judged the big bike would come up from behind a barricade, so she feigned a swoop down into the bowl, and at the last instant swung in behind the big bike just in time to follow it up the side of the bowl.

By following the monster bike, she was able to keep out of the sight line of the rider. Knowing the woman lying on it could not turn her head because of her impaled tongue, she used the extra speed she had built up in her descent to come in close to the Harley as it slowed just before its turn.

She brought her steel front wheel directly into the rear tire of the Harley, easily cutting right through the thick rubber and heavy metal fender. She watched the open pierced cunt and bulging anus of the rider directly in front of her tense as the girl realized what was happening.

As Tammie expected, the terrified young bitch both shit and pissed as her desperate situation became clear. The pretty young girl lost control of her big mount, and the bike skidded up to the wall, hurling the nude rider off her restraints and onto the rows of the lengthy sharp awaiting spikes.

The Harley jammed in under the spikes, and burst into flame on contact with the wall. The impaled girl above it was still alive, and she started to slowly roast. She had landed just to the right of the spectators, who had an excellent view of her slow and incredibly painful demise.

The dancing waitresses made obscene gestures at the impaled girl, but she was too far into her personal horror to see them. Her screams through her split tongue as she burned were highly entertaining to the spectators, who cheered the contribution Tammie had made to their enjoyment of the murderous event.

From her position high on the wall of the Thunderdrome, Tammie saw the collision coming. One of the BMWs was lining up the last of the roller blade skaters, and as it swooped down on her, one of the remaining Harleys, dodging between the barriers and jumps, suddenly burst between obstacles.

The aggressive killer vehicle slammed into the right side of the other big bike. The bike that was struck slammed onto its side, cleanly taking off the leg of its rider at the hip, and her arm on the same side at the shoulder. The bike that hit it flipped over it, and made a three hundred sixty-degree rotation.

Somehow it amazingly landed on its wheels. It slammed back to the concrete so hard that its rider was knocked unconscious. The bike roared away, as if it had a life of its own. The bike that had been knocked over bounced and rolled several times before it finally came to rest on its left side.

The naked rider was completely crushed. Tammie could see that the arms and legs of the rider on the remaining bike were limp, so she was still unconscious, yet the bike performed as if it was being driven. Tammie had driven her bike down into the bowl, seeking out the last of the girls on foot, but her interest was now on the last Harley.

The big machine made a perfect turn at the crest of the bowl, then began a run back down into the bowl, aimed directly at her! It was clear that the big Harley was being controlled remotely. These people were determined to get her no matter what. She would have shit had her colon not been jammed full with the shaft that replaced the seat on her BMW.

Tammie knew she had no breaks, but she also knew the slowing power of all those burnt female carcasses that littered the lower portion of the bowl. She chose her course carefully, being careful to keep her speed up until the last moment, so that the person with the remote controls for the Harley would not see her strategy.

She was moving fast, as was the Harley, and at the last second, she ran over a pair of bodies, one of them badly charred and the other still alive. Her steel wheel cut into them, dissecting their torsos at the waist and slowing her at that critical moment that the Harley shot ahead.

By judging the timing perfectly for both moves, she avoided the collision that had been planned for her. As the big bike flashed by, she saw that the girl linked to it, who was just starting to turn, was her friend Wendy. She gasped, knowing that it was now either herself or her best friend that would die, and one of them would have to kill the other to survive.

She also saw Wendy’s eyes had opened, and knew her friend recognized her before the big bike sped off up the side of the bowl. The look of horror on Wendy’s face said that she not only recognized her friend, but knew she was going to have to kill her. That single look was the most painful moment in Tammie’s life.

She was going to have to fight her best friend, and the only satisfactory outcome was that she kill her. There would not even be a chance to hesitate, with those merciless snipers with their deadly shells ready to rip a hole through them. She ran the BMW up the far side of the bowl, and when she turned, she saw that Wendy was back in control of her bike.

She had made the turn, and was now speeding back to swoop toward the smaller bike that Tammie stood on. Even at that distance, Tammie could see the look of both resignation and determination on Wendy’s face. Her friend was not only back in full control, but she was now a lethal threat.

Tammie sobbed out loud. She had no choice: she was going to have to kill her friend. That was the only way she was going to survive this insane madness. There could be only one girl alive at the end. Wendy was not going to be that girl. At this point, cold calculation took over.

She knew that against the heavier bike with its low build, she could never survive either a broadside or a head-on collision. Her bike had much more manoeuvrability, but had neither the speed nor mass of the other, much larger vehicle. More than that, she knew she it was up to her to ensure that Wendy would die quickly, without pain.

She sobbed aloud again as she realized there was only one way she could win. She would have to drive her friend up onto the spikes, forcing her to crash into the murderous wall. That was the only sure way to see that her best friend ever died immediately, in a burst of flame.

Wendy eyed her friend, running the tall BMW bike toward her as both riders sped down into the monstrous concrete bowl of the Thunderdrome. She knew a head on collision would probably kill them both, so that her best option would be to hit the standing girl broadside, hitting either her solid steel front wheel or the middle of the bike.

Either way it went would ensure a hard crash. Hitting the rear wheel would merely cause a skid, and although it was likely to injure the girl standing over the rectal post, she would not only possibly survive, but she might even get the bike up and running again.


Wendy decided her best strategy would be to get up speed and run the rim of the huge Thunderdrome, so that she could pick her moment and strike fast. The bitch riding the BMW stood at the center of gravity, which was exactly the best place to hit her to ensure a total wipe-out and a spectacular bitch-kill. She owed Tammie that.

She took a jump, speeding up the short steep ramp to leap her bike at the speeding BMW. She wanted to take Tammie high, to drive her hard onto the concrete floor. She was sure that her bike would crush her friend flat, so that she would not have to suffer. She was startled at how high the big bike leaped. Suddenly she was afraid she might miss the BMW altogether.

It was only by ducking fast that Tammie avoided the big bike taking her head off. She heard the Harley hit the ground hard, and realized how much that hard landing must have jarred the belly of her friend. She realized how daring and desperate Wendy must be to risk taking the tall jump at such high speed.

She now understood that they were equally determined to kill each other. Now she knew for certain what kind of friend Wendy was. She felt with a sinking feeling that Wendy must have an equally low opinion of her. There was nothing to be gained by delaying the inevitable.

The danger was that if they were slow to kill, the snipers might start shooting again. It the gunmen took out one, they would just as likely shoot them both. It would be best just to get it over with.
Tammie was again high on the side of the Thunderdrome, and saw that Wendy was speeding around the outer rim.

The way she was moving, she was making herself impossible to catch. A head-on collision was the only apparent solution, and Tammie was not going to do anything so stupid. She swung down into the lower center of the bowl, hoping to lure Wendy down so that she could take advantage of her superior manoeuvrability.

She darted around between jumps, barriers and the strewn corpses of the girls who had already died in the horrendous battle. She was easy to follow, forced to stand tall on the bike with the stout shaft driven up her ass. Wendy kept her eye on her, and when she thought she saw an opening she swooped down again.

At the last moment Tammie veered her bike, and the big Harley shot past. It looked like she was just playing a delaying game, and suddenly a bullet zipped through her left tit. The impact was horrendous, and the tit kicked crazily as it was struck, but the hole was clean.

The men had switched from the dumdums that blew apart inside the flesh. This had to be a steel cased bullet, it went through the big mammary so cleanly. It served its purpose, warning her that the snipers were still around and on her case. Her only option open was to aggressively kill.

Once more Wendy was roaring around the perimeter of the huge bowl, high on the bank, looking for her opportunity. Tammie ran up the bank to the wall when Wendy was at the far end, but was down where there was protection again quickly. Wendy swung down through the center again, but Tammie was up the other side when she got there.

When she came up the far wall, Tammie also stayed up high, and was heading toward the far end. Wendy gunned the bike, deciding to slam the BMW into the end wall. Her low-slung bike raced at the slower BMW, closing quickly. Tammie looked back with a look of panic, trying desperately to make eye contact with her friend.

She was successful, and held Wendy’s glance until she was almost on her. At the last instant she swung upward toward the spiked wall. Wendy reacted, but suddenly she was on the ice, sliding sideways out of control at nearly one hundred miles per hour. The trick had worked.

Tammie had distracted Wendy’s attention from the ice until it was too late. When the Harley skidded off the ice onto the concrete, the flying sparks broadcast the wear on the thin-walled gas tank, and within a second the big bike burst into flame, then exploded, tearing Wendy in half at the waist.

Her separated halves tumbled through the air independently, ripped free of the rings that had held her flesh to the big bike. Tammie nearly hit the wall as she saw the two separated halves of the friend she had killed hit the spikes, to hang, now impaled, on obscene display.

Tammie’s scream of despair rang through the huge arena, and her bike, barely in control, hit the flaming chassis of Wendy’s Harley. The BMW had lost so much speed through the twisting and turning that it tumbled, landed on its side, and slid slowly down the slope,

Tammie screamed as she was dragged down with it, still impaled through the ass and clipped by her cunt to the frame. One of her legs was pinned beneath the bike, but the other was free. She kicked and squirmed, trying desperately to free herself. That was when she discovered she was not alone.

One of the cunt-leash girls, badly wounded but still ambulatory, limped over to her, and raised her club high in the air. Tammie recognized the girl as one of the college cheerleaders she had been at a party with just a week before, whose name was Shannon.

The athletic roller blade skaters had all been killed, and this girl, not even an athlete, was now one of the only two survivors. The hard look of determination on her face said she wanted to be the only survivor. Completely defenceless, Tammie shrieked in horror as the club descended, smashing into her hip.

She kicked out viciously with her free leg. It was a desperate move, but Shannon quickly moved behind her and out of reach. She raised her arms to protect her head, but was unable to see blows coming. The hardwood night stick crashed down on her ribs, cracking three of them.

She brought her arm down over her splintered ribs, and the club struck at her head, breaking her jaw. She was helpless, and felt it. At that moment the girl with the club did something almost unbelievable. She stepped over Tammie to get a better angle on her head, and in doing so left her cunt-leash dangling across Tammie’s waist.

Tammie grabbed the leather thong, getting a firm grip with both hands, and jerked down on it as hard as she could. The movement and the sudden exertion hurt her cracked ribs, but she knew it hurt the cheerleader more, because the leash was attached inside her to her pierced uterus.

Shannon lost her balance, and came down hard on top of Tammie, her pained cunt pressed in a spread kiss against Tammie’s side. Tammie grabbed desperately at the girl’s face, pressing her thumb under the girl’s chin and digging her fingers with all her strength into the eyes.

Shannon leaned back and twisted away, but in doing so caused Tammie’s nail to gouge one eye, blinding it. The teenage college freshman reached desperately for her fallen baton and retrieved it. She slid off Tammie, but Tammie had a firm hold on her cunt leash, with the leather thong wrapped securely around her wrist.

Tammie jerked hard again on the leash, bringing an incredible scream from the girl as it jerked on her internal gonads. Shannon got her good leg around and kicked as hard as she could at Tammie’s head with the spike heel. Tammie threw her had back to avoid the sharp heel, and it caught her under the chin, driving up and skewering her tongue.

The audience roared in delight at the savage battle between the naked and wounded girls. These young women, in the prime of life, were giving their all to kill each other, in accordance with the thoughtful and devious design of the program. When the planning was good, the program went well.

The leather covered spike heel wedged in Tammie’s chin bone, locking the leg to her head. Shannon reached around and smashed at Tammie’s thin leather helmet, doing more damage than she realized. Tammie jerked repeatedly with all her might on the leash coming out of the pretty cheerleader’s cunt.

The horrific results were becoming more and more obvious. The organ swelled, as if being pressed open from within, and as her brains were being battered, Tammie managed, as her last desperate act, to cause the teenage girl she was fighting to give birth to her own ringed uterus.

The swollen inner organ pushed her cunt out wide, and emerged, the winking dimple of her cervix protruding from the middle of the vicious organ-piercing ring. It was the most obscene display Tammie had ever seen, but it did not distract her from her goal of killing the girl who’s cunt now looked more like a horse’s cock.

She grabbed at the girls big tits and clung to them, having no idea how, without a weapon she could kill the girl, or even defend herself. She recognized her position as hopeless. Shannon ignored the catastrophe between her legs, and hammered continuously and murderously at Tammie’s head.

She smashed her nose, her cheekbones, her jaw, and finally, caved in her skull, spreading her brains amidst the bloody gore on the arena’s concrete floor. When the body beneath her finally quit kicking and jerking, she tried to yank the spike heel of her boot out of Tammie’s chin, but it was locked fast.

With an effort, she managed to pull her bare foot out of the jammed boot and tried to stand up. She had to unwrap her cunt leash from Tammie’s hands, where it was still firmly grasped. At last the naked co-ed struggled to her feet, and looked around for another opponent to kill.

There were none. She was the last surviving participant in the incredibly violent games. A look of elation crossed the haggard face of the teenager. She had endured it all. She was the best. She raised her arms in a salute to victory, holding her clenched fists high over her head.

In a brief three hours of mayhem, Shannon had become an effective, merciless killer. The audience knew they would see pride in the girl’s face, and she did not disappoint them. They, on the other hand, were not averse to seeing her being disappointed. Devastatingly so.

She bowed toward them, acknowledging their applause and cheering. Her big breasts swung free beneath her, and made irresistible targets. The four rifles barked within half a second of each other, and her dangling breasts suddenly bounced wildly with the impact.

Two skilled marksmen had put a steel cased round through each of the girl’s big swinging mammaries, and the bullets made a clean passage through the fatty meat, then ricocheted off the concrete floor of the Thunderdrome bowl. Now the action was focused on a single female.

The audience’s boisterous reactions were completely in sync with the brutal action they were witnessing, and the trapped teenage cheerleader was receiving. Since this would be the last bitch killing of the evening, it received their full attention. The girl leaped up so fast she flipped in the air, twisting, and landed on her side.

She was in shock. These people had made a deal. They had forced her to perform disgusting sexual violence, reducing herself to the level of an animal, and now they were breaking their word. They had tricked her into killing others all evening just so that she could survive.

Even though she had done everything they expected, and given them what they wanted for their hugely degenerate show, now they were going back on their promise to let her live. She bounded to her feet, screaming as much from anguish as from pain, and started to run.

She moved amazingly fast for a girl with a leg badly slashed by the blades on one of the mountain bikes, and wearing only one boot. As she ran two more slugs ripped through the pumping glut muscles of her well-developed buttocks. Shannon fell again, this time skidding on the cement on her injured boobs.

Her ass was propped high in the air, and promptly took another pair of slugs into her quivering meat. These found her anus, and exited through her back. Her hips crashed to the floor, and she took another pair of slugs through her calves, causing her to twist over onto her back.

A bullet through her boot smashed her ankle, and assured she would do no more running. The pretty co-ed cheerleader was now reduced to a very erotic piece of living meat for target practice. She impressed the guests with a strong performance, struggling once more to get up.

In doing so she presented interesting angles for the merciless marksmen. The men took full advantage, making her writhe and squirm as they put bullet after bullet through her beautiful naked body, being careful not to kill her before the special shot they had reserved for her.

A large barrelled flare gun was loaded with a huge six-ounce magnesium flare. When she presented the right angle, one of the snipers fired the flare, and his aim was perfect. The inch and a half diameter three-inch-long slug plopped through the muscle of her lower belly, and lodged in her intestines.

The moisture inside her tight tummy provided the perfect environment for the highly volatile metal to burn. The tiny cap sparked the metal, and her entire lower torso started to glow a light translucent pink from the intense fire burning and spreading inside her.

White smoke mixed with acrid steam billowed from her damaged cunt, her shot-out anus, and the hole in her belly as she cooked inside from the flare. Shannon managed the most agonized scream of the evening as she sat up, flipped over, then collapsed, now a piece of battered dead meat like the rest of her fellow performers.

There would be no festivities following the college football game tonight, even if their team won, because of the mysterious disappearance of the bus-load of girls. The players’ post-game celebration party had been ruined. The boys would have to hire local whores.

The only bright spot was that usually the hookers had they were willing to bring their little girls to a party for the right price. It just wasn’t the same without the small-town virgins they usually got at the first game. None of the hookers’ kids were virgins, if they were older than 6.

The driver of the bus that had carried the girls to Chicago might be investigated, but would be exonerated, of course, because there would be several witnesses come forward to testify under oath that they had seen the bus arrive at the stadium, and all of the girls disembark.

Others would tell of a convoy of five out-of-state vans that had been in the area, and would vaguely remember seeing some beautiful college age girls boarding the vans. These paid witnesses would remember the incident because it seemed strange that the girls would leave the stadium before the big game started.

Those statements to the police would be enough to ensure the ensuing investigation would lead nowhere. In another city, the women’s roller blade league officers would have to adjust their schedule, because two of the teams had literally disappeared off the face of the earth.

The bar they had visited for a celebration after the game would be fully investigated, but nothing would come of it. Nobody would equate the two cases, because they happened in distant cities, a day apart, and with unrelated activities. Both cases would make headlines, but within a few weeks they would be forgotten by most, as life went on, or at least for most people life did.

Young women would continue, as time went by, to involuntarily donate their lives to the games in the Thunderdrome. There was still an excellent supply of the converted Harleys, and some of those wrecked in the first major event would be rebuilt and put back into service.

A new event was being devised that involved high speed winches on overhead tracks, which would allow some of the girls in the deadly competition to fly. When the idea of flying came up, two of the members suggested naked little five-year-old girls be added, as cherubs, to enhance the scene, and perhaps, instead of having them shooting arrows, they could be the targets for arrows.

New incendiary weapons were being built which could roast a living girl from the outside or, if desired, from the inside. The members had not advance to cannibalism, but thought it would be interesting to watch naked young beauties roasting as the blonde showgirl had when she’d crashed into that fuel tanker.

This would be accomplished in a manner more refined than had been possible with the rudimentary roadside flare. The more imaginative members worked hard to create new horrors for the young women forced to compete for their lives in the incredible Thunderdrome.


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