Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as the story describes. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain at all times adults.
Feature Writer: Danté
Feature Title: THUNDERDROME DEATH-RIDERS 3
Edited & Extended: Regis
Published: 15.02.2025
Author’s Notes: This is a work of fiction, containing both graphic sexual descriptions and language. If you are a minor or if this is illegal in your area you must leave this page immediately. Under the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
Synopsis: Two young college freshmen are invited to take a bus to a free weekend party of what is likely to be all sex and drugs. Instead, the entire busload becomes the guests of a group of wealthy sportsmen who have devised an incredible new sport featuring naked young ladies strapped to incredible machines, originally Harleys, on which they have limited control, that are designed for mayhem and death. The intent is that the naked young ladies be involved in limb-severing, at the very least, accidents. Things get interesting and dangerous for them quickly.
Thunderdrome Death-Riders 3
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 and unaltered since it had been abandoned several years earlier.
Since the downturn in the economy, there has been 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. As it stood, it was a continuing liability to the owner, who just had to wait for better circumstances to sell it.
They bought it for the price of paying back taxes. At the cost of nearly two million dollars, the billionaire financier had quietly created what mostly resembled a velodrome for bicycle racing, but it was larger and had several significant differences, all of them designed to accommodate their new sport.
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 then excavated into a huge oval bowl, two hundred and sixty feet long and one hundred eighty feet wide. It was enormous, impressive, and also frightening. It was larger and had steeper sides than any velodrome or any 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, which was precisely the intent.
There were metal-rimmed holes in the concrete everywhere, designed to hold special equipment such as jumps and barricades that could be rapidly fixed into place anywhere on the track or in the bowl. Set in the concrete was new 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. This rebuilt area provided ample seating for the exclusive club’s membership to watch the bizarre and unique events they had devised.
The roof 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 shrill screams of young ladies either in their way or riding the powerful killing machines to their deaths.
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 naked-teen-serving girls to bring refreshments to the spectators. The club, financed mostly by its 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, Muslims and Seventh-Day Adventists, to ensure that the businesses they owned would be closed on Saturdays, and the surrounding blocks 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 razor-wire fence around its parking lot was used by members as an entrance. An abandoned sewer tunnel had been renovated, and used as a connector, with a luxury mini-train pulled by a large electric golf cart used to pull the passengers riding lavish wagons through the new tunnel from the factory to the arena.
This arrangement ensured their arrival would not draw attention to the abandoned arena. What went on inside was not the kind of thing that any could tolerate having discovered. They could face life imprisonment, or possibly the death sentence, for the incredible death sports they had designed and enjoyed monthly.
666
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 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 girl; her only agenda would be to keep it on the road, because the ditch was strewn with boulders.
The redhead cuffed to the big altered Harley was approaching the hill from a bench on which the highway was laid out in a series of gentle curves. The nude girl was having an exhilarating experience as she rode the big machine, feeling its powerful engine vibrating through the thin pad on which she lay.
She also felt the warm wind generated by the bike’s rapid motion whistling over her, and warmth from the engine below her coming up through the pad on which she lay. 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 to her when the bike did not respond to her steering, but instead followed the road, which she would have done anyway. Someone had switched even the steering to the remote control.
She could neither see nor hear over the roar of the big bike’s powerful engine the two chase cars and helicopters following her, nor could she anticipate the old rusted and underpowered Volkswagen van full of a young family 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 and their children.
They were in the process of 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 final trimester of yet another 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 cutoff jean shorts, the mother’s unbuttoned and with the fly open to accommodate her huge belly. The van was so old it was not equipped with seat belts or air conditioning.
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.
The children playing in the back were naked, to help them deal with the heat. The old Volkswagen 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 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, so they wore none. They wore no deodorant, and the aroma said so.
The kids in the back of the old minivan were engaged in the oldest child sport in the world, which was being cruel to the youngest. The oldest was the boy who was eleven. He had been playing a simple game of ‘masturbation’, in which he ejaculated onto the naked young girls, which he had just learned to do.
After she had sucked his dribbling cock clean, the oldest girl, age ten, 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 game was simple, unambiguous, and called “Piss on you!”
The older girl held the seven-year-old still and licked the little twat with her tongue, biting the little genitals to make her little sister scream. The other two, girls nine and 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 as a moneymaker on the parking lot at fairs, one that cost them nothing to perform. The children liked to play it to pass the time while travelling. When their father complained about the youngest girl’s screaming, they claimed they were just practising.
They would often 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 the customers 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, taking them into themselves to stroke them with their tight little fuck-slots.
They were a poor family, and their dog had been sacrificed to the stew pot when they were stuck in a Mormon town where there were no bars, but they always made do, and they stuck together no matter what difficulties they faced. They had raided some gardens for vegetables to complete the dog stew.
Suddenly the pregnant young mother in front spit out the large bite of the sandwich and screamed as she saw the most unlikely sight. An incredible motorcycle with a nude woman lying on it, trailing an American flag, was bearing down on them at incredible speed. It was not staying on its side of the road, but instead 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 slowly driving the underpowered Volkswagen van up the steep hill to move over quickly, and he was shocked to see the bike adjust its course to remain aimed straight at them.
The young couple’s eyes bulged wide as they saw the bizarre vehicle and the screaming face of the beautiful nude redhead riding the bike, lying flat on it 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 helpless driver, pushing both back into the rear compartment where the naked young children were playing their filthy game.
The big 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 and ball of fire. The well-chosen camera angle produced an excellent picture of the topless young 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. The best of animators could not have produced a more stimulating image than that the cameras caught.
Her bloated breasts and enormous belly were instantly split wide open from the incredible impact, and the baby in her belly was violently pushed out through her cunt, split open her jeans, and flew out over the front bumper, stretching to the limit the mother’s inflexible umbilical cord.
Her body was now otherwise unrestrained, now that the entire front of the van had been ripped away by the impact of 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 violently.
She was sheered in half at the waist by the split roof of the van. Her severed lower half, trailing a steam of intestines, flew over the combined vehicles to land, 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 stars and stripes still firmly anchored in her rectum.
THE END OF CHAPTER THREE