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 4
Edited & Extended: Regis
Published: 16.02.2025
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 4
In addition to the big 1200s, 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 only control was the accelerator, to make the strange vehicle go faster. The bike’s front tire was replaced with a steel wheel cut from a half-inch sheet that was ground to an edge at the rim, 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 motorbikes had been installed, but the riders would have to pump their legs to peddle these bikes with the shafts up their rectums, giving themselves a significant ass fuck while they rode.
To make things more interesting, the front axle on these rugged mountain bikes was 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.
666
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. They had no concern for the safety or even the lives of their young female subjects, and death was a common outcome of their radical sports.
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, 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, also known as Ladies of Delight, were richly earning their keep. When the last spurting jets of sperm had been deposited on their cum-gleaming bodies, 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 they were so stimulated by the indecent action that when the urge arose, they improvised.
Several of the men pulled off their belts and went to work lashing the writing flesh of the lovely shapely nudes. The ladies were accommodating, knowing their terror, cowering and attempts at evasion were exactly what the guests wanted from them, and would bring them very generous tips.
They found it easy to scream hysterically at the boundless unyielding lashing of their shapely nude bodies. This was not 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, however painful or destructive it might be, they would be well paid for it, and these were all professional whores, who were fully aware they had no control over what they would have to take at parties like these. This was how the business worked.
No part of the exposed naked 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 reluctant naked screaming subjects.
One of the girls lost an eye to a vicious blow to the face when a buckle burst her eyeball. The other bitch screamed and shit when she saw what had happened to her friend. This damage and resulting excrement evacuation proved to excite the men, to increase the ferocity of their vicious attack.
They were soon splitting skin and cutting muscle, so that the nudes were quickly covered with their free-flowing blood. The beating then moved into high gear. The excited men quickly decided that too much damage had been done to salvage the beaten bitches.
They decided that these quivering cunts could not be permitted to survive the evening, because they could report what happened to them, and the frenzied men laid into them with renewed energy. It was proving to be a night to long remember, and the men felt no restraint in how far they would go.
When their arms were tired, they put down their belts and moved on to new forms of torture. One of the unfortunate entertainers had one of the other bitch’s feet thrust into her cunt. Then the other girl denied the use of her encunted foot and had a whisky bottle driven deep into her cunt.
The bottle was then smashed, so that the shards sliced into her tender bottle-gripping cuntmeat. She kicked so hard in incredible agony that she not only ripped up the interior of her fuck-shaft, but also did incredible internal damage to the first bitch with her uncontrollably kicking foot.
The men picked up and continued with the belts, lashing the squirming nudes locked foot-to-cunt, flailing 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 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 evening of bitch-battering had been a complete success. The club had set its agenda, and the brutal bitch-murder parties became more organized, and their featured events increasingly more sophisticated.
What all events the Club sponsored had in common was that nude women, very few of them consensually, were violently killed for the entertainment of the members. The only challenge the club faced was to produce an endless supply of beautiful young disposable females.
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 formalize and develop the very secretive society necessary to pursue the evil behaviors they found so enticing.
The CEO of a steel company took a leadership role, and along with the president of a bank, devised a way to finance their expensive hobby without leaving a paper trail. There needed to be no encumbrances to them going to whatever lengths they wished to bring to reality their fantasies.
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 bestial event. They had found a farmer who had built a special barn for the highly illegal but lucrative bloodsports of cockfights and dog fights. The man had several hog barns on his property, but only one in which to raise his 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. His staff consisted of a couple of hired hands who kept the vicious animals on the edge of rage and three girls who were the animals’ handlers before the fights.
The farmer had learned the value of barely covered tits and ass to get his guests’ hormone levels elevated before each extreme fight. Three of the new club’s members visited the farm to inspect its facilities. They would need to make a few adjustments, but what they found was entirely 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.
That left him 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 boy he hired to supervise parking when they arrived recorded the make, model and license plate of each vehicle.
Their departure of hog buyers was confirmed before anything else could begin. Total secrecy was imperative. This setup was ideal, and they were pleased to have access. Members of the Club had the capability of safely obtaining the females required to execute the remarkable new motorsport.
666
The college girls in the free bus were surprised at the rundown industrial area the bus entered, with virtually no people on the streets, but it was 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.
This must be where the rally is being held. The old ice-sports structure was not in good shape, and 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 wrong. There would be no rally here. 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.
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. None of them had any interest in following him, they just wanted him to leave this place.
During his absence, the girls babbled in 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 only 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 could read the old sign painted on the far wall “Vistors’ Dressing Room”.
This was an old, abandoned football stadium, so the guys would not be in there. Although this was a dressing room. 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. This whole thing was so bizarre, and they had no idea what was going on. Who had arranged this, and why? These were questions none of them could answer. Where were they, and what was going to happen to them?
THE END OF CHAPTER FOUR