Chapter 2: Brutality
The bathroom’s flickering light strobed over the scene, turning movement into a series of frozen, grotesque tableaus. Candy was pinned against the cold, damp wall, her torn clothes a puddle at her ankles. Bex’s hand was still a vise on her neck, holding her up, while Helga’s thick fingers were already inside her, working deep with a ruthless, curling rhythm.
“See? Not so loud now,” Bex cooed, her breath hot against Candy’s ear.
Candy tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet gasp. Her head lolled back against the tile. The sensations were a blizzard—the ache of penetration, the rough scrape of denim against her thighs, the overwhelming heat of their bodies crowding her. It was too much, and yet her hips stuttered, trying to match Helga’s tempo.
“Think she likes it,” Helga grunted, grinning. She added a second finger, then a third, stretching Candy with a burn that blurred into pleasure. “Yeah, you do, don’t you, cunt? All that whining just to get properly stuffed.”
Astrid moved in front, her expression still one of detached assessment. She palmed Candy’s face, her thumb pushing past Candy’s lips. “Open.” It wasn’t a request. Candy’s jaw went slack, and Astrid shoved two fingers into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue. “Suck. Clean off the bar grease.”
Candy gagged lightly, her eyes watering, but she obeyed, her tongue working over the calloused skin. The taste of motor oil and salt filled her mouth.
“Switch,” Bex said, her voice a low command.
Helga withdrew her fingers with a slick sound, giving Candy’s ass a hard, stinging slap that echoed. Bex released Candy’s neck, and for a second Candy slumped, her legs jelly. Before she could slide down, Astrid caught her, spinning her around to face the wall. The grimy, graffiti-scrawled surface was inches from her nose. She could smell piss and bleach.
Bex’s hands, large and unforgiving, gripped Candy’s hips. There was no preparation, no gentleness. Bex pressed against her, and Candy cried out, a sharp, shattered sound as she was entered, filled with a single, deep, claiming thrust that stole the air from her lungs.
“There’s your apology,” Bex growled, beginning to move with a powerful, piston-like drive that shook Candy’s whole body against the wall.
Helga crouched behind Bex, watching for a moment before her hands slid around Bex’s waist to cup and squeeze Candy’s ass cheeks. “Look at that grip,” Helga laughed. “Hungry little thing.” She leaned in, her mouth finding Candy’s lower back, biting and sucking new marks into the pale skin.
Astrid lit a cigarette, leaning against the sink. She watched the performance, her eyes half-lidded. “She’s gonna have trouble walking tomorrow.”
“That’s the point,” Bex grunted, her pace increasing. Each thrust was a jolt that rattled Candy’s teeth. Candy’s sounds were muffled against the tile—wordless, desperate moans that seemed to belong to someone else. Her mind had shut off completely. There was only the pounding rhythm, the pain that fused with a shocking, gathering peak, the smell of sweat and sex and Astrid’s cigarette smoke.
When Bex finished, it was with a final, deep grind and a low, satisfied groan against Candy’s shoulder. She pulled back, leaving Candy empty and shuddering.
Candy sank to her knees, her body slick and trembling. The linoleum was cold and sticky. She looked up, her vision blurred. The three giants looked down at her, their faces flushed, their leather and denim in disarray. They were still breathing hard, but they looked… amused.
Helga patted her swollen cheek. “Good start.”
Bex zipped her jeans, watching Candy with a contemplative look. “Can’t send her home like this. She’d get lost in a puddle.”
“She’s coming with us,” Astrid stated, flicking ash into the sink.
Candy blinked, trying to process the words through the fog. “With… you?”
“Yeah, sweet thing,” Bex said, her smile showing teeth. “Party’s just getting started. The whole crew’s back at the compound. They’d love to meet the loudmouth from the pool hall.”
A flicker of something—terror, anticipation—shot through Candy’s exhaustion. She couldn’t form a coherent thought.
Helga squatted in front of her, her immense chest straining her tank top. “But first,” she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, “we’re not nearly done in here, are we?” She hooked a finger under Candy’s chin. “My turn. Get up.”
Helga didn’t wait. She grabbed Candy under the arms and hauled her upright, then manhandled her towards the largest stall. She kicked the sagging door open. The toilet was stained, the seat cracked. Helga didn’t seem to care. She sat down heavily on the closed lid and pulled Candy onto her lap, facing her, legs straddling Helga’s tree-trunk thighs.
“Now,” Helga said, her hands clamping onto Candy’s waist, “you do the work. Ride me. Show me how sorry you are for being a bitch.”
Candy, her muscles burning, obeyed. She moved, clumsy and slow at first, then finding a ragged rhythm as Helga’s hands guided her, squeezing her breasts painfully, pinching her nipples. Helga threw her head back and laughed, a loud, booming sound in the small space.
Bex and Astrid watched from the doorway, a frame of muscle and ink. Bex lit her own cigarette. “She’s a durable little toy.”
“She’ll do,” Astrid agreed.
The stall reeked of decay and sex. Candy bounced on Helga’s lap, her own breath sobbing out of her, each movement a fresh shock of overstimulation. She was coming again, a weak, rolling spasm that made her muscles flutter. Helga felt it and grinned, bucking her hips up to meet her, prolonging it until Candy whimpered, oversensitive and raw.
When Helga was done, she simply lifted Candy off and set her on her feet like a doll. Candy swayed, her legs threatening to give out entirely.
Bex looked her up and down—naked, marked, dripping, and utterly wrecked. She nodded, as if approving a finished product. “Alright. Clean her up a bit. Can’t have her dripping on the Harley seats.”
Astrid turned on the tap. The water ran brown for a second before clearing. She soaked a wad of the scratchy paper towels and, with impersonal efficiency, wiped Candy down. The rough paper abraded her sensitive skin. Candy winced but didn’t protest.
They dressed her in her torn clothes, not bothering to fix them. The sparkly top barely covered her, the skirt hung crooked. She looked like exactly what she was: used.
Bex took Candy’s chin again, forcing eye contact. “You’re ours for the night. You understand? You do what you’re told, you take what’s given, and you might just have the time of your pathetic little life.”
Candy, hollowed out and buzzing with a strange, bruised euphoria, nodded. Her voice was a rasp. “Okay.”
Helga clapped her on the back, nearly sending her stumbling. “Fuck yeah she is! Wait till the girls get a load of her.”
Bex pushed the bathroom door open. The noise of the pool hall washed back in. No one looked at them as the four women walked out. The men kept their eyes glued to their beers, to the pool tables, to anything else.
They moved through the bar and out into the cool night. Three sleek, intimidating motorcycles were parked at the curb. Candy stared at them, the reality hitting her. She was leaving with them. Whatever came next was already in motion, a wave she was too tired and too broken to even try to outrun.
Helga mounted her bike and kicked it to life with a throaty roar. She glanced back at Candy, her eyes gleaming in the streetlight. “You’re with me, sweet cheeks. Hold on tight.”
Astrid handed Candy a worn helmet. Bex swung a leg over her own machine, looking back over her shoulder. “Oh, and Candy?” she called over the rumble of the engines.
Candy met her gaze.
“We’re not even warmed up.” Bex revved her engine, the sound a violent promise that ripped through the quiet street. “Let’s ride.”