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Author Topic: Piggie Plumpkins meets “The Femcan-azons” motorcycle gang. Episode 2  (Read 497 times)

May 17, 2019, 01:59:57 AM
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Piggie Plumpkins meets “The Femcan-azons” motorcycle gang. Episode 2
By morselman

“On your feet piggie!” The gang leader yanked Plumpkins up with a powerful tug that nearly dislocated his shoulder. Sharp gravel and broken glass from beer bottles poked into his bare feet felt as if he were walking on a bed of nails--all of it heated by the merciless midday sun that was beating down oven-like to sunburn his pasty skin.

The encircling Femcanazons whistled, making joyful catcalls and yum-yum noises as they admired the plump tenderness of his naked flesh. They all stripped off their leather biker jackets, exposing luscious breasts cradled by skimpy bikini tops. Their trim narrow waists and tight tummys rose up from shapely wide hips, rounded buttocks and full thighs--all wrapped in tight jeans, low cut to expose deeply intended dimples of Venus. Fierce looking tattoos covered every inch of their exposed skin.

The more sturdily built Femcanazons wielded crowbars and formed into an outer perimeter. The more petite ones energetically swung chains overhead and menacingly approached their cowering prey. Plumpkins frantically searched for an escape to no avail. The leader oversaw all with fists firmly planted upon her hips. She leaned back--roaring with laughter at his plight, then straightened up and said with a cruel smirk “Best to take your medicine like a hog, piggie--any sign of cowardice during the initiation only makes us meaner!”

The chain whirling women came at Plumpkins with precisely aimed blows upon his elbows and shins that caused him to howl and reflexively grasp where they struck. Each and every one of his moves were expertly anticipated and exploited by his tormentors--they aimed each subsequent strike at the most sensitive spot involuntarily exposed. This resulted in more reflexive motions that led to even more well anticipated, well aimed strikes. All of this produced a macabre sort of dance--as if Plumpkins were a marionette being manipulated by merciless puppeteers!

When he staggered beyond the encircling chain wielders, Plumpkins was greeted by a rain of crowbar blows--when he stumbled to the ground, kicking and stomping boots trampled him! Soon deep purple bruises and spike induced punctures festooned every inch of Plumpkins’ tormented flesh. His pathetic outcrys of agony and outbursts of sobbing did nothing to appease the cruelty of the Femcanazons--it only fanned the flames of their sadism! Blessed escape from their relentless abuse arrived only after he had fainted dead away…

Plumpkins regained consciousness to the sound of rowdy Femcanazon laughter and cursing. He was dangling with his arms chained to an overhead roof-beam inside their smoke-filled, beer-reeking clubhouse. His toes barely touched the floor. His captors were all occupied with a game of craps, reacting boisterously to each roll of the dice. Oddly, no money seemed to be changing hands.

The gang leader turned away from the ruckus and gave Plumpkins a wide smile. “Congratulations piggie--you’ve been accepted into our gang as ‘mascot.’ All that’s left now is the celebratory BBQ…”

Just then, a sturdily built Femcanazon with enormous breasts rose up from the game in triumph and declared “I won this round--and I’m claiming an inner-thigh!” Her companions greeted this with groans and curses, then restarted the game for a chance at selecting their own portions of Plumpkins. She pulled a soggy cigar stub from her pocket, placed it between her grinning lips and strolled over to a shelf well-stocked with blowtorches.

She selected one, carefully hefting it to verify it was well fueled. The Femcanazon ignited the torch and used it to light her soggy stogie, which reluctantly compiled after some vigorous puffing. She then strolled over to where the helpless Plumpkins was dangling and crouched down next to his left leg. She looked up into Plumpkins’ terrified face with a nonchalant glance, then focused on her task--gently caressing his inner-thigh flesh with her blowtorch flame!   

“Let’s see…” she muttered softly, smiling to herself with smoky cigar puffs. “I’m thinking I’d like my piggie-thigh steak done medium-well tonight…”
Fated to be Femcan fodder...