Jack's hiker slipped in and out of sleep as the lorry continued on its journey to the Scottish borders and beyond. The heat of the cab and the warm pulsating throb after so much abuse had brought her to that state of exhaustion, aware of everything around her, but unconcerned at the same time. A thousand passing headlamps threw shadows across her eyelids providing a magic lantern show to while away her slumber. Over the hypnotic hum of the engine she was conscious of Jack's voice, calm and relaxed, talking into the CB radio.
"One four for a copy. One four for a copy. Any Drivers out there?"
Silence.
"One four for a copy," he repeated. "It's the Candy Man asking out for any Drivers. Let's talk."
There was an electric cackle then the radio spat back a reply.
"Hey mister Candy Man, how you doing? H R hears you loud and clear. Moving on up to the Drivers channel."
Both men changed from channel fourteen up to the one used by the Drivers.
"Why the silence H?" asked Jack.
"I was holding back in case we had an intruder on the airwaves. There's a rumour someone been listening in on us."
"Any ideas who?"
"Well it ain't the cops, cos' no-one seen them around for months and they stick out like a foreskin on a Rabbi."
A broad Jamaican laugh skipped from rig to rig before he added, "You carrying fur, or you just tugging your pole every night?"
Jack laughed into the mouthpiece. "I got me some fur. It's dozing alongside me right now." He reached across to feel her tits, squeezing them enough to make her moan although she didn't react fully. "What about you? You got a parking slot, or you travelling with Pam? Pam of your hand." It was Jack's turn to laugh and it was loud enough to stir the girl, who slowly began coming round, although she remained too groggy to move or say anything.
"I got someone," said H R. "Someone you might like to say hello to. Where you heading?"
"The M6," Jack answered. "Just left Leeds, north bound."
"You near Austdale?"
"Just passed it. Why?"
There was a teasing silence before H R answered.
"Because, I got groovy Suzy. She's sitting next to me now."
The unusual conversation intrigued Jack's hiker who couldn't help but wonder who groovy Suzy was. For the time being also, neither could Jack.
"Who the fuck's groovy Suzy?" he asked. "I don't know anyone called that."
H R didn't answer the question but moved the conversation elsewhere.
"Your bed warmer," he said. "She going to the passover?"
Jack looked at the girl who was now wide awake and confused at the language travelling between the two drivers.
"She's going," said Jack. "When I've finished with her."
The hiker sat up in the seat, ill at ease with the atmosphere in the cab. Since Jack had spoken to the other man his tone had changed. She didn't like being called a bed warmer, she was no scrubber despite what had happened at the card game.
"Meet you at the National Park Centre near Newley," said H R.
"OK, but who's groovy Suzy?"
"Just remember goody blue knickers."
The radio went dead but Jack got the message. Susan Warburton had been passed on to the Hell Raiser. Jack was far from a squeamish man but his limits fell far short of the Hell Raiser, who had been known to tie a naked girl across the bonnet of his Scammel S24 and drive her for miles, until frostbite had taught her the lesson his strap had not.
"I want out," said the hiker. "It's time you let me go!"
"What, with no money?"
"You could give me some."
"Balls to that! And you ain't goin' nowhere without I say so. You belong to me now, see? OK?"
The girl considered her position carefully before deciding her best option lay in silence, at least until she had worked out how to get away from the situation which was getting way out of hand. She didn't mind a little roughing up, she was used to it, but this…
A few miles down the road the lorry passed a signpost for the National Park Centre and they slowed down before swinging round into the dark unlit driveway. An avenue of upright larch lined the road like sentinels to the dark forest beyond. The Volvo grumbled along the dirt track for a mile or so, seeming to travel ever deeper into the trees, slowly onwards towards an eerie green light shining ominously away in the distance.
As they neared the phosphorous glow the road widened to reveal the centre as little more than a quaint log cabin. Somewhere where the average two point four family could discover the wonders lurking beneath a rotting log and part with pocketfuls of cash in the shop unimaginatively called 'The Trading Post'.
In the blinking of an eye the hiker took it all in. All except for the shapes moving in the green light that emanated from inside another wagon. This wagon was big and silver, like the long nosed trucks of American movies. Behind the huge windscreen sat two figures. The hiker leant forward, her eyes straining through the gloom until slowly the outline of the driver grew ever more substantial, revealing Hell Raiser.
His ebony face was contorted into a wide maniacal grin that exposed gleaming white teeth. At first she thought he wasn't wearing a shirt but then she realised he had on a black rubber vest that clung so tight to his skin it was difficult to see where skin and rubber met.
The figure next to him in the unearthly green glow, sitting so unnaturally upright, must be groovy Suzy. Her blonde hair was combed back into vicious spikes of inverted cones. A rubber dog collar studded with silver nails encircled her neck, while the same metal defence guarded her breasts, fitted as they were around glorious tits protruding from the holes in her own skin tight rubber body suit.
Jack's hiker screamed in terror.
"What's going on!? Let me out of here!"
"It's just H,' said Jack. "He's alright is H. I think you're going to like him." With that he switched his lights to full beam, illuminating the Hell Raisers rig and the two inside. "I think you better like him, anyway!"
Now the hiker saw why Suzy sat so upright in the cab. A thick linked chain hung down from the roof and was clipped to the back of her collar, pulling her head upwards and effectively preventing her from any movement.
Scared almost to breaking point the hiker pleaded again with Jack to let her leave, money or no money.
"I wont tell about all this," she whimpered. "Just let me go, it'll be like I never saw you."
Jack's attention, though, was held by the Raiser, who had left his cab and was releasing Suzy from her bonds. Black stilettos encased not only her foot but the heavy black stay up stockings that travelled all the way up, almost to the area rarely seen by anything other than Marks and Spencers sensible women's briefs.
The Raiser marched her around into the glare of the head lamps then turned her around and bent her over. In the back of the tight black rubber suit that clung to her so tightly was a rear entry hole which he playfully pointed to before chaining the girl to the bumper of his truck. Then, to the hiker's horror, he walked across to meet Jack.
"Please," the hiker begged, clasping Jack round the knees and burying her face into his crotch. "Let me go, let me go!." When Jack didn't answer she drew back the door lock and jumped from the wagon. In her frantic dash for the trees she left a shoe embedded in the soft soil. There was no going back for it. Onwards she raced, over the trunk of a fallen spruce and into the safety of the shadows.
Behind her the excited whoops of the two men grew louder as the chase began. Further and further into the woods she ran, bashing several times into the trunks of trees made invisible by the night. Finally she could run no more, her foot was bleeding and her legs were burning with the effort. Pressed tight against a tree she hid, fighting frantically to control her breathing as she strained to hear any sounds from the men.
There was nothing, but she dare not move.
Like a waxwork figure she remained motionless, peering into the dark wood, straining her senses. Only when she had calmed down did she even recognise the gentle prod of a branch. She raised her hand and flicked it away, still scanning the gloom. A moment later she felt it again, only this time it prodded her bottom before moving down and slipping under her crotch. Her body stiffened at the realisation, and a low pitiful cry tried vainly to escape her mouth.
"Hey babe," whispered a deep voice. "How about a bit of black? I just know you're gonna like it."
There was no resistance as the young hiker was led back to the wagons. In the blackness of the night she could hardly see his hand on her arm. It was almost as if an invisible force was propelling her to face the same horrors that had befallen the unfortunate creature they called groovy Suzy.
Soon Jack appeared on the scene and the three broke out of the woods into bright light. The hiker's fears increased ten fold at the sight of the other girl, now on her knees, still chained with head bowed towards the cab, the nails from her collar and breast guards sparkling under the lamps. The sight gave her the energy to try and wriggle free but the Hell Raiser's grip tightened and Jack fixed a hauliers strap around her neck in order to tether her next to Suzy.
With the women firmly secured Jack and Hell Raiser took a rest on the bumper of Jack's rig. The lamps on either side of the men shone brightly on the rounded back sides of the girls, on the shiny rubberised rear of Suzy and the skimpily covered bottom of the young hiker.
"So," said Jack. "How come you ended up with Susan? The last I heard she'd been passed on to that wanker Bingo, the scouse twat."
"She had. But Bingo dropped a load off on the East coast minus a few little items he kept for himself. When he got to Whitby he heard the law were after him so he flogged her off to some bikers. I found her in Scarborough. The bikers had her chained over a table in the back room of 'Smelly Joes', charging truckers a tenner a bash."
"So how'd you get her out?"
H flashed his wide mad smile.
"Simple, man," he replied. "I shoved the old bolt cutters down me overalls and had her free in no time. We was out the back window and away before they had time to scratch their balls. Now she's mine and I'm very happy with her."
Jack went across to the woman he'd caught all those months ago, pushed his finger into the butt hole of her suit and dragged her up.
"May I?"
Hell raiser came across and milked the hikers tits with powerful black hands. "Snap!"
Jack slipped the chain from the bumper and led Susan quietly back to his cab. He reached for her tits, then cried out as his finger caught the tip of a protective nail. "Christ H," he shouted, "these fucking nails are sharp."
The black man shook with laughter. "Of course, the Hell Raiser don't use no false shit."
Jack opened the cab door and motioned for Susan to climb in, where they sat and watched the floodlit action outside. H had wasted no time in stripping down the hitch hiker before rehitching her to the bumper and disappearing behind the trailer.
He'd been carrying a load of logs for a saw mill, so it wasn't his usual trailer, but he still had his shagging spare with him. It was an old tyre from a snow plough truck, the Oshkosh J2065, so wide it would take quite some force to push it over when left upright. He unbolted it and wheeled it around to the front of the cab.
"Right then, babe," he purred, "get your lilly white ass over the rubber."
He slackened her neck chain enough for him to get the wheel between her and the cab, then pushed her struggling form lengthways down on the tyre. The girl lay along the top, her feet off the floor, neck still loosely chained to the wagon's bumper.
He gave her backside two whole-hearted slaps, then released his trousers and moved in between the girl's parted legs, his coal black skin in stark contrast to her whiteness. Once between her thighs he took hold of each side of the tyre and moved it slowly back and fore, rubbing his solid black stick along the valley of her arse.
"Quim on a rim," he sighed to himself. "Hmm hmm, there ain't nothing like it." Pushing her forward a bit more this time, his purple bell end dropped behind the girl's slats. He eased her backwards until she felt his glans push its way between her lips, solid and uncompromising. Just an inch or so further, expanding and stretching her wet flesh before her folds sucked in the full tip of his prick.
He left it that way, soaking in the pleasures of sight and touch, feeling the cool night air on his shaft and the heat of a woman on his bloated, inflamed helmet.
The sight of Hell Raiser in such dominant mood was stimulus enough for Jack.
"Get out of that kit," he ordered Susan. "And see if you can remember how I like my cock sucked."
She was tamed now – she responded without hesitation, her hands reaching behind her back to the column of buckles that held her in tight confinement, releasing each one in turn, slowly and deliberately, all the time watching H having the other girl on his tyre. Her face betrayed no emotion except that of resignation. She'd had her share on the rubber, and no doubt she realised she would have plenty more.
H was a bastard to her, like all the men were since she had been taken from Peter. But as cruel as he sometimes was, he had never chained her to a table like those bikers had done, to be fucked a dozen times a day or more. And he hadn't strapped her arse for the sheer fun of it like Bingo used to do all the time, just to watch her squirm and to hear her squeals.
H was a hard man, but a fair one too. If she sucked him well and kept herself open she had nothing to worry about and as long as she belonged to him, no-one dared mess with her without his permission. In that way he was protective, just like Peter.
The last buckle popped and she struggled out of the clinging second skin.
Peter! her mind screamed. Oh God Peter, where are you? When was the last time she had thought of him? Ages ago. He seemed just a faded memory now, sometimes not even that. She had grown so used to this life it was almost as if she had never had any other.
The touch of probing fingers pressed home the message that Peter was best forgotten. The Drivers owned her now and she was theirs, like that poor girl out on the tyre would soon be. Best to do what pleased them if you wanted to keep your bottom free from the hauliers canvas strap. That was all that mattered now.
She watched as the girl on the tyre lifted her head in the sheer effort it took to accommodate H's sizeable black prick. He ran it in all the way, taking cruel pleasure in her difficulty. As she lowered her head to take in Jack's cock Susan spoke silently to the girl.
'You'll get used to it love. We all do.'
Sitting in his drivers seat, Jack enjoyed the sight of his friend fucking the hiker as much as the smooth wet kisses of the compliant ex-housewife. He stretched across an arm to her labia, occupying himself with her pronounced flaps.
She no longer sported the few golden hairs she once had. H was a dedicated lover of smooth mounds. He allowed the black girls to keep their pubes because dark skin didn't reveal their slits so well. White women, on the other hand, had a lovely wide crease he liked to have on permanent display, and Susan, with her heavy lips, was a perfect example of his taste.
Jack rested a controlling hand on Susan's head, slowing her down before he fired prematurely. Her lips and H's pistoning bum had brought him to melt down too soon and he didn't want to get to the point of no return before he'd slipped his dick between her curtains.
It was too late for H though. Clenched cheeks and straining neck sinews signalled a flood of sperm pumping its way inside the wriggling stretched-out hiker. H pushed the tyre forwards and his slippery slime-covered prick slopped from her hole.
At the same time Jack pulled his cock from Susan's mouth and signalled for her to straddle him, facing outwards to watch her owner.
He had moved in front of the girl to sit open legged on the bumper, and was now pulling her close with the chain and then pushing her away with his foot so that she rocked back and forth, mouth open, cleaning away the juices of their fuck as she did so.
Jack reached round and cupped Susan's tits, squeezing and kneading the flesh as her cunt snatched at his meat, teasing the cum out of his balls and sending it deep up inside her in splashes of boiling glutinous gel.
The hours had passed, putting both men behind in their schedules. They handed back each other's woman and bid farewell, at least until the following evening, for the next few days saw the horse and country fair in Wettle, North Yorkshire. Most of the Drivers would be there, to meet the Irish from Donegal. They ran many of the numerous fairground attractions and they were big buyers and sellers of stock, not all of it equine.
It was the early hours of the next morning when, with a blast of horns, the wagons finally pulled out from the National Park Centre and sped off in different directions, Jack for the North and Hell Raiser for the mill and then Wettle.
The night had drawn cold, bringing a dense mist that closed around everything, cloying and claustrophobic. On the lonely road a solitary car punched its way through the fog, turning first into the Park drive way before bouncing along the pot holed track to the Centre cabin.
If it had arrived fifteen minutes earlier it would have been greeted by two naked women with the tell tale stains of men between their legs. As it was, Peter Warburton had missed them, not by much this time.
He was definitely getting closer.
In his constant hunt for clues he got out of his vehicle and searched the area. There was nothing but two sets of tracks to confirm his theory that several drivers were enticing women into their trucks and abducting them. He also found a muddy shoe which meant another young female had fallen into their hands.
Disheartened but far from daunted he returned to his car, started the engine and once more made his way into the night.
Since police would not listen to his theories he had but one choice, to track down the Drivers himself, to bring them to justice and free Susan and all the other women they had corrupted. There was no road he was not prepared to travel in search of his Susan. He had discovered that she was alive, if you could call existing purely for the sexual gratification of men as living. It stung him deeply to think what she must be going through, what they were doing to her.
He fumbled with the dials on the CB to continue his search of the airwaves, listening for their telltale call: 'One four for a copy, any Drivers out there?' It was supposed to be an exclusive club, a secret order, but Peter had discovered them. Careless talk, as it often does, was going to be their downfall.