Chained & Exposed In The Warehouse

Sie hatte die Verschwundenen monatelang heimlich untersucht. Jedes einzelne Mädchen war zuletzt in der Nähe eines Lagerhauses in der Hawthorn Street gesehen worden. Nach einem Notruf wegen häuslicher Unruhe in der Nähe beschloss sie, die Straße abzusuchen. Als sie aufwachte, fand sie sich gefesselt an eine Wand gekettet, ihre Genitalien entblößt, ihr Mund weit geöffnet. Verzweifelt blickte sie sich um; ihre Mütze und ihr Namensschild hingen an einem Haken zwischen ihren Knöcheln. Verzweifelt zerrte sie an ihren Fesseln, als ihr Blick auf eines der Mädchen zu ihrer Rechten fiel, auf einen Mann, der ihr Gesicht misshandelte, und mit ziemlicher Sicherheit auf einen weiteren auf der anderen Seite der Wand. Dann wurde ihr klar, dass niemand wusste, dass sie dort war. Niemand würde sie holen kommen, zumindest nicht so bald. Plötzlich spürte sie, wie sie auf der anderen Seite der Wand etwas berührte ...

**Hawthorn Street** The last thing she remembered was the flickering streetlight, the smell of damp concrete, and the whisper of footsteps behind her. Now, cold metal bit into her wrists, her legs splayed wide, ankles shackled to rusted rings in the wall. The air reeked of sweat and something coppery—blood, maybe. Her pants were gone, her shirt ripped open, leaving her cunt exposed to the stale, humid air. A whimper tore from her throat as she twisted against the chains. To her right, a girl—no older than twenty—gagged on a thick cock, tears streaking her cheeks. Behind her, flesh smacked against flesh, wet and rhythmic. To the left, beyond the cracked concrete wall, something shifted. A low groan. The scrape of skin on stone. Then—warm fingers brushed the inside of her thigh. She jerked, breath hitching as a calloused palm slid higher, parting her lips. No warning. No hesitation. Just blunt pressure against her clit, rough circles that made her hips buck instinctively. A dark chuckle echoed from the other side of the wall. "Still fighting?" The voice was honeyed, mocking. "They all do at first." The fingers plunged inside her, and she screamed.

The fingers curled deep, knuckles pressing against her inner walls with brutal precision. She choked on her own breath, arching against the restraints as the intrusion stretched her. A second finger joined the first, scissoring roughly, dragging a ragged moan from her throat despite herself. The unseen man behind the wall hummed in approval. "There it is." His other hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her cries. "Don’t waste your voice—save it for when I’m really inside you." Her thighs trembled, slick with arousal and shame. The girl beside her sobbed around the cock in her mouth, the sound muffled, broken. Beyond the wall, the rhythmic slapping grew louder. Wet. Hungry. The fingers withdrew abruptly, leaving her clenching around nothing before the blunt head of a cock replaced them. He didn’t ask. Didn’t tease. Just pushed— And buried himself to the hilt in one ruthless thrust. Her scream dissolved into a guttural wail as he fucked her, deep and unrelenting, each snap of his hips grinding her clit against the rough denim of his jeans. The chains rattled as she writhed, pain and pleasure twisting together until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The man at her ear hissed, "You’re gonna remember every inch of this." And she knew—he was right.