That fuckin cunt Alice Gless and her fifteen-year-old lesbian buddies stole the Dodge from the football stadium on Superbowl Sunday. Two hours later, they were charging across the desert with the wind in their air and Marlboro Reds hanging from their dust-dried. This is their story.
Those damn teenage whores had no respect for people or property. They quit school at fourteen, were selling their slits at fifteen and stole their first car on Alice's sixteenth birthday. Can you fuckin believe that? They stole an antique Plymoth from a car collector after trashing his house and pissing on his face (as a fuckin birthday present for Alice!). If I catch those whores, they're going to know the sting of my horse whip.
There were three of them. Alice, of course was the leader. She was a vicious, well-stacked slut with an unfortunate resemblance to Wednesday Adams. Thing is, Wednesday Adams wasn't a slut (at least not on the TV) and Alice was a ball-squeezing whore in the purest sense of the word. She was a cock-sucker and ass-fucker of extraordinary prowess and God help any bastard or bitch who thought they could tame her. That vagina-carrying Satan would fuck you senseless and steal every cent from your smoldering wallet; she'd set fire to your house and put out the flames with your grandmother's tit-milk
Alice's buddies were, as expected, an extremely pleasant duo named Wendy and Amber. Wendy could suck sand through a mile long garden hose and still hold a tune and Amber could take a dozen cocks in her ass between commercials while watching Springer and still insist that her tits be sucked until milk spurted out of them. What a pair! What a fuckin pair.
Amber spent the first five years of her life living with her serial killer father, the notorious raper of pretty schoolteachers, Roland Thurston. After the fuzz caught up with Thurston and his refrigerated collection of preserved vaginas, young Amber was placed in foster care with a nice religious family. Well, it wasn't look before Amber was sucking her little two-year-old stepsister's baby-cooze and begging her foster father to buttfuck her in front of his wife and the neighbors. Of course, that little incident got Amber's carers arrested and incarcerated and Amber, ever the resourceful bitch, stole a motor scooter and headed for L.A. There she lived on the streets with ex-soap opera stars and porno actresses in-waiting and earned a tidy living as a child prostitute named "Little Fuck".
Wendy's life, on the other hand, was "normal" until she was thirteen. When she wasn't stealing or fucking horny, financially dubious businessmen, Alice would trawl the internet chat rooms like a child-lover cruising a ten year old's birthday party. It was in one of these rooms that Wendy met Alice. The bitches arranged to meet for a tit-suck and a muff-munch and Alice quickly infected Wendy with her patented brand of perversion. As Alice was already a thief and part time hitwoman for a local kiddie porn baron, she offered similar employment to the easily encouraged Wendy and the rest is, as they say in our politically correct times, "herstory".
Alice, Amber and Wendy smoked their stolen cigarettes lickety-split and pulled into a gas station a hundred miles from the dog-eared edge of Vegas. The first order of the day during their rest stop was to kidnap a young girl. That is a VERY young girl. Not a curious ten-year-old with wet panties and an eager smile - no, a five-year-old with skin like whipped cream and a vagina ripe for fucking. Alice used to joke that doing a ten-year-old was like going out on a double date. From Alice's twisted point of view, a ten-year-old was over the hill.
Amber filled the Dodge with gas as Alice and Wendy approached the diner. A Texan in a suede cowboy hat was eyeing Amber off as he filled his pick-up with water. The cowboy's wife looked like Phylis Diller with a steel pole shoved up her backside and she was giving Amber a real long look. "You got a problem, bitch?" Amber yelled at "Phylis".
"Nah, you've got the problem," Phylis snarled. "We don't allow no whores around here."
Amber smiled. "Is that right? In that case, lady, you and John Wayne had better hit the road."
Phylis didn't appreciate Amber's dirty mouth. "I'm going to report you to the police, you slut," Phylis stuttered. "You should be at school."
"I already tried school," Amber laughed. "Didn't learn nothin but how to fuck the teachers for better grades."
The Texan hid his smile as Amber laughed at Phylis. He found Amber an appealing type of woman.
Phylis noticed her husband's smile. "Hey, wipe that smirk off your face, Charlie Bunter - you'll only encourage the little mattress-back."
Charlie looked ashamed.
"Don't worry about it, Charlie," Amber grinned. "I'll give you my number and me and my girlfriends can meet you down the road-" Amber winked at Phylis "-for a quick ass-fuck!"
It was clear from the look on Charlie's face that he would've taken Amber up on her generous offer.
"Over my dead body," Phylis shouted at Charlie.
Amber finished pumping gas and strutted past Phylis like a card-carrying root-rack. "That can be arranged too, Phylis."
Amber winked at Charlie as he got into his ute and drove off.
Inside the diner, Alice and Wendy were closing in on a little four-year-old girl wearing a Lion King t-shirt over her bikini bottoms. Her mother, an overweight blonde with a passing resemblance to Roseanne, was scoping the donut stand with her boyfriend, a skinny prick named Earl.
"I want the strawberry donut," Earl said.
"I don't like strawberry," the Roseanne wanna-be complained. "Why don't you learn to compromise, Earl?"
"I always compromise," Earl complained back. "Who puts the trash out? Who chops the firewood?"
This quality conversation continued as Alice took the little girl's hand and walked her right out of the diner. Wendy distracted the closet lesbian cashier by flashing her tits and demanding her phone number. The cashier was hot to spill that.
Yep, those two lesbian pedo whores were smooth fuckin operators. Earl was still insisting on strawberry filling as the Dodge of cheap teen root-rats screeched away from the diner with its not-so-lucky pre-teen fuck package securely on board.
"Can't you fuckin compromise, Earl?" the conversation continued.
The closet lesbian cashier, a slim beauty with an Elvis haircut, simply rolled her eyes as Earl and Rosie went at it. They'd be at it for hours.
The Dodge was pointed at Vegas, but Vegas wasn't Alice's final destination. Her destination was an old, disused cathouse that Alice had visited with her school teacher-raping Daddy twelve year's ago. That's when she'd first seen fucking and gotten a taste for it. Hell, one of the whores had offered little Alice her asshole to suck after an underaged local boy had filled it with cum.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Mr Double's Palisade A MrDouble Production:
Changes last made on: Friday, January 19, 2001