Victims And Volunteers

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Chapter 1

Julie Chamblee hands shook as she tried to unscrew the cap from the rum bottle. George had screwed it back on, and as usual, had screwed it on so tightly, she couldn't get it off.

On the other bed, George pumped his short fat cock in and out of Marco's slimy ass. The two men feverishly kissed each other, thrusting their tongues in each other's mouths while George pounded in and out of Marco.

"Fuck!" Julie complained and stuck the cap into her mouth.

She used her molars to open the bottle and got out of bed. There was no ice in the plastic bucket, just a puddle of gritty water. The can of Diet Coke was warm, but Julie was beyond caring at this point. She splashed some of the flat dark liquid into a plastic cup, and then filled the cup with the rum.

Draining the glass did not still her shaking limbs, and the artificial sweetener did not rest well on her empty stomach.

She turned and looked at George's well muscled back and buttocks. She watched as Marco's legs, loosely wrapped around George's slim hips, bounced around under the force of George's thrusts.

Julie watched a trail of semen as it bubbled out of George's rectum, and trickled down George's hairy testicles.

Suddenly, Julie felt very ill, and ran to the bathroom.

"Aw, yeah, aw fuck yeah," George groaned as he shot stream after stream into Marco's clutching bowels.

When Julie staggered out of the bathroom, George was sucking Marco's short cock and finger fucking Marco's gaping rectum.

"Fuck, why'd you get rum, huh?" Julie complained. "Fucking hate that shit, ass hole."

"Store's right there, bitch; you can get what ever the fuck you want," George said, interrupting his cock sucking long enough to point in the general direction of the convenience store.

"Fine, fine, mother fucker," Julie spat, looking around for her clothing.

When she had met George and Marco in the treatment facility, they thought it was a hoot that they were all from the Bender/DeGarde area of Louisiana.

"Come all the way to Crestview, Florida and here y'all are," Julie had laughed.

In Group that night, Marco admitted that he was there to try to get off of meth. His reason was that his former girlfriend was expecting their baby and, even though she was now living with a 'no good rich mother fucker that stole her from him' he wanted to be a part of his baby's life.

"Plus that," the counselor said dryly, "It looks good for the judge when it comes time for sentencing, huh Marco?"

George flexed his muscles and admitted that he was there to try to get off the meth as well.

"Beating your boyfriend nearly to death wouldn't have anything to do with it, huh? The counselor asked.

"I am not gay!" George denied.

"Whatever," the counselor smirked. "A lot of straight guys live with cross dressers, right?"

"Mother fucker!" George yelled, getting to his feet.

"Sit your ass down before I knock it down, George," the counselor said, unperturbed by George's anger.

After group, Julie, Marco, and George sat down in the break room, sipping their cups of decaffeinated coffee.

"I um, I, you know, I did a couple of months, you know, in Bender's Lock Up?" Marco said quietly.

"Yeah? What for?" George asked.

Marco launched into a long story, embellished by many humorous anecdotes that made him look tough, almost heroic and certainly daring.

"But, um, you know, I mean, I love me the ladies know what I'm saying?" Marco said, lowering his voice. "But ain't nothing wrong with you know, slipping a little to a guy, you know, if they're down with that."

"I'm not gay," George denied.

"Fuck, ain't nobody saying you are," Julie said quickly. "Personally? I think that'd be so fucking hot, though, a three way? With two guys didn't mind doing each other."

"Oh yeah?" George asked, interested.

"Yeah, I mean, you guys are always going on and on about how hot it is when two girls fuck each other; why can't I think it's hot for two guys to fuck each other?" Julie asked.

"Julie, phone," a nurse waddled into the break room.

Julie went to the lobby, picked up the telephone and spoke with her husband, Mike Chamblee, then her daughter Andrea. Mike did put their younger daughter on the phone and Julie made the appropriate noises, but Kasie did not respond and after a moment, Mike ended the telephone call.

Four days later, against medical advice, Julie, George, and Marco checked out of the treatment facility and, using Julie's credit card checked themselves into a room at the Crestview Lodge.

Julie managed to get two hundred dollars out of an ATM and George found a source of met.

Meth was not Julie's drug of choice; she wanted alcohol. She loved alcohol, vodka in particular. George took some money, went to the convenience store (Julie was too paranoid after smoking meth, reacting badly to meth) and bought a pint of rum.

"Fuck, a pint?" Julie complained.

"Fuck, how much you need?" George asked.

"More than this," Julie snapped, and proved her point by drinking the entire pint in one swallow.

****

Julie staggered out of the motel room, got her bearings, took a few steps and almost fell down. She could not remember the last time she had eaten, couldn't even remember what day it was.

It had been a Tuesday when they'd checked out of Crestview C.D.U. but that didn't help her right now.

She entered the convenience store at a staggering run and almost fell over as she stood in front of the ATM. She found her card, inserted it, and punched out the numbers. Nothing happened, so she cleared the screen and entered her PIN again.

"Something's wrong with your ATM," she spat at the clerk, a scrawny Asian man.

"Not my machine, you call number, they come fix," he shouted.

"Come on, ass hole, it's in your store, get off your ass and help me here," Julie spat.

"Not my machine, number right there, you call number," the man insisted.

"Please?" Julie decided to try charming the man. "I'd really appreciate if you'd..."

Six years earlier, when Julie Vogel was eighteen, she had been a striking beauty. Her hair had been long, lustrous blonde locks that surrounded a round face and fell to the middle of her back. Her skin was lightly tanned, free of blemishes, and her large blue eyes mesmerized most boys and men that looked into them. Her nose was a small snub nose above full, pouting lips.

Her breasts were an impressive thirty six D cup, her waist, according to the chain that one of her lovers had looped around it, was twenty six inches, and her hips were a womanly swell of thirty two inches.

Her backside was compact, but was still rounded enough to look good in snug jeans, and in miniskirts. The miniskirts did highlight her sleek, lightly tanned legs, legs that she enjoyed wrapping around multiple men, other than her husband, Mike Chamblee.

Six years, two children, and countless bottles of vodka later, Julie looked nearly twenty years older than her age, was at least seventy pounds overweight, and was nearly yellowed in skin tone. Her hair was filthy (neither she nor Marco or George had used the motel's barely adequate shower yet.) her eyes were bloodshot, and her body odor was intolerable.

Again, she smiled what used to be a seductive smile at the man behind the counter.

The clerk almost smirked, but instead just repeated his statement.

"Can you at least get my card out? It's stuck," Julie asked.

"You call number; they come fix," the man repeated.

Julie checked her purse and found a few dollar bills stashed in a side pocket.

"Fine, fine, mother fucker, give me a fifth of the Dobro vodka; how much is that?" Julie spat.

"Five dollar twenty nine cent

Julie grabbed a can of regular Coke from the cooler, and grabbed a bag of powdered doughnuts and added that to the fifth of vodka.

When she staggered back to the motel room, both George and Marco were smoking more meth. Julie did not ask where they'd gotten the money for the drugs; she didn't care.

It had been fun, exciting, the first night they entered the motel room. Julie had wasted no time at all in stripping and proudly displaying her fat breasts to the two males.

(In her eyes, she was still the very desirable eighteen year old Homecoming Queen of St. Thomas Aquinas, not a bloated alcoholic woman.)

George, in an effort to prove that he was not gay, immediately began to tongue her thick blonde thatch.

Julie reached out to Marco and took his small cock into her mouth.

Then she pushed Marco's head close to George's short, fat cock.

She did not orgasm; George was unskilled in eating pussy. Both Marco and George did orgasm. Julie hated the taste of semen, but swallowed Marco's thin spurts.

Then both men took turns pumping in and out of her pussy before Marco offered George his ass.

From that moment on, Julie was almost an afterthought, getting cock only when one or the other was high enough to fuck her.

Standing in the doorway, watching the two lovers using their drug of choice, Julie briefly considered turning around and walking out. That thought was replaced with the sobering knowledge that there was nowhere for her to go.

Chapter 2

It was only by chance that Julie heard the muffled squeak of her cell phone. Opening the cheap plastic suitcase, she dug around until she found her cell phone.

Bending over hurt, walking hurt, trying to focus on the display of her cell phone hurt.

She carried the cell phone into the bathroom and squatted over the commode. Wiping herself clean, she noticed some spotting on the rough tissue and winced.

She did not remember saying it, but she supposed, in a drunken stupor, fueled by meth, she might have given voice to her thoughts. Both George and Marco claimed she declared that the two of them were faggots and that was a good thing, because with their tiny cocks, they'd never be able to satisfy a woman.

George had grabbed her, shoved her onto her belly, and jammed his cock into her tightly clenched bowels.

"This tiny?" he screamed in her ear. "Huh? It tiny now, you fucking fat cunt?"

Julie did remember thinking, "Fucking me up the ass just proves even more that you're a faggot."

She did not say it out loud, though; she could tell that George's rage would not have been limited to sodomy. Marco, Julie guessed, to curry favor with George, had also sodomized her, then had jammed his fist into her pussy and fisted her to an unwanted orgasm.

Even now, hours later, she could still feel his fist punching in and out of her, could still hear George cheering Marco on.

The cell phone squeaked again, indicating that there was a voice mail on it.

"Listen," Julie heard Mike's voice, harsh and tight, "There is a bus ticket waiting for you at Crestview Greyhound; you ever want to see your kids again, I strongly suggest you waddle your fat ass down there and get on the next bus home."

There was a long pause.

"Julie, I am sick of this shit, you hear?" she heard her husband's voice spit out. "Just be on that bus. You got until Friday get your fat ass home or don't bother."

Julie was outraged; how dare he think he could order her around.

She looked at the date on the cell phone display, did the math in her head and figured out it was now Wednesday.

She pulled her filthy panties back up and flushed the toilet. Suddenly, an overwhelming weariness overcame her and she sat down on the bathroom floor.

George staggered into the bathroom two hours later, flicked on the dim light and saw Julie sitting, vacantly staring at nothing. He emptied his bladder, flushed, and then gave her a nasty kick as he left the bathroom.

Julie stood on shaky legs, lurched into the small tub, and turned on the hot water tap. Warm water finally gurgled out and she peeled her blouse, bra, and panties off.

Neither one of the two towels in the bathroom was especially clean, but she dried herself as best as she could, and then staggered out of the now humid bathroom.

On one bed, Marco and George slept, entwined with each other.

Julie took a clean bra out of her suitcase, but could find no clean panties. Shrugging, she pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and some socks.

George and Marco had not stirred; Julie stealthily crept over to where Marco's duffel bag lay. An inside pocket revealed his wallet and his wallet yielded Julie a cache of thirty three dollars.

She didn't press her luck by searching the dark room for George's bag; George was dangerous when angry.

Julie decided the remaining clothing in her suitcase was just to dirty, too disgusting (she could smell the overwhelming body odor on the clothing) and simply left the suitcase right where it was. Her purse was the only thing she took with her as she left the room.

George woke up when he heard the door slam, groggily got to of the bed and looked around for the last of the meth. Not finding it, he slapped Marco until the smaller man woke up.

"Where the fuck is it, huh? Bitch? Where the fuck is it? Had a whole corner left; ain't here now, mother fucker," George screamed.

"Fuck man, I don't know; maybe that fat bitch smoked it, huh?" Marco lied.

"Bull shit, cock sucker; fat cunt don't even like that shit," George screamed and gave Marco a savage punch to the face.

George continued to punch Marco until the smaller man quit moving.

****

The bus station was nine blocks from the Crestview Lodge; with very limited English, the Latina clerk of the convenience store had given Julie directions.

The woman behind the tick pane of glass looked as if she had never smiled in her life and regarded Julie with unguarded suspicion as Julie wobbled toward her.

"My um, my husband called me, said y'all got a ticket for me?" Julie asked, yelling through the metal grate.

"Don't need to yell; can hear you just fine," the woman spat.

"Ticket to DeGarde? Louisiana?" Julie asked.

"Name?" the woman asked.

"Julie. Julie Chamblee," Julie said and dug out an ID.

"Yes ma'am, right here," the woman agreed and slid the ticket packet through the tray.

"Um, if I cashed this in, how much I get for it?" Julie asked.

"Nothing; it'd be credited back to the credit card," the woman snapped. "We don't give out cash for tickets when they were bought with credit cards."

"Just checking," Julie said and looked at the ticket.

The display on her phone showed that it was now eleven twenty eight in the evening; the bus, according to her ticket, would be leaving at one forty in the morning.

Julie wondered if she had time to go back to the convenience store and buy a few more pints of vodka; she had three pints stashed in her large purse. Stepping out into the dank night air, she was suddenly gripped with an unexplainable fear and ducked back into the station.

The station sold stale sandwiches, tiny bags of chips, snack cakes, and lukewarm sodas. Julie bought two sandwiches and several overpriced bags of chips.

"Fresh ones come in at seven," the girl offered as Julie stuffed the sandwiches into her purse.

"By seven, I'll be long gone," Julie said and waddled to a hard plastic bench.

She ate one of the sandwiches and drank a warm soda, then hurriedly scampered to the restroom.

"Here; we lock it up after ten; damned transients like going in there, falling asleep," the old woman snarled as Julie frantically tried opening the bathroom.

****

Eight hours from Crestview to Atlanta Georgia, a three hour layover in Atlanta, and then an eleven hour trip from Atlanta to Jackson, Mississippi.

In Jackson, Julie bought more stale sandwiches, then dashed across the busy street to the convenience store and bought three more pints of vodka and some cold cans of Coke.

For five hours, Julie sat and waited, then finally boarded a bus bound for New Orleans. Knowing Mike would be less than pleased if she got off the bus reeking of alcohol; Julie finished the three pints before they reached New Orleans, Louisiana. For nearly three hours, she sat at the Lee Circle terminal and waited. Several times, she started to walk out of the terminal, desperate to find some place to purchase alcohol, but paranoia of the large city kept her prisoner in the terminal.

At three forty seven on Friday afternoon, she boarded her last bus, and settled down for the three and a half hour trip from New Orleans to DeGarde.

Lack of proper rest, lack of proper diet, and lack of alcohol made Julie extremely irritable and even the somewhat welcome sight of the DeGarde Inn, whose lobby served as the terminal for Greyhound did not lessen her irritability.

****

Julie easily spotted her husband, Mike, among the few people in the lobby. Mike stood at six feet, three inches so he was taller than most.

Julie looked at the handsome young man; he had a full head of dark hair, hazel eyes, and a straight, white smile. His shoulders were wide, his chest muscular, and his hips narrow.

Julie wondered why she felt nothing but resentment, bitterness whenever she looked at Mike.

Before she could launch into a litany of complaints, Andrea screamed "Mommy!" and wrapped her skinny arms around Julie's legs.

"Hi Sweetheart!" Julie forced a happy smile and cheerfulness.

"Here, hold her," Mike ordered, thrusting Kasie into Julie's hands.

"Mike, I've already got my hands full with..." Julie snapped, but accepted the three year old girl.

"Mommy you all better now?" Andrea asked, looking up at her mother.

Mike and Julie had simply told the girl that Mommy had to go to a hospital; explaining alcoholism to a four year old girl wasn't an undertaking either parent was ready to tackle.

"I think so," Julie lied, trying not to react when Mike roughly looped Kasie's diaper bag over her shoulder.

"Me and Daddy prayed every night for you to get all better," Andrea said, dancing in her happiness to see her mother again.

Julie tried to listen to the chattering girl for a moment, and then looked up, then around. Mike was nowhere to be seen.

There was a coffee shop in the lobby; Mike's two vices were Dunhill cigarettes (Julie loathed the smell and taste of cigarette smoke) and coffee.

"Come on, let's see if Daddy went in here," Julie ordered and lugged both girls toward the small shop.

There was no sign of Mike.

"If he is outside smoking, can't even wait two fucking seconds to shove a cigarette in his..." Julie hissed and shoved the door open.

Mike was nowhere to be seen.

Julie looked for his car, a blue Toyota Camry, and did not see it.

A sudden blast of cold wind pushed Julie back into the lobby.

"Here, come here, let's sit down and wait for Daddy," Julie said and Andrea followed her to the couch.

Julie dug her cell phone out and hit the number one. She waited, pursing her lips tight, and then tried the number

Kasie apparently became bored with being held and squirmed mightily to get down. Julie didn't relinquish her hold on the three year old, though.

Kasie Rachael Chamblee suffered from Fetal Alcoholic Syndrome; Julie drank daily while pregnant with the girl. As a result, Kasie was severely brain damaged. Kasie was not, and most likely would never be potty trained. Her speech was primarily grunts; it was rare for her to make any distinguishable sound. She did not listen, did not respond when called. She rarely cried, rarely laughed.

Julie knew if she put the child down, Kasie would run off, most likely run outside, putting herself in danger.

"No, no, Kasie, no!" Julie snapped and jammed the cell phone back into her purse.

"Excuse me?" she said, approaching the woman behind the front desk. "My cell phone seems to have died; is there any way I could use...?"

"Sure Sugar, help yourself," the woman smiled at the small child.

"Hi pretty girl, what's your name?" the woman asked Kasie.