Posted by dolungbridge on June 09, 2008 at 20:00:20:
Poor Patti Hirst was sure not the first
millionaire's girl to be taken;
but the kidnappers' assumption of Mr. Hirst's love
for his daughter was sadly mistaken.
In fact, Mr. Hirst--Boston's "King of Bratwurst"--
was disgusted at what had transpired
when his daughter moved out to some coed frat-house
where sex, booze and drugs were acquired.
Patti got on to the cheerleading squad
that liked jazzing the school's football team
with their pole-dancing moves and their panty-flash kicks
that made players and spectators cream.
The squad's choreography changed every week,
so on Tuesdays the cheer sluts retreated
to a cozy gym space where they practiced their steps
in full uniform, with their skirts pleated.
They'd rehearse for hours, well into the night,
'til their sports bras were sodden with sweat;
then they'd jog to the lockers, start fooling around
and get themselves thoroughly wet.
Three thugs hatched a plan to target the heiress
to what they presumed was great wealth;
so one night they snuck onto the campus,
then crept up to the gym with swift stealth.
They knew that Ms. Hirst loved to preen and to groom
and to make herself pretty for bed.
"Let's grab her when all of the others have gone,"
the ringleader prudently said.
So the kidnappers waited and silently watched
as the other girls left for their dorm.
Then they burst their way in to the cheerleader change-room
to dose Patti with chloroform.
Too bad the cheer-coach had also stayed late
to take care of some dull paperwork.
She smiled in greeting, but met only death
as three slugs caused her body to jerk.
The thug's silenced pistol made hardly a sound,
just a cough as he casually shot her.
She fell with a whimper tits up on her desk
and witnessed no more of the slaughter.
Debbi had also not left yet.
She had just started getting undressed
when a kidnapper charged in and punctured
the firm, buxom mounds of her breasts.
The sting of each slug's penetration
caused Debbi her bosom to clutch.
She sagged to the floor 'gainst a locker
blood welling out, warm to the touch.
"This one's still wet, man! Let's fuck her!"
her murderer chortled with glee.
"Stick to the plan!" barked the leader.
"And make sure she ain't gonna see!"
The gunman, so cruel, shrugged his shoulders.
"So sugar, you're fresh outta luck.
You're just gonna have to chug bullets
instead of cock for your last fuck."
The thug aimed down, and the two others
paused briefly a moment to watch
as another two rounds from his silencer
shredded the cheer-brief that covered her crotch.
Leaving poor Debbi to writhe and to groan
in the throes of death's indignity
the kidnappers cornered their prey by the mirrors
and gassed her before she could flee.
They made off with Patti; they sent off a note
that for six million she'd be returned
but the old man, displeased with his daughter's lax morals,
the ransom demand coldly spurned.
He thought that at best she deserved what she got;
at the worst, she had rigged the whole thing.
Maybe she knew she was out of his will;
and that she would be heir to nothing.
All Patti was heir to at that very moment
was bondage, a ball gag and rape.
The brutes mauled her breasts, they rammed their cocks home,
they used fists when she tried to escape.
Her cheer uniform they kept clean as can be,
though soaked with the sweat of her fear,
but Patti had always liked being a slut
'neath the skirt of her virgin's veneer.
She soon came to cherish the torments
and trials of her captivity.
She longed for the scratch of the ropes on her wrists,
the confinement where she felt most free.
Several days passed and the ransom demands
kept on coming, but no one responded.
The ringleader thought they should just cut their losses
a motion the others seconded.
The gun the gang ditched shortly after the murders;
And there were no blades in their lair;
just some old bow-hunting paraphernalia
the previous tenants left there.
Poor Patti's ropes were synched tight 'cross her breasts,
her arms and legs bound to a chair.
She was secretly thrilled to be used once again,
to be fucked, punished, pulled by the hair.
The ringleader, who, of these ruffians who raped her
was one she considered most handsome,
said "Sweetums, I don't know if you've heard the news,
but your Daddy won't cough up your ransom.
We don't wanna do it, please trust me, we don't
but as criminals we got no way
to be sure we ain't caught, so believe it or not
you gotta be dead straight away."
Poor Patti's pleas were constrained by the gag.
She twitched as she tugged at her ropes,
but the knots never loosened; she died in the harness
abandoned by all of her hopes.
The men each took turns, with the cruelest disdain,
launching darts into poor Patti's front.
They pointed their shafts at her flat perfect abs
avoiding her sorely used cunt.
After she gasped her last breath through the gag
and her head slumped in death’s liberation
Poor Patti’s corpse was cut free of the ropes,
and subjected to more molestation.
Later, the crooks, having prodded and kneaded
the flesh of the slow-cooling dead;
and sated their lust in her snatch , on her bust
on her face, in the slits where she bled,
rolled her up in a sheet with the soiled remains
of the pleat-skirt and panties she wore
and dumped the whole mess in the dark of the night
in a swamp out on rural route four.
Poor Patti drifts in her watery tomb
hair unfurled like the dress of Ophelia,
a sad object-lesson in the strange twists of fate
that life as a "rich heiress" can deal ya.