'Can't believe how easy this is,' Beth thought, smiling flirtatiously at the club doorman on her way through. The tall, stoic man paid her little mind as she sauntered through the door. She began to dance to the music even as she made her way through the entry and down to the main dance floor.

Did she really look 19? Was she really acting it? Dressing it? Showing it? She must have been, because she'd been able to club here for a couple of months now on her fake ID. And in fact, Beth was all of 14 years old. She was close to her 15th birthday, but as her father liked to say, 'close' didn't mean 'there.'

Beth had been blonde as a child, but her hair had darkened to light brown when she began puberty. The way it rose in soft, fluffy layers above her temples, made the oval shape of her head, appear more heart shaped. After the rise on each side, her hair fell in soft, luxurious brown wisps. The locks coming down the front of her body were evenly trimmed just below the front of her collar bone, while in the back they came down a few inches longer. Beth's eyes were also brown; a darker brown than her hair, although her light use of eye shadow made them appear a shade or two lighter than they really were.

Beth's cheeks had a wide, gentle curve that gave her face a somewhat ladylike appearance. This could be one reason her fake ID got her through the door, she reasoned. Proper use of foundation and a few accents of blush helped them contrast from her eyes, and made her eyes stand out more. The one makeup tool Beth used generously was her rouge shade of lipstick. It made her lips look inviting and appealing; a natural choice for a girl that smiled constantly and often enough to make it look painted on to her face, as Beth did.

"Can I get you anything?" the bartender asked, returning Beth's smile as she went to the bar.

They served her anything she asked for, without question. Tonight, though, she didn't feel like having alcohol.

"Just a Pepsi tonight," she said, giving a light shrug.

"Ah, you drove here tonight," the bartender teased, winking slyly as he filled the glass.

Beth just giggled at the tease as she paid for the drink. Admitting she had no driver's license would give herself away. The bartender gave a friendly nod as she thanked him for the Pepsi.

After finishing her drink, Beth went back to the dance floor. She danced sensually, but with grace. She softly clapped her hands at shoulder level with every few steps. Although she didn't show it, she enjoyed knowing that some patrons at the club were watching her dance. The least she could do, she thought, was give them a good show for their appreciation.

She wasn't sure why it seemed so easy for her to club here, but Beth wasn't going to look the gift horse in the mouth. Her idea was simple: balance a mix of modesty and risque. Too much of the former would raise suspicion about her being underage; too much of the latter would be inviting trouble she knew she wouldn't be able to handle. She put the plan to work in everything that the employees and patrons alike, saw and heard, and smelled about her. How she walked, how she danced, how she spoke. How she wore makeup, the brand of perfume she wore, and in her attire.

Beth's classic 'little black dress' was less revealing than most evening dresses. It had a button front from a boat neck level with her collarbone, to her waist. It had opaque half sleeves, wider at the elbow cuffs and at the shoulders, than along the rest of her arms. The wide, fluffy swing skirt came to three inches above her knees, giving more than enough coverage, given the length of her legs and thighs. The hem was covered with a thin, threadlike fringe measuring half a centimeter long. Instead of wearing black pantyhose, Beth wore a simple beige that matched her skin tone, though her pantyhose were evening sheer, with enough spandex to stretch comfortably and provide a faint, but noticeable, shimmer. Her shoes were black leatherette pumps with a modest 2 ½" heel. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of brass-colored hoop earrings. Her purse was a black leather clutch.

It was 7 pm when Beth went to use the ladies' room. The hallway leading there was longer than she thought would be built in any place open to the public. The ladies' room was at the far end of the hall. Evenly distanced between it and the men's room was another door that had a peephole, but it was always locked, so it must have been for club staff.

Beth never paid this door any mind. The room behind it was off limits to her, and she was only here to dance, and enjoy being watched. Vanity was not the only driving factor behind Beth enjoying that some people at the club spent their time watching her dance. Beth's parents made an excellent living, and their idea of taking care of Beth was giving her enough money to buy herself what she liked. They never ate together, never spent quality time together. Beth's sister was at college now, and her brother working in another state. Her parents never made her do chores, even cleaning her room. Since she could feed and clothe herself, they gave her whatever money she needed to meet these ends. Bereft of being held, feeling loved, any problems she had, being "fixed" with money; these were at the root of her vanity, and her need to be a center of attention. She loved to dance here at the club precisely because she'd learned people watched her. Adulation and infatuation with her, were as much as she could hope for, so she soaked it in as much as she could.

Beth made it ten feet past the door when she felt herself grabbed from behind. A burly arm snaked around her breast, pinning her arms against her sides. Her mouth was tightly covered by a hand, which stifled and muffled any cries of alarm into soft whimpers. A man clad in a shirt showing he worked here at the club, darted out of the men's room and scooped her feet up off the ground, holding them so she couldn't kick or try to drag her heels along the floor. At the same time, he grabbed Beth's clutch, which had dropped to the floor when she was seized.

With remarkable speed, the men easily carried her through the now open door. Beyond was a simple landing with enough room for four people to stand on. Once they were through the door, another man, also clad in a club employee shirt, quickly closed it again, twisting a heavy lock tight. He followed behind the man holding her feet as she was carried, now more slowly and carefully, down a long flight of steps.

At the bottom of the stairs was another door. As she was carried through it, she could see it was big and heavy. The room beyond seemed to be a control room for some of the audio equipment in the club: its speakers, its television monitor at the bar, and controls for the security system. A tall man whom she recognized as the club's manager was in the room.

The man holding Beth's feet and her clutch, passed the purse off to the club manager. He opened it and took out Beth's wallet, holding up her ID. He snickered with an arrogantly smug look as the two men holding Beth, turned so she could see the manager's face.

"You really thought this fooled us, didn't you?"

Beth's eyes opened wide. The hand tightly covering her mouth, muffled another cry of alarm.

"You like living dangerously, huh, sweetheart?" Beth tried to shake her head no. "You're an adrenalin junkie?" She tried to shake her head no again. "You had fun buying booze from us, and you didn't give a crap if we got caught and ended up taking the fall, right?" Beth's eyes dipped down for a second. All the men caught it, however, and smothered dark laughs.

"Yeah, why should she care about that?" asked a gruff voice behind her, as the arm wrapped around her breast from behind, gave a squeeze.

"I dunno," the manager said with a broken half-grin. "I'd have done the same thing in her place, if I could have." They all gave another menacing laugh.

"Well, BETH," the manager hung on the sound of her name for a few seconds. "We know more about you, than a naive little girl like you ever dared think about. Even kids' privacy isn't as private as your comfy little life hinted at. I bet you can't wait for your old man and lady to find out what you've been up to behind their backs, huh?"

Beth's eyes grew wide again and she made another fruitless attempt at crying out. The bad marks on their name, from her own actions, was the one thing that would make Beth's parents take notice. The one thing she had, would be cut off quickly. They'd probably let the state put her in a juvenile hall until she was 18. Tears started to trickle over her bottom eyelids, despite her attempt to blink them back.

"Aw, so sad," the manager taunted. "You're gonna make us cry too. You should only know what it's like to be given something to really cry about."

The fourth man, who'd been waiting behind the door with the peephole upstairs, smirked harshly. "You're gonna wish for that when we're done with you," he said with a leer.

The manager's face and voice turned dangerous. "Tie this girl up."

Beth started crying fearfully as her feet were released and allowed to drop down to the floor. The man behind her, released her mouth just long enough for the manager to step forward and cover it with his own hand. The other three men grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her back. Next to these three strong men, she was more a kid than she ever felt. She had no chance of resisting them. Working with each other, they tied her little wrists with a rope that felt strangely smooth. The coils and cinches were drawn tight around each contour in her wrists, making all her struggles futile. She whimpered in fear as the knot was tightened. Beth didn't dare squirm around and try to grab the knot with her fingers while they were still holding her fast.

The manager uncovered her mouth and took a step back after the knot was secured. Beth expected as much mercy as a serial killer might get from a court, but her tearful pleas spilled out of her mouth as automatically as her breath.

"Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me. Pleammmmfffhffh!!"

The hand clamped back over her mouth, and now, in addition, her nostrils were pinched close, cutting off all her breath. Beth squirmed frantically, her bound wrists twisting and pulling in a frenzy. All at once her mouth and nose were released, making her gasp desperately for air. As she panted heavily, trying to get her breath back under control, two of the men pulled her up straight and began to wrap a cotton rope looking a lot like a clothesline, above her bust. Beth started to sob openly, both from the lingering pressure in her lungs, and from growing terror.

It took the men less time to tie the rope first above, and then below, her breasts, than it did for them to tie her wrists. Her wrists were tied crossed, making her elbows stick out slightly at her sides, and now these ropes around her body pulled them back in against her sides, making all of her bondage press more tightly around her body.

Holding her by her elbows and her upper arms, two of the men pulled and dragged her to another door, which led to another hallway. A door at its far end was unlocked and opened, leading to a supply room. Beth stumbled more than once, her heels clacking ominously along the wooden floor as she was pulled around various stacks of boxes and crates. Another door was opened; Beth couldn't even tell where in the supply room this door was, and it opened to two short flights of steps downward in a reverse L-shape. Behind the door at the bottom was a utility closet of some sort, with a switch box on the wall about two feet over Beth's head. She'd be unable to reach it herself, and even the taller club employees might need a small step stool. The closet, however, looked empty. A light switch near the door, level with Beth's head, provided a soft, dim light.

Beth was terrified and panted with short breaths. "I beg you, please I beg you, I uummmffffhffhh!!"

Again her mouth was covered, and again her nose pinched closed. Again Beth's body jerked and thrashed. But this time, the ropes around her breast and ribs constricted expansion when she was released again. Beth's face turned red as she gulped air back down into her body, in whatever quantities she could. The constriction of her body by the ropes made trying to get her breath back painful and labored. Her fearful sobs quickly grew softer and she dipped her head down, not daring to look her captors in the eye again.

"Gag her!"

A hand roughly pushed her chin up as a strip of white cloth was slipped over her head and against her mouth. Beth's lips already parted from her sobbing, little effort was needed to pull the cloth into her mouth and between her teeth. The cloth was quickly drawn tight, yanking the corners of Beth's mouth back and pulling her lips closed taut around the cloth. Beth felt a tight knot being drawn closed and pushing against the back of her neck.

They pushed her into the closet facing the door, and pushed her down so she was sitting on the floor. Her feet were grabbed again and lifted up, and her ankles were tied tightly with another length of cotton rope.

"Let's get upstairs to the club level," the manager said. "We all have to be up there for tonight's event. The controls are all programmed and set, right?"

"Right." Beth couldn't tell which of her captors was answering. The door was closed and locked, confining Beth inside the closet. She could hear their footsteps up the stairs and then the sound of the door at the top being closed and locked. A faint sound of something being pushed along a floor sounded for a couple of minutes, and then silence.

Beth cried softly, whimpering into her gag. It was Friday night; the 'event' that the club employees were referring to was an organized selection of dance music from a particular era, genre, or artist, that ran from 7:30 pm to 1 am. All of the club employees were up on the dance floor level throughout the event. Any of the other clubbers who'd been watching her dance, might have asked one of the employees about her, but it was plain they'd lie about it, saying she didn't feel well and left early. Who would doubt them? All the while, she was locked in this closet, with four tightly locked doors and two and a half steep flights of stairs separating her from the club level. The loud beat and music playing on the club level would make it impossible for anyone to hear any noise she made, no matter how much of a racket she raised; but because she was bound and gagged, she'd be unable to do that, either.

Beth sat and cried. As scared as she still felt, increasing misery began to replace much of her initial fear.

Beth could faintly hear the beat and rhythm set by the bass component of the music. The rest of it, she couldn't hear. There was enough light in the closet for her to see, but the light was still dim, draping the closet in shadow. Her bound ankles twitched back and forth, causing her heels to scrape against the cold tile floor.

Time dragged on. Beth's body began to ache. She squirmed uncomfortably in her tight bondage. The scraping of her heels against the floor made her hair stand on end. What did her captors plan to do to her? How badly would they hurt her? How long would she have to lay in a hospital? Beth's frightened sobs started increasing in volume. She began to struggle and squirm in earnest attempt to free herself. Her feet came off the floor, and she kicked them into the air, her bound ankles twisting her feet one way, then the other. Her wrists pulled, pushed, twisted and writhed, every direction she could, and even a few she couldn't.

Beth was gagged. Her cries for help came out as soft whimpers and sobs. What difference would it have made if she could have screamed? It had to be a better chance than whatever noise she could make now, or so she told herself. Her lips quivered as much as their being stretched taut would let them. She threw her head to one side, and then the other, before she shook it side to side more quickly.

It seemed she had as much chance of trying to dislodge her gag, as she had of screaming loud enough to be heard. Quiver her lips as she tried, she was unable to draw one of them underneath the folds of cloth. Shake her head as much as she did, she couldn't make the strip of sheet move in any direction, not the tiniest fraction. Struggle as she might, she was unable to dislodge her gag. Her cries for help never came out as more than soft whimpers and sobs.

At least she could make a louder noise by kicking her heels at the door. Her bound feet flailed at it, pounding the reinforced heel caps and the arched soles of her shoes against the heavy wood. There was definitely no indication that she was remotely close to kicking the door open. Utility closets in establishments like these, were hardly designed to keep people out, much less in; the weak locks were as much to keep the door in place while the closet wasn't in use. But this closet could easily be an exception. Beth being a captive here, was a frightening hint that this closet may have been made for that purpose. Beth was probably not the first young female to find herself a a captive in this closet. She'd been grabbed and carried out of sight in a way that made it appear well planned and rehearsed. Beth kept in shape and thought that, for a girl of her size and age, she was reasonably strong. But against any one of the club employees, much less a group of them working together, she was dismally feeble.

And what little strength she -did- have, was failing. Her legs were feeling too fatigued and heavy to continue flailing and kicking her heels at the door. Little by little they sagged back down to the closet floor, where she could do no more except to twitch her bound ankles back and forth, making her heels resume the ominous scraping. This cut her effective noise level by more than half, since Beth's gag was still every bit as tight as when it had first been fixed in her mouth, and she was no more able now to dislodge it a millimeter, than then. The smooth weave of the ropes left her skin without any abrasions, but she was tied more than tightly enough that she'd been unable to loosen any of her bondage in the least.

Beth was completely defeated, and more helpless than she'd ever felt. She huddled against the back wall of the closet, and sobbed miserably. The dark shadows of the closet enveloped her, making her feel buried alive.

Beth had stopped struggling. She merely squirmed. Tears still ran freely down her face, but she just whimpered instead of trying to make louder noise. Her breast throbbed with pain from her own heartbeat. Time stood still. All of the things that made Beth more scared than anything else, leaped out at her from every dark shadow in the closet. She squirmed weakly; whimpered miserably. She was too young to die, she tried to tell herself, again and again.

The bass pulsing had stopped. When, Beth had no idea, without any sense of time in her terrible prison. The only sounds Beth could hear were her own. Not only could she hear her muffled whimpers, and the scraping of her heels along the floor, and the sound of her own heartbeat, but she could even hear her pulse and the running of her blood through her veins.

And something else. A low grinding noise, like...

A faint click. A door being unlocked.

Beth whimpered louder. Her heart pounded against her breast, and she thought she was going to die from a heart attack. She thought she was being scared to death.

The light of the stairway leading down to the closet flooded into her eyes as the closet door was opened. Two of the club employees picked Beth up and carried her back up into the supply room. A low coffee table had been set up behind a large stack of crates near a corner of the room. A wedge of wood had been attached to the top; its slope facing the middle of the table at a forty-five degree angle from the table's surface. The wood was polished smooth, and covered with several layers of cushioning sheets. Four more employees were there, making a total of six, including the bartender and the manager.

Beth was sat down on the table, and her back laid against the slope.

Her body belonged to her captors, for whatever purpose they desired.

Beth groaned as she felt the first pair of hands sliding along her calves and the undersides of her thighs. Another pair groped her breasts through her dress. Yet another hand ran through her hair, petting her like a dog. Her body shuddered. The buttons along the front of her dress were unbuttoned. As luck, or fate, would have it, Beth had chosen to wear a front-hook closure bra. The closure was unhooked and the cups pushed aside to reveal her breasts in all their naked beauty. One of her captors ran his index finger through her cleavage. Beth could hear her captors start to moan. They stroked her and petted her. They caressed her shapely legs, sliding their fingers between her upper thighs. One captor clasped a handful of her hair, pulling her head toward him. He kissed her deeply, fondling her with probing fingers. Beth squirmed helplessly and cried. Her captors were getting turned on very fast. And yet it seemed they were really taking their time; they caressed her and fondled her slowly and passionately, giving themselves ample time to enjoy the feel of her skin, the fabric of her dress, and the silky feel of her pantyhose. Aside from unbuttoning the front of her dress, they hadn't bothered to undress her. Rendering her nude in front of them seemed to be the furthest thing from their minds.

The room began to spin around in circles above Beth as her captors regularly switched positions. The club bartender, having spent ample time fondling and groping her breasts, relinquished them to the club manager, who'd been running his hands and mouth along her calves and thighs. The bartender grunted in approval as he began to grope her legs himself, muttering, "oh yeah, baby," repeatedly. A third captor wiped her tears from her face at regular intervals with a soft cloth, and then resumed kissing her. He appeared more than content to kiss her lips without trying to slide his tongue into her mouth. More than likely, they also didn't trust her not to try and bite their mouths and tongues. Beth's lips were kissed tenderly, without her gag being untied. Fingers laced through her hair, keeping her head pulled toward whichever captor was kissing her at the moment. Every so often, he would draw back, touching her cheeks and chin lightly, but firmly, keeping her head in such an angle as to make her look deeply into his eyes. She tried to make doe-eyed expressions, to softly beg for mercy with her glance. Unfortunately, this seemed to just turn them all on even further. Beth could feel her skin begin to move of its own accord. She was bound and gagged, and she was being sexually abused; her body molested without letup. The fondling, the caressing, the touching and stroking, kept on and on, and she was helpless to try and resist. She sobbed softly with pure misery, which seemed to give her captors a rise. They continued to wipe her tears away, before again kissing her deeply and tenderly.

Beth thought she was going mad. Her captors acted like they were content to continue feeling her body up and groping her like this for days on end, if they could keep it up without needing to eat, sleep, or use the restroom. Her soft skin crawled about her bones in all directions at once. Her red lips quivered continuously; her tight gag keeping her pitiful cries muffled down to a whimper, a wretched groan, a series of short grunts and sobs. She felt like she was suspended in mid-air; her spirit struggling to lift free from her body and float away, and only the lewd groping of her body kept it from doing so.

Time again ceased to exist for poor Beth. Her mind seemed frozen in a mire of terror and misery. Her body was their plaything. Would it never stop?

The moaning from one of her captors rose suddenly in pitch. A new sensation prodded at the undersides of her upper thighs. From the back recesses of Beth's mind, she knew. The captor had unzipped his pants and slid his rock like cock between her thighs. Her legs were laid across his lap, and his hands groped her squirming calves faster, plying them like clay. His engorged cock slid between her thighs, probing toward the orifice leading to her pussy. Beth sobbed louder. Colors swirled in dizzying spirals all around, converged into a blaze of white. Her whole body started to squeeze itself inward, like it was imploding. Every muscle in Beth's tender body compressed. A deafening noise rang in her ears. The last tactile sensation was the man's cock erupting in triumph; the last sound she heard, a piercing groan of bliss.

Beth felt herself floating in a warm sea of inky dark. She could register no sense of touch, no sense of smell, no sense of taste. In this quiet dark, she found solace.

The darkness gave way to a haze. There was the sound of breathing and soft grunts of contentedness. Beth's eyelashes twitched. The hard sensation of wood underneath her, returned.

Her eyes opened.

Beth lay slumped on the coffee table, her back still lain against the sloping end of the wedge fixed to one end of the table. Her arms and legs throbbed with a sensation of cramps. But she'd been untied. All of her bondage had been undone. Her jaw slid to one side; Beth's gag had been untied and removed. She tried to groan with relief, but felt her tongue swollen and dried like a sponge.

The club bartender came over to her, tilting a clear glass, glistening with condensed moisture, to her lips. He tilted her head toward, balancing it upright. She drank the cold water gratefully.

A second club employee came over. The two of them lifted Beth up to shaky feet and helped her up through the hall into the audio control room, and up the stairs to the terrible door between the two bathrooms, where she'd first been seized.

They leaned her against the wall, letting her rest, letting her blood circulate back into her limbs. The club manager took her hand and put her clutch into it. She was walked into the dance hall on the club level. Through the window she could see the light of very early morning. The clock read 7:21 am.

Beth's abductors stood about the club room, waiting for her to leave. She sniffled with a sense of renewed misery. None of the men responded, none of them looked her in the eyes.

Beth turned and reached for the doorknob. Her hand shook as she started to turn the knob. She hesitated. She turned and looked at the club manager, but kept her eyes lowered from his face. She stammered in a weak, trembling voice.

"Cou... cou-could we... Could we do this-- again? On your next event?"

Beth could hear her heart beating again.

The sound of the club manager struggling to keep his mouth closed through a rising laugh, that sounded half like spitting, reached her ears. Two more club employees followed suit.

The manager crossed up to her, making her shiver in fear. He grabbed the front of Beth's dress, which had been buttoned back up again.

"What. All of a sudden, you're not scared of us now?"

Beth kept her eyes lowered. Her voice was soft and demure.

"I-I'm very scared," she said. "I'll be relying on you to keep me that way?"

The same laughs, that sounded half like spitting, forcing their way through mouths struggling to remain closed.

One employee pointed sideways at her with his thumb. "Adrenalin junkie," he said with amusement. They all laughed again.

The manager walked behind the bar and opened a drawer with his keys. He reached into it, rummaged underneath something that rustled with the sound of paper. Walking back up to Beth, he showed her a round token with the club logo.

"Show that to the club doorman, and then any employee on duty on the club level, no later than twenty minutes before the start of the event. We have the events on Fridays and Tuesdays." He took her hand and pressed the token into it.

"Th,thank you... sir," Beth said. She called him 'sir' with an audible tone of reverence.

The manager just nodded and waved her toward the door.

Beth walked out into the early morning street, glancing at the slow bustle of early morning pedestrian and vehicle activity. A growl in her gut notified her of her hunger. Beth took two buses to reach the club from her house. On the corner where she transferred between the two buses, was an all-night coffee shop. The staff there didn't know who Beth was, but she'd eaten there before and they knew her face. Checking her clutch, Beth saw they'd left her wallet intact with her money and her fake ID. She could get some breakfast and a cup of milk at the coffee shop. And she could clean herself up properly.

Beth walked toward the first bus, enduring the warm sticky feeling between her legs as best she could. Her captors had cleaned her up well, except for one explosive ejaculation: Beth's own.

Beth couldn't understand it. It hardly made sense. She had no idea how long she was sexually abused and molested before it happened. Her skin crawled like it belonged to some creature. And yet, every nerve in her body throbbed with the most incredible thrill of sexual pleasure. When Beth finally fainted, it wasn't from the first of her captors coming to climax. It was her own. How many of her captors came to orgasm before she had, Beth had no idea. They didn't tell her, and she didn't ask. But there was no denying the gut-wrenching explosion of pleasure from the depths of her pussy, throughout her whole body. And Beth's captors had never even entered her. They never slid down her panties, or even her pantyhose. They masturbated themselves to climax by sliding their cocks between her upper thighs, letting the silky, sheer feel of her hosiery do all the work. And their hands, their mouths, as her body was continually groped and fondled, and her lips kissed, Beth's head spun as she tried to make sense of it. It felt so good, so warm, so-- so COMFORTING! All the time her body was sexually abused, it hardly FELT like abuse, because her captors felt her up and fondled her with a tender gentleness she still couldn't believe they treated her with. It actually felt as if they were making love to her. And as Beth walked with heavy, ponderous steps to the bus stop, the warm spring air caressed her skin in a way that reminded her of their touch. A sense of longing comfort, of being held, that her heart already ached to feel again. As little sense as it made, Beth knew she'd gladly get on her knees in front of the club manager, and kiss his feet, and humbly beg for just another hour of that feeling.

Six men abducted her, tied her up, felt up her body like a hunk of flesh. And by the time they finished, they gave her everything she never got from her own family, and much more, topping it off by also giving her the most intense sexual orgasm she'd ever dreamed about. Beth couldn't wrap her bewildered mind around it.

The bus pulled up to the curb, the doors opening. Beth climbed aboard, paid her fare and sat down in a daze. Maybe she wasn't supposed to make sense of it. Maybe she was just supposed to enjoy it.

And when Tuesday night came and she would again sit, tightly bound and gagged, in the dark closet, waiting for them to ravish her, Beth knew that, as scared as she would surely feel, she would enjoy every minute, every hour of it.