Tai Anne Roper 2

by Nicole Sutter

FOR MATURE READERS ONLY

Chapter 26 - "Motley's Crew"

Robert Christgau's definitive book A History of 80s Glam-rock Bands has this entry on page 123...

SLAVER

(not to be confused with Slayer)

Founded in Los Angeles in 1985 by frontman and lead vocalist Terrance Motley, Slaver was originally called "Motley's Crew" before a name change was dictated in 1986 for the obvious reason.

Slaver was prototypical glam-rock, with enough heavy metal fusion to distinguish them from their LA rivals Ratt and Poison.

Slaver also had a playful BDSM feel that permeated all their songs and live concerts. Their first hit, Rope Her! Gag Her! Do Her! set the tone for other singles including Leash That Bitch! and Rock'n Rope, not to mention their two albums, Straitjacket Required (which went gold) and their disappointing follow up, Lick the Boot! which quickly filled bargain bins of record stores around the country to overflowing.

Needless to say, the band always dressed in leather and 'bondage-chic'gear. They would even invite young girls up on stage during their live concerts, where they would be tied up in various positions and left there until the end of the show.

Such antics created a furor with women's rights groups, but the band only seemed to thrive on the controversy, along with unconfirmed reports that several of their groupies were really kidnap victims who were eventually sold overseas.

But such publicity agent doggrel couldn't save the band from a necessary oblivion. They had their last hit in 1988, but all five members of the original group still continue to travel North America today in their original tour bus, appearing at various 3rd rate venues and county fairs, still roping up the occasional groupie.

SLAVER consists of...

Terrance Motley... Lead vocals

Dr. Feelgood...... Bass Guitar

Strummer.......... Electric and Acoustic Guitar

Mr. Fingers.... Keyboards

Nicky Stixx....... Drums

***

And at that very moment, Slaver was playing a very special concert, at one o'clock in the freakin' morning, in the middle of California's Mojave Desert.

The humming generators from their long, black tour bus gave them the juice to not only power and amplify their instruments, but to also illuminate the desert around them as they played for their audience.

Terrance Motley wailed away on one of their signature hits, backed up by his old friends Strummer, Dr. Feelgood and the others.

Ya gotta rope'em good!

Tie'em good!

Gag the bitch so she can't squeal!

Spread her legs and do the deal!

His audience were five girls who were bound, gagged and kneeling before them.

They were all dressed as Christina and Britney wannabes, with bared midriffs, skintight hiphuggers and barely there crop tops. Tears streamed down all their cheeks as they hummed and bit fitfully into the rubber ballgags that filled each one of their perfect mouths.

Into this tableau, a vehicle came up the dirt road to their encampment with its headlights on highbeam. A black Lincoln Navigator SUV to be exact. It pulled up to the lights and ground to a dusty halt. A pair of muscular, bullet-headed goons in expensive suits got out just as the music died down.

"Whadda fuck is this shit?" One of the goons asked.

Ah! You must be Calucci," Motley said in his Brit accent, stepping forward. "The bloke taking over for Tony the Scag."

"Yeah," he replied. "Scagnetti got hisself wasted, so now I gots his gig. So whadda fuck is this shit?"

Motley laughed, his long mane of salt and pepper hair framing a still handsome face for a guy in his forties who had rawked'n rolled most of his life. "Just a little fare-thee-well, mate! Sayin' bai-bai to our little collection of slavies! Oh, girls?"

The three back-up singers were named Shalimar, Klymaxx and Vixen, two black women and one ice blonde, all dressed in head to toe, skintight black leather. They policed up the five bound girls and shoved them forward.

"Okay... dey look all right," Calucci admitted.

"They're more'n awwwright, mate," Motley replied. "They're street legal, and Dr. Feelgood 'ere checked under their hoods for STDs 'n whatever else a young girl fancies!"

"Dey local?"

"Nope, they're all part of our 'Whirlwind Western Tour'!" Motley said, going down the line of tied girls. "This one we picked up at the state fair in Kansas City. The redhead we got in Nebraska. Blondie here we picked up in Denver. Cutie-pie here we got in Salt Lake City – a bleedin' Mormon she is! – and last but not least, this little roped cowgrrl we got in Tempe, Arizona!"

"They're all over 18, so there's no 'Amber Alerts' dogging our asses," Dr. Feelgood said. "Nobody but their local PDs even have a missing persons out on these phillies."

"I heard you did good work." Calucci nodded at his associate goon who approached with a cheap briefcase. "Maybe we can keep doin' business." He tossed the case to Motley. "75K a girl, that's uh..." Calucci eyes glazed over as he attempted to do the math in his thick, bullet head

"375 thoooooooousand dollahs," Strummer said easily.

"He does our books," Motley explained, tossing the case to him. "Need some help with the merch?"

They didn't. With the back seat folded down, all five girls fit nicely ass to elbow in the back, restrained with only a few additional straps. The folks who designed the 2003 Lincoln Navigator would no doubt be thrilled to know this.

"One last thing, mate," Motley said to Calucci. "I had a deal with Scagnetti that goes for you as well."

"I'm listenin'."

"I know Tony the Scag was into porno'n snuff." Motley shrugged. "That was his bag. But any girl I gave him was strictly for overseas shipment. Nothing stateside. Can you dig it?"

"Whattsa matta you?" Calucci smirked. "Ya grow a conscious alla sudden? Don't want these bitches doin' porno in LA while hooked on smack, but you don't mind none if they're crib girls in a Bangkok whorehouse wit fifty slopes a day droppin' their loads into 'em, huh?"

Motley smiled. "Something like that, mate."

"Holstein com'n up the road!" Nicky Stixx shouted from behind his drums.

"Huh?" Calucci asked.

"Holstein, a black and white... a cop car," Dr. Feelgood explained.

"Whadda fuck?" Calucci went for his piece. A single set of headlights was coming towards them from the main highway a good three miles away. "How you know dat?"

"We got roadies down the way hidin' in the bushes with walkie talkies," Strummer replied. "We are professionals."

"Just cool off, mate," Motley said to Colucci. "Put away the heater and let the pros handle this."

***

Officer Sunny Goldin of the California Highway Patrol turned on her strobing lightbar as she approached the rock show going on in the middle of the desert.

Truth be told, there was more traffic passing through this part of the Mojave than most people thought, what with the 29 Palms Marine Base off to the east, Edwards Air Force Base to the west, China Lake to the north and the San Bernadino Mountains to the south with the LA basin beyond that.

Still, finding a rock and roll band wailing away in the middle of Nowheresville was worth checking out.

Ropes 'n leather

Could only Pleeeeeaze'r!

Tie her real tight,

Til they hugged'n squeezed'r...

She got out of her black and white CHiPs cruiser and grinned as she saw the band performing at full blast. They shut down as she approached.

"Oh migaaaawd!!!" Sunny cried. "You guys really are SLAVER!!! My fave rock band in the whole wide world!!!"

Motley looked over the ladycop as the lights hit her. Like most Chippies, she wore a close to skintight khaki uniform that showed off a buffed and toned California hardbody. Tall, curvy, golden skinned and honey blonde – even if that honey blonde hair was in a tight bun on the back of her head – she was indeed, in the lingo of the skintrade, a 'keeper'.

"'Ello, luv," Motley said turning on the old Brit charm. "So you're a fan, are you?"

"Oh, gaaaaawd, like yeah!" Sunny giggled. "I was like 15 when I snuck into your first shows on the Hollywood Strip! I still remember how I wanted to be chosen from the crowd to get tied up for the rest of the show! Hey, is that still Nicky Stixx back there?"

"Indeed it is, luv!" Motley said. "Lemme intro you to the boys... Dr. Feelgood, Strummer, Mista Fingers on keyboards and Nicky Stixx... still on the drums!"

Oh, wow!!!" She shook hands with everybody and giggled again as she met the group.

"So we never chose you to be roped up for the night?" Strummer asked her as he held her hand in his. "Now that is a crime!"

"Naw...I was like such an 818 valley geek when I was a kid!" She giggled. "So like, what are you guys doin' out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Ah!" Motley said, nodding towards the two goons and the black Navigator. "These gentlemen run some entertainment venues in lala-land, and since we couldn't make it into LA, we asked them to meet us out here for an impromptu concert! Simple as that, luv!"

It was – without a doubt – one of the lamest excuses in the annals of disorganized crime. Everybody standing there kind of winced and waited for the jig to be up.

"Kewl!" Sunny Goldin giggled. "Can I like watch the rest of the show?"

Terrance Motley took a deep breath of relief. "It would be my honour, luv!"

"Great!" Sunny said. "Lemme call dispatch and do in a Signal 7 so they won't worry about me!"

She started for her black and white and got almost three steps before she was expertly tapped on the back of the skull by Calucci's nameless goon who used an old-fashioned leather sap like a maestro. She fell face first on to the desert sand, unconscious.

"Now, why the fuck did you want to go and do something stupid like that, mate?" Motley growled.

"Cut the shit." Calucci drew his nickled wonder-nine. "Even if this brain-dead bitch bought dat bullshit story, I wasn't about to let her go afta she eyeballed us." He pointed the pistol at the back of her head. "'Sides, coupla days back a bitch cop wasted Tony Scagnetti... now I get to waste a bitch cop. Poetic fuckin' justice if you ask me..."

Calucci froze as a dozen or so bolts and hammers snapped back. He and his goons saw that they were surrounded by a horde of well-armed roadies that had magically materialized out of the dark, all pointing weapons of mass destruction at him and his goon.

"Sorry, mate," Motley said. "Can't let you kill her. For starter's, she's a fan... and we never kill a fan!"

"Yup, rule one," Strummer said. "They are mighty hard to come by these days."

"Second of all, she's a keeper,"

Motley continued. "We'll rope her up and keep 'er for awhile... then sell her when she's good and ripe."

"This ain't good business," Calucci warned.

"Don't need you to be tellin' me my business, mate," Motley said, looking him in the eyes. "Now blow."

The mobsters left in their black Navigator with the five girls. Motley waited til their tail lights disappeared into the night.

"Okie-dokes!" He called out. "Get everything put up, up and away... remember we gotta play fuckin' Bakersfield tomorrow!"

There were a few groans, but the roadies hopped to like a well-oiled machine.

"Girls?" Motley called. Instantly, Shalimar, Klymaxx and Vixen were at his side. "Prep the newbie and have the doctor juice her up."

Vixen laughed. "Looks like the valleygrrl is finally gonna get her wish!"

"Yeah," Klymaxx husked. "She gets to be the band's new roped up fucktoy!"

Motley shrugged. "All desires come to those who wait."

The girls took unconscious Officer Sunny Goldin of the CHiP away to the big black tour bus and the beginning of her new life.

"Mr. Fingers?"

"Si, Patrone?" The nervous little Latino keyboardist who was also an expert at making things that went 'boom' was now beside him.

"Burn the holstein... make sure even the frame melts."

"De nada, Patrone!"

***

Ten minutes later, the same big black tour bus was rumbling west on California 58 towards Bakersfield. The burning cop car looked like a faraway funeral pyre burning away in the dark of the night.

Motley drank a chilled Red Bull and stared at the highway as the roadie driving the bus ground the gears and bopped to whatever was on his headphones. In the back, Motley heard muffled screams as his girls prepped their new slave.

Motley's cellphone started chirping I Love Rock and Roll!. He clicked on.

"Yeah?"

"Hello, Motley."

"Ah, Tanner-Hyde. What's doin', mate?"

"Got a bit of a job for you and your crew, if you're not to busy playing cellars and ratholes, that is."

"Very fuckin' funny. What's the gig?"

"You've heard of the Convent for Sequestered Girls up in Sonoma?" Tanner-Hyde asked.

"Sure. Buncha right-loonie, lezbo leathernuns keepin' teen girlies under lock'n key. They also have security tighter'n a nun's twat," Motley replied.

"Well, what I need is for you and your crew to make a little raid on this convent, and rescue a woman there named Kate Stuart... and then hand her over to me."

"Some rescue," Motley snickered. "And how is my crew supposed to pull this stunt off?"

"I have a mole inside the convent," Tanner-Hyde said. "She'll give you a way in and a way out."

"How much?"

"100 thousand cash for Kate Stuart, plus you're free to wreck havoc and take away whoever else suits your fancy."

For an instant, Motley imagined his big black tour bus filled to overflowing with a dozen or so bound and gagged, nubile young badgrrls, plus a dozen or so tied-up lesbian leathernuns also humming away into red rubber balls.

"Motley? You there?"

"Hmmm?" Motley refocused. "Yeah, Tanner-Hyde, its a dealio. When d'you need us on the scene?"

"ASAP, old sod," he replied. "You need to make the grab tomorrow night."

"Bit of a rush, but we can manage."

"Good show! I'll contact you in the morning with details."

"Righty-right." Motley clicked off and sighed as he reconfigured his plans. He looked at the roadie driving and pulled one earphone away from his head. "What's the best way to San Fran, mate?"

The roadie shrugged. "On through Bakersfield and then north on the I-5."

"Make it so!" Motley said. He stretched and yawned. He needed sleep, put he also needed to fuck the new loveslave they had just acquired.

The rest of his crew were already dozing away, having worn themselves out on the five slavies they had just sold to Colucci. Motley made it to the back bedroom of the bus to find that his girls had been hard at work.

Sunny Goldin hummed and hawwed into a huge, red rubber ball that was strapped into her face, her blue eyes wide as can be with tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. Her honey blonde hair was now a wild mane about her head and shoulders.

She was naked and strapped down to a wooden horse, back first, with legs and ankles strapped and splayed, with arms tucked away in a leather armbinder, the straps criss-crossing her ample chest.

Klymaxx was kneeling between her legs, finishing up with Sunny's first forced orgasm, while Shalimar and Vixen sucked and licked her nipples til they looked like they would pop.

Dr. Feelgood was prepping another syringe for her. Motley eased over to him.

"She okay?"

"Barely a love tap to the head," the doctor replied. "This should make her forget her worries."

He turned and jabbed the needle deep into her hinder. She squawled and then quieted down considerably.

"Rose-tint your world, baby!" he grinned. He looked at Motley, who was already unlacing his leather pants. "I suppose I get sloppy seconds again?"

"Hey, take it up with the union!" Motley snickered while he slicked on a glow-in-the-dark, neon green prophylactic over his massive boner.

Easy, luv," Motley said to the moaning girl spread out before him. "Remember, you've wanted to be this band's slave bitch your whole life. Now your wish finally comes true!"

Motley thrust into the tied girl, humping her hard into another orgasm while his backup singers licked and sucked at her body.

Oh yeah... Rawk and Roll for fuckin' evah, baby!!! Yeah!!!

 

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