The radio was playing softly in the corner of the room, but whatever the DJ was playing was all but drowned out by the soft grunts and rhythmic slapping of flesh on flesh. Interspersed were voices, maybe half a dozen, mumbling and chuckling here and there, and every so often a more urgent series of grunts before the sound of feet on the floor signaled the next man to step up. The lights were dim and the air filled with the smoke of a hundred cheap cigarettes, and the girl on top of the pool table had long since given up on struggling. They still held her arms, of course, but the novelty had sort of worn off. Now it was just a matter of getting everyone up to speed and moving on with the night.

Deagan, whose cock had delivered the first load into the now gushing girl's sex, lounged against the wall with a stale beer in his hand. Now and then he glanced over at the table, to see how long it would be before they could move on, but of course the boys were taking their sweet time. It wasn't often they got this kind of fresh meat, even if it had Deagan's sloppy seconds all over it, and most of the junior members were dead set on making the most of the opportunity. Bored, Deagan yawned and turned up the radio. Bull, his second-in-command, sauntered over and nodded.

"Hey. We got any action going on tonight, man?"
Deagan shook his head and scowled. "No. They say there's some big meet going down in Van Courtland Park, but--"
"Ain't that Riffs territory?"
Deagan glared. "Yeah. But I don't believe it. They'd'a invited us if anything big was going down."

Bull nodded thoughtfully and glanced over at the girl. One of the juniors had had the bright idea of pouring cooking oil over her ass, and now she was squirming and gasping as the young man rammed two fingers into her backside. A thick trail of spunk ran down the side of the table, and Bull was already deciding who would have to clean that up when Deagan shushed the room and cranked up the radio. His eyes were wide, intent.
"Shut the fuck up! There's a callout coming!"

"Alright now..." A dusky, female voice drifted into the room, only interspersed by the steady mewls and whimpers of the girl. Deagan bent down to listen more closely. "For all you boppers out there in the big city, all you street people with an ear for the action, I've been asked to relay a request from the Grammercy Riffs. It's a special for the Warriors, that real live bunch from Coney, and I do mean the Warriors. Here's a hit with them in mind..."

A record came on, and Deagan straightened up, a big, fat grin on his face. In the background, the youth with the oil had managed to cram himself into the girl's hindmost hole, and the sound of his violent orgasm mixed with the opening notes of Arnold McCuller as he began to sing. Nowhere to run, baby, nowhere to hide...

"This is fucking it!" Deagan was ecstatic, and Bull felt a small contact high from the gang leader's excitement. Several of the men gathered around, while a few who had yet to take turns on the girl looked on with forlorn expressions. "The riffs are calling a hit! A hit on some whackjob crew from Coney Island. If we pull it off, we'll be in the big leagues for sure!"
Bull nodded, as did a few others. They all knew the influence that the Riffs held on the city, and to be in their good graces, to have their leader buddying up to Cyrus himself..! Jacking a girl off the street to keep them occupied was all well and good, but with the kind of clout that the Riffs had, they could have a girl each! A whole cornucopia, a veritable smorgasbord of pussy. Gradually, the men began to get their blood up, except for the ones in the back, who began to squabble about who was up next. Clearly, once Deagan decided to hit the road, there would be no time to get some, and none of them wanted to be the one to not get his dick wet. A small fight broke out, but Deagan ignored it.

"There's the action you were looking for, you big lunk! Hah! We're gonna crush these Coney Island motherfuckers, and we gotta do it before anyone else! Duck! Get the van. Mangy, you got the stuff, right? We need real, proper stuff for this, not that shit the other losers are toting. I'm talking firepower!"
The men nodded, began to move to their respective tasks. Bull heard the girl whimper, and saw a guy pumping furiously into her, his face a mask of dogged determination as he rushed to find his peak. The remaining guys had zipped up, well aware that there was no more time. One by one, the men filed out, until it was just Bull and the final guy remaining. He pumped hard, grunting, and Bull could practically hear the cum flooding the poor girl's rectum. Then the man zipped up, grinned at Bull and filed out to join the crew. Bull followed him, and shut the door. Within moments, the car was screeching down the road, the men hooting and hollering and screaming bloody murder.

Left behind, the girl slowly slinked down onto the floor. She struggled to pull the skirt down over her bare ass, and looked around for her panties, but they were nowhere to be found. One of the guys probably had them in his pocket, like some perverse trophy. The girl labored to get back onto her feet, and felt her legs tremble. She had red marks over her thighs, cheeks and arms, and her eyes were red and swollen. Slowly, she ambled over to the door, but stopped to pick up a blanket from a nearby armchair. It stank to high heaven of sweat and smoke, but it still gave her a small measure of comfort. Then she made for the door.

A voice suddenly cut through the room, and the girl jerked around. But it was merely the radio, the dusky voice talking to these unfamiliar people-- the so-called Warriors, whoever they were.

"Be lookin' good, Warriors. All the way back to Coney. You hear me, babies? Good. Real good. Adios..!"

Stumbling, the girl fled the building and staggered down the street. Warm, thick goo coated her inner thighs and oozed from her burning back door, and the sting of her having been forcibly bent over the pool table lingered across her belly. But she walked, full of fury and fire, on bare feet down the chilly New York street.

If only she had known that she was being followed.