Within fifteen minutes the interior of the dark dance club exploded with slashing multi-colored light, throbbed with bellowing noise, seethed with special effect snow, foam, and smoke, and thudded with the loud, driving beat of the pumped-up music … all serving to make any sudden, minor noise coming from the broom closet between the men and ladies room unnoticeable.
But inside Caitlin Connelly screamed into the pliant rubber ball shoved in her pretty mouth and the thick, sticky, wide swath of tape cruelly sealing her lovely lips, as the boys tore open her dress top and ripped up her dress’ skirt.
She cried for help again and again as they mauled and fucked her, her sealed mouth making a mockery of the dancers’ proximity just inches beyond the broom closet door.
The whole thing had been pathetically easy. The boys waited until she went to the bathroom, and, as soon as she came out again, they surged onto her as if her friends. Practically before she knew what was happening, she was forced into the broom closet, its door shut behind her. The club was so dark, loud, and chaotic that no one was the wiser. Only a friend right beside her could’ve realized something was wrong, but her friends were yards away, obliviously gyrating on the main dance floor.
Meanwhile their pretty, sexy, little friend Caitlin was doing her own, unwilling, gyrations, her strawberry hair flying this way and that as she was molested and despoiled.
