Chelsea stood at her window and stared at the bonfire burning in the woods a mile away.

It was a party; probably a beer party, she thought, but a party no less. She’d seen that fire almost every night, though she’d yet to go out there, even during the day. She hadn’t even been here that long; her family-her, her father and mother-had moved here in the middle of June, just after school let out, and it was already early August. She’d yet to make any friends; her family lived so far outside of town, on a small farm, that she never saw anybody.

The fire offered a chance, though; there were bound to be kids there. She knew her mother would never approve. “Beer parties are trouble” she’d say. Chelsea didn’t want to go there to drink; she just wanted to meet some of the kids.

They’d probably be older than her, of course; she’d just turned fifteen a month before moving here, and would be starting tenth grade. Back home though, a lot of kids her age went to beer parties, and she figured they probably did here, too, in Sticksville.

She looked at the fire a while longer, then decided to risk sneaking out. Her parents were asleep; if she was quiet, she might make it.

First though, she had to get dressed. She searched through her drawers for a pair of shorts, but couldn’t find any; she must have worn them all. She settles for an acid washed denim mini skirt, definitely not woods wear, and a pink design t-shirt. She stuffed her feet into a pair of comfortable leather moccasins and stepped in front of the mirror to look at herself.

She looked pretty typical for a fifteen-year-old: tall, kind of thin, long legs. Her body was all woman, and she’d developed a nice set of boobs and genetics endowed her of exceptionally wide hips; her face was pretty, lightly tanned from the sun, and her hair was a natural strawberry red, thick and heavy where it fell to the middle of her shoulder blades.

Deciding she looked okay, she crept quietly out of her room, then downstairs and out of the house. It was a full moon out; the road wasn’t far, and she headed for it, intending to walk there until she caught sight of the fire.

A car passed; she cringed, imagining her parents seeing her, or worse, some crazed sicko who’d snatch her up in a second, rape her, and dump her in a ditch with her throat cut. The car went up the road a ways, then stopped, and she felt a moment of panic when it started to back up. Two figures stepped out and started toward her, then jumped back in and the car took off in a squeal of tires.

Heart pounding, she stood there for a long time, trying to calm down. No more cars passed, and she began walking. After a while she heard the roar of loud music and shouts, and caught the glint of chrome not far ahead. Moving closer, she saw several cars and trucks, and the fire.

The moment she walked into the party, there was silence; dozens of faces stared up at her—there were a few girls among them, but everyone was clearly older than she was. Two beer kegs sat on one edge of the fire, surrounded by blankets, a boom box, and dozens of empty paper cups and beer cans. Slowly she raised one hand and waved with her fingers. “Hi. I’m Chelsea. My family lives down the road,” she squeaked.

She knew this was a mistake. “That’s her,” one boy whispered.

“The one we saw.”

“Well, hello Chelsea,” another said, getting up. “I’m Doug.”

A pair of hands pushed her from behind, propelling her into him. He stumbled, then grabbed her arm. He reeked of beer; several kids giggled. “My my, but aren’t you cute,” he slurred, then burped.

Chelsea grimaced. “Maybe I better go.”

“No, stay,” Doug burped. He wrapped his arm around her waist and jerked her against him. “We’re gonna party.”

“I’d...” Chelsea’s protest was cut off when he kissed her. It was not a soft kiss, or romantic; it was forced, his tongue shoving into her mouth. She managed to push away angrily.

“No! I’m leaving.”

“No you ain’t,” Doug burped. Someone grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms. Chelsea screamed, and a hand clamped over her mouth.

Doug stepped forward, sliding his hands up her thighs. Chelsea squirmed, but couldn’t get away. Doug lifted her skirt up, revealing her pink bikini panties to everyone. With a sharp tug that made her wince, he yanked them off.

“Shaved,” one of them said.

Chelsea began to whimper. Dave was down on his knees, blowing on her vagina. Then she felt his tongue against it, wet and rough. He stood up and smoothed the skirt down, grinning drunkenly. “We’re gonna party, bitch,” he slurred, “with you. Mikey! Al! Get some rope from the truck. Tie her hands back. She’s gonna party.”

Chelsea began to struggle now, but it was impossible to get away. The hand came away from her mouth and she opened it to scream. Doug stuffed her torn panties in, silencing her.