REBOUND [Geoff Merrick]

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REBOUND #1
by Geoff Merrick. All rights reserved.
Illustrations by STEVE

DAY ONE

It was a total accident, which made it all the better. One moment the male nurse was looking around the backwoods county store with his gym teacher bride, the next moment he saw her — down the tall, narrow, full aisle, looking obliviously down at the soda hamper.

“Hey,” Tom Brannigan said softly to his wife of more than twenty years, “that’s Leesa Mendaski, isn’t it?”

Agnes Brannigan looked over, her gray eyes narrowing. She didn’t say yes or no, just: “Haven’t seen her for five years, have we? Not since she broke our boy’s heart….”

The compact, muscular man with the crew cut stood still and silent beside the wiry, hawk-faced woman with the stringy hair.

They took in the young girl’s long, straight, silky, dark blond hair, her blue eyes, her sweet face, and her tall form in the deep u-necked, spaghetti-strapped, pink t-shirt, tight; beltless jeans; and sandals.

“Look at those legs, would ya?” the woman said quietly. “Longest damn things I ever seen….”

The man only glanced at them, his eyes resting elsewhere. “She grown a bit since we saw her,” he breathed. “What you think? 36C?”

“34D,” his wife said expertly and began glancing around to see who else was in the little store. Like so many suburban shops in a lake town, it was dark, dusky, and crammed with stuff. It was also late in the afternoon, between the time vacationers came in for lunch and headed home for dinner.

“She ain’t here with friends,” the woman murmured. “What you think?”
The man tore his eyes away and was immediately on the move. “Be right back.”

He sidled toward the front door while the woman stayed still, watching the unknowing girl check out the soft drinks.

Outside the man checked the girl’s car in the small gravel parking area out back, admiring the packing job in the back seat. Galvanized by the sight of all the suitcases, he hastened to his own car parked alongside. He grabbed at the pulpy white pad in the clear plastic freezer bag within the glove compartment and headed back.

On the way, he carefully let the air out of the tire on the bicycle that was propped under the shop’s front window. During the entire time, not one car passed by on the narrow, wood-lined road.

“Hey,” he told the kid behind the counter as he reentered the store. “Your front tire’s flat,”

“What?” the kid exclaimed, looking up from the dance magazine he was studying. “You’re kidding! Damn!” But he was already coming around the counter, heading outside.

The man was back at his wife’s side in nano-seconds, his hand slipping into the plastic bag. With one move of his head, he was moving toward the still oblivious girl, the bumpy, pulpy, sodden white pad held low. Without a word or hesitation, his wife was by his side.

“Leesa!” the man said, moving in front of her. “Long time no see! What are you doing here?”

The girl looked up in mild surprise, impressing the man again with her farm-fresh innocence, obvious intelligence, calm maturity, and natural good looks. “M-mister, Mrs. Brannigan!” she said with a little dismay.

By the fleeting expression on her face, they could see she obviously reminded herself that the discomfort she instinctively felt was five years old, and had to do with their son, not them.

The man noticed she couldn’t help quickly glancing around to see if their son was with them before going on. “Uh,” she said, “just taking a break from school….”

Before she could continue, the woman interrupted pleasantly. “Why, your parents didn’t tell us!”
“I’m, uh, surprising my folks,” she stammered, her expression telling them that she didn’t really want to reveal that. It was no matter. The cheery banter had served its purpose. Seemingly because of the aisle’s narrowness, the man was in front of her and the woman slightly behind. “Hey, the girl said, her nose wrinkling while her eyes blinked. “What’s that smell…?!”

It was the last “normal” thing she ever said.

The couple pounced without warning, almost before Leesa got the last word out. The woman grabbed the girl’s wrists, just above her simple bracelet and watch and jammed them behind her. The man slammed the thick, sticky, lumpy cloth over her lower face.

Leesa’s bright eyes bulged in her shocked face, but before she could even react, they had sandwiched her tightly between them, his other hand tight behind her head, forcing her face even deeper into the noxious pad.

She jerked and tried to scream, but it was way too late. Their hard bodies pinned hers, his muscular legs on either side of her long, shapely ones. The woman’s clawed talons locked her wrists like shackles. The girl’s shoulders wrenched, trying to grab at the thing over her lower face, but it only made her collar bones stand out prettily, and her shirt top fill with her gasping milky orbs, which mashed against Tom’s chest.

“Feel that?” the man hissed, his face an inch from hers as he shook her head tightly. “Took me months to develop this at the hospital. Sticks to your face like glue, stops up your mouth, fills your nose with the special sauce. Night-night Leesa….”

The girl tried to scream and wrench herself away, but the anesthetic was already clawing up her nostrils into her brain. They both saw her expression change from surprise to confusion to horror to terror and then to a clouding weakness. They both felt the wonder of her youthful form mashed between them. Then they both were shifting her slumping form toward the back. No more than fifteen seconds had passed.

They took a split second to stare down at her comatose form between them in the dank darkness of the crowded, unlit back room, her breasts shifting in the pink cotton, before he pulled the pad away to reveal her lax face, her sweet pink mouth open.

They got her out the back and into the gathering sundown without ceremony. The woman had their sedan’s back door open, and her husband merely pushed the unconscious girl onto the seat. It happened so fast, with the car between them and the street that, even if a car had been going by, no one could really understand what was happening.

Then he was leaning in, going through the girl’s jean pockets, savoring the firmness of her shape just on the other side of the cloth. The sensations didn’t slow him — finding and tossing Leesa’s car keys to his wife as if they had practiced it. Their years in the hospital and school system held them in good stead.

The woman noted all the suitcases which had clued her husband that the girl had made a fateful stop on her way home — meaning that even if her folks had known she was coming, there was no way to know for sure what had just happened. But obviously her parents didn’t know, so no one would even ask about her for days, or even weeks or months. The school would think she was at home. Her parents would think she was at school.

The kid pumping air into his bike didn’t even look up as Agnes Brannigan drove Leesa’s car calmly out of the parking lot. He did look up when Tom pulled around, turning in the other direction as his wife. The man glanced down the otherwise empty road, gave the kid a thumb’s up, and drove away. The kid didn’t even realize that the man’s wife wasn’t in the car with him anymore, and he was thinking more about getting back to the dance magazine than catching another glimpse of the great-looking girl in the pink t-shirt.

The kid went back to repairing his bike, shaking his head. Why did the rich owner keep this shop open anyway? They could go days without any customers this late in the season. And even when people did show up — like the three who just left — they left without buying anything. And that was the last he thought about it.

Tom Brannigan pulled into the long cabin driveway, savoring again the remote beauty of their farmhouse.

It was right along the lake, surrounded by trees, with other nice vacation cabins just a few hundred feet away. There were some rowboats by the small wharf out back, but the real centerpiece was the rambling structure, complete with living quarters, and a quaint, rustic bed and breakfast closest to the road.

It was a great location, with as many truckers and traveling salesmen as there were vacationers looking to get away from the rat race for a few days. The male nurse and female gym teacher had bought it when he finally had enough cleaning bedpans and she was fed up with forcing high school girls to climb ropes and jump pommel horses. She had enjoyed ogling their gym shorts and cheerleader skirts, but thought it best to retire when the urge to punish them for their beauty got too great.

Besides, he thought the hospital administration might get suspicious if too many patients suffered from strange side-effects on his late night watch. Even so, they retired to run the inn with a thorough knowledge of anesthetics, restraints, and physionomy. They had spent months fantasizing about various ladies disappearing, but it had never been safe enough … until today.

Brannigan pulled the car around back to the section closest to the outside cellar entrance, then turned to look at the backseat.

Leesa lay there; eyes closed, dark blonde hair fanned out, slim, soft lips open, unblemished nostrils flaring.

His eyes moved down her body … her breasts lolling in her shirt, her flat stomach covered with pink cotton, the low-riding hip huggers gripping her smooth curves, and her legs stretching seemingly forever.

Checking the placid lake surface through the trees and the shuttered windows around him, he quickly opened the cellar door, then opened the car door so that both doors created a shield from all eyes but the passing birds. He gripped under the girl’s arms and dragged her out and inside the basement.

When he closed all the doors, it was magic time: that moment between dusk and sundown where the air is filled with perfect light.

The taxi pulled up a short time later. Agnes Brannigan stepped out with a duffel bag, paid the driver, and went inside to discover that their few guests were still out to dinner. She immediately went into the living quarters in the back and then down into the cellar.

The floor was covered, cement block wall to cement block wall, with padded mats she had carefully stolen from the gym over many years. The place was otherwise empty save for iron and wood uprights, support beams, and pipes than ran along the ceiling and walls. The illumination came from dim bulbs set under gratings in the ceiling.

Leesa Mendaski lay in a pool of yellow light which made her flesh seem to glow. There was more to see than before. Her t-shirt was ripped between her breasts, hardly covering her small pink aureoles. Her jeans were off, laying in a pile beside her long legs. Her pink, string panties matched her shirt.

The breath caught in the woman’s throat. “So…, so….” She couldn’t find the words. “Pretty” wasn’t enough. “Beautiful” was not apt.

“What you bring?” her husband grunted, nodding at the duffel bag.

Agnes snapped out of her reverie. “Went through her stuff before I sunk her car in the swamp. Walked to the gas station to call a cab.” She shrugged the bag off her shoulder. “Her cosmetics, lotions, lingerie, heels….”

He returned his gaze to the anesthetized girl. “Keep the lotions,” he said. “Bury the rest.” When his wife started to protest, he calmly cut her off. “We’ve been waiting for this all our lives,” he said softly. “Thinking we’d take a vacationer or a student or a patient. But the one who broke our little boy’s heart? It’s too perfect. No, my darling, she’s not wearing what she wants to wear … she’s wearing what we want her to….”

The woman looked down at the exquisite girl lying there, then stared at her husband, her smile widening….

The great thing about bed and breakfast hostelries, as opposed to inns or hotels, was that, for the most part, guests wanted to be left alone rather than served at all times of the day or night. So they had plenty of time to measure her.

Five foot, seven inches tall. A hundred and ten pounds. Bra size: 34D. Waist: 23 inches. Hips: 33 inches. Hair: dark blonde, with some light blonde and even dark red thrown in. Eyes: blue-green. Shoe size: seven.

Even so, their three guests weren’t totally independent. The Brannigans answered the buzzes and phone calls which came from their rooms. And once their bedtime needs were taken care of, they returned to their living quarters, unlocked the basement door, and walked down the plain carpeted, contained stairs to the cellar.

Leesa was awake. She was still in her torn t-shirt and panties, only her nicest pair of black high heels were affixed to her lovely feet. They matched the things on her head. A padded black leather prod gag was deep in her mouth, buckled brutally tight at the nape of her neck. A matching padded black leather blindfold covered her face from the top of her nose to nearly the top of her forehead. It was buckled just as tightly just above the gag, effectively sealing her pretty face.

She moaned in fear and agony, but not just from that. Her arms were behind her, her elbows touching, her hands facing each other. Her elbows and wrists were cinched with rubber-coated electrical wire, then black electrical tape. A rope also wrapped her wrists, holding them between her firm, round ass cheeks, the cord also wrapping her hips.

Her long, shapely legs were bent double, each shin viciously tied to each thigh, a rope going from the wire and tape to the deep instep in the high heels, holding them on her contorting feet. She writhed in anguish, seemingly despite herself. She only stilled when she heard their footsteps approaching.

Tom stood on no ceremony, walking right up and kneeling beside her sleek, luscious form. “Welcome back, Leesa,” he said mildly, her body twitching as his hand rested on her lovely hip. “Let me guess. Homesick, huh? First time away too much for you? I know how it is.” He let his hand start to trace the contours of her body as she stiffened, not even breathing. From Agnes’ vantage point, she noticed the girl’s brow grow damp with sweat.

“You always were the impetuous one,” Brannigan continued, his hand feeling the groove of her waist. “Couldn’t just call or visit, huh? Had to pack up, didn’t you?”

The girl tried to talk then, but all they heard were mangled moans.

“Ssh, shh, ssh,” Brannigan hushed soothingly, his other hand lowering to rest on her thigh. The girl groaned in dread, her body beginning to shudder. “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” he continued. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. We just want to keep you nice and safe, that’s all.”

Leesa started to babble and squirm away. The man motioned to his wife, and she came quickly over to hem the girl in once more. “Now, now,” Agnes chided. “This is how it all started, remember?”

The girl froze in place, sweat beginning to make her t-shirt transparent. She made a sound that both recognized as their son’s name.

“That’s right,” he intoned. “Ben. All he wanted to do was cop a little feel. You didn’t have to start screaming and crying like that.”

The girl tried to sit up or roll away, shrieking hysterically into the brutal gag. The married couple held her down easily.

“Yes, yes,” the wife said soothingly. “We know it was years ago. It’ll be all right. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right….”

Now calm down, calm down,” the man chided casually. “This is the very reason we did this to you. Because we knew you’d get all bent out of shape.”

The girl stilled, quivering.

“That’s better,” the man said. “Now do you understand?”

“You tried to get him in trouble,” the woman chimed in, her hand caressing the leather tight over the girl’s mouth. “That’s why we had to gag you.”

“You ran away,” the man added, gripping her thigh. “You can’t do that now.”

“You slapped my boy,” Agnes said, gripping her shoulder. “Not again.”

“If only you had been a good sport!” the man whined drily. He then gripped her left breast through her thin shirt and squeezed as if trying to make juice.

Leesa screamed in violation, her body taut as a bow. The binds and gag swallowed it up like mud.

“There,” said the man casually, now caressing the breast like a sleeping pet. “Now was that so bad?” He ignored how the girl’s body was wracked with sobs and kept calmly kneading her chest. “Really….”

They just kneeled there, caressing her, until her weeping became weak and she lolled between them — her flesh shining, her tendons relaxing in spite of her abduction and imprisonment.

“That’s better,” the woman whispered. “Don’t worry. No running, no fighting, no screaming … we’re just going to keep you nice and safe for our boy….”

The girl started crying again in despair — her lovely body jerking, her fine breasts bulging and undulating just beneath the pink cotton. Tom Brannigan left her in the good graces of his wife who cooed “Oh, my sweet angel, my darling little plaything…” as he made notes as to what he needed to acquire the following morning.

Finally, he unlocked his workbench cabinet and starting removing all the bottles he had stealthily stolen from the hospital over the years, checking each to see whether they were his experiments or straight from the manufacturer. Deciding on a fresh one, he soaked a cloth with it, then motioned at Agnes to hold the girl’s head still.

Before the gagged and blindfolded blonde could fully react, he had plopped it over her nostrils and used two rubber bands around her head to hold it over her nose.

Her shoulders hunched, her bent and bound legs kicked, and her skull shook, but it wouldn’t come off. Within moments, they could see her struggles weaken and the noises she managed to make lessen.

Neither took their eyes off the girl, but Agnes said “What?”

“Durasleep,” he answered. “Designed for patients in pain on long trips to specialists … say from the coasts to the Midwest. She’ll be pretty much out for about six hours.”

“Perfect,” his wife said, already working out their morning schedule….

They untied the girl, then retied her with soft but tight rope. Her ankles were crossed and cinched, her legs corded above the knee, then her elbows and wrists were wrapped. Adding more cord to her wrists, he then wrapped it around her slim waist, the soft hemp sinking into her sleek curves. The blindfold came off and the dripping gag came out — each savoring the way her drool streamed and puddled from her soft, slack lips.

He pushed a small, pink, pliant ball back into her mouth and sealed it there with a thick strip of tight, white, plaster, cloth tape. In all his work, he found that the cloth tape was the strongest and the plaster glue mix was the stickiest. Between the two, it was like cementing her mouth shut. Finally, he fashioned a short, soft rope leash around her throat, just to be on the safe side.

Even if their bed and breakfast guests had been awake, there were no openings or windows between the hostelry and the living quarters, so only Agnes Brannigan saw the comatose girl in the moonlight being carried by her husband through the kitchen, up the back steps, down the hallway, and into their large, quaint, rustic bedroom.

The man set the unconscious girl down on her side on the oval carpet by his wife’s side of the mattress. He stared down at her, watching her chest rise and fall, filling the shirt to overflowing. His eyes moved down her long, shapely legs.

Finally he bent down to remove her shoes. Wouldn’t do to have her kicking the floor, wall, or furniture, even in her sleep.

Leaving her there like some sort of bound and gagged pet, the Brannigans brushed their teeth and went to bed. After all, they had a hell of a day ahead of them….

__________________________________________

DAY TWO

Last time young, pretty, blonde, blue-eyed Leesa Mendaski (5’7″, 110 lbs., 34D-23-33) had left college without telling anyone to discuss her homesickness with her parents. She had not called ahead in case they tried to talk her out of it. Unfortunately, she had stopped at a remote, run-down convenience store near her backwoods resort community to get a snack. There she was spotted by the parents of the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before. This secretly sadistic couple — an ex-girls’ gym teacher and a male nurse who now ran a bed and breakfast out by the lake — instantly decided to make her “apologize” to their son … by attacking, drugging, and abducting her. Secreting her in their private quarters behind the inn, they plan her future while she tries to
comprehend her captivity….

Leesa awoke slowly, then very quickly. At first she thought the embrace at her arms, legs, and mouth were the comfort of her own bedclothes, but then the memories rushed back. The crushing grip in the back of the fetid, gloomy snack shop, the sickly sweet smell of the narcotic clawing up into her brain, the horror of the bonds, the terror of their hands caressing her, and the panic of the second anesthetic as mister Brannigan spasmodically pumped her breast….

Leesa’s eyes snapped open and she started, realizing where she was. She was lying on her side on a small, woven, oval rug by the side of the Brannigans’ heavy oak bed. Her fingers flayed out, mirroring her astonishment at the way the ropes held her arms, hands and legs, while the pliant thing in her mouth and the swath of tape over her lips kept her prisoner. She had to use all her will power to keep from crying or trying to shout.

Instead she stiffened. She raised her head slightly, trying to see if the Brannigans were still asleep. By the way the light filtered through the lace curtains over the windows beyond her, she knew it must be very early in the morning. She listened intently for their breathing, but the roar in her own ears practically precluded it.

She slowly, carefully tried her bonds. Incredible: they held her like an iron grip, but somehow her arms and legs were not dead, bloodless limbs. She tried forcing out the thing in her mouth, but the tape on her lower face held as if an extra layer of skin. She looked all around her: the thick wooden plank floor … the quaint, heavy, solid, old inn furnishings … the open bedroom door behind her….

Leesa took one last frightened look at the bed looming over her, then started sidling her body toward the door. Her hands spasmed out, then returned to fists, seemingly with every deep breath. Her torn pink t-shirt swelled with her breasts as she inhaled as silently as she could. She felt the cold wood on her thighs as her pink, cotton, string panty barely covered her soft blonde thatch.

Relief mingled with fear as she looked out toward the empty, quiet hall. There was no ache between her legs. At least they hadn’t violated in the night. But still her forearms were lashed together and her wrists tied to the crook of each elbow. Her knees and ankles were also cinched. But it could have been worse. They could have leashed her to the bed, or hogtied her so she couldn’t move. She could have been laying between them, the woman’s claws on her chest, the man’s member deep inside her….

Leesa shook those thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the door. She bent her legs and her waist, then straightened. She pushed with her bare feet, her toes curling against the dust beneath the bed. She started to slither forward.

Visions of the house filled her head. Beyond the hall, a stairway. Beyond the stairway, a door. Beyond the door, the lake or road. Someone would see her…someone would help her….

The young girl made it to the bedroom door, her alabaster skin glowing with morning dew. Her blue eyes sparkled over the impossibly tight brick of tape sealing her lips. Her mane of blonde hair shone in the diffuse morning light.

She ignored the way the wood floor felt along her arms and long legs. She ignored how it bunched and pressed against her lolling breasts. She pushed herself out of the bedroom, looking carefully for the stairwell.

If she only knew that guests were stirring just beyond the opposite wall, maybe she would have started quietly kicking it, but instead she continued to slither in the opposite direction, her hope growing with every inch.

They let her get just past the bathroom door before nonchalantly coming out of their room and walking casually toward her. Agnes Brannigan couldn’t help but giggle as she strode past, enjoying the memory of watching her from the bed.

Tom Brannigan wrapped his arms around her waist, scooping her up, as she tried to screech with frustration.

“Morning, Leesa,” he said cheerfully. “Trying to get an early breakfast? Don’t you know inn owners have to be up with the sun?”

Tears started pouring from her scrunched-up eyes as he unceremoniously plopped her on the toilet. His wife was immediately there, holding two light brown leather and steel shackles. She wrapped Leesa’s shapely left ankle with one and clipped it to a ring on the side of the toilet’s base, then wrapped the other around Leesa’s right ankle before her husband cut the ropes and forcibly clipped it to a small ring on the opposite side of the bowl’s base. Only then did he cut open her knee bonds with his ubiquitous Swiss army knife, allowing his wife to quickly and neatly pull the girl’s panties down.

“Okay, darling” drawled Agnes. “Do your business while we do ours.” And, with that, the two started shaving and washing. Leesa stared at them in disbelief, feeling her body redden. But they seemed to ignore the sight of her barely covered breasts and her soft thatch.

“Better get the job done,” Agnes suggested, “or we’ll do it for you….”

Leesa started crying again — begging them incoherently through the gag.

“Oh, all right,” Agnes said. “But remember, you asked for it.”

They stood her up, ankles still clipped to the toilet base, and administered the enema. Tom had years of experience from his nursing career. In fact, it was a distinct pleasure for him after all those years of grossly overweight, aged patients.

Leesa cowered in shame until the bidet was turned on. Then it was shower time. Agnes held her shocked, shivering form from behind as Tom rehobbled her knees with rope. Agnes slowly tore the t-shirt from Leesa’s torso as he unclipped her ankles. Then before she could even react to her nudity, they had cut the arm ropes, hand-cuffed her, and were hustling her into the shower stall.

“Oh my sweet angel,” Agnes moaned in her ear, lathering her chest slowly. “Oh my sweet plaything….”

Leesa simply stared in dread at Tom’s hard, knobby, erection as he loofahed her thighs and hips.

“Now, don’t worry,” he grunted, making her start as he plopped the sponge on her cunt. “I told you we’re saving you for our son, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”

Leesa started to groan and shudder as he insistently washed her and his wife started shampooing her hair. Both exulted in her firm, shapely, stacked body. She was practically a co-ed goddess.

She was nearly unconscious when they carried her out, but came back to full realization as he pulled the tape off her mouth. Before she could react to that or the fact that she was seated on a laundry hamper, Agnes was there, her hand a clamp over the poor girl’s mouth.

“No spitting out,” she warned as her husband approached with two rolls of sticky white hospital bandage.

One wrapped around her lower face — impossibly tight — from her nostrils to her chin. The other wrapped under her chin and over her head, anchoring her jaw shut. Only then did Tom stand her up while Agnes started happily pulling clothing and accessories from the hamper.

“We went through your stuff last night while you were sleeping,” the woman chirped. “You’re quite a good girl, aren’t you? Except….”

She held out what Leesa instantly recognized as her clubbing outfit: a simple, v-necked, aqua-colored sweater dress that was form-fitting and incredibly short. That was in one hand. In the other were her highest heels and spangly sable-colored thigh-highs. Leesa started to choke and jerk in Tom’s grip as if having a spasm.

“There, there, dear,” Agnes cooed as she neared. “Everything’ll be all right….”

When they finished, Leesa was on the floor between them, the bandage gag still adhered to her comatose head, her legs resplendent in the hose and heels — a section of her thighs nude and gleaming — and the dress embracing her body, her breasts bunched in the bodice.

Her arms were behind her back, her wrists and elbows retied with thin, coarse rope. Her ankles were crossed and tied, her knees strapped together with a single leather belt.

Tom looked at his wife knowingly. “The troops’ll be up soon. You sure you don’t need my help with breakfast?”

Agnes touched his cheek lovingly. “Our little darling here needs you more. Don’t worry about us.”

“Okay,” he said, and quickly left the room.

Agnes looked down at the girl’s lovely bound body and thoroughly gagged face. “Now what are we going to do with you?”

The two bed-and-breakfast couples were served by Agnes in the communal dining room in the front of the rambling colonial house. She wondered where the family of three was, but because they checked in so late the previous day, she assumed they were sleeping in.

In any case, Agnes gave them their filling country breakfasts, going in and out of the kitchen — the one room that connected to both the inn and their living quarters.

As she collected each course, she looked happily down at the bound and gagged blonde lying on the padded rubber mats in front of the cast-iron restaurant stove.

Her ankles had been lashed to an oven leg, her high heels clacking against the metal. Her head reared up and she had moaned piteously only once. Agnes had kicked her lightly in the stomach and she didn’t do that again. Instead she lay, her body yearning toward the far door — her legs completely revealed and her right tit’s aureole just peeking out into her bunched cleavage.

“There, there,” Agnes told her quietly as she collected the last table’s fresh fruit and cream. “They’ll be gone soon and then it’ll be just you and me….” And to give her a sneak peek she nimbly dripped several big dabs of cream onto the girl, making her cringe and squeal as the thick white liquid plopped onto her cheek and chest.

Agnes kicked her in the stomach again, choking off the muffled cry. “Hush now, child. You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to anybody else, would you?”

Agnes left to serve the last course to the guests as Leesa’s body shook in big, wracking sobs.

________________________

Leesa watched the couples leave through the curtained windows in the private quarters’ living room. Agnes had dragged her by her ankles and tied her to a heavy wooden chair there, with ropes under her breasts, around her waist, and at her wrists. Her legs were on either side of the seat, her ankles tied tightly off the floor to the chair’s back legs.

She cried out to them, she hurled her body forward, she shook passionately, she tried to get their attention. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t know the windows were one-way and that the chair was bolted to the floor. Even if the room hadn’t been sound-proofed, the bandage gag would have kept her cries inside the walls. But the couples left for their day of sight-seeing and water fun without a word — one even looking straight through her.

Agnes, meanwhile, was upstairs, making sure the family was all right before returning to her quarters. But as soon as she entered through the kitchen, locking the door behind her, she stalked over to Leesa, unbuttoning her simple housedress as she approached. Leesa’s eyes widened as she saw what was underneath. Agnes was wearing a severe black satin bustier.

Without a pause, the woman sat on the girl’s lap, facing her, and began kneading Leesa’s breasts through the dress.

“Ooo,” she said into the girl’s shocked, repulsed eyes. “Aren’t these nice? So firm, so full, so strong … even when I was your age, I didn’t have the likes of these….”

Then Agnes started stimulating her own tit with one hand while reaching into Leesa’s dress with the other. She massaged them both with the same strength and vigor as Leesa’s head fell back in torment.

The woman began to pant. “You like that, Leesa? Huh? Doesn’t that feel good?” She suddenly grabbed the neckline of Leesa’s dress and yanked the girl’s right breast free, immediately slamming her face onto it, suckling.

Leesa wrenched back and forth, trying to scream. Agnes grabbed her hair and yanked the girl’s head back without pausing in her vicious sucking. Leesa screamed for her to stop again and again, but it was all just such muffled mush through the bandage and mouth stuffing. But finally the darting tongue and hot lips began to make her groan.

Agnes’ body began to thrust as she suckled and her right hand mashed Leesa’s left breast in rhythm. Then both her hands were pressing down on Leesa’s chest as her drooling mouth was on the girl’s horrified face.

“Aren’t you the sweet one?” she breathed, slobbering on her cheek. “So rich, so smooth, so luscious….”

The back door opened and Tom came in, carrying a full duffel bag. Agnes was immediately back to normal but her hands didn’t leave Leesa’s chest as she turned around.

“Ooo!” she exclaimed. “What did you bring us?”

Agnes was suddenly behind Leesa, her hand reaching down over the girl’s shoulder, her fingers inside the dress, the blonde’s full right breast bulging through the woman’s digits. Leesa stared again at the normally dressed man, who, locking her gaze with his own, opened the duffel bag with a smile and poured its contents on the floor.

Leesa saw leather and buckles and rubber and spandex and lace and satin and whale-boning and padding and straps and boots and impossibly high heels….

“I said we were saving you for our boy,” the man said ominously. “I didn’t say how we were saving you….”

Kerry Sherman took another look at the road. She knew she should really go up and tell her folks she was taking a walk into town, but, really, they had been impossible the whole trip up. Yes, she had blossomed into quite the little beauty, but that was no reason to micro-manage her entire life.

Parents. Every time they saw anything on television or the news, they’d always think she was doing it. She tried to tell them that the media always exaggerated things for ratings, but while they said they knew that, they couldn’t help trying to both support and contain her.

Kerry looked down at herself, her medium-length, straight brown hair, which surrounded her oval face, falling to the top of her chest. Yes, she filled out the t-shirt nicely, but it was just a t-shirt. And her jean shorts, ankle socks, and sneakers wouldn’t get a second look from even the most inveterate pervert.

The body inside maybe, but, hey, she didn’t think of herself as any sort of sex bomb. Good enough for a soap opera, sure, but she was no model. Not at 5’3″, 34C-22-33, and all of 97 pounds. No, she wanted to be an actress — her super cute face, rich brown hair, and deep brown eyes lending themselves for soulful teenage parts.

But all that could wait until she came back from town. Taking a last look at the window of her parents’ room, Kerry walked purposely back to the rear of the inn. She found the back door and knocked. She was distracted for a moment by the ripping, roaring sound of motorcycles passing in front of the house, but then turned back as the door swung in.

“Oh!” she said, taken a bit by surprise. But there was a nice-enough looking woman wearing a simple house dress.

“Yes?” she said politely, if a bit breathlessly. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yes,” Kerry said, regaining her composure. “I’m the Shermans ‘ daughter, in room 4a?”

“Yes, dear? What can we do for you?”

“Well, I want to take a walk into town, and it occurred to me that I wasn’t exactly sure which direction it is.”

“Oh, dear, I thought I told your parents all that….”

“Well, they’re still resting. I didn’t want to disturb them….”

“Of course, of course … how nice of you! Come right in, my dear. I’ll go get you a road map….”

“I don’t want to be any trouble….”

“No trouble at all,” the woman said, already disappearing inside. “It’s for the best. Come right in!”

Kerry stepped inside, looking around at the quaint furnishings and old world decorations. She unconsciously noted that the windows were a bit shiny on the outside and a bit dull on the inside, but thought nothing of it. Instead she thought that moving the obviously heavy furniture must’ve been a bitch.

“Come in, come in,” she heard the woman say as she returned.

“You have the map?” Kerry asked in her quiet voice.

“My husband the innkeeper is getting it. You having a good trip?”

“We just started,” Kerry said absently. If she was concerned by the mention of a husband she didn’t show it. Then she gasped and turned around when she heard the door open behind her.

Tom Brannigan was entering, holding a folded-up map. He saw the look on the cute little brunette’s face, and chuckled. “The maps were outside in my car,” he said. “I went out through the kitchen to get them.”

He held it out to Kerry. The girl took it. “Thanks,” she said. “I….” Then she heard a thunk behind her. “I just thought I’d….” She heard another thunk. She glanced behind her.

Kerry Sherman gasped, unable to breathe or move. There, over Agnes Brannigan’s shoulder, was a girl. Kerry knew it was a girl from the way she was dressed. She wore a crushing blue-black demi-cup corset which adhered to her spectacular shape like an iron maiden. Her breasts were thrust up like desserts, her aureoles jiggling like cherries, her nipples their cut-off-stems.

She had no panties, but something dark, thin and tight was barely covering her sex. Most of her hips and thighs were revealed, but her long legs were encased in black stockings attached to a garter belt which came from the corset bottom. On her feet were five inch ankle-strap high heels.

Kerry could also tell from the girl’s long, lustrous blonde hair. She couldn’t tell from her face, because, except for her nose, she had no face. Across her upper head was an upside-down V — a padded black leather blindfold which adhered across her ears and over her skull. From her nostrils down was a matching padded prod gag which adhered to a form-fitting collar, obscuring the girl’s flesh down to her collarbone.

From her body Kerry could tell she was young — not as young as her, maybe — and beautiful. From her hands she could tell the girl was desperate. They fluttered on either side of her chest, her wrists locked into a harness that went over her tits, over her shoulders, and around her slim neck. The black leather strap harness rendered her into a half-armed animal unable to reach its own face.

Her knees were strapped. She tottered on the heels. She had been pounding her head on the hall wall.

Kerry’s mind screamed at her to yell, turn, and run, but before the order could get through her shock, it was too late. She felt vises on her mouth and right wrist, and then blinding pain.

Then the Brannigans had her sandwiched between them; Tom with his hand over her soft mouth and her arm wrenched all the way up her back, Agnes gripping her other wrist while tearing at her shirt and shorts.

Within seconds, her filled white lace bra and matching thong panties were revealed. The Brannigans were practically cackling as Tom kicked the door closed behind him and Agnes pressed the hysterical young brunette against her husband’s rock-hard torso. But after Leesa, Kerry’s struggles were nothing.

“You want the Durasleep?” the woman grunted.

“Oh no,” said the man. “I want this one awake as long as possible.” He quickly tightened a thin strap around Kerry’s small throat as Agnes held the girl’s mouth shut. “All right,” he hissed in the brunette’s ear. “Not a sound.” He yanked the strangling strap as punctuation and then the two fell on her in the mid-morning sunshine before she could even choke. C.U.

“How much time do you think we have?” Agnes asked.

“Her parents will assume she went to town or is hanging somewhere around the lake,” he grunted. “I figure that’ll give us the afternoon. They probably won’t start freaking until dinner time … and they still can’t legally report her missing until tomorrow. That’ll give us all night.”

He smiled mirthlessly down at Kerry Sherman, who’s eyes were rolled up at him in disbelief and distress.

They were all in the basement. Leesa was bent over, tottering on the high heels, Agnes on her back, molesting her fully revealed tits like a master dough kneader.

Kerry was naked, bent over a wooden workhorse, her firm, tight, round ass in the air.

Her arms were high up her back, her wrists crossed and tied with blue electrical tape. Her ankles were crossed and likewise cinched, though her knees were pushed wide. She moaned in agony, her mouth filled with a round copper doorknob, blocked in with an asterisk of more blue electrical tape across her lower face. Bull clamps, almost the size used on jumper cables, were attached to her round, high, wonderful tits.

Tom Brannigan was behind the brunette. “Unblindfold her,” he instructed his wife, nodding insistently at the blonde. Agnes immediately went to work, unstrapping the padded leather thing from the girl’s bright blue eyes. Leesa blinked and stumbled, jerking straight in shock at the sight of her new, unwilling, roommate. She made a sound that could’ve been “oh no” from inside the thick padding and around the invading prod, then froze as if pinioned by the man’s gaze.

He was naked.

“I told you and told you we were saving you for our boy,” he said flatly, then placed his hand on Kerry’s firm buttock. “So lucky for you this one came along.”

Agnes grabbed Leesa and wrestled her to the floor as Tom reached down and around to grip Kerry’s already tormented breasts. As his wife grabbed the blonde’s tits, he straddled the brunette.

Kerry felt the cock enter her from behind and started trying to scream. Agnes gripped Leesa’s head and forced her to watch as her husband fucked Kerry Sherman’s brains out.

TO BE CONTINUED…

On day three, Leesa starts being “trained” by Agnes for the Brannigan boy’s return while Tom “aids” the local authorities in finding the missing Sherman girl … when he’s not raping her under their very noses….

Young, pretty, blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski, 34D-23-33, had been abducted by the parents of the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before. This secretly sadistic couple -an ex-girls’ gym teacher and a male nurse who now run a bed and breakfast out by the lake- is “preparing” to have her “apologize” to their boy when he returns from college… a leather, lace, spandex, and steel-laden process that is satisfying the wife but sexually frustrating the husband. Lucky for him, 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34C-22-33), the daughter of a family renting suite 4A, decided to go for a walk without telling her resting folks….

DAY THREE

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

The local cop had the words out even before Agnes Brannigan had the back door open.

“Why, good morning, Jim,” Agnes said pleasantly before “noticing” the troubled lodgers. “Why, it’s the Shermans, isn’t it? Suite 4A? Why, whatever is wrong?”

“It’s Kerry,” the mother blurted before Jim the cop could even get his mouth open. “Our daughter … she didn’t come back yesterday!”

“Whaaat?” Agnes said in mock surprise. “Your daughter? You mean the little one? The brown-haired girl? Why, she couldn’t have been more than eighteen…!”

“Just finished school,” Jim said solemnly, “going to start college next semester….”

“Oh, my goodness,” Agnes gasped. “And you say she didn’t come back last night?”

“We were out late,” the father said grimly. “At the historic tavern. She had her own bedroom… we didn’t even know until this morning….”

“Are you sure?” Agnes asked solicitously. “Maybe she got an early start….”

“Bed wasn’t slept in, Agnes,” Jim informed her. “Apparently, she wasn’t the type to make her bed….”

The mother rested her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“Oh you poor dears,” Agnes said with deep sympathy.

“Tom around, Agnes?” Jim the cop asked quietly.

Her eyes met his and she instantly knew that everything Tom had told her would happen was happening. The parents reported their missing daughter to Jim, Jim came here and asked for his help. Everybody knew that nothing in this town happened without Tom knowing about it….

“Oh, I think he’s around here somewhere,” Agnes said almost idly, controlling the tingling excitement and rush of nighttime memories. “Let me call him….”

He heard her call from the room at the top of the stairs… behind the thick, insulated, padded wooden door, inside the paneled, and exposed beam-ceilinged room — with all the quaint curtains covering the bullet-proofed, one-way windows and the circular woven rugs and thick mattresses covering the hardwood floor.

Leesa Mendaski heard her too. Tom knew it by the small, strangled sound she made as her tall, proud, erect body jerked suddenly at the sound. She stood beside the door, so it would block her from sight of the hall if opened.

Perhaps “stood” is the wrong word. She balanced there, head up and slightly cocked to one side, her long legs straining, the pointed toes of the six-inch ankle-strap high heels just barely touching the carpet nap.

Tom heard her gurgle, swallow, and then moan, all the sounds dampened by the eight-buckle, jaw-wrenching, prod gag they had affixed over her lower face. She seemed to be in the middle of an eternal high c, except you couldn’t see her mouth, which was open to its widest possible aperture, her unseen teeth clenched deep into a huge red rubber ball. And over that was an amazingly tight swath of leather which clamped onto her face. Her cheeks and chin were straining on either side of the obstruction’s cover, which was secured by the four straps on either side of the muzzle.

To add to her silence was a single, thin, yellow, rubber-coated wire which noosed her lovely throat and was knotted around a hook screwed deep into a ceiling beam. Her shoulders hunched, trying despite herself to get her hands up to relieve the pressure at her throat and mouth, but the single glove that was laced up her arms and strapped across her upper chest gave no more this time than the dozens of other spastic attempts.

Instead all her action did was jiggle her luscious tits once more as they balanced atop the waist-crushing blue/black leather corset which molded her shape like liquid steel. She gasped, sighing, as her reaction to the call had moved her on the bolted down impaling pole which shot up between her thigh-high stockinged legs. Besides her tiny noises, the only other sound from her side of the room was the tiny clinking of the clips which held her ankles to either side of the iron pole.

“Was that call for you?” Tom Brannigan asked her sarcastically. “No, I don’t think so.” Leesa rolled her pain-wracked, tearing eyes. Tom watched those beautiful blue orbs glisten, looking anywhere but at him as his grin widened. He filled his right hand with Kerry Sherman’s left breast and squeezed it brutally for the blonde’s benefit.

For the brunette’s part, she hardly felt it anymore. Her chest was numb. As were her arms, face, hips, and legs. She stared at the wall and corner of the ceiling, blinking, still trying, and not trying, to comprehend what had happened and was happening.

The innkeepers had attacked her. They had clamped her mouth shut with their hands, choke-leashed her, and tied her hands behind her back before she could even move. Then they had torn off her t-shirt and ripped down her shorts. Their hands had been inside her bra and panties before she could react. Their strength overpowered her like a tidal wave hitting a sand castle.

They had stuffed her shirt in her mouth, they had knocked her back into an overstuffed easy chair. The sensations at her chest and between her legs were already overwhelming. She screamed and struggled exactly like a crazy girl, but she was wedged in the seat, and hands were at her face and chest, her air cut off by a cord.

By the time she realized he was inside her, he was already thrusting and pumping like an animal. She didn’t understand: it was daytime, sun was pouring into the room, she could see the lake in the distance outside the windows, and her parents were just a few stories above her. But there was a shackled, muzzled, blinded blonde girl stumbling against the wall and the innkeepers were brutally assaulting her.

But then she couldn’t breathe and her eyes began to grow grainy. She was only aware of drowning in buffeting waves until a thick cream, which seemed both warm and cool at the same time, splattered against her jaw and across her face.

Even before she could take that in, she was propelled up and across the room. She stumbled down wooden stairs into a cool area of concrete, stone, wood, and dirt.

They had her in the bed and breakfast’s basement. Her clothes were gone. She felt the blue electrical tape going on her wrists and ankles. She felt her sodden shirt being pulled out and a big, hard, cold, oval steel ball going in. She felt her lips being taped closed and together. She felt herself being pushed forward over a wooden bench.

Then the cock was back inside her.

From there on, she felt it all, yet none of it at the same time. When she could conceive anything, she couldn’t believe a man could fuck her so many times in so short a time. She couldn’t remember a moment his prick wasn’t in her or on her.

He dropped her to the basement floor and had her on her back, his body wedged between her legs.

His wife strapped her ankles to her thighs and he had her on his haunches, sitting, as the wife wrapped her lower face in gauze.

They unstrapped her legs and brought her upstairs with his member wedged between her ass cheeks. While the blonde stayed, standing, tied and strapped to a cellar upright, Kerry was thrown to the overpadded sofa beneath the living room windows.

Falling atop her, Tom clamped one hand over her gag and lay his other forearm over her throat as his rigid cock sought her churned cunt once again.

As she writhed weakly, trying to make any sort of noise, she thought she heard him. She couldn’t have possibly envisioned this herself. “Your folks’ll think you went into town or you’re hanging around the lake,” he grunted, his cock shoving into her. “That’ll give us some time, huh?”

He pushed up off her, jamming his hips even tighter into her. “What sort of a bad girl are you? No virgin, huh? Well, that’s all right…still warm and tight enough for now….”

Then the rush of sensations started again and the roar in her head drowned out everything until his smirking visage swam into her foggy vision. “Your folks aren’t at dinner,” he sneered. “That means one of two things. They’re either out eating or reporting you missing. Either way, that means we got alllll night…!”

The thudding between her lax legs got so hard and fast, she couldn’t help but zone out again. It felt like a nightmarish invasion inside her and an assault on her chest. She knew she was in shock, but just like this entire attack, there was nothing she could do about it….

She vaguely became aware of him sitting on her stomach, kneading her chest around his log like a bread maker.

Sometime later she was sitting up, her arms behind her, her elbows and wrists being wrapped. Then she felt something soft and filmy being laced on her, with some sort of material gathering up her aching breasts and thrusting them forward. Something warm and furry was on her legs and then her feet were being wedged onto her tip-toes.

Finally she surfaced from the depths deep into another kind of darkness, wedged on both sides by hard muscle and leathery skin. She was in the abductors’ bed, between them.

She wore a lovely white lace teddy with the crotch open, his cock plugging her from behind. It was tightly laced up her bulging chest and over her shoulders. Her face was muzzled by a harness which plugged her mouth, mashed her lips behind a square hunk of leather, and buckled behind her neck with straps coming from both across her scalp and cheeks.

Her arms were behind her, her taped wrists and his clamped hand keeping her fingers on the base of his shaft. His other hand was tightly gripping her left tit. The old woman had her hand between the girl’s legs, her fingers pinching Kerry’s clit above her old man’s log. Her ankles were tied separately to two baseboard slats. Finally, her neck was lightly chained to the headboard.

Kerry blinked, seeing something indistinct beyond the bodies of her attackers. As her groggy eyes adjusted to the dark, her ears did as well. Coming into focus, between the bed and the bedroom door, was a figure in flesh and white.

It was the blonde. She was sitting in a plain white chair, her lush, creamy, unblemished body both taut and slightly squirming at the same time.

She wore a white demi-cup bra which thrust her jangling nipples up. On the pink nubs were small, nasty, silver, alligator-teethed clips. Her arms were wrenched behind her, but Kerry could make out white gloves which came up to the blonde’s forearms.

Something dark was across her lower face and throat. It was a brick of black leather on her mouth, straps going tightly around her head. There was some sort of buckle on her throat, holding her back.

Her legs were wide. There was a white lace garter belt around her hips, thigh high white stockings on her legs, and severe white high heels on her feet — her ankles tied to the outside of the chair legs. She was humming.

No…. Yes…. She was making some sort of muffled, dim, agonizing sound, but she was not humming. Her crotch was. Kerry slowly blinked. Her vision sharpened for just one second. It was long enough to see the way something was moving inside her black thatch. No, not black thatch. She was a natural blonde. It was a strap. Something was moving and surging and humming on the other side of a black strap tightened between her legs.

The blonde’s shoulders spasmed. Her fingers clawed the air.

She jerked over and over again in the bolted down chair, her sweat-slicked skin gleaming in the moonlight.

Then Kerry lost consciousness again.

When she regained consciousness she was on her back, on a mattress, in this sunshine filled room, the blonde was on the impaling pole, and the bastard was inside her again. But there was still nothing she could do about it.

Her body was strapped down. There was a thick, wide collar completely covering her throat, forcing her head back. Her mouth was stuffed so full with something rubbery that her cheeks bulged out over the seemingly cement pad which covered her lower face from ear to ear to chin to nostrils.

There were black straps on either side of her neck which adhered to a ring between the top of her exposed breasts. More straps came from them over her chest and around her body. Straps were under her breasts and around her waist. Straps adhered her ankles to her thighs. Her wrists were strapped, her arms were strapped, her elbows were strapped. Her feet were wedged into black high heels.

She was a concurved shape on the thick padding, his hand was filled with her round, buoyant orb, and he was rutting deep inside her again.

“No,” he said to the blonde. “That was for me. Yes dear?!” he cried, the fingers on Kerry’s tit tightening like a vice.

“Could you come down?” they all heard his wife call.

He looked purposely at the blonde, then down at the brunette. His face was triumphant. Kerry shuddered. “Sure,” he called out, his eyes locked with the brunette’s deep brown ones. “Just give me a second to finish up what I’m doing here, okay?”

He started fucking Kerry like a piston as both girls tried to wail.

Downstairs, the four heard nothing. Agnes looked apologetically at Kerry’s parents as her husband raped their daughter just out of their sight. “Sorry for the delay,” she said sheepishly. “He’ll come in a minute.”

Tom gripped Kerry’s beautifully smooth shoulders, exulting in the way her collarbones deepened and her vagina clamped down hot and wet. He erupted into her for the eighth time in eighteen hours, but this was the first time she actually felt it. She blinked up at the ceiling in renewed shock, her body jerking in revulsion.

“There, there,” he said, finally pulling out of her. “Okay,” he shouted downstairs as he reached for more straps, which lay on the floor beside the mattress. “That’ll do it for now. I’ll be right down.”

Like a champion rodeo rider, he cinched Kerry’s knees together, and then affixed her wrists to her ankles in a severe hogtie. Then he rolled her onto her stomach, reached under her torso, filled his hands with her squishy, aching breasts, and leaned over until his mouth was by her right ear.

“Gotta go help a guest find their missing daughter,” he told her. Giving her chest a squeeze, he rolled around, got to his feet, hitched his pants up, and gripped the doorknob. He stopped to stare into Leesa’s unbelieving, horrified eyes. “You just wait ’til our boy gets home,” he promised, and then he was out of the room, leaving the door wide open.

Kerry stared at the hallway in astonishment. She heard the man go down the stairs, saying “What’s up,” and then the unmistakable sounds of other voices … voices, by their very pitch and timber, of people who had absolutely no idea what was going on in this room. People who had no inkling or could even dream, in their wildest nightmare, of what had happened.

Then came the sound that Kerry recognized above and beyond this horror. She started to cry out. She started to yell. She started to scream. “Mom! Dad! Help! Oh god, please!” Only Leesa heard the noise, which sounded like a yearling being smothered. She tried to scream as well, but all she could do was moan.

Kerry tried to crawl to the open door. Her nipples felt like matches and the mattress felt like flint. Her limbs seemed made of sand. She could hardly move her fingers. Her legs cramped and her arms convulsed. Her body curled up, tears of pain spewing down her face.

Gasping, choking, drool pouring out of her nose, sweat coursing down her body, Kerry writhed onto her side, the top of her head just clearing the mattress, her rich brown hair whispering onto the hardwood floorboards. She tried to straighten, to crawl, but the mattress held her sodden body like flypaper.

“Geez, Jim, that’s rough,” said Tom Brannigan downstairs. “I gave her a map to downtown and that’s the last I saw her.”

“Oh dear,” said Agnes Brannigan. “To town, Tom? Didn’t you hear the motorcycles?”
Jim the cop stilled, causing the Shermans to react. “Motorcycles?” Kerry’s father asked. “What about motorcycles?”
Upstairs his daughter heard him, and suddenly she cringed, rolling until her head lolled over the side of the mattress. Remembering the thunking she had heard just before being dragged into this nightmare, she didn’t think twice before immediately pounding her forehead onto the hardwood floor.

“Sir, I think you and your wife better come downtown with me,” Jim the cop told the Shermans.

“No,” Kerry’s father insisted. “What is this about motorcycles? We’re not going anywhere until you tell us.”

For a moment all was quiet in the living room…except for a quiet, distant knocking from upstairs.

No one paid it any mind. Old houses in these parts were like that. Only Tom took a split second to look at his wife, seemingly with concern. “Better tell them, Jim,” he said to the cop.

Kerry was dizzy from the new pain, but even she knew that her skull on the hardwood floor was hardly making a sound.

Moaning in the back of her throat, she forced her weight to the side again, her sodden skin stubbornly sticking to the mattress material like rubber cement.

“This area is one of the safest in the country,” Jim told her parents, “but….”

“But?!” Kerry’s mother practically snarled. “But what?”

They were silent for a split second again. A split second in which only Tom and Agnes noticed the far off thudding sound … like a sack of foam hitting a cushion.

Kerry was on her side on the floor between the mattress and the door. Her eyes bulged over her bulging cheeks as she tried to will herself into the hall or shriek loud enough for her parents to hear. “Dad, mom, I’m here!”

“Motorcycle gangs,” Jim said solemnly.

“Motorcycle gangs?!” Kerry’s father exploded.

“I’m sorry, but there was an incident a few years back….”

“Incident?” Kerry’s father all but boomed. “What sort of incident?”

“A girl,” Agnes said, “from town. But they never found out whether she ran away with them or they took her…!”

“What?” Kerry’s father bellowed as his wife began to cry. “What do you mean, ‘they never found out’?”

Agnes looked apologetically at Jim, and then them. “They never found her….”

Kerry heard it all. She had inched her head into the hall. She was screeching at them, “Shut up, shut up, don’t you see what they’re doing? Listen to me, please!” But her cries were all just scrambled whimpers, drowned out by her parents’ rage and despair.

“Now, now,” Jim the cop was saying. “That ain’t exactly right. She never came back is all. No one could prove anything bad had happened….”

“But this gang was around here yesterday?” Kerry’s father demanded.

Jim looked at Tom and they shared a resigned acknowledgment. They had both seen the gang drive by. Images of bikers grabbing a pretty brunette teenager off a back road appeared in three people’s minds. The other two thought of the same girl between them in their bed, trying to scream or claw away as they mauled and defiled her.

Kerry rolled onto her other side, choking — trying to keep the momentum going so she could knock her knees onto the stairway banister, or to suck enough air into her mucous-stuffed nostrils to get some sound out from behind the mouth-filling, lip-crushing gags. Her back arched, tears pouring down either side of her face.

“What are we standing around here for?!” her mother all but screeched. “Get after them, now!”

“We’ll help in any way we can,” Agnes quickly interjected, but the couple were already hustling the cop away.

“Fine, fine, that’s good,” Kerry’s father said absently.

“Let me know if you see or hear anything!” Jim called to the Brannigans over his shoulder.

“We sure will,” Agnes replied, her hand on the side of the door, pushing it closed.

“Maaaaaaaaaaa-ommmmmm!” Kerry cried. “Ma-om, ma-om, ma-om!” Her body quaked with each attempt, her tits wobbling, each muffled cry getting louder in the hall until Leesa could clearly hear it. “Hep! Hep! Heeeeeeeeee-lp!”

It still wasn’t very loud. But loud enough for the Brannigans to hear. They looked out the window of the closed door at the Shermans getting into Officer Jim’s police car. They waited until it had driven away before collecting some important impliments and slowly marching back upstairs. They each carried a small bag: Agnes a medical bag from Tom’s hospital days, and Tom a gym bag from Agnes’ school days…

Tom stood over Kerry’s sexy, shapely little body in the hallway beside the stairwell, her luxurious hair fanned out below her head. She stared up at him in total terror as Agnes moved over to the door of the room at the top of the stairs.

“I see something,” he quietly told her with a smile. “I hear something.” She heard it too. The sound of his zipper going down. Kerry started to cry, her body shaking.

“Better gag that little filly a bit better,” Agnes commented, looking at the sweet, little brunette with appreciation, head askance.

“Oh, don’t worry,” her husband said as he kneeled beside the petrified girl. “I’ll give the darling something to gag on all right.” He opened the gym bag to remove a girl’s u-necked, sleeveless, cut-off t-shirt, a matching cotton micro-miniskirt, and then something that looked like a hairless leather and plastic version of his own cock and balls, but with straps coming off it.

Kerry stared in confusion and dread as he held it over her moistened face. “Molded from my own member,” he said proudly.

He turned it this way and that in the morning sun. “But you already know it’s not as long as in real life….”

With a motion of his head, his wife was behind the brunette, dragging up her head, and the two tore off the gag and dragged the rubber stuffing from the exhausted, weeping girl’s mouth.

She just managed to get out some small shrieks before she was gurgling on the pink prod he was forcing into her mouth.

“There, there,” Agnes cooed, holding Kerry’s head up and back by her hair. “Take it in, dear. Just be glad it’s this and not something else….”

“I’ve been wondering,” Tom grunted as he pushed and twisted, forcing the back of her neck onto it, “how to keep you bitches’ quiet, when it occurred to me. A penis-prod is not enough. You got all that air in your cheeks to play with. But not if my balls were in your mouth, too…!”

With a turn, he pushed one of the leather-covered balls into one of Kerry’s cheeks. Her eyes widened, already sensing that it was some sort of steel-strong rubber which bulged the side of her face. Then he pressed down on her tongue with the penis-prod and poked the other ball into her other cheek, where it popped into place.

Kerry sobbed with disgust, her head going back, but Agnes was already tightening the straps brutally beneath her hair. Appallingly, it rammed into place as if made to measure. The balls were in her cheeks and the penis prod held down her tongue and filled her mouth. The drool started immediately.

Almost as soon as the brunette realized her new predicament, Agnes dropped her head and stood.

Kerry fell back, wailing, her chest jiggling, as Tom fell on her. His wife shook her head as if to say “men will be men,” then stepped into the room at the top of the stairs. She looked behind the door, smiling at what she saw.

“Well, hello there Leesa. Miss me?”

The beautiful blonde cringed, choked, and cried as her tormentor approached, and the wire around her throat tightened.

“Oh, dear, oh dear,” Agnes clucked. “Look at your poor neck. And your glorious yellow beaver. Oh, you poor thing. Well, we must do something about that, mustn’t we?”

The old woman went to the closet and opened the door. Leesa stared at the rack of corsets — especially the bright red one the old woman removed. It made the one she was wearing look positively loose.

Leesa started to beg as Agnes re-approached. The woman pulled over the padded bench of a make-up table to set the corset and doctor’s bag on, then started unclipping the blue/black corset Leesa already wore.

“No need to thank me, my dear,” she said mildly, ignoring the true meaning of the blonde’s sounds. “We just have to get you ready, that’s all. Your one true love will be home soon….”

Leesa started to yell, but the wire grew taut and her hysteria was choked off.

“Now don’t get too excited, dear. Everything’ll be all right if you just take it easy.” Agnes admired the girl’s unblemished alabaster skin as well as her firm yet curving shape.

But then she started to fit the new, red corset around her, and all Leesa could do was grunt … until there wasn’t even enough air left for that.

A few minutes later, Agnes stepped back into the hall, her mouth open to call Tom, but she shut her lips to watch approvingly.

Her husband had the little brunette standing at the end of the hall. Actually she was leaning over forward, her head precariously close to the front window, her hands tied behind her, and her wrists affixed to her waist with more rubber-coated wire. Her legs were free, for all the good they did her.

She was now wearing the microminiskirt and midriff-exposing tee, along with the high heels, although you couldn’t call any of it concealing. Tom’s hands were up in the shirt, gripping her hanging breasts, while his cock was up the skirt, rutting her from behind. His own legs kept hers spread. As desperate as she was to fall or run, she was like a sex doll in his strong arms.

She was trying to grunt, but with the cock’n’balls gag in her mouth, all she could do was hum. And drool. The drool splattered out of her mouth like a leaky faucet, her drenched lips working furiously. The stuff coated her chin, splattered her chest and soaked into the shirt.

“Let’s treat it like a wound,” Tom grunted, still thrusting into the captive’s sex. “Hand me the gauze pad and the bandages, huh?”

“Hand you nothing,” his wife chided, grabbing the stuff but walking by him. “You keep at it.” She, herself, carefully placed the pad over Kerry’s moaning mouth, then wound the bandage tightly around it and her head as Tom held the girl’s hair up.

When she finished, the brunette’s lower face was tightly sealed and the saliva was just beginning to darken the tan elastic.

Tom returned his hand to Kerry’s tit, and kept fucking her up the ass. “What can I do for you?” he grunted.

“Thought I needed a little help,” Agnes said quietly, watching him work on the debilitated brunette. “But now I don’t think so. You just finish the job, hear?”

“Hear,” he said, grinning wickedly, grinding Kerry’s fine tits in his fingers while rthymically and repeatedly impaling her. Agnes watched as the girl’s face got perilously close to the window again and again, her hair tapping it over and over. Yet as she yearned for it, Tom expertly held her back.

Finally he gripped her tits as if trying to pop them, dragged her back to the wall, shoved his cock up into her as far as it would go — forcing her up on tiptoes — and cannoned into her again.

Even before her shoes hit the ground, Agnes was there, strapping the girl’s ankles and knees as Tom pulled down the shirt to just cover her aureoles and the skirt to just cover her creamed tuft.

“That’s what you get, bitch,” he whispered to her in lieu of nothing. Then he started to wrap her eyes with bandage as Agnes held her quaking body.

They both dragged her into the room where Leesa stood unsteadily, her eyelids fluttering…

Agnes had lifted her off the impaling pole, but she had done it by the waist of the new corset. Between that and the noose, the blonde could barely breathe. Normally 34-23-33, the red monstrosity made her 36-21-32, her legs appearing all the longer for it, and her breasts bulging out the sides of the demi-cups which held onto them like a clamp.

Pushing Kerry onto the floor, Tom immediately had his pocket knife out and snapped the noose wire. Leesa all but dropped into his arms, and he all but dipped her onto the cushioned bench, back-first. Both the husband and wife went to work on her without a word, both knowing instantly what was to be done.

Within minutes, Leesa’s eyes began to blink instead of flutter, and she realized she was laying on the banquette, her legs dangling over one end from the knees down, and her head dangling over the other, her flaxen mane sweeping the floor. Her ankles were tied to the bench’s legs, her knees wide. Her arms were up over her head, her wrists together, pulled back behind her head and affixed to the bench’s legs there.

Her waist was roped to the bench and more cords secured her torso over and under her breasts. She realized that between the position, the bondage, and the corset, her chest was bulged and thrust as high as they would ever go, her nipples like two pointers at the ceiling.

She tried to raise her head to see them, but there was a tearing pain at the sides of her mouth. When her vision and mind cleared she realized she was gagged with rope deep between her teeth, which was then wrapped around the settee legs nearest her neck. She tried to complain but all that came out was a lisping, wet, groan of pain. She blinked again and the upside-down images of her two captors’ faces swam into view.

“All better now, dear?” Agnes asked sweetly. “That’s good, because we need you at your best for this.” She held up her hands. In one was a med-bottle. In the other was a syringe.

Leesa started to panic, but all the old woman did was walk away from her head to kneel by her side. Leesa’s panic was distracted for only a moment when the man knelt by her. He had no pants on and his cock pointed at her accusingly.

“Now don’t worry,” he said soothingly, one hand cradling her chin as the other reached over to massage her left breast. “This won’t hurt much. It’s actually quite therapeutic, I’m told.”

69/Leesa started to wrench her body when she felt her nipples being swabbed with cold liquid. “Now, now,” Tom said with added steel, gripping her shoulder.
“You see this?” Agnes said tightly, bringing the syringe down into Leesa’s view. “It’s sharp as a razor, thin as a hair. If you stay still, it’ll be fine. But if you move….”

Leesa froze in place, blinking, her eyes getting wet.

“Come now, dear,” Tom urged, caressing her face again. “You know we’re saving you for our boy. You know we wouldn’t do anything to hurt you….”

Tears poured from the blonde’s blue eyes, blinding her.

“It’s just a little number called Lactaid, honeybunch,” Tom explained as his wife loaded it up from the med-bottle. “The pea-titted girl’s best friend. We just used it in the maternity ward to encourage milk production, but I quickly realized it had a most interesting side effect… now freeze, honey, don’t move a muscle….”

Agnes gripped Leesa’s left breast and with a deft move, sunk the needle directly into the center of the girl’s nipple.

“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move…,” Tom told her. She felt the intrusion sinking deep and deeper into her breast, but then the old woman’s thumb depressed and a strange feeling of warmth began to spread across her chest.

“Now the other one,” Agnes said, and Tom was there, clamping Leesa’s mouth shut with one hand while squeezing her left tit with the other. Agnes reloaded the syringe and repeated the expert injection.

Tom watched, seemingly hypnotized, as the hair-thin needle slowly disappeared into Leesa’s tit. Agnes pressed the plunger and then both abductors seemed to sigh and lean back.

Leesa began to blink again, and again, feeling the warmth turn into a churning heat. Both her captors watched as it seemed to have an almost immediate effect. Leesa’s breasts began to tighten, as if slowly being inflated.

They daren’t touch them until the effect of the drug was complete, but Agnes reached downed to cup the blonde’s tuft with one hand. Tom held her shoulders while his erection waved in her face, brushing her murmuring, gasping lips.

“There now,” he soothed, stroking her throat and combing her hair with his fingers. “That’s better, isn’t it?” His wife’s middle finger hooked, slipping into Leesa’s vagina. Her forefinger sunk between the blonde’s vaginal lips, pressing the clit.

“How long?” the woman asked softly.

“Best to give it all night,” her husband quietly replied.

He noticed some excess jism on the end of his cock. He casually painted Leesa’s wrenched open lips with it, as if it were lipstick.

Agnes began to stimulate the groggy, drugged girl in earnest. The blonde was soon moaning, her lovely body practically throbbing on the settee.

Her unconscious reaction was getting Tom hard again, but he had already gone too far by toying with her mouth. This was not his girl. This was his son’s one true love, right?

He looked away … directly at the body of the sexy little brunette on the floor not five feet away from him. He could see the bottom of her tits hanging out under the shirt, and how sexy the rest of her looked in the blindfold, gags, micromini and heels.

“Got any of that Lactaid left?” he asked huskily, holding his hand out as he moved toward Kerry’s prone form. “Hand it to me, will you?”

_____________________________________

Blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski, 34D-23-33, was abducted by the parents of the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before. This secretly sadistic couple — an ex-girls’ gym teacher and a male nurse who now run a bed and breakfast out by the lake — is “preparing” her for their boy’s return from college — a process that’s satisfying the wife but frustrating the husband…that is, until 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34-22-33), the daughter of a family renting suite 4A, stumbled into his clutches. Now both girls have suffered syringes of Lactaid, a banned maternity drug that is injected directly into the nipples….

DAY FOUR

Kerry’s arms writhed in the tight, thin ropes which held her crossed wrists to the small of her smooth, curved back. She screamed with agony into the packing that filled her pried-open mouth and sealed her mashed lips.

It was as if jumper cables were clamped onto her tits. She tried desperately to raise her torso off the coarse wooden floor. But no matter how she wrenched her lithe, lovely body, her breasts sloshed back onto the slivers — each touch of her aching nipples sending electric shocks into her brain.

Kerry groaned, sobbing in disbelief. They had dragged her down the hall and up the attic steps, shoving her into a dirty triangle of rough hewn beams, logs, and planks, barely larger than the average crawlspace, surrounded by cardboard boxes and bags of cloth wedged into the corners.

There the man had laid atop her, his forearm across her throat, pinching her nostrils shut while the woman rummaged through the bags.

Between the expertly shut-off air and the vile liquid he had injected into her chest, the abused girl rapidly lost consciousness.

When she awoke, she was alone with her tits, which were throbbing and swelling out of the torn, silky summer dress they must have forced onto her.

It was soft white with yellow, rose, and purple flower designs, but it barely covered her. Swaths of her creamy flesh appeared from under the hem, which was torn to expose her shapely, smooth legs and perfect hips. Her feet were imprisoned in murderously high, beige, low-top granny boots which affixed to her flesh like rubber. In her mouth was something soft and round but at the same time hard and pliant. It was sealed in with some sort of plaster tape which covered her lower face like glue. And over that was a leather strap which affixed to her as if painted on.

Her ankles and knees jerked in the ropes in reaction to the mind-boggling sensations in her upper torso.

Her soft brown eyes widened in amazement at the distended orbs attached to her chest. They were her breasts, but, at the same time, she didn’t recognize them. They had measured 34C when the innkeepers had attacked her. They had to be 34D now, maybe even double-D.

They had been firm and strong before, and they were firm still, but also wetter and squishier, as if they had been filled with mercury. They erupted out of the tight dress’ stained bodice like living jello molds, the erect nipples dripping viscous fluid.

And the sensations…! It was as if every pore on her breasts had a sensor, and every touch of cloth, wood, or even air sent shocks stabbing up to her mind. They bulged, wriggling, as if alive, driven by an inner fire which coiled and burned in her chest.

Kerry’s head went back, her jaw working, as her body contorted achingly in the bonds. She had seen them inject the same stuff into the taller blonde girl…and her chest had already been bigger than Kerry’s. What must she be feeling now?

Leesa felt nothing. She lay on her back on the white carpet in Agnes Brannigan’s bathroom off the major bedroom, her beautiful blonde hair fanning out around her head.

Her rosy pink lips stretched around a big baby-blue ballgag deep in her mouth. Her arms were behind her, secured by regular rope which also wrapped her torso, throat, and dug deep into her waist. Her ankles were bent back, tied to her thighs. She wore nothing else but severe baby-blue high heels.

Her own crystalline baby blues stared in horrified disbelief at her numb chest which all but obscured her vision. Her breasts were virtually a third larger, seemingly about to erupt with milk, her distended nipples like valves about to blow. It was as if they were water balloons a nano-second away from bursting. She made no sound, just blinked over and over again at the things on her chest where her tits used to be.

“There’s no danger, is there?” the kneeling, fascinated woman asked her husband without even looking back at him.

If she had, she would have noted his scowling face and the way his pants bulged between his thighs. “Naw,” he replied both casually and sourly. “They’re sensitive as all get out, but they’re not going to pop, if that’s what you mean….”

Finally she did look back at him with a wicked grin. “That’s what I mean, all right. So I guess we’ve got us a little training time before dinner and our boy gets back, huh?”

The man grunted.

“You wanna watch?” the woman invited.

Tom Brannigan said nothing. He just turned around and walked out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, into the hall, and down toward the attic door. Kerry managed to get one bleat out before he had dragged a dingy mattress out from under an eave, rolled her onto it, and started untying her legs.

The girl started trying to screech and beg from under the gag, but then he suddenly grabbed the dress top, tore it wide, and slammed his hands onto her tits as if they were mounds of pizza dough.

“Shut up, bitch,” he growled.

Kerry felt as if someone had set off two grenades in her head. She was blinded and deafened by the overwhelming shock. When she recovered he had already tied her left ankle to her thigh and was affixing her right ankle to the base of a ceiling support beam. The girl tried to get her voice back but could only gurgle, her eyes rolling, until he leaned down and wedged a dirty, smelly pillow under her neck.

Her eyes cleared as her head raised, so she saw him clearly as he pulled off his clothes and positioned himself atop her. She stared in dread as he casually ripped the dress hem even more, exposing her soft auburn tuft.

Then he was doing a reverse push-up, his arms on either side of her head.

“There’s something else about this stuff you should know,” she heard him mumble as she felt his cock crown touch her vaginal lips.

“It makes you wet as hell.”

He plunged all the way inside her like a bowie knife into a soft leather scabbard. Kerry jerked in response, all her muscles bunching against her will.

It felt as if he had torn open a hole in reality. All her senses were at full response power. She felt a pleasure and a fear that she had never experienced before. She begged to go mad, but knew she wouldn’t, which filled her with even greater terror.

He started thrusting, as she lay beneath him, trying to comprehend this new assault. “See?” he grunted. “This stuff turns on the full girl, right? That’s why we had to stop using it and hush it up. It would fuck up too many women’s libbers’ heads.” He sniggered. “Hush,” he repeated. “Fuck. Appropriate words, huh, bitch?”

He wrapped his arms under her shoulders, gripped her collar bones and squished her tits against his chest, ever surging. “Oh, shit,” he growled. “Makes you tight, too, huh? Look at you, bitch, so soft and warm. A real fuck toy….”

Kerry was moaning under the gag, her fingers spasming, her toes pointing, her body writhing like lava.

“So how come you’re not enough for me, huh, bitch?” he murmured. “How come every time I’m fucking you, I’m thinking of her…?” He jammed into the trapped brunette even harder, feeling how her hot, moist muscles clamped on him despite her misery.

“Shit, I know, I know,” he drooled into her flushed face, her eyes screwed shut. She’d be biting her lip if the gag allowed her. “You got big tits, she’s got bigger. You’re a sexy little brunette, she’s a sexbomb blonde. You’re daddy’s little girl, she’s my son’s prize….”

He gripped her hair in his left hand and clamped her tit in his right. She surged up, then flopped down like a caught carp as he jammed himself all the way into her again. She babbled in desperation, finally starting to cry as he pressed his left hand tight over her already sealed mouth, his face an inch from hers. All the while his hips never stopped moving.

“Okay, okay, just because she’s his, doesn’t mean he has to get her right away, right?” he hissed. “A father’s got to know what his boy’s getting into, huh?” He snickered again. “Getting into,” he repeated, rooting around inside the brunette. “Come on, bitch. Let’s get some use out of you before your folks call in the cavalry…!”

Kerry started weeping in earnest as he thrust harder, moving his left hand to her chest. “Aw, don’t worry, don’t worry,” he chided, thumbing away her tears, hips still going. “Even if they do figure it out, it’ll still be too late, right, honey bun? You’re mine now, no matter what…”

With that, he grabbed her spectacular hips and started slamming her onto him like a jackhammer. Her breasts swayed, her head went back, her hair flowed, and the sound that came from under the gags was like a falling climber. Her shapely body spasmed, her right leg twisting, until he finally slammed down heavily onto her and erupted inside.

She thought her tits would tear. She thought her vagina would cramp. He grabbed her head, sealed her mouth, and pressed his body down on hers until her convulsions subsided. When he looked down at her then, he couldn’t believe it.

Her eyes had rolled up into her head, moisture coming out the sides. More liquid came from her nose. Saliva was covering her chin. Her nipples were leaking down her sides. Her body dew practically glowed.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, staring down at her comatose loveliness. Then he pulled himself up to straddle her waist while reaching back to undo the gag strap. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered as he peeled off the tape, his cock lying between her mounds. “There’s plenty of time to see to blondie. But first things first….”

He pulled a ring gag from his back pocket as he pulled the pliant solid rubber ball from her lax, drooling mouth. Expertly affixing the loop tightly in place, he gathered up her milky mammaries and squeezed them toward each other.

Kerry Sherman moaned in her stupor as she unknowingly gave the tit fuck of her life, her pried-open mouth just inches from his throbbing cock crack.

Her moans almost seemed to mingle with Leesa’s, although neither could be heard beyond the innkeepers’ walls, and neither girl could hear the other. While Kerry was abused in the attic crawlspace, Leesa had her own troubles back in Agnes Brannigan’s bathroom.

89/The luscious blonde was bent back over a standing towelrack, her wrists tied on either side to it’s middle, her now huge breasts quivering toward the ceiling.

Her head was back, her lustrous blonde hair hanging toward the carpeted floor, her mouth wrenched wide by a big ballgag which was seemingly made of pool float material. But that was far from the worst of it. She barely wore a baby blue, wetlook, shining spandex microminidress — the top yanked down to expose her ballooning tits and the skirt pulled up to reveal her luminous white tuft. Even that wasn’t the worst.

The worst was that the woman had tightly wrapped the base of her breasts with thick white elastic, strapped a vibrating butt plug into her anus and squeezed a ten inch vibrator into her cunt.

“Hold it,” she warned. “Hold it in. It falls out, and you know what happens….”

Leesa knew. The woman held a stiff-bristled toothbrush in one hand and a loofa in the other. One touch of either to her tender, bulging tits and it was practically electroshock therapy.

The sink counter was covered with lotions, which felt like extra-thick honey to the girl in her drug-frenzied state. So she teetered on baby-blue stiletto high heels, her legs otherwise unencumbered, and clamped down with her vaginal muscles. “That’s right,” Agnes cooed. “Suck it up. Massage it with your love canal….”

Leesa swallowed, shifting, trying to think beyond the ache in her shoulders and back, and the numbing roar in her chest. “Please,” she tried to say but nothing but bubbling mulch came out.

“It’s slipping,” Agnes announced, watching the dildo slide slowly out of Leesa’s stretched, aching lower lips. “Try harder….”

91/Leesa slobbered, trying to shift into a better position, but the thick, knobby, vibrator just kept dropping.”Oh dear,” Agnes said sadly, then snapped the back of the toothbrush directly onto the center of Leesa’ left tit.

It felt like someone had chopped it open. Leesa shrieked into the gag, but Agnes was already holding a towel over her lower face. Her body convulsed, the dildo all but stopping up into her as her muscles clamped. Agnes smiled wickedly at the way her flushed, infused, breasts wobbled like oil balls in an earthquake.

Then she merely reached down and pushed the wanker all the way back into the girl.

“My dear, my dear, my dear,” Agnes cooed. “I do believe you’re ready.”

And before Leesa could even understand the words, Agnes removed the towel from her sweating, tear-stained face, and switched on the vibrator at its base.

Leesa’s crystal blue eyes snapped wide, and she was about to try stepping back when the woman tapped the girl’s right tit with the loofa. Leesa stiffened again, then started to tremble with effort and invasion.

Agnes grabbed Tom’s electric shaver off the sink counter and moved in close so the girl couldn’t even fall over. With one hand she held the vibrator deep within the girl, while, with the other, she thumbed on the shaver.

“You have to be ready, you see,” she murmured down at the girl as she brought the shaver closer to her quivering nipples. “Ready for my boy. You have to be able to take whatever he dishes out….”

Then she pressed the shaver side against Leesa’s left breast as she shoved the dildo as far in as it could go. She clamped her hand over Leesa’s lower lips as if they were her mouth, and tickled her tit with the shaver’s silver screen.

The young blonde babbled hysterically, her bent-back body quavering, blinded by a bodyful of exploding fireworks.

Then the doorbell rang.

Tom Brannigan looked up from Kerry Sherman’s cum-splattered face in the attic, semen dripping from her ring-gagged mouth.

Agnes immediately pressed a folded bath towel over Leesa’s screaming face in the master bathroom.

Without waiting for another ring or a knock, the ex-girls’ gym teacher expertly punched Leesa in the solar plexus, knocking the air out of the girl, then felt for the vein on her neck.

Within seconds the girl had stopped struggling and was already sinking toward the floor as the base of the towel rack slid with her. The dildo dropped to the carpet with a wet thud.

Agnes was already in the hall as Tom turned the corner.

“Go,” he said, and practically jumped into their bedroom. Agnes was on her way to the back door, secure in the knowledge that the male ex-nurse, who had taught her the vein press trick, would make sure the girls were quiet. She did not even guess that as she approached the back door, that he was already untying Leesa from the towel rack, ripping off his clothes, and dragging her insensible shape toward the shower, the high heels falling off as they went.

As she opened the door, Tom was viciously rewrapping Leesa’s wrists together behind her with tape.

Agnes looked out to see their local sheriff behind a state trooper.

“Why, good afternoon, Jim,” she said pleasantly. “And now who’s this?” she asked about the other man.

Upstairs, her husband pulled the elastic straps which were around the bases of each of Leesa’s tits to wrap both her breasts at once — pressing them toward each other while still bulging them out.

“This is Sergeant Wallace,” said the local cop. “We’ve teamed up with the state to look for the missing Sherman girl.” Upstairs Tom wedged Leesa into the tub, pulled the shower curtain tightly shut, and turned both spigots all the way open.

“Oh dear,” Agnes clucked. “You still haven’t found the poor thing?”

“Uh, no” stammered Jim. “Is your husband at home?”

She smiled apologetically, motioning her head toward the distant sound of the running water. “In the shower, I’m afraid. He likes to be neat and clean for the dinner rush.”

Upstairs, Leesa Mendaski’s lovely blue eyes began to flutter as the powerful water coursed over her semi-naked body. Tom Brannigan clamped one hand hard over Leesa’ already gagged mouth, and the other sank deep into her tremendous left tit.

The flesh of her face and chest bulged under his brutal grip. As her eyes snapped open and her brow began to furrow in renewed dismay, he bent down on her, forcing her forward.

“Yes, well, I see,” said trooper Wallace. “Well, could we come in for a moment?”

Upstairs Tom had Leesa bent over. His erect cock was already curling unerringly toward her dildo-dewed crack. Leesa almost managed a scream into his hand before she gasped in pain as he slammed into her. His hand spasmed on her mouth even tighter and it felt as if her left tit would explode.

“Well, all right,” Agnes said carefully. She opened the door wide and motioned for the two men to sit down in the rustic living room — a room where hardly a day ago they had been attacking the missing girl. The officers sat comfortably and looked a bit uncomfortably at each other. “Would you like some coffee?” Agnes inquired as her husband maniacally fucked Leesa Mendaski one floor above them.

He was thudding all the way into her like a piston, all but crushing her mouth and pumping her tit like a bread machine. The pretty blond choked and gasped, whatever noise emerging from her throat totally drowned out by the coursing water.

“Sure,” said Trooper Wallace. “That would be fine.”

“Could I have a glass of your ice tea?” Jim inquired. “They make it great here,” he explained to the state trooper.

Leesa’ tortured eyes twisted to try looking back at her attacker, her cheeks bulging around her impossibly tight hand. All she could do was grunt in time to his thudding invasions, her mind filled with the screeching pain coming from her chest. She writhed, feeling something worse building up inside her tit.

“Why, certainly, Jim,” Agnes said pleasantly. “One ice tea coming up. Um, Sgt. Wallace?”

“Yes, ma’m?”

“What would you like in your coffee?”

“Milk, ma’m,” he replied. “Just milk.”

Watery milk sprayed from Leesa’s engorged tit like a super soaker. She squealed in agony from under the gag and hand, but Tom only felt the vibration against his palm as the lactose swirled away with the bath water. He just kept squeezing and ramming, squeezing and ramming….

The cops drank their refreshments as Tom vigorously raped the blonde co-ed from behind like a rodeo rider taking down a calf — holding her by her mouth and enflamed mammary.

Uh, Mrs. Brannigan,” Wallace started, putting down the coffee mug. “Do you mind if we have a look around?”

Agnes raised her eyebrows, looking at the local cop.

“It’s nothing, Agnes,” Jim promised. “We’re just stumped and need anything we can find that might help.”

Ignoring Wallace’s dirty look for revealing their lack of progress, Agnes shrugged. “Well, we didn’t see the poor thing after her family checked in, but sure, if you think it might help. We’d do anything to make sure the dear girl is all right. You want to start here or upstairs?” Leesa tried to fall or jerk herself away, but Tom was too strong. She was all but attached to him, her tit spurting, as he surged up into her again and again.

“You don’t want to check the bedroom, do you?” Agnes asked as they passed the door.

“Naw,” Wallace said. “We’ll wait until your husband’s finished showering. What’s this door?” He pointed at the obstruction blocking the attic stairs.

99/Leesa contorted achingly in Tom’s grip, her torso twisted across his, her fingers pushing uselessly against his taut stomach muscles. He just squeezed her face and tit again, nearly breaking her neck and dislocating her jaw. He pulled her onto his shaft for the hundredth time, her shining skin and dress remnants totally soaked.

“That’s the attic,” Agnes said. “I can guarantee you no guest has ever been up there.”

“May we see?” Wallace asked.

Beyond it all — beyond the agony in her chest and face and mind — Leesa could feel him coming. The drug had done more than fill her tits and enhance her nerves. It had magnified her sexual responses. She could feel his rod getting hotter and thicker and filling with seed. She grew taut in his grip, panting in terror. “No!” she tried to cry out over and over again. “No!”

She tried corkscrewing out of his grip, her body slick as a marlin. But her tit was too big and he held it too tight. She twisted her head to the other side and suddenly his hard muscular hand was wrapped around her eyes and forehead, jamming her all the way on his member. Saliva exploded from around the ball gag, a sound like a stabbed deer escaping her mouth.

Agnes closed the attic door on it. Even if they had heard the noise, it also sounded like a sudden surge through the shower head. Agnes followed the two officers up into the small, narrow area not filled with boxes and bags. A single mattress lay in the wan light from a small window high in the ceiling.

“What’s that doing there?” Wallace asked. Tom jammed up into the girl. He rammed her back onto him. His cock cannoned his load into her.

“Are you kidding?” Agnes answered the trooper. “I got a knee splinter every time I needed to find something up here. It only takes one of those to get you thinking. I had some pillows up here for awhile, but they got too dirty to use again.” Leesa’s eyes widened in defiled disbelief. She clawed at her despoiler, writhing in disgust, but then his hands were back over her mouth and squeezing her nostrils shut.

Tom opened the bedroom door at the second knock, a towel around his waist. “What the…?” he exclaimed, seeing the two officers behind his wife. “What’s going on, Jim? Can’t a guy have a nice shower in peace?”

“Sorry, Tom,” the sheriff replied. “State’s involved with the Sherman girl thing now. They could use your input, I guess.” The cops misunderstood his smile as being flattered by their need. Agnes didn’t misunderstand. She knew he was smiling at the word “input.” He had plenty of input on the Sherman girl thing already. And, of the four people in the doorway, only he knew that she was under her summer dress, in a cardboard box, still in the attic.

She was semi-conscious, on her back, her arms twisted behind her, lashed wrist to elbow, forearm to forearm, then to her torso beneath and above her bulging tits. Her knees were up, ankles tied to thighs, then again to her waist. Her head was twisted to the side to fit in the box, the ball wedged back into her mouth and tape wrapped around her head — covering everything from her nostrils to her chin line like cement.

Had she been awake, that wouldn’t have kept her from alerting the men. But she hadn’t been awake.

“Nice shower?” Agnes asked him.

“Great,” he replied. “Come on guys, let a man at least dress, all right?”
“Sure, sure,” said Jim. “We’ll wait for you in the living room, okay?”

The Brannigans watched them head for the front stairs before Agnes slowly closed the bedroom door. She looked at her husband knowingly. He looked back placidly before going to get his shirt and pants. Agnes walked over to the bathroom. The dildo, towel rack, high heels, and ropes were still on the floor. The shower curtain was closed. She moved over to it and peeked inside.

Leesa Mendaski lay on her back, the dress in tatters around her, the elastics bunching her bruised tits. Milky liquid dripped from her nipples. A wet towel was tied around her head. Her big toes were wired to the spigots. The toilet plunger handle was shoved up her cunt, viscous liquid drooling around it. She didn’t move.

Agnes walked back to the bedroom door. She opened her mouth to speak. She didn’t get the chance to. From downstairs they both heard a hearty young voice.

“Mom, dad, I’m home…!”

Blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski, 36D-23-33: abducted by the parents of the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before. This secretly sadistic couple keep her at their bed and breakfast out by the lake, along with 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33), the daughter of a family renting suite 4A, who stumbled into their clutches. Now guess who just got back from college….

DAY FIVE

“Ta-da!” said Agnes Brannigan.

The sight took Andy Brannigan’s breath away. For a moment, the burly college student’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped. There were his folks – the male ex-nurse and the female ex-phys ed teacher – standing on either side of his old room’s doorway.

But inside, “sitting” on a plain, harsh, wooden chair in the middle of his room, was unmistakably Leesa Mendaski.

Unmistakable, because someone who hadn’t obsessed on her for the past eighteen hundred and twenty-five days might not have recognized her, despite her bright blue eyes and long, natural blonde hair.

They might not have recognized her because at least a third of her face was obscured. Everything beneath her nostrils were completely covered and sealed. They might not have recognized her because the agonized, desperate expression on her face was so different than her customary delight and joy.

And they might not have recognized her because of her unusual outfit and the way it “fit” her. Her head was back because of the way her arms were wrenched back and down, her hair knotted in the rubber coated wire and thin black rope binding her elbows and wrists. Her chest was thrust up for the same reason. Her legs were spread, with her ankles tied back to the chair’s side leg slats.

Her spectacular body twitched in a stunning, skin-tight, black rubber/latex micromini dress, but her full, seemingly inflated breasts practically hummed– thrust out in space, bunched between the deep v-cleavage of the punishing outfit. On her legs and feet were matching, black, five-inch heals and rubber/latex thigh highs, which set off her lustrous ivory skin like nothing before.

“For you, Sonny,” his mother went on, presenting the coming home present like a game show gift. “Just the way you like it.”

It took only nano-seconds for Andy’s amazed expression to morph into a leering grin. It was almost as if his daily fantasies for the last sixty months had taken living shape right before him. His eyes went from her pleading face to her writhing body to her jutting chest. Her tits’ undersides gleamed while her nipples slowly dripped.

He glanced at his father. “Lactaid?” His father nodded slightly and the boy’s eyes, flashing, returned to the captive girl. “Oh, man, oh man,” he whispered, stepping forward. The girl cringed as his free hand slid over her left breast as naturally as if he were testing a supermarket cantaloupe. “What’s the matter, Leesa?” he asked huskily, slowly squeezing, “Gag got your tongue?”

She tried to scream then…to beg, plead, reason, explain, and promise, but the packing, plug, and padding rendered it all just so much steam.

“Too late for that now, baby,” he seethed, half massaging and half mauling her chest. While feeling the exceptional sensation, he glanced down between her legs. Her soft tuft seemed to glow. “Stick her?” he asked flatly.

There was a telling pause before his mother replied. “We got her ready for you, sonny.”

“How long you have her?”

“A few days,” his father admitted. “But…!”

“No matter,” he interrupted, making the girl cringe as his hand spasmed. The student looked around quickly. The beautiful young co-ed here, against her will, for a few days? They’d have had to keep her quiet indeed. His smile slowly widened. “Stuck, maybe,” he mused, “but you sure couldn’t have used the pie hole….”He brought up his other hand while never pausing in his kneading.

The girl’s eyes widened in dread as she saw the small medical bag he held. “Didn’t my folks tell you what I’m studying?” he asked quietly.

Only then did he leave her chest alone long enough to wrench open the satchel. He shoved the opening in her face. “Dentistry.” He then looked meaningfully at his father. “Watch how it’s done, old man.”

The tube of seemingly luminescent blue gel came out first. Snapping on a rubber glove, he screwed a syringe-like plastic needle onto its top, slipped it under the top of her gag, and squeezed it across her mashed down lips. He then squeezed some onto his gloved fingers and started rubbing it into her lovely neck.

His parents watched, practically feeling the way it grew warm, then tingly, numbing her muscles. They could see it all in her eyes and her facial expression as it quickly did its work. “Anesthetic analgesic,” the student corroborated. “Numbs the area while rendering the patient somnolent.” He grinned. “The better to root canal.”

He slathered the stuff across her throat and jaw, then carefully removed the glove and stepped back to join his folks for the show. Leesa’s face showed surprise, then her eyes began to grow smoky and her lips drooped. Then they widened as drool began to burble up and over the top of her crushing gag.

“That’s the cue,” Andy said, moving forward to unstrap, untie, and unbuckle the muzzle. His father joined him, and they marveled at the way it slipped out and dropped off, swept by a veritable babbling brook of liquid. Agnes even saw a momentary look of embarrassment cross Leesa’s visage as the poor girl tried to control her lower face. She watched as the blonde struggled desperately to talk or yell or cry for help, but it was as if she had become a gorgeous slack-jawed dipsomaniac.

“Hold her head,” Andy said. His father didn’t have to be told twice. He grabbed her scalp and chin, drinking in the soft, quivering beauty of her sweet, slack, working lips, as his son wrenched a dentafrice from his bag. Everyone recognized it, even though they didn’t know what it was called. It looked like a metal version of a shark’s jaws, and worked somewhat the same.

Within moments, two pieces of metal were in the girl’s mouth, clamping over her teeth. Then, with just a few quick twists and turns, the dental student had pried open Leesa’s lips to their widest aperture…and then some millimeters more, until her jaw was the widest it had ever been.

“Blue shit loosens the muscles, too,” Andy said quietly as the family members looked at each other with anticipation. “She’d be able to swallow a boa constrictor now….”

As they stood, the bound and newly gagged girl’s head raised and fell back, a tiny, frightened wail beginning to emerge just before the father, mother, and son moved in on her again.

Agnes Brannigan didn’t even hear the first thump, so intent was she on her husband and son’s pleasure. By that time,

Tom was seated beneath the girl, her lax legs on either side of him, his erection impaling her moist crack. He held her up by her voluminous breasts… the better for her to take Andy’s cock all the way into her pried-open mouth. The student had her head in his hands as he thrust into her face over and over again, his log coursing down her tongue and throat.

Her wrists were tied behind her and her ankles lashed to the chair legs, but it hardly mattered. The blue gel had been spread on her thighs as well. Tom almost slapped it on her tits, too, but his son stopped him at the last second.

“Oh no, dad,” he said with a smile. “We want her to feel that, don’t we?”

So the enchanting blonde sat, mouth and cunt fucked, her chest mauled, as Andy’s parents told him the tale of her abduction and captivity.

“So her folks don’t even know she’s missing?” he asked.

“Don’t think so,” Tom grunted, shoving himself up into her again. “That’ll teach you to drop out, bitch.”

“Oh no, dad,” Andy cooed with pleasure. “She’s no bitch. She’s a lovely, fresh, young girl.”

He looked down at her flaxen, thick, silky hair, her bulging breasts, her long, shapely legs, and the way her body filled the rubber spandex. “And that’s what makes this all the better,” he concluded as he pushed his cock all the way into her slavering mouth again.

This time the thunking noise from above caught Agnes’ attention. At first she thought it might be a visitor thumping on the wall for the owners’ attention. Maybe their call bell didn’t work or the Brannigans didn’t hear it. That wasn’t impossible under the circumstances.

But now that she was paying attention, she heard that it wasn’t coming from the guest rooms. It was coming from the attic….

The woman left without a word to her family. She didn’t have to speak. They were completely occupied. In fact, on her way down the hall, she heard them talking.

“That’s right, pop,” Andy was saying. “Milk that maid…!”

“Well, I’ll tell you boy,” Tom was replying, “you sure taught your daddy a thing or two…!”

Well, isn’t that nice, the woman thought. She was doubly gratified that she heard virtually no noise emerging that evidenced a captive, save for the distant wet, sopping sounds of vaginal and oral sex. Maybe a gasp or two, but that may have been her imagination.

Instead, she concentrated on the thumping from above. It didn’t concern her unduly, yet it was still annoying. The Sherman girl should have known better by now. What was the best she thought would happen? At the very least, a visitor would alert the landlords, and the landlords would investigate. Then she knew what her punishment would be….

Oh well, Agnes shrugged. Desperation made for recklessness. The silly little girl wanted their attention? She would get their attention…just like the attention they had been giving her from the moment she appeared in their doorway in her t-shirt and cut-offs. No doubt Andy would want the blonde(‘s) cunt all to himself in just a few minutes…then Tom would have plenty of time to see what Kerry Sherman could handle….

Agnes Brannigan opened the attic door. For a split second, she almost had a heart attack when her eyes took in what was happening within. But just a split second afterwards, she relaxed, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned on the attic doorway. Kerry Sherman still hung from a rafter by her tied wrists…

“The wide leather prod gag Agnes had glued and strapped to her face was still in place. The tight summer dress was still barely hanging onto her great body by a single button. The five inch granny heels were still laced on her feet.

The only major difference was now Sheriff Jim was gripping her tight, round rump with both hands and trying to shove his cock all the way up inside her. Agnes watched as their squirming bodies bumped the uprights on either side. That was what had been making the thunking sound.

Agnes glanced over at Trooper Wallace, who stood off to the side, sipping a cup of coffee as the brunette moaned, whinnied, grunted, and choked – just barely dodging the policeman’s incursion.

“M’am,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the girl’s contortions.

“Trooper,” Agnes replied. “Been here long?”

He took another sip before answering. “Nope. Just got here.”

The two watched for a few seconds longer as the sheriff struggled to nail the young beauty while she managed to slide, pull or twist her shining, sweating shape away from his invasion. “Her folks should’ve never shown us that photo of her,” he mused. “Got us pretty hard pretty quick.”

“How’d you know she was here?”

The trooper shrugged. “Figured. We couldn’t see her, but the scent of a sweet young thing was in the air. No offense, m’am, but that sure wasn’t your perfume. We were expecting to sneak back and open up every box stashed here, but you must’ve hung her back up after we left last time, huh?”

Agnes didn’t answer, thinking it was obvious. Instead, she said: “No offense taken. Pretty sharp.” She stared at the sheriff’s machinations for a scant few seconds more. “You know, he’s never going to nail her that way.”

Trooper Wallace considered it. “No?”

“Naw,” Agnes said, shaking her head. “You never should’ve undone her legs. You need some balast for that kind of angle.”

The trooper considered it for a few seconds more, then stepped toward the sheriff. “Just a second, Jim,” he said mildly, setting his coffee down on a box beside the suspended girl. Agnes admired the deft way he expertly corded the girl’s knees, then tied them wide to the book-ending uprights.

Kerry Sherman’s deep, rich eyes widened in even greater fear as her girlhood was now totally exposed to the two officers. Trooper Wallace merely circled her small, glorious form before tapping the sheriff on the arm. “Go take the rear,” he advised. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

Agnes was concerned that the sheriff might take exception to that, but to her relief, the man merely smiled and slipped behind the petrified girl. His right hand immediately found her smooth, warm hip, while his left circled over her gagged mouth, drawing her head inexorably back. Trooper Wallace nonchalantly picked up his coffee with his right hand while unzipping his pants with his left.

Agnes watched in silent amazement as the sheriff’s cock crown found the Sherman girl’s ass crack. The trooper’s hard-on stabbed between the girl’s vaginal lips like a tonfa sliding into a scabbard.

The girl’s scream was cut off by a yank of her head as the trooper’s left hand found her right breast.

Agnes saw the way her leg and arm muscles bunched, trying to close her limbs or pull herself away, but the trooper’s approach was ruthlessly efficient.

They had her sandwiched, her lovely back against the sheriff’s front. That had her spiked from both the front and the back. And whatever her exhausted sinew could do was countered by the sheriff’s pulls on her face.

For a few moments, it looked like an animated sculpture; the trooper unerringly stabbing into her crotch again and again, while kneading her full, round, lactaid-heightened breast, as the sheriff slithered up her ass like a python. The noises in the attic went from a thunking to a groaning, grunting, flesh-on-flesh moistened shlurping.

Agnes was spellbound by it all for who-knows-how-long. Finally she snapped out of it when a shard of memory flashed the image of a blonde with her mouth pried open into her mind’s eye. “Well,” she said huskily in the confines of the attic, “the poor thing is obviously in good hands. I’ll just leave you boys to it….”

Much to her amazement, and even delight, she heard Kerry try to cry out as she was closing the door behind her. “Nnnnnnnnnnuhhh!” came the sound. “Ple….!”

But then the sound-proof portal was shut and Agnes took a moment to take it all in. What did the fool think was going to happen? Her initial captors and assaulters were going to “rescue” her from her “rescuers”?

“Silly girl,” Agnes thought, shaking her head. And then she headed back down to see how the love of her son’s life was faring…

Blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski, 36D-23-34: abducted by the parents of the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before. This secretly sadistic couple keep her at their bed and breakfast out by the lake, along with 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33), the daughter of a family renting suite 4A, who stumbled into their clutches. Now the “boy” is back and the local cops have found the Sherman girl…

DAY 6

The night was short, and the morning came quickly. “Don’t worry,” Andy Brannigan heard Sheriff Jim say, “We’ll locate her….”

“Shush,” the Brannigan “boy” told the bound blonde bundle beneath him, squeezing her tits tightly. “I want to hear this.” He was laying atop a face-first Leesa on his bed, his front to her back, where she had been for hours.

He had dragged her up here after their “date,” and had his way with her on her back, front, haunches, and even bent over the baseboard — quickly going from hand-gag to tape to ring gag as her tattered shirt disappeared, then her skirt, and finally her leggings.

Now she was face down, her ankles tied to her thighs, her feet pinioned in pink, six-inch high heels. Her arms were wrenched behind her and tied high up her back, her delicate fingers cramped uselessly between his chest and her shoulder blades. Her effulgent golden hair was in two pigtails on either side of her fine head, and her mouth was now pried to its widest aperture by a cunning combination of a prod and ball gag.

The ball section clamped her teeth and glued her lips to it, while the prod filled her mouth and held down her tongue. His body served as the rest of her bondage; his cock plugging her from behind, his torso heavy on hers, and his hands filled with her prodigious chest. He yanked one hand free now, moving the palm to her lower face. Then the other tightened around her throat.

“Ssssh,” he hissed in her ear.

They both stared out between the bed’s headboard slats – him with a leer and her with despondency — to a small window lined with lubricant and bondage paraphernalia that looked down onto the yard.

There, Trooper Wallace and Sheriff Jim stood next to their patrol car, talking to the Shermans.

As the trooper explained things, the sheriff looked up. His eyes locked with Andy’s, whose face was just visible over the window ledge. The student smiled and waved. The sheriff returned his attention to the discussion.

“I read,” the Sherman woman said shakily, “that if a missing person isn’t found within 48 hours….”

“Now, don’t torture yourself,” her husband interrupted. “I know these men will do everything they can.”

“Yes, sir,” Sheriff Jim assured them, resting his hand on their patrol car trunk.

Inside, for the hundredth time, Kerry Sherman tried to scream. She tried to kick. She tried to thump her head against the side of the enclosure. She even tried to scratch. But they had been too smart for her.

She wore a lace-up merry-widow corset with whale boning. On her lower legs was a single lace-up boot, which imprisoned everything from her shins to her toes. It was then strapped to a bolt in the padded compartment. Her legs were bent double and strapped. Her body was bent double and strapped.

Likewise her arms were encased behind her in a brutally laced single glove, also tightly strapped to the padded floor. She was blindfolded by some sort of rubber latex that adhered to her eyes like thick paint – actually outlining her closed lids as if she were a sculpture. And the gag…the gag was four-fold: stuffing her mouth and cheeks, padding her lips, sealing her jaw, and clamping around her throat so she could only get enough air for breath.

Her beautiful, thick, brown hair fanned back around the subjugation, creating the final restraint.

It was tightly tied to yet another three bolts in the cushioned trunk floor, holding her head down firmly. She could hardly breathe, let alone speak…but she tried. Oh, how she tried…! In here, she tried to shriek. I’m in here!

“You can count on it,” Sheriff Jim finished telling her parents, not three feet away. “We will do everything we can…and more….”

Upstairs, Andy came into Leesa for the umpteenth time since he got home, tightening his grip on her mouth and throat so her long, agonizing moan of anguish wouldn’t reach the window. He had taken her on the floor after his father had finished, his old man’s cock in her mouth. By then the blue gel was wearing off, so they took turns stuffing her mouth before sealing it with black tape.

In the still of the night, as his father made his good-byes to the Sherman girl, Andy changed his “date’s” gag, and prepared for the new day. Only when he had been able to spurt the last drop of jism into her did he collapse down to murmur in her ear. “Oh, baby, isn’t this wonderful? Only one thing could make it perfect….” And then he started to whisper.

Leesa’s big blue eyes widened and widened. Her body began to tremble, then shudder, then shake. She started to thrash and try to scream so desperately that he had to clamp a drug-soaked pad over her face that his father had left on the bedside table.

He held it there until she started to still, leaving her there to sob softly as he called his folks up to make ready.

As the preparations started, a car sped out of town along the same road where Kerry Sherman had supposedly walked into town.

“Isn’t that the Sherman car?” Sheriff Jim asked, watching from the town’s favorite speed trap spot.

“Yep,” said Trooper Wallace from behind the wheel.

They both stared as the Sherman woman looked out her window and saw them. She stared at them. They stared back until the car disappeared in a cloud of road dust.

“I’m fairly certain they’re exceeding the speed limit,” said the sheriff.

“Yep,” said the trooper. “I reckon.”

“I wonder,” said the sheriff. “Should we stop ‘em? Just for their own safety?”

Trooper Wallace seemed to consider it. “Naw,” he finally decided. “Let ‘em go this time. Especially after all they’ve been through.” At that moment Kerry Sherman’s hands clutched his shirt front. “Now, there, there,” he soothed, carefully pulling her fingers from the cloth and forcing her arms back down to the side of her back. Once again he marveled at the smoothness of her flesh and her youthful shape. Once again he was impressed by the strength of her struggle. Once again he appreciated the power of his handcuffs. Once again he exulted in the tight moisture of her cunt.

He was forcing her to sit on his erection. But her body was pulled down to the side and Sheriff Jim, in the passenger seat, had her lustrous, full, thick mane in his hands, forcing her to give him head, thanks to a dental device Andy Brannigan was kind enough to loan them. Her big toes were wired, wide, to the seat slats.

The girl gurgled and choked and drooled and jerked between them…all under the dashboard ledge, out of sight of any passer-by.

“That’s right,” the sheriff cooed. “That’s good. You just keep sucking and licking, babe, and you might get off with good behavior.”

“Cell ready?” Trooper Wallace asked breathlessly as he lowered her haunches onto his shaft again.

“You bet,” the sheriff grunted. “In back. All the restraints in place.”

“Good,” Wallace sighed, holding her clawing hands down low as he bounced her on him intently. “I’ll want to have plenty of time with this one when things slow down.”

The sheriff gasped manfully at a particular good shift of his cock into her cheek. “Why not take all day with her now?” Jim managed to get out as he firmly kept her head from lurching back up.

“Can’t,” Wallace grunted, suddenly grabbing her hip bones and thrusting like mad. “Got to answer a call. The Mendaskis just reported their daughter missing.”

Sheriff Jim came in Kerry Sherman’s mouth.

He then held her down until Trooper Wallace finished. Then the straps came out again. The sheriff chatted merrily as she was reconstricted.

“Well, li’l darling, I guess you can guess how this is gonna work by now, huh? Face it, babe, you’re lost in ‘the system’ now….”

Wallace laughed as he brutally tightened a strap around the sexy brunette’s elbows.

“Gonna hafta keep you in solitary confinement, I reckon. But don’t you worry, you won’t be lonely….”

Wallace snorted as he strapped the girl’s sweet legs.

“And you won’t be cold, neither. Naw…you’ll have all the stuff we confiscate offa every hooker we bust….”

Wallace chortled. “Bust,” he leered, giving Kerry’s right tit a nasty, twisting squeeze.

The poor girl tried to scream, but the sheriff had her by the chin, forcing the cock and balls gag back deep in her choking, semen-coated mouth. “And you better be grateful,” the sheriff warned. “If you don’t do right by your town officials, you might wind up sold to that biker gang after all….”

Kerry Sherman lurched in their grip, but it wasn’t nearly enough. She was secured back in the patrol car trunk, desperately gulping the cum that was trapped in her mouth, by the time they pulled up to the Mendaski house.

At the same moment, Andy was standing the missing girl in his parents’ rustic living room. His mother was mockingly faking weeping to the side, while his father stood before them with an open book. Leesa stared in disbelief, overwhelmed by what was happening to her. She wanted to howl, she wanted to run, she wanted to collapse, but she couldn’t do any of it.

Her hair was the most beautiful it had ever been — cascading down her back. Tiny flowers were wedged in it. Around her throat was a stiff white collar attached to a lower-face-clamping pear-gag buckled beneath her mane. A ring was in the center of the collar’s front. A white strap attached to it went down through her cleavage and attached to other straps which ran along the underside of her breasts, serving as a bra to her naked, heaving chest – her nipples tightly tied with wire-enhanced ribbons.

A white whale-boned corset crushed her waist. A white strap affixed her elbows behind her while cunningly sewn white gloves affixed her hands in front of her navel. The glove fingers were likewise sewn together so she was forced to clutch a small bouquet of white roses. A silken white train flowed from her hips behind her. An impossibly tight, white, open crotch, ankle length, skirt adhered to her long and shapely lower limbs. White high heel boots took it from there.

“Now,” Tom Brannigan was saying. “do you take this girl in health, for better, for richer, as long as she’s a good fuck?”

“I do,” said his son, as tears streamed out of the girl’s bright blue eyes.

“And you,” the man said to the radiant, terrified blonde. “Do you take this man to keep you hidden and helpless, silent and stilled, dressed in the tightest, lowest cut, highest hemmed slutwear, available to take his cock in your holes any time he fucking wants to?”

Leesa Mandaski’s exquisite body convulsed as tears exploded from her eyes and sweat beads erupted from every pore. She wanted to fall but Andy had clinched her in his arms and rolled to the floor with her.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said the man over his son’s laughter and his captive’s anguished squeals. “I now pronounce you man and bondage bride/sex slave….”

The in-laws looked down on the “happy couple” as their son ripped off their wailing daughter-in-law’s virginal panties while grinding her left breast as if kneading dough.

“I love happy endings,” Tom murmured.

“I always cry at weddings,” said Agnes.

They sat on the sofa and watched with pleasure as Andy brutally fucked his writhing bound and gagged bride on their living room floor.

Naturally blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski (36D-23-34) was abducted by the parents of the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before. She has been forcibly married to the young dental school graduate just as her own parents start a search for her. Meanwhile, the secretly sadistic in-laws have seen their second victim – 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33) – get bartered as an incarcerated sex slave to the local law.

DAY 7

The all-points radio crackled to life in the rustic private living room in the back of the inn by the lake, causing Tom and Agnes Brannigan to start slightly in their chairs.

“Uhhhh,” came the laconic, calm drawl of Sheriff Jim over the short wave, “Ten-zero, ten-zero, good buddy, a ten-fourteen, investigating a ten-fifty-seven, two-oh-seven, two-sixty-one at scene, I repeat at scene. E.T.A. ten or less. Advise eleven-forty-eight, I repeat eleven-forty-eight with eleven-fifty-one. N.C.B., out.”

The ex-gym teacher and ex-nurse exchanged a meaningful look and were instantly on their feet – Tom heading for the garage while Agnes headed back to their sleeping quarters. They didn’t even bother checking to see if the message was meant for them. They had no doubt.

Agnes opened her son’s room door without preamble, her mouth already open, but the sight that greeted her rendered her temporarily mute.

The mute was shared by Leesa, but not the temporarily. Her beautiful, buoyant breasts spilled out of the deep-v-neck of the white spandex halter micro-mini-dress as she was forced to sit on her new hubby’s hard-on in their bridal bed.

His hands were on her haunches, the white skirt’s hem pushed up to the top of her svelte hips. Her white-opera-gloved hands fluttered and twisted high up her back, held by the white handcuffs which were clipped to the short white leather strip which hung from the white leather collar enclosing her elegant neck. Her lovely long legs were encased in white thigh-high stockings, ending in white, five-inch ankle-strap high heel pumps. Her ma-in-law was hard pressed to decide what was “best,” but she decided it had to be her daughter-in-law’s face.

Not only was it as sweet, fresh, and angelic as ever – especially since her big wet blue eyes were wide and her silky mane of naturally blonde hair was so full and soft – but it was obvious she was in so much torment and was trying so desperately hard to scream.

But the jaw-and-mouth-cupping gag that was clamped from her throat to her nostrils was obviously doing its brutal work – evidenced by the way the poor girl’s drool was burbling over the top and coursing down her collarbones and front to splash on her bobbing, jiggling tits.

“Take a picture,” the woman heard, “it’ll last longer.” Agnes snapped out of her perverse reverie to find her kinky progeny looking at her with sardonic disdain. She quickly strode over and whispered in his nearest ear as Leesa moaned in misery. “Gotcha,” he responded and immediately grabbed the blonde’s breasts in order to drag her off him. She whined and kicked as she sank into the soft, thick bedclothes, but he just deftly dodged the heels and pinched her nostrils shut.

Agnes wanted to watch as the girl heaved and thrashed in suffocation, but she had her own responsibilities.

She got to the back door just as the local cop car pulled up. Sheriff Jim came out from behind the wheel, while Deputy Ted came out the passenger side.

“Hey Jim, Ted,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron as she strode casually toward them. “What’s up? Gotta start getting afternoon tea ready for the guests soon….”

“Afternoon, Agnes,” Jim drawled, just as the back doors of the car opened. Out rose two middle-aged people – one man, one woman. One look and there was no doubt who it was.

“Why, Danny and Cheryl … Mendaski, right? Why, I haven’t seen you for … how long has it been?”

“Five years,” the man said tightly.

“That’s right,” Agnes said lightly. “Of course. How are you after all this time?”

The Mendaskis’ faces were drawn and their jaws tight. Sheriff Jim took the initiative to reply. “Not too good, Agnes. Seems their daughter’s missing.”

“What?” the innkeeper responded in surprise … but the surprise was that they had come here so soon … but then she realized it had been days since her husband and she had seen Leesa by accident at the backroad market. Time sure flew when they were having fun…. “Oh, no. It couldn’t be…those bikers too?”

“That’s what Trooper Wallace thinks,” Jim replied solemnly. He had carefully explained to the Mendaskis about the other missing girl, but that, apparently, wasn’t enough for the worried couple.

“Where is Trooper Wallace?” Agnes inquired.

“Back at the station,” Jim reported, looking meaningfully back at the Mendaskis. “Holding down the fort until we get this sorted out.”

What he was actually holding down, of course, was Kerry Sherman.

She was, as she had been since they smuggled back to the station, in isolation, her wrists cuffed to a belly chain around her slim, fit waist, her lovely face enclosed in a brutally tight panel-encased ring gag, complete with a plug stopper when her forced-open mouth wasn’t being otherwise occupied.

Adhered to her exceptional little body was just one of the kinky, filthy, sexy outfits they had confiscated from arrested hookers over the years – in this case a metallic blue lace-up-the-front, cut-out-the-back micro-mini-dress. Wallace had pull-tied her matching high-heeled ankles wide to the cell’s bars and filled his hands with her bulbous tits as he pumped repeatedly into her slamming, groaning shape.

“Get what sorted out?” Agnes echoed, reveling in her faked quizzical wonder.

Then both the sheriff and deputy looked solemnly toward the Mendaskis until Cheryl blurted, “Have you heard from your son?”

“Andy?” the Brannigan woman echoed. “You don’t mean … now come on…!” She let her pseudo-incredulous reaction allow her eyes to drift back to her son’s room, where, through the fluttering curtains, she could see movement.

Inside, the self-same son had the Mendaski’s daughter over the side of the bed, her knees on the floor, her face deep in the pillows, as he removed her collar and bridle gag.

“Knock her out, knock her out,” his father hissed from the baseboard, holding the drug-soaked hand-towel toward them.

“No,” Andy seethed through gritted teeth as he prepared his new wife’s muzzle. “Let’s not….”

Outside, Cheryl Mendaski repeated sternly, “Have you heard from your son?”

“Of course!’ Agnes replied in kind. “He called me from his dental college just the other day. Isn’t your girl at college too?”

Cheryl Mendaski clamped her jaw tightly shut. They could practically hear her teeth grind.

“Seems she dropped out of all her classes,” Jim chipped in.

“Well, wouldn’t she be around there, then?” Agnes suggested.

“Her roommate said she said she was coming back here,” Ted chimed in. “Something about surprising her folks….”

“She knew she had better not warn us of her decision,” Danny Mendaski said tightly. “Or I woulda talked her out of it.”

“Daniel,” his wife spat. “Please!”

“Yeah, yeah, well…,” he continued, then ground to a miserable halt.

“Oh my god, no,” they all heard. Agnes turned, and the others looked to where Tom Brannigan was walking up to join them. “That means she would have been back in the area just when those bikers were…!” He cannily cut off his train of thought, then looked to the Mendaskis with sympathy. “Please, please, Danny, Cheryl, please come in, sit down. You too Jim, Ted….!”

He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Within minutes the Mandaskis, as well as the sheriff and deputy, were seated where the Brannigans had first attacked, bound, gagged, and raped the sexy little Sherman girl.

“Let me get you some coffee, ok?” Tom asked and headed off to the kitchen.

There his son stood with his new bride, waiting….

Leesa was wearing a skintight, red, summer micro-mini-dress with white polka dots and a bikini-like top that barely held her breasts with small triangular patches – her mammaries bulging around them with every labored breath.

And every breath was labored since a new, tight, thin choker pressed into her blue-goo-smeared larynx like a garrotte, and a new, tight, padded, tan, three-strap gag fastened around her mouth, across her head, and also tight under her chin. To cap it off, sedative-soaked gauze was stuck in her nostrils. Her blue eyes were open and glittering, but weak.

Her bare arms were behind her, nestled in the small of her back, forearms bandaged tightly parallel to each other. Her legs were naked, save for fur-padded ballet slippers that laced up her shins.

Tom Brannigan immediately sidled up to her tremulous form while unzipping his pants. “So long, Leesa,” he said, one hand snaking around her back while the other slipped into the dress’ deep bikini-esque neckline. “Happy honeymoon.”

Then his rock-hard cock jammed unerringly up her panty-less cunt.

Two minutes later, he was back carrying a coffee tray with mugs and pitcher. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he apologized. “Had to find the sugar.”

“No problem, dear,” his wife said with concern. “We were just sharing our feelings. We all know what it’s like to worry about our child….”

“No use wallowing in worry,” Tom said. “Jim, what’s your take on this?”

Jim started to repeat what he had told the Mendaskis when the forty-eight hours since their first call was up, but then Agnes stood.

“No, no, don’t let me stop you, Jim,” she said. “I remembered there’s still some coffee cake left from breakfast service. I’ll just grab it and be right back. You go on, Jim. I’ll just be a second….” She was already on her way out as she finished speaking, not wanting to give the others a chance to demure, or react negatively in any way to her unnecessary whim.

So Agnes just marched into the kitchen, grabbed the woozy, further sullied Leesa by the arm, and jerked her into the handicapped loo beside the meat locker. Andy just smiled and took a position by the door so he could see inside while keeping an eye out in case anyone else decided to check for cake.

“This’ll have to be quick, bitch,” she hissed in the lolling blonde’s ear as her bony fingers found the girl’s clit and left nipple, “but necessary, huh? I’m guessing my worse half took care of himself but not you, right?”

Within seconds, she had the sedated, despoiled beauty sweating, shivering, and even shuddering as she expertly stimulated. “Happy honeymoon, cunt!”

She was so fast and devastatingly effective that Andy had to jump forward to clamp a washcloth over Leesa’s face to keep the sound of her purple-faced orgasm from reaching the partition.

When the Brannigan woman returned to the family room with the cake, Jim was just finishing his plan of investigation. “Hope I didn’t miss anything I needed to hear,” Agnes said with concern.

“No, honey,” Tom said, “I think Jim, Ted, and Wallace have it in hand.”

Just then Trooper Wallace sunk his fingers into Kerry Sherman’s tight, round, firm ass, and cannoned a load deep inside her writhing, clawing, tightly-tendoned form.

As always, no one on the other side of the solitary cell’s walls heard the beautiful brunette’s carefully muffled cries of anguish and desecration.

The Mendaskis and Brannigans rose as the sheriff and deputy stood. “Ted, you bring Dan and Cheryl back to the car while I tell Tom and Agnes what to keep an eye out for.”

“Sure thing,” said his deputy, and motioned for the Mendaskis to take the lead.

“Where’s the best place for us to talk?” Sheriff Jim asked.

“The garage, I think,” Tom answered.

Andy was there, of course, loading the trunk, while Leesa lay comatose on a stained twin mattress against the far wall in her soiled summer mini dress.

“Very nice,” the sheriff breathed. “Even the bandages won’t make a sound, no matter how hard she pulls. Very nice indeed,” he rumbled, unzipping his own pants.

“I think you’ll find she’s in no condition to pull very hard,” Agnes chirped as he dragged the captive up to a missionary position, pushed up her skirt, and filled his hands with her ripe udders.

“Happy honeymoon, whore,” he rumbled as he rutted.

“Let me see what’s taking the sheriff,” deputy Ted said a few minutes later. He sauntered inside and found his way to the garage just as Andy was getting behind the wheel of his car.

Leesa was now in the passenger’s seat, seat-belted in, her seat back lowered, her choker wired to the head-rest. The muzzle was gone, replaced by clear tape smooshed over her succulent lips.

Ted could see the sides of her boobs bulging out from the corners of the mini dress’ triangular bikini-style bodice, as she struggled to breathe and stay conscious. He also saw how her ankles were pull-tied to the seat base, and how the wire that snaked from the dashboard outlet went under the hem between her legs.

“Hey,” he said, taking a small pack of smelling salts from his pocket as he approached. “Take the cotton outta her nose. I wanna say goodbye.”

Agnes nodded and went toward the door to make sure the Mendaskis didn’t get lonely as Andy pulled the sodden gauze from his young wife’s quivering nostrils. Ted cracked open the pack under Leesa’s nose and watched appreciatively as the lovely blonde’s blue eyes fluttered, opened, brightened, and focused into full consciousness.

That’s when he came full in her face with his flesh gun, splattering jiz across her pretty head. “Happy honeymoon, you fucking cockteaser.”

Laughing, Andy held the squealing girl’s chin and popped the anesthetized cotton balls back into her nostrils. “There, there,” he soothed, massaging the cum into her facial flesh as her struggles subsided. “Considering what’s already happened this morning, I’d say you got off easy!”

By the time the sheriff and deputy had zipped up and were heading back to their patrol car, the tranquilizer had pacified the pitiable girl enough for the Brannigan men to finish her prep.

“Give us five minutes,” Sheriff Jim instructed the dental student from the door. “Then get the hell outta here.”

“Will do,” said Andy with a friendly wave.

But his father was staring at the sweet blonde affixed to the passenger seat as the corrupt authorities made their exit. “Will don’t,” he murmured, not even meeting Andy’s eyes. “I think I got a better idea….”

The sheriff and deputy had made it to the center of the small town, one block away from their rural police hq, when Tom Brannigan came driving up along their left side at the stop light. He lowered his passenger side window and called out to them.

“Hey. Got some errands that have to be done. Let me know if there’s anything more I can do to help, y’hear?”

“You bet,” said the deputy emptily as the Mendaskis stared at him from the back seat of the patrol car.

Tom smiled and looked down to where their daughter lay, lashed to the fully reclined passenger seat, her wrists tied tightly around it, her ankles crossed and wired to the right seat strut, and the electric dildo still whirring, throbbing, twisting, and spinning inside her.

Her throat was no longer wired to the headrest. Instead, her head was all the way back, lolling down over the top of the seat, her chin pointed at the ceiling, her nose pointed at the rear. Andy was crouched around her, stepping on her hair to keep it there.

A ring gag was in her wrenched-open jaw. Andy’s cock was all the way in her slavering mouth. His hands were pressed tightly on the girl’s exposed breasts, squishing them to just below the passenger window’s bottom sill.

Tom drove away in Andy’s car, giving the Mendaskis a jaunty wave as he went.

Naturally blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski (36D-23-34) has been abdcuted, forced to marry the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before, and smuggled out of his family’s home under the very noses of her parents. A second victim — 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33) – remains an incarcerated sex slave in a solitary confinement cell for the local corrupt cops.

DAY 8

They had to pull over behind a dumpster when it seemed as if Leesa would choke on the semen Andy had coated her throat with.

Snapping her ankle bonds, then dragging her to the back seat, they heimliched the cum from her, as the dildo slithered from her slit to splat on the floor (before rolling under the front seat like a flopping fish).

Then there was, simply, a beautiful blonde coed in a sexy, sopping, summer dress, her bountiful breasts bulging in the bodice, collapsing in defiled exhaustion, her yellow hair flailing.

Tom called Agnes to pick him up. Soon, the family had a tender moment over the shapely, insensate form of their exquisite victim.

“Take care of her,” Agnes said quietly to her son who settled behind the wheel. The woman stared at the shining skin and all but translucent dress of desecrated girl in the passenger seat. “She’ll make a fine cum bucket for years to come if you don’t fuck her to death.”

“You got any idea where you’ll take her?” his father asked, also filling his eyes with the sweet young thing.

His mind filled with visions of the pretty brunette who had been taken from him.

Andy looked from the girl who wouldn’t let him kiss her five years before to his parents. “To ecstacy,” he promised. “And agony.” He then drove carefully away, his bound and gagged “wife” sleeping unpeacefully beside him.

He tried very hard to keep his eyes on the road as he contemplated his next move. What, exactly, would he do, he wondered. But as he thought, one thought kept overtaking all the others. This girl definitely needed some new outfits. Now the question was: where to get them?

He considered his options, then fell back on his usual mental gambit: what would his dad do? When he realized the answer, a leer started on his face until it grew practically around his entire head.

_______________________________________

Leesa Mendaski woke up. Like so many exhausted slumbers, her body and mind rallied to protect itself during the cataleptic period.So the memory of what had happened to her since she stopped at the convenience shack on the back road didn’t spring immediately to mind.

Instead, her senses took in their immediate stimuli: comfy linens, soft pillows, warm sunlight … the sound of birds chirping … the smell of freshly laundered cotton … the feeling of familiarity. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. She recognized the wall she saw. It was the wall of her own room in her own house … her family’s home.

She started as if shocked by an electric wire. She instantly remembered waking from a nightmare when she was a little girl, and the rush of relief when she realized it had all been a bad dream. That rush threatened to make her faint now. College, leaving college, meeting the Brannigans, all of it … it was a bad dream!

Leesa Mendaski sat straight up. The sheets and blanket slipped down. She looked at herself. She was wearing her favorite black lace nightie – the one her grandma gave her.

It had a somewhat daring v-neckline, but as the adorable old woman said “You have the chest to pull it off, dear!” The rest was satiny smooth, silky, slinky and remarkably comfortable. It felt great … she felt great. She felt clean, refreshed, strong, happy.

Relief fell over her like a wave of molasses. It was impossible, but it was true. She was back in her own room, in her own house, in her own clothes. None of the nightmare had happened. She couldn’t believe she could have imagined it, but she must have. Figuring out why she had dreamed such horrible, punishing things could wait. Now she just wanted to run down the hall, down the stairs, into the kitchen, and hug her parents for all they were worth.

Leesa threw back the covers of her bed, hopped around the wooden baseboard, took in the beauty of the bucolic yard out the window, exulted in the softness of the room’s carpet, and appreciated the comforting shapes of her colonial furniture and full closet.

She practically skipped into the hall … and ran directly into Andy Brannigan.

“Hey hon,” he said. “Welcome home.”

The look on her face had been worth the risk. As soon as she showed up in the doorway, her sweet, fresh, pretty face — happy, bright, even shining — and her golden hair flowing and bouncing, his cock got bigger and harder than ever.

When she all but ran into him, he thought it would rip out of his pants. But when she finally recognized him, and he saw memory sweep back into her head like a tsunami, he almost came.

In an instant her face changed from carefree happiness to totally terrified. But then his left rubber-gloved hand went behind her neck and his right rubber-gloved hand went over her opening mouth, while his body surged forward, taking her with it.

She nearly got a shriek out, but he felt it die in his goo-smeared palm as he launched her back toward her bed. The box spring slammed against her upper thigh, sending her over onto the deep bedclothes, her scissoring legs revealed in the nightgown’s slit, and her breasts bouncing like volleyballs.

Then he was on her again, holding her curves down with his weight – the goo-lubed gloves back over her mouth and across her throat.

Her beautiful blue eyes widened as she felt the goo do its work, then he gripped her arms to hold her down. Her mouth opened. Her lips worked. The tendons on her throat stood out, her eyes bulged.

The only sound that emerged was a low, uncontrolled moan.

Within moments, he was laughing in sadistic triumph while she was crying in frustrated despair. Grabbing her right tit, he scrambled to unzip his pants, then tear at the nightgown hem.

Within seconds, he had revealed her glorious legs and grinding hips before instantly covering them with his loins – his erection stabbing at her cunt like the knife in Psycho.

He held her down by her shoulders as his cock found her slit. He jammed inside her as she recoiled.

Her hands shot up to punch, scratch, tear, or claw, but by then he had gripped and pressed down on her forearms as he impaled her revulsed glory. Her head screwed back, her mouth opening and closing as drool sloshed out onto the pillows.

“There, there, there,” he grunted. “It’s ok now, darling. I’m here….”

If those words weren’t bad enough, then his mouth covered hers, his tongue stabbing like his cock.

She wanted to bite him so desperately, but her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. She wanted to flail or kick him off, but he was too strong. Then, to her seemingly infinite horror, he quickly handcuffed her left wrist, then scrambled to click the other loop to the metal bed frame slat beneath the mattress. He did it, but it allowed her right arm free, which she swung desperately at his head.

She managed one punch which bounced off his hunched shoulder, but as she tried to get her fingers in his eyes, he caught her right wrist in mid-air and repeated the process to the opposite side of the bed frame.Suddenly she was flat on her back, her arms out in supplication, as he lay between her pinioned legs.

Leesa stared up in lax-mouth wonder, then saw where he was looking. Her eyes shot down to see her drool shining her cleavage and permeating the black lace of the nightgown’s v-neck. Then his hands were there, ripping the material wide. He slammed one palm on her jiggling right tit, then cupped her slack jaw with the other. Abruptly his face was a millimeter away, his lips caressing hers. “You notice,” he murmured, “my cock never left your cunt?”

Her eyes screwed shut in agony and she tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. He continued to rut purposely while sucking her lips. “You should’ve seen your face,” he whispered. “It was priceless.” Then he wrapped his hands under her shoulders, planted his mouth over hers, and rutted like a rabid dog.

______________________________________

Leesa Mendaski sobbed into the bandage that wrapped her throat, mouth, chin, and head like a second skin mummy’s shroud.

He had her face first on her bed while wrapping her forearms parallel in the small of her back. He had shortened her nightie to micro-mini length and then bandaged her ankles and thighs – all while quietly talking to her.

“You needed more outfits, baby, and where are we going to get them? Couldn’t exactly have you trying on stuff in the mall’s fitting rooms, now could I? So what better than your own stuff? I mean, you always had a nice sense of style, babe. Those ribbed sweaters? Those tweed skirts? And the underwear! I got some nice looks at those whenever you crossed your legs or reached for something…!” The blonde’s blue eyes glistened, her mind racing, as she tried to contemplate how and where. Had they stalked her all these years?

“Besides,” Andy droned on while securing her, “your folks were looking for you, but where’s the one place they’d never look, huh? So I called sheriff Jimmy and asked him to keep ‘em busy awhile … long enough to get you in the shower and wash all that nasty jizz off you. God, I wish I had a video of it … me carrying you in here, washing with you, drying you, doing your hair, going through your stuff, finding the nightie … so cool, cunt, so cool…!”

Leesa bucked in miserable aggravation, but that just made him laugh. “Oh no,” he cooed, finally pushing her over onto her side and crawling into bed to spoon her. “It’s quality time with your new hubby, baby.”

His hands snaked under her neck and over her hip to find resting places on her breast and loins. “You and I are going to have a nice nap ‘til morning, then we’ll figure out the next step.”

Leesa’s body twitched, then froze in place. He didn’t have to see her expression to know what it encompassed: disbelief, incredulity, doubt, apprehension, alarm. “Oh, don’t worry, don’t worry,” he sighed, massaging her impressive chest and sensitive clit. “They have, and will have, no idea you’re here … unless, of course…!’ He took the moment to pinch both her clit and nipple, making her start, gasping. “Then who knows what might happen?” he continued calmly, returning to the massage. “So it’s all up to you, I guess. Me? I’m just going to sleep on it.”

And, sure enough, within minutes, he was still, his breathing on her neck steady and sonorous. The lovely young thing was in shock, exhausted, and defiled, but thought she could never sleep again. Still, the next thing she knew it was dark in her room and the sound of a car door closing outside reached her ears. It was followed by muffled voices and the sound of footsteps on gravel.

Leesa heard the lock turning, then the front door opening. The distant voices were clearly that of her folks. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it was obvious they were subdued and upset. She wanted so badly to call out, or kick, or knock something over. Scenarios shot through her head: them calling the cops, them running in to beat Andy senseless, or stab him, or even crack his skull with a baseball bat, but within nanoseconds, she knew that wasn’t likely. Her eyes ratcheted in her skull, then squeezed shut as tears poured out. The bastard was using her smarts against her. She was certain that so many of her friends would simply have gone ape shit and damn the consequences, but he knew that she would think it through.

They both knew her parents were more cautious than instinctive. If she made enough noise to alert them, they would investigate. And Andy would be waiting. After what the Brannigans had done to her, and that other poor girl, what would they do to her folks?

Wait … yes … that other poor girl … the pretty little brunette. What had the cops done to her? Even if her folks managed to call the cops…!?

At that moment Kerry Sherman was handcuffed, sitting on Deputy Ted’s erection as he lay on the cold floor of the solitary confinement cell, her ring-gagged mouth filled with Trooper Wallace’s cock.

She wore a tan, two-piece hooker’s ensemble: a belted micromini just barely holding onto her hips, and a matching bikini top filled with both her strong, full breasts as well as Sheriff Jim’ mauling hands.

In her own bedroom across town, beautiful, young, wholesome Leesa Mendaski stiffened in place, his hands tight, humiliated, fists. She stayed still and silent, praying that her parents didn’t check her old room, even out of wistful nostalgia.

Behind her, unseen, Andy Brannigan smiled, and his hold on her magnificent tits tightened.

____________________________________

DAY 9

Naturally blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski (36D-23-34) has been kidnapped, forced to marry the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before, smuggled out of his family’s home, then held captive in her own room under the very noses of her parents. A second victim — 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33) – remains an incarcerated sex slave in a solitary confinement cell for the local corrupt cops.

Leesa Mendaski woke up when the bandages affixing her thighs snapped open. She started, becoming immediately aware of sounds coming from the kitchen below.

The light coming in the bedroom window made her instantly aware that it was early morning. Then she felt her assaulter’s hand at her shapely, smooth, haunches.

Her arms were still bandaged parallel across her back. She still wore what was left of her favorite nightgown, if anyone could call it that now. Torn, ripped, slit, mangled, bits of lace, spandex, and nylon clung to her now like sweat – somehow making her seem more than naked.

She looked apprehensively over her shoulder to see Andy Brannigan smiling wickedly at her.

He silently mouthed the words “morning, bitch,” then put his forefinger to his lips. She shook her head anxiously, her legs stretching involuntarily, causing the bedsprings to quietly squeak. His hands were instantly on her throat, making her freeze in fear.

They both waited, holding their breaths, but the sounds from below went unchanged. Only after a few more moments did he loosen his grip, then very slowly, very purposefully, slither to spoon her luscious form, his arms wrapping her front like two boa constrictors. Then she felt his teeth at her earlobe and his cock crown at her labia. She almost moaned then, but managed to deflect it into a silent exhalation, her nostrils flaring.

His hands gripped her chest and his cock opened her lower lips like a smooth-sided satchel. Leesa snorted again, gritting her teeth. Only then did she feel how saturated the bandage covering her mouth was.

He slid inside her as she stiffened, her fingers clawing the air.

Both his penis and fingers began to move in silent, measured, inexorable rhythm — as if he were her secret boyfriend and they were trying to keep her parents from finding out she was having sex.

Only now, of course, her collaboration was outrageously, ashamedly, enragingly unwilling, and his defilement of the innocent, victimized natural blonde was perversely wicked in the extreme. But no one outside that room knew it, and he just kept fucking and molesting her cringing, trembling form for what seemed like hours.

Then they both heard it: “Goodbye, dear…I’ll be back as soon as I can….” It was her father. Leesa started when she heard the back door slam – distracting her from the fact that her rapist had pulled out at the same moment.

The bound and gagged blonde glanced over her shoulder at the exact moment Andy came in her face.

143/ The semen splattered across her nose and into her eyes just as he grasped her throat and pressed down on her with his torso.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he hissed, choking her as she blinked furiously, her luscious form undulating. “There, there,” he whispered, using his forefinger to wipe the cum from her eyes, “it’s okay, it’s okayyyy…!”

Then, his fingers coated in cream, he moved his arm down slowly to her inflating chest.

He began to slowly massage the jiz into her cheeks and breasts as she desolately wept.

“Wow, good thing this bed is well made, huh?” he mused almost inaudibly. “Swallows up a shitload of stuff, huh? And speaking of that…?” He pressed down on her, resting his chin on her cheek. “Whatdyathink? Should I milf it?” Leesa’s eyes snapped open, blazing. She stared at him in renewed disbelieving horror. But he just smiled. “Whatdyathink?” he repeated. She shook her head sharply. “No? Why not?” She just stared in mounting anguish. “I mean, she’s gotta be pretty hot if she made you, right?”

Leesa desperately pressed herself urgently against him, squishing her sticky breasts against his chest. “What? You want me to go?” She shook her head wildly, clamping him with her thighs. She used her chin like a clamp to pull his face closer. “Now that’s more like it,” he chortled, spasmodically gripping her squishy tit. “But been there, done that, baby.”

Leesa stiffened in dread. Their eyes locked, his hand never leaving her chest. “Yeah,” he softly drawled. “You know what I want … the one thing I can’t take….” Tears began to pour from her beautiful, bright blue eyes. “Hey,” he warned, “either I get it from you, or….” He began to sit up. The blonde beneath him immediately mashed herself up against him, nodding furiously.

He casually spread his fingers across her face and pushed her down to the pillows. “So, you agree, right?” She nodded agitatedly. “And you know what happens if there’s a noise or nibble, right?” The tears renewed but she nodded again. His smile widened in every imaginable way as he leaned down until his face was a hair from hers. “Just in case your imagination is not as good as mine, you’ll still be here, and she’ll be dead … but not before I show you how it’s done, right?”

____________________________________

Leesa Mendaski could no longer contain her sobs. He watched her tits quake for a second then gripped her throat again. “Right?” she hissed, shaking her sharply, once. The tears were choked off, literally and figuratively. She froze there, her glistening eyes staring in apprehension.

“Okay then,” he murmured and began to remove her gag. It wasn’t easy. The thing was the most cunning, effective muzzle imaginable, and he was being careful not to make it pop or snap. No blue goo either, since he wanted all her mouth and throat muscles at their prime.

But within a minute, Leesa Mendaski sat up in her own bed, her wrists still lashed behind her, her face and mouth free for the first time in days.

He kneeled at her waist, his erection pointing between her eyes. They just stayed that way for an endless second: a horrid tableau as a thousand possibilities rocketed through her brain. But she lunged forward as she felt, more than saw, his expression start to change from powerlust to angry impatience.

He didn’t even get the “Well?” or “Go!” out when she took his cock into her mouth and started sucking, licking, and surging – with abandon but without another sound.

Within moments, his hands were on her head and behind her neck as he exulted in her horrible trap and the sensations of her desperation.

His head went back, his eyes closed, and his mouth made a soundless “O” as she blow-jobbed him as if her mom’s life depended on it.

To accomplish it, Leesa had to drive everything out of her head except his cock. She had to pour all her desires, dreams, and hopes of true love into her consciousness to wipe out the monstrous reality she was now jailed in. She welcomed the roar in her ears and the lightning blinding her eyes. It was the only way she could get through.

So Leesa didn’t hear the sound of her mother coming up the back stairs. She didn’t hear the sound of her mother coming down the hall. She didn’t hear the sound of her mother approaching her daughter’s bedroom door. She didn’t even hear the doorknob rattle.

All she knew is that Andy suddenly grabbed the back of her head in both his hands, slammed his penis all the way down her throat, and erupted like Vesuvius.

Leesa gasped and choked, the semen spraying her throat – only opening her eyes when the sedative-soaked sponge slammed onto her lower face.

Then she was flying: off the side of the bed, to be powerfully pressed into the carpet as his body inexorably held her there like a descending hydraulic press, his arms slithering around her throat and across her mouth like pythons.

He clamped her to him, his back to the room’s door, one arm around her throat, his hand clamped over her mouth so tightly it felt her skull would crack, and his legs scissoring hers.

Leesa clawed, scrabbled, and tried to heave as the jism drowned her throat and the trank flooded her head. Her mind screamed in abject terror as breath was denied her and unconsciousness charged.

Then she was a small, sexy, slim, shapely, still form squeezed beneath him as her bedroom door slowly opened.

When her mother stood in the doorway to gaze into her daughter’s room while agonizingly wondering where her child was, her naked, unconscious daughter was just out of sight – the man who had abducted and repeatedly raped her slowly, soundlessly pulling her deeper under the view-blocking bed.

He nearly chortled when her even, insensate nostril made a mucous, saliva, and cum bubble on one clamping finger.

But then the mother was gone and the door closed after her. Andy finally relaxed his grip on the poor girl’s mouth and neck as the feeling of her exquisite flesh returned to the fore. What a spectacular girl, he thought, drinking in her cataleptic face, incredible chest, amazing curves, and splayed, shapely legs.

He glanced up to make sure Mrs. Mendaski was well and truly gone, then did a breath-taking double-take. Something deep in Leesa’s closet caught his eye. He couldn’t believe it, but there it was. He looked down at his beautiful, unlucky “wife” with renewed depravity. And just when even he, and she, thought it couldn’t get any worse….

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Naturally blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski (36D-23-34) has been kidnapped, forced to marry the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before, smuggled out of his family’s home, then held captive in her own room under the very noses of her parents. A second victim — 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33) – remains an incarcerated sex slave for the local corrupt cops.

DAY 10

Leesa Mendaski’s eyes fluttered open. As with every moment since she had coincidentally ran into Andy Brannigan’s parents in the rundown, isolated convenience store lifetimes ago, awakening required a new set of criteria — starting at her mouth and arms.

She moaned, feeling the way her jaw was stretched, something clacked behind her teeth, and drool slowly coursed over her luscious lower lip.

Her arms shifted, feeling the steel constriction at her wrists behind her arching back.

Then she felt something on her body and hips…something she vaguely recognized….

Leesa’s blue eyes snapped wide and she wailed in despair. She wailed because she recognized where she was, what she saw, and what she was wearing.

She was in Andy Brannigan’s car. She saw what she had seen all those years ago: lover’s lane late at night. And she was wearing what she had worn all those years ago too: the fuzzy pink sweater and the pleated skirt: only now it was holding onto her fully developed body for dear life – her tits erupting out the v-neck and her incredible legs all but exposed by the now tiny pleats.

“Hey, Leesa,” she heard. She swung, wild-eyed, toward the driver’s side to see Andy Brannigan leering at her. “Really, I ran out of gas. I swear.” Then his arms reached for her, his fingers talons. “Only this time, you won’t be able to scream or run…!”

To the other cars in the dark, wooded, glen, the sedan with the blackened windows seemed no different than dozens of others that had used this secluded spot over the years. Even the cops had finally decided to let nature take its course. If anyone glanced at it at all, it was to note just how nondescript it was. But inside, a beautiful girl whose arms were handcuffed behind her clawed at the door. A spectacularly pretty blonde with a racheted metal mouth spreader affixed behind her teeth keened, slobber splashing her jaw and front. A tremendously shaped girl barely wearing white thigh highs and ankle strap high heels bounced hysterically in the front of the car.

Then the man had her in his grip and dragged her, kicking and trying to scream, to the back.

He had snuck her out of her own room, and her house, practically under her parents’ noses. He had lovingly dressed her comatose form in the fuzzy pink sweater and skirt after her dad had come home and the two adults had gone to bed. Then he had pulled her along the hall, her arm over his shoulders and his arms tight around her in a mockery of comraderie.

He even stopped by her parents’ door and whispered, “G’night Mr Mendaski. G’night Mrs. Mendaski. Thanks for letting your daughter come out to play.”

Then he had leered at the insensible girl in his arms — her tits threatening to erupt out of the sweater with every breath, her glorious gams showcased in the stockings and heels – and marveled at what a difference a mere sixty months made before maneuvering her outside to where his car was parked next door. At two am, no one on that street was watching. Even if they had been, all they would have seen is a young man helping his young lady to their vehicle. The handcuffs and mouth spreader were not yet in place.

But now they were and Andy had his “lady friend” on her face across the back seat, one hand plastered on her forehead, the other crushing her right breast, as he rammed into her anus over and over again.

“Tell you the truth,” he grunted as she groaned. “I shoulda used the cuffs and dentifrice to start with … you were pretty hot even then.” His hot breath burned her right ear. “But nothing like now….!” Leesa cringed in agony and humiliation.

Four cars down, in an unmarked police cruiser, Kerry Sherman, wearing nothing but a little, black, spaghetti strap, boob-hammock micromini dress, was strapped and taped in a ball – ankles and shins to thighs, neck and wrists to knees — sitting on Sheriff Jim’s erection while sucking off Deputy Ted through a padded panel plug ring-gag.

“Now Miss Sherman,” the sheriff intoned while shifting his impaling rod inside her. “You’ve got to tell us if you’ve been rehabilitated.”

The little Sherman girl had been their imprisoned sex slave for days now, lying manacled and muzzled in a solitary confinement cell, dressed only in confiscated hooker hand-me-downs when they weren’t taking turns with her.

“Yeah, bitch,” said deputy Ted. “You learn your lesson?”

Her deep brown eyes rolled and she tried to make noise but the deputy’s flesh prod made mush of it.

“That’s all right, that’s all right,” Jim growled, caressing her hair while crushing an already thigh-mashed tit with his other hand. “No question you’ve shown progress.” He glanced up at his deputy, who nodded knowingly. “So we gotta make a decision. Get us off and maybe we’ll talk parole….”

Kerry looked up hopelessly, but then closed her eyes and started to miserably undulate…

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Naturally blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7”, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski (36D-23-34) has been kidnapped, forced to marry the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before, smuggled out of his family’s home, then held captive in her own room under the very noses of her parents. A second victim — 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33) – remains an incarcerated sex slave for the local corrupt cops.

Back four cars away, Andy was rutting in rhythm, sending Leesa’s head against the door with every thrust.

“Now… maybe… if… you… had… let… me… do… this… five… years… ago… all… of… this… might… not… have… happened…!”

He ejaculated on the final word, made a sound of satisfaction, then wiped his hand on her hair. “Nawwwww,” he decided as he hauled himself off her.

Deputy Ted came in the Sherman girl’s mouth, then quickly replaced the penis-prod plug back in the open ring hold as Jim bounced the brunette on his lap.

“God, she’s pretty,” Ted drawled, leaning back to survey the drooling defilement. “Even now.”

Jim nodded contentedly. “Never gonna be this pretty again,” he concurred. “Young, fresh, firm, natural. Just all downhill from here. Gonna get all crazy and snooty. Entitled. Tattoos, piercings, smoking, drink, drugs. Nah…never be this good again.” Kerry threw her head back and tried to scream through the cum in her mouth, ending in a moan of misery.

“Now, now girl,” the deputy soothed, stroking her anguished face, “we’re trying to do you a favor, okay?” Her head jerked in his hand. At first Ted thought she was trying to rebel, but soon realized by the motion of her head that his superior had just spurted inside the prisoner once more.

“Okay,” he rumbled, pushing Kerry forward by her back. “Get heels on this filly, and secure those ankles, deputy.”

“Yes sir, sheriff sir,” he replied, pulling the five inch black high heel pumps from the floor.

Four cars away, the Brannigan boy was using Leesa’s head like a yo-yo as he jerked her forced-open mouth up and down on his hard-on from the left side of the back seat. “No milfus interruptus this time…!” he sneered as the blonde tried, and failed, to faint.

Kerry shifted uncomfortably between the two law officials as they checked her restraints. There was a chain around her waist, with her wrists cuffed to each side. Her ankles were hobbled by another official police restraint. The plugged ring gag remained tightly affixed to her burbling lower face.

“Very pretty,” deputy Ted breathed, staring at the way the waist chain raised the micromini up her sweet haunches. Sheriff Jim only had eyes for her round balloon chest, her nipples barely covered by the dress’s triangles of nylon-spandex.

“Well, little girl,” the sheriff intoned. “Your folks wanna know where you went, and they won’t take no for an answer. So we’re gonna give you back to them, okay?”

Kerry stared at her captor in disbelief.

Four cars away the Brannigan boy came in Leesa Mendaski’s face.

“But ya gotta promise not to say it was us, understand?” deputy Ted chimed in. Kerry looked from one to the other in shock … but then swung her head back toward the sheriff when he grabbed her left tit like a softball.

“You got that, girl?” he seethed, twisting with his hand, staring intently into her pained eyes. “If you keep your mouth shut like we been teaching you, it’ll be okay. But if you say one word…!’ He pulled her breast in agonizing emphasis, “One…word…! You’ll disappear for good. You got that?”

He pinched her nipple and Kerry jerked in place. “Got it?!”

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Naturally blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski (36D-23-34) has been kidnapped, forced to marry the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before, smuggled out of his family’s home, then held captive in her own room under the very noses of her parents. A second victim — 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33) – remains an incarcerated sex slave for the local corrupt cops.

Kerry nodded fervently as the Brannigan boy surged again and again into Leesa Mandaski as she lay on her back in the rear of the vehicle, the fingers at the end of her handcuffed wrists splaying and fisting in agony. “Now that,” he grunted, “is what I call a first date!”

They blindfolded the Sherman girl with a sleep mask as they prepared to depart. “Now you just lay there and take it like a good girl,” the deputy instructed. “It’s for your own good, ‘cause it’ll all be over soon.”

He smiled and nodded at the sheriff who slid in beside her, rested her head on his lap and slid his hand inside her dress.

*************************************

“That’s right,” Jim assured her as he gripped her superlative breasts. “We just want what’s best for you….” Four cars away, Andy Brannigan announced: “Okay, it’s blue goo time again!” He coated the blonde’s throat, then took his own sweet time shoving a stuffed leather pad gag between the ratchets holding Leesa’s jaw wide.

Finally, he strapped it tightly behind her head. He had already supplemented the handcuffs with black tape and pull-ties. When he snapped the jaw spreader off, she flopped down to the seat like a beached fish.

He laughed as one tit popped out from the semen and sweat-soaked sweater and her blue, shining eyes rolled in torment. “Time to get our little princess home,” he crowed, “and to her happily ever after!”

He dragged her up to the window by her hair and drove slowly past the fourth car. “Wave bye bye to the nice officers, Leesa,” he suggested. “It’ll be the last time you see them…!”

The Mendaski girl saw the sheriff and deputy. They saw her, her face bulging above the brutally tight gag.

As she passed, Jim pulled the blinded, gagged, and bound Sherman girl’s head up into sight.

The Mendaski girl went nuts: howling, writhing, and slamming her body against the windows and door … for all the good it did her. Andy chortled as he drove away, lightly petting whatever part of her he could reach. “There, there my darling,” he soothed. “There’s no need for any of that….”

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Naturally blonde, blue-eyed, 5’7″, 110 lb. Leesa Mendaski (36D-23-34) has been kidnapped, forced to marry the boy she “broke the heart of” five years before, smuggled out of both familys’ homes, and is on his “honeymoon.” A second victim — 5’3″, 97lb., brown-eyed brunette Kerry Sherman (34D-22-33) – had been a sex slave to corrupt cops, but was on the verge of release….

“Okay,” Kerry Sherman heard. “You ready?”

The extraordinarily pretty little brunette just sat there in the low cut little black microminidress, the five inch high heels, the waist chain and attached handcuffs, blindfold, and plugged ring gag, not daring to hope.

“I said, you ready?” Deputy Ted repeated, poking her bubble tit. Kerry nodded fervently, then, much to her shock and amazement, she felt the handcuffs start to be unlocked and the gag start to be unstrapped.

She could hardly hear over the rush in her ears, but somehow Sheriff Jim’s sonorious tones filtered through. “Now you just remember what you promised. Not one word about what really happened. You were kidnapped by a biker gang, right? They kept you. They did this to you. Right? Right?!”

The Sherman girl nodded again and again and again as her arms slid free and the ring gag popped out from behind her teeth. Hoping against hope, her head began to rise, but she daren’t reach for the blindfold herself.

All right then,” said the sheriff. “You ready?”

Kerry tried to speak, but it had been so long. Her jaw creaked. She licked her lips. She nodded. “Y-yes,” she finally managed in a small, distant, mew.

“Okay then,” said the deputy. He ripped off the blindfold, shoved her out of the car with all his might, and screamed in her ear: “Run!”

Kerry Sherman bolted out of the police car, not knowing where she was or where she was going. All she knew was that it was night and she was in some sort of wooded glen amongst tall grass and sandy dirt. Even so, she kept going despite the high heels. But then there were lights blinding the sides of her eyes, figures darting into the periphery of her vision, and the sound of engines.

Kerry Sherman slammed into a woman who gripped her arms like claws. “Mom?” the brunette bleated. But then she saw the harsh face, stringy hair, and the leather vest.

“Hardly,” the crone laughed. Then each of Kerry’s wrists were grabbed by a different woman, she was pulled taut, and she could finally see the circle of ugly men and nasty women who encircled her.

“W-wha…what?!” the poor girl squealed, eyes searching wildly for the cops. “But you…you said…!”

“Better shut her up,” she heard, and then was slapped so hard in the mouth that she slammed back, her legs flying out from under her.

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