VULTURE [Geoff Merrick]


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Vulture #1
by Geoff Merrick. All rights reserved.
Illustrations by DEUCE


He watched her as he had for weeks, months, years. Through the night vision glasses he saw her long, silky, chestnut hair bouncing in the wind around a lovely oval face. Eyes that shifted from verdant to violet. That smooth small chin. That straight nose. Those luscious lips over flawless white teeth. The exquisite throat. The elegant eyebrows. And a body that could not be denied, even in the sweater and long pleated skirt.

She didn’t notice him. She never did, no matter whether she was at the greenhouse, in the library, or at church. No one did. He was just the man who tended the hedges, swept up after the services, or sat quietly in the reading room. He seemed to blend in with the falling autumn leaves in the late afternoon light of the quiet, winding, residential suburban street.

He had picked a perfect spot, as always, seemingly far removed from the simple colonial house where she lived with her parents, but with a clear view of the door and her window between several other houses, over two curves in the road, and beyond several grassy hills.

His car was nondescript awith its windows mirrored from the outside. Everything was perfect. He saw to it. He had plenty of time to plan.

She went inside and closed the door behind her. He immediately shifted the high magnification goggles to her room where he knew exactly where the shade was bent, allowing an inch of opening. From even directly outside no one could have seen a thing, but with these military binoculars, a freckle could look like a planet.

His mouth dried as he saw her enter her room, unawares. She was smiling, serene and secure. Her room was like so many others. A wooden bed by the window, a matching armoire and mirror by the door. A closet beside that. Posters of sports and singing stars on the wall. A book case between the bed and the door, with a stereo system on top. There was jewelry, cosmetics, and perfumes on every surface.

She pulled off her sweater over her head. He found himself holding his breath as he always did, watching her white buttoned shirt swell around her perfect torso. Even after all this time she still made him dizzy. Five feet, six inches tall, a hundred and five pounds if she were an ounce. Dress size, two. Shoe size, seven. Then there was that body….

She started to unbutton her blouse. He stared at her chest in the white lace bra. Thirty-four D — so rich, so round, so firm, so strong. He saw the belt of the plaid, pleated skirt embracing her waist. Twenty-two amazing inches. The wool dropped from her thirty-four inch hips and along her long legs. As usual, he stared, marveling, at the depression between her thigh and firm rear, revealed by her matching panties.

Oh, that skin. That smooth, not quite white, not quite tan skin. Those long, unblemished swaths of warm, firm, shapely flesh….

His reverie was interrupted by her favorite v-necked t- shirt — the one with the tiny red cloth rose at the neck — and worn, form-fitting jeans. She seemed completely unaware that these soft, dependable denims practically made a camel toe between her legs but they looked and felt so comfortable she neglected to notice.

Then on went the white boat shoes. She kept her simple earrings (little hearts) and necklace on, checked her short, lavender- lacquered nails, then bounded out the room. The light went off in her room. Seconds later another came on in the kitchen.

He lowered the glasses, his mouth dry. Even better than her mother, he thought. Much better than her mother, even when she had been her daughter’s age. He was anxious, but controlled himself. He had waited this long, he could wait just a few more hours. He looked over his shoulder at the back seat.

The blanket was there. The pillows were there. The straps were there. Rolls of tape lay in the gutters between seats. White tape, black tape, duct tape — both silver and blue. He checked the small leather bag beside him. The plastic bottle, pulpy cloth pad, pull-ties, bandages, and thinner tape were all there as well.

He checked himself. Dark blue pants and jacket, black walking shoes. He glanced at himself in the rear view mirror. He could have been anyone old enough to be her father, or even grandfather. No matter. He was young enough in every other way….

He sat and waited, knowing it would be worth it. Because tonight was the night. Anne Rutherford leaned down to pull the cookies out of the oven, humming to the song on the easy listening radio station. With this batch, she should have enough for the cake sale this weekend. Even without weekend babysitting to supplement her job at the florist shop, she should make enough so she wouldn’t have to ask her folks for anything when they got back from their trip.

She placed the rack on the cutting board, closed the stove door, turned off the oven, stood straight and took a deep breath of the delicious aroma in the country kitchen. Odd…. There was a strange vinegary tang in the air, mixing with the scent of chocolate and sugar.

Her eyes just began to open, seeing her dim reflection in the small window over the sink. Just before she saw the shadow behind her, her world changed.

One wiry muscular limb clinched around her torso, trapping her arms, while the other went around her head, clamping the stitched, pulpy pad over her nose and mouth.

He felt her surge up, back, and against him, exulting in her shape, smell, and the way he was able to overwhelm her. Suddenly the back of her head was on his shoulder, her soft, smooth hands were clutching his arm, and her delectable body was writhing on his.

For a split second he had worried that her youthful strength might be too much for him, but then he felt how her face was swallowed by the specially prepared pad, and that her hundred pounds was no match for his two hundred, no matter how many years separated them.

Even surprise and panic couldn’t feed her what she needed. He felt her struggle and heard her try to scream, but then all he saw was the way her chest thrust against her t-shirt, and suddenly his fingers were there, tearing down.

Her right, filled, bra cup fell out as they fell back against the fridge door. She tried to run forward but he lifted her easily off the floor, drawing her head even further back, her face buried beneath the pulpy cloth.

Her fingers clawed at his forearm, causing him to drop his hand from her chest to reclamp her waist. Her hands sprung off his arm to swing in the empty air. Her chest seemed to fill his vision as he rooted himself against the fridge. His eyes rose for a split second, seeing them both in the kitchen window’s reflection above the sink.

Incredible: this beautiful young woman writhing against this dark, coiled steel shape, her silky hair flying, her tits bulging, her radiant face lost under a thick pad which adhered to her like a pulsing squid. It was like a slasher movie without the knife, only much much better.

He felt her writhe in his grip. He felt her back rub his chest. He felt her perfect, small, round, hard ass cheeks rub his groin. He felt himself getting hard.

He felt her surge in his grip, fighting the hold he had on her. He felt her scream into the pad as much as heard her. The thick cloth covered and closed her mouth. He felt it vibrate as she screamed and screamed and screamed in pain, shock, and fear.

A car went by outside. From the road the house was totally silent. Even inside the kitchen he could hardly hear her above the radio.

He didn’t see her expression because the pad covered it. It blinded and gagged her. It gripped her as much as he did. The aromatic, clinging odor seared to her face and coated the inside of her nostrils, mouth and throat. Already he felt her weakening. Already he felt her tight muscles start to slacken. Already he felt her long, slim, shapely legs, slow her kicks. The thump of her shoes on the tile grew quieter and quieter.

He felt her sag.

He immediately pulled the pulpy cloth from her face, letting her double over, his arm, her silky hair falling down around her face and toward the floor. He swung her over to the kitchen table and dropped her on a chair, making sure she didn’t slide off as her head went back. Her mouth was open and her eyes closed.

He took a step toward the counter and tossed the pulpy pad into the sink. He grabbed the leather bag where he had left it by the back door. She half sat, half lay where he left her. He dug through the bag as he approached her, finding the tongue-gag — a small, hard, iron rectangle with thin shoelace-like leather straps coming off either side.

He stood over her and nimbly shoved the iron rectangle deep into her mouth. It slid down her tongue until it wedged in her cheeks. Then, with her head lolling back and the laces coming out exactly where her lips ended on either side, he brutally tightened the nearly concealed gag around her head, the laces sinking into her honeyed skin.

Her heard the welcome sounds of gurgling even as he grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her. He taped them there, then pull-tied them, then taped them again. He pushed them against her waist, then, with another thin strap, belted them deep into her flesh. Only then did he look up at her — really look at her.

He could only stand it for a second. He lurched up and swiped the wall’s light switch. Suddenly the room was plunged into moonlight, but he could still see her glorious skin and white t- shirt. The only sound was the drool collecting in her cunningly invaded mouth. He staggered back to her, immediately wrenching down her right sleeve to completely reveal her bra, then fumbled for her jeans button and zipper.

Within seconds, her panties were partially revealed, as was her glorious hip and flank Unable to control himself any longer, he kneeled beside her, grabbed her head like a lover’s with one hand while the other snaked and clawed into her shirt and left bra cup. At the moment her magnificent tit filled his palm, he fastened his mouth on hers and started suckling.

All that time, all the planning, knowing what he was going to do, knowing what was going to happen now…it exploded in his brain as his hands spasmodically gripped and his mouth sucked and licked. His body was totally tensed, hers relaxed, and although the music still swallowed the sounds of his assault, it was still obvious that something very ugly was happening to someone very beautiful.


Anne’s eyes began to move beneath her lids as he continued slobbering and molesting. Then her lids began to flutter. Her brow furrowed, then her eyes sprang open. The sound her gagged mouth made was like water being sucked into a trash disposal. Her legs spasmed, trying to vault her out of the chair, but she hummed in place, his hands gripping her head and chest as if trying to push her back into a womb.

Anne’s feet skittered on the floor. Her body twisted. But he would not let her go or stop slavering on her lips or squeezing her tits.

She tried to throw her head back, but his big hand on her head was like a vise. She tried to scream for help, but was stunned by the wet, useless sound which emerged. Her shoulders and arms spasmed, discovering her bondage. Beyond his horrid lips, she felt the thing deep in her mouth, holding down her tongue.

She stared through the darkness, seeing blotched, tight skin and wire-like gray hair. To her shock, she finally comprehended that some old bastard had her. Some old man with the wiry strength and leathered skin of a mountain climber had her in his grip, his tongue down her throat, her proud tit in his spasming hand.

He felt her lose, as if they had been arm wrestling. It was not that she collapsed or gave up, but, nonetheless, her muscles loosened, her form unavoidably welding to his. His hand wrenched from her breast, pulling it out of the bra cup, and wrapped around her, drawing her even tighter against him, dragging her up, forcing her back.

He bent her back over the counter, his mouth locked to hers, one hand holding her head tight against his, the other arm forcing her body along his. Drool poured out from beneath their lips, dripping down to soak her exposed tit and shirt. Her pink, engorged nipple rubbed along his front. Her fingers clawed behind her, her shoulders working in vain.

Finally she jammed her knee as hard as she could between his legs.

His thighs clamped down on hers, the steel of his protective cup tight on her leg. Then, with her back pressed hard against the counter drawers, he shoved her jeans down to her knees.

She started to shriek and buck again as he held her close. Only when she managed to bite as far as the gag would let her did he drag her groaning head back by her hair and whirl her around.

To her horror, her exposed breast seemed to sink directly into his hand as if magnetized. His left arm wrapped her torso, gripping her right tit like a balloon. His other hand snaked around to clamp over her mouth, fingers sinking deep into her cheek, like quick-drying cement.

They just stood that way for several seconds, her glorious body writhing, her shirt and pants half off, his hands mauling her tit and sealing her working, slavering lips.

“Anne,” he whispered, “Oh, Anne. If only you knew how long I’ve waited for this….”

She bleated in renewed shock at the sound of her name, then mewed in fear as tears gathered in her shining, golden eyes. She suddenly became acutely aware of her proud chest, her tiny waist, her sleek hips and her white lace lingerie against his all-encompassing form, which was attached to her like a parasite.

He wrenched her t-shirt and bra off her buoyant left breast, then went right back to kneading the other as he inexorably pulled her head to the right by her mouth. Then his teeth and tongue were there by her left ear. It poked through the curtain of her silky hair to plunge and nibble and lick and slobber.

Anne started to cry in earnest, shuddering in his iron grip, her tears rolling over his hand as her saliva drooled under it onto her creamy left breast.

“Your folks are away for the weekend,” he hissed. “It’s just you and me now….”

She started to babble: stop, please, who are you, what do you want … all that sort of thing, but it was wasted on the cunning gag and his pasted hand His other hand left her mauled tit and shot under her panty.

Anne’s pretty body tautened like a bow and she tried to haul herself away, but his claw-like fingers sunk into her silken soft tuft and hooked into her. She stiffened.

“Just you and me,” he murmured, and then the finger began to move like opening and closing pliers. “How does that feel?” he hissed softly. “Tell me, how does that make you feel? You been a good girl? Saving yourself? Am I doing it right? Tell me, Annie….”

Anne squeezed her eyes shut, her head going back, moaning.

“That’s it,” he sighed. “Come on Annie, let’s go.”

Her eyes snapped open as he grabbed her around the waist and started propelling her, stumbling, out of the kitchen, across the living room, and up the stairs. She was so surprised she was halfway to her bedroom before she really even started to understand what was happening now.

But then she was in her own bedroom, he closed the door, whirled her around, grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the closed portal. Before she could even wriggle his fingers tightened around her neck. She choked, her eyes widening, her mouth opening, and drool poured down her chin like a coursing waterfall.

It splashed onto her chest as she made a gurking sound, coursed between her jiggling breasts, and disappeared into her darkening shirt. With a single step, he wrenched her pants down around her ankles, effectively eliminating any more kicking.

“Now, Anne,” he said quietly. “Let’s see what we have here.” As he held her against the back of the door with one hand — her tits and most of her sweet, sexy body exposed — he pulled open the top drawer of her bureau and started pulling out underwear.

It was as if he had kicked her in the stomach. All her bras and panties were mocking her now. She stood in her darkened room, nearly naked, bound, gagged, choking, as piece after piece of black, white, red, jade, purple, and peach poly cotton, lycra spandex, nylon, lace, silk, and satin fell all over the place.

He gripped a red panty in his hand, holding it up to her. “See this, Anne?” he hissed. “Know what it’s good for?” He immediately started shoving it into her mouth as if stuffing a bird. He ground it in, twisted it in, shoved it in, damped it in, all while holding her tightly by her throat.

She choked, gagged, coughed, and cried in hysteria and fear before he hurled her to her bed. He climbed over her bouncing little body, straddled her, and ripped off two pieces of duct tape from a roll in his jacket pocket. He half-slapped, half-pressed them over her mouth, sinking her head deeply into the bedclothes and mattress. He insistently flattened it deep into her skin as tightly as possible over the lace straps of the gag.

“Let’s see how much that soaks up,” he announced, then rewrapped her legs in one arm while wrapping her shins in tape with the other. When he finally dropped her, she cringed on the bed, her body wracked in sobs. He sat alongside her for just a second, watching her agonizingly contort, then fell on her.

to be continued


Before she knew it he was sitting on her torso, his meat slammed between her tits, his hands gripping them like pizza dough.

She stared up at his ecstatic face in alarm, but he saw none of it. His eyes were closed and his mouth was in an “o” of rapture. “Oh, yeah,” he breathed huskily. “Oh yeah….”

Her legs in the tape and bunched jeans thudded onto the bed clothes. She choked on the iron and balled cotton in her mouth. The tape even tightened as she tried to screech, but his long, thick, slimy, knobbed member kept rubbing the sides of her smooth, succulent breasts until he panted, vaulted off her, violently tore the t-shirt from her body and stood there, by the bed, ejaculating into the shirt.

“Idiot,” he hissed at himself as she stared in abject terror. “There’ll be no evidence of me here, remember?” He snapped his head over to look at her. “I’ll get you for that,” he promised, then slapped the semen-soaked shirt onto her lower face.

Anne screamed and screamed and screamed as he tied the sodden thing over her face and hair. Then he stuffed her head between a pillowcase and the pillow to hold it tightly in place before running downstairs.

He got back just as Anne swung her legs over the bedside and was ducking her head to get the pillowcase off. “Perfect timing,” he said, grabbing her hair and shoving the still damp pulpy pad over her nose and mouth, winding thin tape around her head to keep it in place.

Anne sat straight up as the noxious fumes began to mingle with the scent of semen, but that didn’t even slow him down. He wrapped her face in bandage as tight as it could go, before pulling the pillowcase free and then shoving all her underwear into it.

The girl wrenched this way and that, trying to get the thing off her face but then she felt the vapors creeping up into her brain again. She lurched forward, but he merely wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her to his lap, then yanked the lingerie- filled pillowcase over her head before tying it off around her neck with more tape.

Finally he released her and stepped back to watch. She sat there on the edge of her own bed, chest exposed, arms lashed to her own waist, her head sealed and her mouth gagged six ways.

She tried to get up, but fell back. The distant sounds coming out from beneath the pillowcase couldn’t even be called moans. Her head lolled once, twice, then, on the third time, fell back. She tried to sit up again but failed miserably. She sank into the bedclothes, trembling.

Finally she lay still. He took in her slim shape, proud chest, and long legs in the remnants of her clothes…and life.

“Bitch,” he muttered. “Almost made me lose it. Stupid bitch.”

His movements were professional. He removed her shoes and jeans. He taped her knees and thighs. He rummaged through her closet. He cursed that he couldn’t find any white thigh high stockings. That would soon be rectified. He found her highest heels (black) and wedged them on to her feet. He promised her that she would soon have white ones as well. He looked askance at her chest then snapped the white lace bra cups back onto them.

Taking a last look at her glorious 34-22-32 form in the D-cup bra, high-legged panty, and heels, he wrapped her in the bedcovers, knotted it off, and easily carried her downstairs. He lay the bundle by the back door and went to turn off the kitchen tap, where the hot water had been erasing any sign of the drug remaining in the sink.

He checked his watch. It was well after midnight. Carefully checking out the windows, he saw all the other houses on the block were dark. He carried the bundle out to his car, dumped it silently into the back seat, locked the door, got behind the wheel, and drove away.



IN PART ONE: Beautiful Anne Rutherford is gone. Chestnut hair, violet eyes, 5’7″, 105 pounds, 34D-22-34, gone — kidnapped from her own house while her parents were away. A wirey old man took her underwear, highest heels, and her, wrapped in her own bedclothes. She lay in the back seat of his nondescript car with the mirrored windows in only a white bra, matching panties, and black high heels — arms lashed behind her, ankles cinched, and mouth gagged six fetid ways….


The package of white, thigh-high stockings fell onto the shapely form in the back seat. It bounced, then slid off onto the floor.

He watched carefully as he sat behind the wheel. He saw a motionless five-foot, seven-inch shape, wrapped in a sheet and a blanket, secured with four seatbelts: one around the throat, another around the waist, a third around the thighs, and the fourth about the ankles. As always when he glanced back there he was tempted to join it. But he resisted.

It was risky enough to steal the stockings. Taking them was no risk — he could open virtually any lock in town without leaving a trace — but there was always a chance a single late night patrol car might find his nondescript sedan curious. And it just wouldn’t pay for anyone else to see this shape. Not after all the planning.

But he had “promised” her white thigh-highs, so that’s what he took from the storeroom. He doubted if the employees would ever notice it missing.

Feeling a renewed pressure in the front of his pants, he started the engine and drove carefully to his house. It was a small one, in the middle of the suburban street, just at the juncture of a “T” leading to another house-lined road. He had chosen it carefully for its deceptively ordinary look. He had been there almost twenty years, and had slowly and subtly altered it to his needs.

He added a fence that was almost six feet high. He had new windows installed. He cultivated his gardens carefully in the front and back. He noted the comings and goings of the street’s residents until he knew everyone’s schedule better than they did.

He pulled up to the garage and was about to press the door button, but was unable to keep from glancing at the back seat. His finger froze just before tapping the garage door button affixed to the windshield shade. Once they went inside, that was it. Why rush it?

He opened the door and stepped out into the crisp, cool dawn. He looked each way and savored the quiet emptiness of the normal neighborhood. Then he moved slowly to the rear door on the driver’s side. He unlocked the door and his breath caught in his throat.

She was still there, wrapped in the blanket and sheet, her shape all the more impressive even obscured. Looking each way again, he deftly pulled open the coverings around her head. He carefully removed the pillow case, making sure that no panty or bra fell out. He knotted off the pillowcase top and dropped it on the rear seat floor.

Her lustrous, thick, silky-soft chestnut hair covered her muffled face. He brushed it lovingly aside to see and feel her smooth skin, her closed yet still elegant eyes, and all that stuff on her lovely mouth.

Quickly yet carefully he unclipped and unwrapped the bandage, revealing the drug-soaked sponge taped to her nose. He slowly undid that as well. The remaining gags were still damp from the constant salivating the iron tab gag created. It pressed down her tongue and its thin straps pulled back her lips to their widest.

He could smell his cum on the t-shirt wrapping her chin. He could see the edges of the tape “X” beneath it, all but steamed off her panty-stuffed mouth. He could hear her sodden, ragged breath as the tongue-pressing gag continued to make her gurgle, even in her stupor.

He stared down at her, knowing that, within moments, she would finally be his. And there was absolutely nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it.

He felt renewed pressure at the front of his pants. With one hand he pulled down the soaked t-shirt and deftly plucked the dry tape away. With two fingers he gripped the edge of the saliva-sodden panties and drew them slowly from her lax lips. With his other hand he pulled down the elastic waist of his pants and undershorts.

His knobby, curved hard-on appeared in the thin morning light like a long log of excrement. Holding the back of her head, he unerringly directed it, the crown slipping between her moist lips.

“Hey neighbor.”

His head jerked up at the sound. He stared over the top of the car to where the fence was. He was alarmed for only a split second, drawing himself closer to block any view of the back seat.

“Hey, Rocky,” he grunted, glancing back and forth from the seat to the mild-looking man on the other side of the fence. He knew that Rocky, the perfect neighbor, could see nothing through the car windows and that from his position on the other side of the fence, he had no idea what was going on.

He rarely did. He was, in politically correct terms, trainable. In non-pc terms, slow.

“What are you doing up so early?” Rocky asked as he looked over the fence. “Just getting going or just getting back?”

“Just getting back,” he grunted, sliding his cock deeper into Anne’s slack mouth.

“Oh, your hours,” Rocky said pleasantly. “I couldn’t work your crazy hours.”

“What are you doing up so early, Rocky?” he grunted, trying not to twitch as her drool coated his member.

“Just getting up. Just getting ready for work. You know. What you doing there? Got a problem with your back seat?”

“Yeah, Rocky,” he sighed, fingers sinking in the insensible girl’s hair. “Just trying to fix something.”

“Stuck, huh? Well, you jerk it. You jerk it good.”

He smiled and did just that, snapping his cock deeper into her mouth; once, twice.

“Working?” Rocky asked.

“Oh yeah,” he sighed. “It’s working….”

Then his cock crown touched the back of her throat. Anne spasmed in her stupor, choking.

He quickly coughed to cover the sound, yanking himself out.

“You okay?” Rocky asked. “What happened?”

He snapped his pants up and quickly pressed his hand over the girl’s sweet mouth, holding it there as her bound body convulsed. “It snapped loose,” he gasped to Rocky. “Took me by surprise. Nearly cut my thumb.”

“Oh, careful,” said Rocky. “Be careful, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, feeling the coughs subside under his hand “From now on, I will, I promise.”

“Good,” said Rocky. “That’s good.”

“Yes,” he agreed, stuffing the semen-sodden shirt back in the girl’s mouth before pulling the sheet and blanket over her head. “Very good.” He closed the door, walked around to the driver’s seat and pressed the garage door button. “Have a great day, Rocky.”

“You too, neighbor.” Rocky walked away at about the moment the garage door started to close behind the nondescript car.


Anne dreamed she had fallen off a huge ocean liner. It was so big no one knew she had gone overboard. She was in her soft, black-velvet chorus gown, the one she wore to concerts. The one with the u-neck. The one she wore with the white panty-hose and the black pumps. The water was warm and thicker than usual, and she floated in it like a mermaid. Although she floated down and down and down, she had no trouble breathing.

But then a tentacle wrapped around her and she was pulled even further down to see a huge octopus. She opened her mouth to scream, but one of his tentacles went right into it. It filled her mouth completely, but then it kept going. It went down her throat, her mouth opening even further. She didn’t choke at all. It was like swallowing a warm milkshake. She felt it in her throat and then her lungs and then her stomach.

Her arms were pinioned to her sides, her head was back, her mouth open farther than it could ever go, and then she felt another tentacle snaking up her legs. She kicked, but that allowed it to slither under her dress. She felt it enter her there as it had entered her mouth, surging without pain or effort. She felt it up inside her, filling her, setting off flashes behind her eyelids and in her pleasure centers.

And then, all of a sudden, the water entered her nose. For a split second, she was drowning, twitching violently on the impaled tentacles. Then she woke up.

She jerked in place. For another split second, relief flooded her that she was not underwater, drowning. Then memory and realization combined to paralyze her, her skin going cold, then flushing hot. Her senses seem to hemorrhage, spinning out of control, flooding her mind with sensations.

She didn’t know where she was. She was inside. It was warm and dark. It was musty and musky. There were virtually no bright colors anywhere. There were rusted iron pipes, dark brown cement walls, deep brown wooden beams, thick, dusty, dark red carpets. Dark mahogany shelving. She was on a soft pile of cloth.

Finally her sense fell back into order and she jerked upright. She couldn’t quite comprehend herself. The first thing she noticed was her legs. Somehow they weren’t even hers anymore. Impossibly long, impossibly shapely, impossibly smooth. She suddenly saw them as others must have — so incredibly creamy and unblemished. Her feet were pointing, trapped in five-inch black high heels, with straps around her upper foot and ankle. Her ankles were crossed. And they, too, were strapped.

For another moment, Anne’s memories of having been assaulted in her own kitchen and room threatened to overwhelm her, but she fought the panic. Instead she realized that she was wearing something impossibly short, impossibly tight, and impossibly low cut. She recognized the sensation. It was lycra and maybe vinyl. It adhered to her like a layer of skin. It felt soft but looked wet and almost shiny. It seemed to clamp onto the very line between her upper thighs and crotch. The v-neckline went down to almost her navel. The thin, armless, shoulder straps just barely covered her nipples and aureoles, the tops of her breasts bulging out the sides.

She tried to pull her arms forward. It was no good. Her wrists were crossed and tied behind her with thin, tight, leather straps and tape. She twisted and pulled on them, but the bondage didn’t give a centimeter. Even if her thumbs disappeared, those things were not coming off her wrists.

She didn’t make a sound. She couldn’t alert whoever it was who did this to her. But she did finally realize that she was biting on something and something was adhering to her lower face like a leech. Her amazing dark violet eyes rolled down to see the thing sticking to her upper lip, lower lip, cheeks, and chin. It was a thick, cushioned leather pad. She felt the strap under her hair and at the base of her head and neck. She felt the pear shaped, padded intrusion in her open mouth. And she felt the incredibly sticky two-way tape on the inside of the covering, sealing it to her face.

It was the kind of tape supermodels used to keep their revealing dresses on their bodies. She had none on her dress, but it was there in abundance on the inside of the padded gag.

Anne’s eyes had finally adjusted to the dark. She was in some kind of combination cellar and enclosed back porch. What few windows there were were shaded and high up the low ceiling. But from what light there was she could tell it was mid-morning.

It was a bag person’s hovel. Piles of stuff were everywhere. Clothes, boxes, padded envelopes, newspapers, magazines, wrappers, pillows, stuffed toys and unimaginable junk was piled and stacked all over the place. It all had only two things in common. There was nothing sharp or hard and it all looked as if it had been there for a while.

Anne sat up, bending her legs. She stiffened when she saw herself reflected in an old framed mirror leaning up against a mahogany shelf across the area. She blinked. In the dirty, discolored glass was one of the most beautiful, sexy girls she had ever seen, despite the obstruction on her lower face. It was her: so pretty, so shapely, so slim…. She had never dressed like this before, and it gave her a rush of power, then incredible fear.

Not only did she now see herself as others saw her, but she saw herself as she would be if she didn’t get out…right now. She looked away and down to her dainty feet, her hands already achingly reaching for the shoes. With just her wrists tied, she could lean down and touch the leather. Her forefinger jingled the tiny luggage lock that cinched the ankle strap. She would not be getting the high heels off.

With another frustrated pull, she knew she still couldn’t get her hands free, but her fingers could agonizingly reach the other straps around her ankles. Relief flooded her when she saw no lock or even knots. It was strapped tightly, but even with her blood-starved fingers, she could work the buckle around into her grip.

Within moments she was slick with sweat, blinking it furiously out of her eyes. She held back moans as the leather bit into her leg skin, but finally she managed to unclip the dreadful thing. Her feet and shins tingled as it fell away and she could feel the cellar air on her crotch. She instinctively closed her legs and started to move up to her knees.

She waited until she regained her equilibrium, then brought one foot forward to balance on the severe heel. She felt like a ballerina, but knew she could do it. With a writhing surge of her body, she managed to get to her feet — stiffening to make sure she made as little noise as possible.

The blood roared in her ears as she fought to control her breathing. It sounded like she was on a respirator as she glared into the dank gloom for any sign of a door. Through the piles of clothes she could see glistening morning light. She moved in tiny steps, careful not to let the heels make a clacking sound but also sure not to lose her balance on any mound of junk.

Snaking between two huge piles of refuse, she blinked through shaded pebble glass at the back yard. The porch was at the bottom of a steep hill, blocking the view of any neighbor, but there was a single door to the right. Anne moved quickly toward it, gripping it in both hands. It was locked. She had a hysterical moment when she felt the urge to hurl herself into it anyway, but she instinctively knew that even if she could break the thick glass or wood, she wouldn’t get very far, even if her abductor was no where in the house. He would find her bled to death in the backyard with no one else ever knowing.

Anne looked back into the bowels of the house. She had no choice. She took a step back the way she came, and, shoulders hunched, chest snug in the wet look lycra, kept going.

She found the stairs behind a mound next to where she had woken up. They were in a narrow hall which crossed one landing, and then went up again — leading to what looked like a pantry filled with plastic garbage cans and bags. She was halfway up the first six steps when something caught her eye. She hazarded a glance. At first she thought they were more refracted reflections in a broken mirror, but then she realized they were photos.

he stiffened and grew cold. They were photos of her. At school, at church, at the greenhouse, at the library, at the mall, at the pool, even in her room. They were lying all over the shelves. Anne almost turned away when the realization hit her. They were all at least a year old .. some going back as far as three years.

She nearly collapsed then, her body jerking in further realization, but she managed to hold on. Almost against her will, she looked back, her eyes trying to see anything but the images of herself — innocent, unaware, unknowing, vulnerable…. Then she saw another pile of pictures even further away. They weren’t of her. She couldn’t make them out clearly, but they weren’t from the same time or place. And each one pictured an incredibly pretty, incredibly bright, incredibly happy blonde girl….

Anne trembled, her high heels beginning to buckle. She leaned against the wall and breathed as deeply as she could. Her head cleared and she forced herself to keep going. She made it to the landing, slipping through soft boxes and envelopes. She stiffened again. She recognized the return addresses on the packages. They were from lingerie, shoe, and clubwear companies. Two packages were open. She looked at herself and had no doubt she was wearing what had been in them.

She looked around her. There were dozens more packages. All filled. All unopened.

Anne barely managed to keep herself from running, screaming, or collapsing. With one more purposeful step, she kept quietly going. She made it to the pantry and out into a tiny kitchen. She stepped out of the kitchen and stood in a combination dining and living room. Before her was a picture window centered over a big, old, heavy, lumpy sofa.

Anne stood in the carpeted, dank, messy, pile and package-filled room, and stared. It was as if she had been punched in the stomach. She recognized the neighborhood. She was no more than six blocks from her own house.

The street was far from full, but there were one or two cars on the road. There were dogs running and children playing. She wanted to scream to them, but choked it off. She stood there, willing with all her might for them to look at her, but they didn’t even glance in her direction.

Anne cringed in the sexy dress and shoes. Her eyes began to fill with tears. She straightened, yanking at her wrists, and concentrated on the door beside the picture window. She took a first step toward it, coming around the corner from the kitchen. What was on the wall next to the front door stopped her again. It was a collage of more photos. Of her. From the past year only.

One showed her leaning down in the greenhouse to get something, capturing her hanging breasts in her bra. Another showed her reaching up at the library, showing how the side of her breast could be seen in the loose sleeve of her t-shirt. A third was her in a mall changing room, glimpsed through a curve in the curtain. Then there were shots of her in her room, about to get into bed There was even one of her kneeling in church that had markings making it look as if her wrists and mouth were taped….

Anne felt herself trembling. She felt beads of sweat coming down her forehead and cleavage. She started to turn back to the door when she saw it. There was one picture in the center of all the others. It was the only one older than a year. At first she thought it was one of her with her father, somehow dated with a computer or markers. But then she looked closer. It wasn’t her. It was her mother when she was Anne’s age.

The man with his arm around her was unmistakable, even though the picture had to have been taken decades before. It was the man who had attacked her….

Anne Rutherford thought she would go insane. With a terrified moan she wasn’t able to quell, she fell toward the door, her hands gripping the knob spasmodically, and twisted with all her might. Even before she fully understood that it was locked, she hurled herself at the picture window, not caring what happened.

She bounced off it as if it were made of plastic. She fell in a kicking, twisting heap on the bag-covered floor. She rolled over onto her haunches and prepared to vault up again. She froze in place….


He stood on the bottom step, looking down at her. They stared at each other; her in the heels and stunningly tight microminidress. He was naked, his erection extended to its full eight and a quarter inches.

Before she could lose her mind, scream, or scramble away, he had her by her hair and throat. He pulled her to her feet as if she were made of straw. He twisted around and slammed her into the corner beside the front door. He pulled a rubber-coated wire noose from the top of the front door sill and snapped it under her chin, away from her throat. He tightened it with a sharp pull, bringing her painfully up onto her toes.

“There, baby,” he grunted, quickly kneeling to noose one ankle to the back leg of the sofa, and the other to the bottom bolt of the door. She teetered on her toes, her legs spread four feet wide. “Now do you get it?”

He stood straight, directly in front of her, his face and body no more than six inches from hers. He rested one hand on her hip. He gripped her bound wrists, her hands flailing, with the other. His cock vibrated in front of her hips, glistening like a snake. Anne babbled behind the gag in abject dread.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he soothed, caressing her face and hair, the noose keeping her from doing anything about it. “It’s time, Annie dear.” His hand moved inexorably down to her chest. “You did well,” he whispered as tears poured from her eyes and his hand snaked into the dress. “Even after all I did to you, you got up here pretty fast.”

He took a moment to pick up a remote control from a sofa cushion and pressed a button. Across the room a small TV flickered on. There, through widened, disbelieving eyes, Anne saw a videotape of herself being unwrapped from her bedclothes, undressed, redressed, rebound, and re-gagged.

His hand was back, squeezing her buoyant, bulbous left tit. His mouth was on her throat, slobbering, whispering wetly into her right ear. “You were so beautiful, so sexy, so hot in your new clothes… I got them just for you. Every month, every year, dressing you in my mind, imagining what you would look like, imagining how you would feel…. And now, you’re finally here….” He suckled her throat and licked her ear.

Anne shuddered and gurgled, her leg and arm muscles tightening. She stiffened again when she felt his fleshy knob at her lower lips.

“You ever wonder what happened at the prom?” she heard him hiss. “At the library retreat? Why there was only a goodnight kiss?” Anne’s disbelieving eyes rolled over toward him. “Yes, dear. Your old uncle gave those boys a word to the wise. Now you’re all mine….”

She started trying to scream “no” over and over again, her head back, her legs straining to kick or run, her arms trying to punch or push, but he just continued as if she were still drugged. He ever-so-slowly thrust up and in with his hips — his knobby, brown cock, coated thick with ointment, kept disappearing into her, her vaginal lips spread wider and wider.

Suddenly he tore open her dress top, her amazing tits surging free, then pulled up the back of the dress to grab her firm, high, butt cheeks. Then his speed returned to the slow, deliberate pace as his cock continued to gradually, unceasingly, enter her.

Anne started to gasp, then choke, her eyes wide. Her hands clawed at him. He jammed his own arms through hers, half-circled her back, and clamped down on her shoulders and collarbones.

“Easy,” he said, still deliberately rising up into her. “Easy….”

She finally looked at him, her expression and sounds begging and pleading for pity and mercy.

“All right, all right,” he sighed. Then he jammed his cock all the way inside her.

Anne grunted as if punched, but the noose did not allow her to double over. But even if it weren’t tightened around her head and chin, she wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. He abruptly crushed her against the door, her tits mashed against his chest — his cock thudding repeatedly into her like a jack hammer. He grabbed her ass, he pinned her head to the door with his sucking lips, and he fucked her brains out for thirty seconds, then sixty, then ninety, then a hundred and twenty….

Anne wailed incomprehensibly behind the gag in agony, the back of her head thudding against the door, her fingers scraping the wood, her ankles twisting off her heels.

Outside the one-way glass and soundproofed walls, the rest of the neighborhood heard and saw nothing.

Inside he was growling and roaring, his hands mashing and wrenching at her tits, his hips thrusting ever harder as he leaned further back. Anne shrieked repeatedly behind the gag until she gasped. A knife was in his hands. She screeched in fear, but it cut the wire noose. As she staggered, the wires were cut at her ankles. She stumbled forward in surprise, slamming to the cloth, paper, and plastic bags littering the floor.

Even before she settled, he was on her, one hand under her chin, pulling back, and the other inside her dress, clawing at her left breast. He bent her back like a bow, then his cock was inside her again, curling up from behind like a jai alai paddle. She moaned in anguish in time to its impaling her, her creamy legs kicking uselessly for several more minutes.

Then, grabbing her by the hair and waist, he forced her to kneel, her face deep in the carpet. He continued thudding into her from behind, her tits swinging like pendulums.

Finally, with a growl, he dragged her up by her hair, hurled her onto her upper back on the sofa, and wedged himself between her legs. He gathered up her hips, nailed her cunt like a piston, and fucked her in a frenzy — her knees bent and her high heels scraping on the floor.

She stared, blinking in shock, at the ceiling as if she had slipped down from a sitting position. She was wedged on her back, her head pressed against the base of the sofa back, her ass and legs hanging over the seat lip, bound arms crushed beneath her, held in place by his coiled steel arms and throbbing cock. Every other second his mouth was there, biting, suckling, licking. Every other moment, his hands were there, gripping, yanking, clamping.

She writhed and contorted with the invasion, wailing into the gag, overwhelmed. Her heels scrambled in the carpet, her finger clawing, as she felt him coming.

He jammed down onto her, filling his fists with her hair. He slammed his meat as far and as tight as it would go. He looked directly into her petrified eyes and whispered “Now.” Then, with one more violent thrust, he erupted.

It was seventeen years of planning. It was eighteen years of preparing. It was nineteen years of penting up. He came and came and came and came into her, her fingers tearing slowly across the sofa cushion, the high heels stabbing into the carpet, her creamy legs spasming.

Then his hand and mouth were suckling one breast while milking the other. Anne sobbed, shuddering, as he lay atop her.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” she heard him say. “I only shoot blanks.” He gave her tit a squeeze. “But I have a lot of blanks.”

She began to cry in earnest as he picked up the pack of white lace thigh-highs.


IN PART 1 & 2: Beautiful Anne Rutherford — 5’6″, chestnut hair, violet eyes, 105 pounds, 34D-22-34 — was kidnapped from her folks’ house and awoke bound and gagged in the cellar of another house down the street — filled with pictures of her (and a pretty blonde girl) as well as dozens of boxes from lingerie, shoe, and restraint mail order companies. She’s now a despoiled captive of a man rejected by her mother before she was born….


The cellar was silent. Dank, dusky, filled with bags, old boxes and mail packs filled with waiting fashions, its walls covered with pictures of a pretty brunette and an unawares blonde girl. The first floor, covered with old ratty furniture, newspapers, brown paper bags, and magazines was quiet as well. The TV was on, showing images from an old videotape of the pretty auburn-haired girl walking to school, sitting by the window in her classroom, window shopping at the mall, playing frisbee in the park, and other normal activities.

Beyond the fuzzy ambient noise of the videotape, there were small, wet sounds coming from the stairs. They got louder on the second floor, which was almost empty of the rotting mess of the lower floors. It was positively stark in comparison, with light pouring in from three of the four rooms.

The guestroom closest to the front had just a mattress on the teak wood floor, and metal rings screwed into the planks. The bathroom, however, was large, clean — almost medicinal — and well stocked. Its windows were completely covered with shades, curtains, and even towels.

The master bedroom was thickly carpeted with a big canopied bed, a variety of chairs, but also some strange wooden constructs ranging from a workhorse to a triangle of wood. The sounds, however, were coming from the stark, light, playroom. In it was only an extremely short stool, a metal ring screwed into the floor nearby, and two people.

At first glance, they looked like lovers — the man fully dressed and the girl in lingerie. But on closer inspection, the lie was revealed. Anne Rutherford sat on the stool, her left leg bent, her right leg almost straight out. Both were gloriously showcased by thigh-high white lace stockings and ankle strap white high heels. Her left ankle was bound tightly to her thigh. Her right ankle was lashed to the floor ring.

Her arms were high up her back, her wrists crossed and lashed in a double-reverse sling secured under and over her buoyant tits, so her elegant fingers trembled near the base of her neck. Often they would strain for her hair, beneath which a buckle was brutally tightened around her neck. It held the big white ballgag deep in her gurgling mouth, her lips distended around it.

She stared yearningly out either of the two square windows which looked upon the quiet, suburban neighborhood. She willed with all her might that someone might be walking on the empty sidewalks or look up from the occasionally passing cars. But even so, she instinctively knew that no one could see her at this angle unless they had x-ray vision.

On her succulent body was a severe, white, valencia lace, nylon/poly/elastin merry widow corset with unlined demi-cups, flexible boning, and back hook-and-eye closures. It sucked in her already trim waist to a breathless twenty-one inches and thrust out her 34D’s into his hand. The girl made tiny, unwilling, burbling noises as she tried to breathe.

The man ignored them as he squeezed and squeezed and squeezed her luscious right tit as if pumping a well. It was almost spasmodic and seemingly unconscious since his mouth was all over her face and neck — kissing, slobbering, suckling — his other hand holding her head painfully and powerfully back by her luxuriant hair.

“Oh, Anne,” he breathed into her stunned, agonized face. His tongue was in her ear, then his mouth across it, nibbling at her earlobe. Then the tongue continued across her smooth, rosy lips, and even to her nostrils. She tried to wrench her face away but his right fist was like a vise in her hair. She moaned in revulsion.

“Oh, you don’t like that?” he whispered. “That’s all right, my darling. You’ll see….” His hand left her breast and started sinking. Her violet eyes — almost jade in despair — widened and tried to sink with it. But then his mouth was on her throat and his fingers slipped over her warm, wet, cerise snatch. She was already reeling from his first brutish assault downstairs, so she groaned, eyes rolling back into her head, as his fingers hooked into her.

“There,” he cooed. “Isn’t that better?” He started suckling her right breast as his thumb and forefinger expertly pinched her clit. Her kept her as taut as a bow on the stool as he bit her nipple, slavered on her breast, and expertly fondled her cunt.

He heard her breath coming faster and harder. He felt her chest swell. His face rose to hers to see her nostrils flaring and her eyes glittering. “See?” he said, pinching her clit. She started in place, then began to pant as his fingers returned to their cunning caress.

Her fingers stretched achingly. She stared at him with pleading hatred before her eyes squeezed shut in shame and anguish. They popped open again hopelessly as his mouth clamped down over hers, his drool coursing down her chin. She felt her skin flush, then the heat grow from her loins. She tried to scream, but his fingers, still holding her hair, snapped to her throat and gripped tightly. The pretty brunette choked, gagging, sweat pouring down her brow and cleavage.

“None of that,” he whispered warningly. “Not yet.” Then he played her clit like a string, sending bolts up through her. She stiffened in place, her eyes huge, then cringed, trying to escape the ropes and bite down on the ball with all her might. “Oh, no,” he said softly, looking down on her slobber-stained face. “Come on, Anne dear. You’re not going anywhere. Not anymore….”

She moaned up at him imploringly, but he just kept going, watching her breasts stiffen, her nipples engorge, her flesh darken, and her breath shorten. He knew she was close. “Did you think it would feel this way? Did you?”

He watched her shoulders bunch and her arms twist frantically. He watched her yank on the screwed-in floor ring over and over, her toes pointing madly. He heard trying to say “no” over and over again but only managing a grunting hum. Finally she had to just close her eyes and ride it, hoping the wave wouldn’t overwhelm her when it came.

Anne’s body was petrified in a rictus, as if her entire shape was holding her breath. She felt the coming tsunami, building from her crotch, broiling up toward her brain. Her body yearned to jam herself down on the invaders, to release herself of the building sexual steam threatening to tear her apart, but her mind screamed at her to fight it.

She thought she’d go insane, or was going to faint. Then, suddenly, the fat wriggling worms inside her were gone. Her eyes snapped open … just as a wad of cream splattered into her face.

Anne blinked furiously, her entire body suddenly cold. He had just come in her face … and was laughing at her. Just as she felt the heat of shame returning, he surprised her again. He pushed her back, slipping the stool out from under her firm, tight rump. She fell onto her back on the cold floor. Before she could even respond, he was on top of her, his left hand tight over her ballgagged mouth, his right hand grinding her left tit between their heaving bodies.

“How does that feel, Annie?” he hissed in her face, grinding his hips against hers. “How does it feel to be so close yet so far? Because that’s how I felt all these years. I couldn’t have her, huh? Her royal cunt and boobs were too good for the likes of me, huh? Well, that’s all right, because now I’ve got you, and I got news for you, bitch. You’re much better…!”

Anne started to cry piteously, then tried to wail as his fetid dick poked at her stinging lower lips.

“Better get yourself off if you can, dearie,” he jeered, smearing his cum on her lower face. “Because I sure as hell won’t!”

The girl heaved her body, scratched at the floor, and kicked her imprisoned legs as he rubbed his body against hers, jamming his stiff cock into her as hard as he could…


Then he was on her stomach, his member between her tits. He jammed them together as Anne shook her head violently, the cum drooling down her cheeks.

Finally, when he was going to come again, he jerked up to one knee, grabbed her by the corset, dragged her to a sitting position, yanked the bodice wide, and spurt down her front. Laughing again, he pressed the corset tight against her — his other hand pushing her forward from the center of her back. It squished like an eclair’s filling.

The girl threw her head back, screeching and coughing. But then he was behind her, leaning on her back, his sticky hands reaching around to be filled by her tits. “Jack me off,” he whispered into her shining hair. “Come on, Annie, you can do it. Jack me off.”

Her fingers curled into fists, and she tried to pull herself away.

“Don’t be stupid, bitch,” he hissed. “You know it has to happen, so why not just get it over with?” She felt his putrid member flopping against her knuckles over the thunder of his own digits kneading her mounds. “Okay, bitch,” he sighed after a few moments. “Have it your way.”

Without a word, always leaning on her back, he forced one of the small, upside-down stool’s four-inch legs up her vagina, then continued to manhandle her tits with one hand while masturbating himself with the other. It went on and on and on until she thought she was going to pass out. But finally he ejaculated onto her numb, pinioned hands.

Cringing with abhorrence, the lustrous brunette slumped forward, but her captor merely started untying her left leg.

“Okay, Annie,” he said briskly. “That’s that, then.” She jerked up in surprise when her left leg came free. He started undoing the ropes around her upper and lower chest. Suddenly her tied wrists fell to the small of her back. “Okay?” he asked, coming around to her right foot. “Okay,” he answered himself. She watched, incredulously, as he untied her other foot.

Without ceremony, he grabbed her under her arms and dragged her to her feet. He held her there as her deadened limbs started tingling with renewed circulation. “Better?” he asked innocuously. “Of course,” he told the confused girl. “So, all right, I’ve had my fun. I totally fucked you, right, Annie?” She blinked some more, twisting her hands to help their recovery and anchoring her feet to stay balanced. “Right,” he continued. “So we’re done.”

She managed to twist her head so she could look up at him in disbelief.

But all he said was: “Better get going before I change my mind.”

She managed one step back, turning so she faced him. She took another step back on weakened legs, still watching him with doubt.

“Get going, bitch!” he suddenly roared, and the beautiful brunette was lunging toward the door, bouncing off the hall wall, and staggering down the stairs. She was amazed that she could stay upright in the vicious heels after what she had been through, but her panic drove her.

She slammed into the front door, terrified that he’d be right behind her, but she was alone in the living room. Her tied hands clutched the doorknob and twisted. To her total astonishment it was unlocked. She threw it wide and jumped out, unmindful of her situation. Anne Rutherford ran down the front steps in the murderously tight corset, her beautiful breasts bouncing, her cum- flecked hair swirling, her glorious legs running in four and a half inch high heels.

She saw the neighborhood yawning out in front of her, over the yard’s tall fence. She spotted the opening and charged for it just as she saw shadow out the corner of her eye.

He was coming at her from the garage. There was something thick and wet in his right hand.

No wonder he had kept her gagged and her wrists tied behind her. He didn’t want her free. He wanted to hunt her.

She started trying to scream, but the gag and the effort took her breath away. She tried to throw herself out onto the sidewalk with a final burst of strength and speed, but just as her mane fluttered by the fence he was on her. She almost managed a shriek then, but the thick, padded, steaming cloth was clamped over her mouth and nose like hurled paint.

He tackled her, twisting her back. He slammed her to the ground, rolling. He dragged her up and started yanking her back toward the front door. She kept trying to scream, but it was too late. She struggled, lurching in his grip. Her eyes bulged, twisting back and forth from the door to the fence opening. She hadn’t even noticed the bushes around the front steps until he threw her into them.

The girl fell heavily, but before she even bounced, he was on her again, her face in the dirt, the cloth impossibly tight over her nose and mouth.

“You didn’t think I’d really let you go, did you, Annie?” she heard him whisper in her ear. “I mean, I haven’t even fucked you up the ass yet….”

She felt his hard-on against her firm rear. She screamed with all her might into the gag and sodden cloth. It sounded like a distant bird’s call.

Suddenly she could feel every pore on her body. She could sense her extraordinarily sexy shape beneath him there in the dirt, encased in the corset, stockings and shoes, her lovely sweet face deep in the drug-soaked cloth, her glorious arms twisting in the simple wrist bonds.

She felt his other hand crawl under her. She felt it fill with her left tit She felt him squeeze. She felt it bulge between her fingers.

He felt her struggle. He felt her body shake, contort, undulate, shudder, and tremble beneath him. He felt her slim, shapely legs kick. He felt her fingers scramble and reach agonizingly. He held the thick cloth pad tightly over her face, feeling her screams more than hearing them.

Then Anne Rutherford, all five feet, six inches, a hundred and five pounds, of her, collapsed. He felt her go lax. He didn’t care. He lay there, on top of her, in the bushes, holding the cloth fixedly over her face for minutes more, grinding her rich, ripe breast in his other hand. He listened to the birds and insects and passing cars, exulting in her sexy shape under him.

Finally he slowly pulled himself up He looked down at her, loving even her back side. Carefully he rolled her over. He caught his breath. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open. Her breasts jiggled. Looking around but seeing only shrubs, he carefully crawled around her, grabbed her arms, and dragged her deeper into the bushes until she lay against the house, her head by the side of the front steps.

Peering carefully through the bushes to insure they couldn’t be seen, he kicked her legs wide, laid atop her, pressed his right hand over her gagged mouth, gripped her right tit, and slowly slid his maddeningly hard cock inside her.

Otherwise he didn’t move. He just lay that way, plugging her, until his erection diminished. It wouldn’t stay that way for long….


Anne awoke with a start. She immediately felt that her entire body was aching, but especially her shoulders and arms. Then she perceived an inhuman tightness at her elbows, chest, and lower face. She could do everything but see. She rapidly realized that wasn’t because she was blindfolded, but because she was under a blanket of some sort.

She stretched agonizingly, moaning. Then she immediately knew that she was still bound and still gagged, but it was even worse this time. Something filling, porous, yet unyielding was filling her entire mouth, pushing it open to the ripping point. She tried to spit it out…to even close her yawning mouth a centimeter, but it wouldn’t budge.

Her opal/jade eyes rolled downward to see the edge of something over her mouth as well. It was tan, sticky, and so tight it was practically an eighth layer of skin. It covered her lower face from just under her nostrils to her chin line, then practically from ear to ear. It didn’t just adhere to her flesh, it gripped like hundreds of tiny hooks.

Her arms were wrenched behind her, her wrists and even elbows touching. Her ankles were crossed, and tied. With a soft moan she slowly sat up. The blanket over her slid off. She stared, blinking, into a wide, distorted reflection.

It was from the mirrored windshield of his car. She was in the backseat, blinking. She saw herself: dressed in a midriff- baring, fuzzy, soft, short-sleeved red sweater and hip-hugging red and black tartan, pleated miniskirt, with black thigh-high leg warmers and black, foot-molding, high-heel full-breasted oxford shoes. It was a nasty variation of a college uniform, but hardly the worst of it.

The sweater was yanked up. The frilly, light-blue bra was yanked down, trapping her squeezed tits between them. There were no panties. And around her throat was a slim steel choker collar on a chain leash. Anne leaned forward, starting to moan, then stiffened. Her awakening eyes had focused beyond her distorted reflection. Out the windshield, beyond the smoky, one way glass, was a neighborhood she recognized. It was hers. The car was parked four doors down from her house. There was a light in the kitchen. She could see figures moving.

Anne made a choking sound, then her head snapped toward the figure in the front seat, behind the wheel. He turned toward her, holding up the leash handle in his hand. “Welcome back, Annie,” he murmured, then, without warning, climbed over the seat. She had merely a moment to react and he was on her, pushing her down, spreading her knees.

He was sitting on her haunches, yanking down her bra and pushing up the sweater even higher. Then his hands were in her hair, holding her down as he slid his body between her legs — her bound ankles over his ass.

“Now this is the way it’s done,” he muttered. “I checked. Your neighbors are out for the week, but nobody but I know. You park in a reservoir or park inlet and the patrols get suspicious. But just another car on a quiet street? No problem.”

Anne tried to scream and struggle, but he was too tightly muscled and heavy, and one seemingly casual pull of the leash took her breath away.

“Now, now,” he breathed. “There’s no need for that. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before….”

He yanked down his sweat pants, freeing his hard-on and took a last look at her beautiful body beneath him — her bound wrists sandwiched between her left side and the seat back. He lay atop her, shifting his hips so his cock dangled into position. Anne squeezed her eyes shut and tried to scream with all her might. His hand plopped over her already filled and sealed mouth as he rammed his log into her again.

She babbled insanely and squirmed under him incessantly as he methodically fucked her in the back of the car — it’s heavy duty shocks taking everything they could dish out. He grabbed her hair which hung over the edge of the seat to pull her head back so he could suckle her throat. He wrapped his arms under her shoulders to grip her wonderful collar bones. He mauled her tits one by one as if kneading bread. And all the while thrusting, plunging, and surging up inside her.

Anne’s fingers clawed, her feet kicked, her mouth wailed, but nothing left the vehicle. He inevitably came, holding the leash tight to keep her from complaining. Climbing off her, he wiped his cock in her hair, sat her up, duct-taped her knees, wired her ankles to the steel slat at the bottom back of the passenger seat, then wrapped her bound wrists with one seat belt while stretching the other across her torso.

He pressed her face against the window and slowly drove by her house. If anyone had looked out and seen through the car’s reflective shields, they would have seen a pretty brunette’s stunned, comatose face streaked in sweat, slobber, and semen, her hair alternately sticky with jiz or lustrous, her throat a mass of hickeys, and her nipples smearing the glass.

He parked in the spot where he used to spy on her, and waited, alternately watching the garage and her in the rear view mirror. After awhile her dull, drooping eyes started sparking, and he watched as she tried loosening the ropes — jerking and pulling quietly in the back seat. He watched her head twist as she tried to either close or open her mouth wider. Her eyes would widen and her back arch, thrusting her chest up. She even tried to get her aching fingers to reach her sweater hem so she could cover her squished tits.

She jolted upright when the garage door at her house opened. “Here we go,” he said, and started following the car which emerged. Anne started to babble beseechingly. He yanked the leash, turning her entreaties into choking coughs. The car pulled into the town hall. He parked by the library a building away. “Guess some things must go on,” he commented, “even if your daughter is missing.” He turned in the seat toward her, holding up the choking leash. “Let’s show ‘er what she missed.”

He ignored her tears and attempts at shrieks. He unclipped the seatbelts, and shoved her face first onto the seat. He cut open the tape at her knees. He pushed down the driver’s seat back and affixed her left ankle to the driver’s armrest. He lashed her other to the backseat armrest, spreading her legs. He cut open her elbow bonds, and wrapped the leash around her wrists midway up her back. If she pulled down too hard now, she’d choke herself.

“Now,” he said, “like I promised.”

The girl’s eyes bulged as she felt him shoving a finger full of lubricant up her ass. The skirt was meaningless, barely covering her at the best of times. Before she could rear up, he was on her again, his hands over her mouth and across her forehead. Then, slowly, carefully, he entered her from behind. His hands spasmed on her face as he practically clicked all the way in. “Now, Annie,” he whispered. “Two holes down. One to go.”

He fucked her up the ass for ten minutes, occasionally reaching under her and wrenching at her chest as he went. Anne tried to scream, but the choker was too tight and the invasion too awful. She moaned and mewled, her nostrils flaring and running. He only looked up when the family car rolled by outside. He held Anne down as it passed. Then he shrugged and went back to ass-raping her.

Finally he came in her again, his drool in her ear. Then he just lay on her for ten minutes more, his cock still corking her anus, his hands squeezing her tits. Eventually he untied her ankles from the abused armrests, retied them together, released her wrists from her throat, retied them to her ankles, retied her elbows with some brutal tugs, and tumbled her into the front passenger seat. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned toward her. She stared at him with dull hatred and throbbing exhaustion.

“Okay, babe,” he said. “I guess it’s time.” He checked his watch. “Yeah, I’m going to be late for my shift.”

Ignoring her slight look of surprise, he easily shoved her down on the floor under the dashboard and drove through the night for twenty minutes, keeping a tight grip on the leash the whole time. Finally he parked by the side of a dirt road, and took a second to look at her abused shape and groggy face before dragging her up and laying her, face-up, halfway across his lap. She stared out the windows again, not recognizing the rolling hills and wooded plains.

“Yeah,” he said. “Why would you know this? But trust me, you’re going to know it very well, very soon.” He popped open the glove compartment and removed a small plastic bottle, like the kind they used for shampoo or mouthwash samples. Without bothering to warn her, he started unpeeling the industrial sealant tape from her mouth. Anne’s eyes shut in pain, but she sucked in as much air as she could, hoping for a chance to cry out.

He only removed enough to free a third of her lips. Then he grabbed her hair, holding her hard in place on his lap and pressed the bottle tip against the porous material stuffing her mouth. With a squeeze he stained it blue … a blue which immediately started fading. He squeezed again, and again and again, until there was nothing left in the bottle, then smoothed the tape back over her mouth.

Still holding her hair, he began to stroke her throat with his other hand. “Swallow,” he encouraged softly. “Swallow….swallow….”

He watched as her amazed stare became defiant, then concerned. She started to blink.

“Swallow….” He felt her throat move under his caressing hand. Then it moved again. Anne blinked more. He noted the ways her fingers splayed then tightened into fists. He saw how her body began to tremble, her ankles twisting, her shape squirming.

He saw the color rise into her face and her eyes start to unfocus. He immediately snapped the hogtie free and sat her up. The wrist and elbow bonds came off first, replaced with a cunning thumb cuff specially designed as a makeshift straight jacket. It made the subject embrace herself, her thumbs practically on her back, attached by a small, thin, but powerful chain.

As he affixed it Anne screamed at herself to fight, but her body didn’t respond. Instead it felt the first wracking seizure.

He grabbed her hair again and yanked her head back, straddling her seated shape. He snapped up her bra and pulled down the sweater. Then, with one brutal pull, he tore the tape completely off her mouth and started clawing inside to dislodge the polymer. He yanked it gradually out of her gaping lips as if it were a huge tuber.

“Scream!” Anne told herself. “Now!” Her mouth worked, but only unintelligible grunts emerged. She almost hemorrhaged when he nearly laughed, but then the cramp passed and she realized he was strapping something else in her lax mouth. It was a plastic wedge attached to a plug, which held down her tongue while snapping her teeth into a groove. It tightly clipped behind her head, effectively eliminating all rational speech and muffling whatever incoherent ravings were left.

“Okay, okay,” he breathed, hopping back behind the wheel. “I think you’re ready.” But he didn’t undo her ankles or remove the choker until after they had pulled into the emergency bay of the isolated, remote Aurora Mental Hospital, secluded on a hill away from town. With a heightened sense of irony, he shortened the slim chain and clipped it around her exposed waist.

“Okay, Annie, baby,” he hissed, “do me proud.” Then he vaulted out of the car, came around her side, and dragged her out into the empty, quiet lot. Holding her arms tightly, he propelled the confused, drugged girl into the all-but-deserted ER, all but slamming her into the reception desk.


Anne looked around wildly, adjusting from the cool night air to the heavily medicinal smell of the overused interior, which was obviously a medical facility wedged into a rambling old house. Her nose stung from the noxious aroma of urine and worse (not completely covered by antiseptics) while her mind was stung by the narcotic’s jolts. She tried to speak, she tried to plead, she tried to show what was going on, but she couldn’t stop the convulsions which wracked her slim shape.

“What’ve we got here?” the big woman on the other side of the desk practically drawled.

“Co-ed from the college,” he said quickly. “Found her under the bleachers, stoned out of her head, taking on all comers.”

The woman took one look at the splattered, bruised brunette in the impossible tight sweater, impossible short skirt, impossibly high heels, thigh-high leg warmers, and waist chain, and immediately accepted the story without reservation. “I see she gave you a little trouble,” she said, motioning toward the thumb cuffs and gag.

“Not me,” he maintained, holding the writhing, squealing girl easily. “Couldn’t keep her from banging herself around or biting her tongue.”

The woman nodded knowingly. “Shit, you know what to do,” she told him. “You been here long enough.”

“Got ya,” he replied, beginning to pull the alarmed, appalled girl deeper into the hall.

“Noooooooo!” she managed to get out around the gag, but it didn’t matter. She tried to say “He’s lying, I’m not what he says!” but it was now all such mush.

“There we go, Annie,” he whispered, dragging her toward the stairs. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The brunette reared in his grip, but it was useless. The stairs were even more deserted than the late night admissions area, and he whisked the barely 100 pound girl to the bowels of the building. He shoved her inside a plain dark room, and locked the door behind them.

The one light he switched on was deep blue and Anne stood in what was once, obviously, a small operating theater. She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dark, trembling. He stared at her, admiring at how closely she resembled the lie he had told about her. With a tender smile, he stepped forward, took her by the shivering shoulders and started tearing the sweater from her.

Her screams echoed in the small, empty, cavern, and were swallowed up by both the gag and the walls.

Soon Anne Rutherford was naked, the torn clothes in a pile by the shoes Manacling her was no problem. She now wore a different metal belt, her wrists shackled to its sides, on either side of her twenty-two inch waist. The tongue-depressor/mouth-opening plastic tab/plug was still strapped to her face. The thumb cuffs were now around her big toes She quivered in the cold of the room, slightly bent over from the drug’s leftover effects.

He stared at her gloriousness — the muscles in her flat stomach and limbs, and the way her pink button nipples pointed in the chill. “Oh Annie, Annie, Annie,” he breathed. “Can’t you see it’s all just beginning?” He raised the hose in his right hand and pulled the garden nozzle’s trigger.

She screeched when the cold water hit her and he kept targeting her until she was curled up on the floor. He paid special attention to her hair, watching all evidence of his attacks going down the drain in the center of the tiled room.

In due time, he dragged her insensible form up and laid her on her stomach on a metal gurney. Then came the enema.

She writhed, sobbing in humiliation as it did it’s work. He removed the bed pan, then cleaned her off again, this time with warm water until she lay, eyes rolled back into her head, against the far wall. The electric drier was next, until her mane and skin were as smooth and glossy as ever. Then came the straitjacket — a new black vinyl kind, made of a material than was metal-strong but adhered to her like rubber.

He considered ramming a dildo up her before tightening the strap between her legs, but thought better of it. Its bulging and humming might be too noticeable even for the usually inattentive staff of this place. So he lightly affixed a rubber-coated nipple clip to her clit instead, and immediately covered it with the jacket’s anchoring strap.

He carefully gauged the girl’s reaction. She shifted in her uneasy sleep, but made no other sign. Good. It would have a building, cumulative effect. By morning, anyone who might stumble across her would be convinced that she was well and truly nuts. And he would see to it that she was his personal patient as well.

He admired her remarkable shape in the form-fitting straitjacket, and how it set off her long, shapely legs. Even so, he replaced the black leg warmers to complete the ensemble before reclipping the big-toe cuffs over the cloth. He easily lifted her semiconscious form to a wheeled stretcher, strapped her down, covered her with a sheet, and wheeled her out of the ready room.

He smiled at how great she looked even under the sheet, bringing her through the quiet, empty halls to a special padded cell all the way at the end of the disused wing in the back. He placed her carefully on the cushioned floor and stepped back to drink in her loveliness. Her life passed before his eyes and by the time he got to the evening’s festivities, his pants were stretched to the tearing point.

All that leading to this … and it wasn’t even over yet. Not by a long shot.

He pulled the smelling salt caplet out of the recessed wall cabinet, locked its padded cover back over it, and kneeled next to the slumbering girl, his back blocking the surveillance camera. He snapped it open under her nostrils. They quivered and her eyelids fluttered. Her beautiful purple eyes popped open, but before they even focused, he reached down and patted her crotch strap, hard.

With a vicious flick of his middle finger directly over her clit, he whispered, “Showtime Annie. Time to start your new life….”

He left her bleating there, then casually returned to the main wing, where he went to the empty video room, erased the tape of her admission, disconnected the VCR from the far room’s monitor and sat at a PC compiling her papers.

“Name: unknown,” he typed. “Coed visiting Aurora College. Address: unknown. Next of kin: unknown. Admitted after ingesting unknown hallucinogen.” He thought and thought about what might be a good excuse for keeping her there as his private charge, but then simply typed: “Released after full recovery. Whereabouts: unknown.”

He entered it into the hospital’s files, then glanced up to the monitor. Anne Rutherford was writhing in place, obviously trying to scream her head off. Her hips were jerking maniacally, her knees wide, her toes straining in the cuffs.

His brow furrowed. He quickly printed out a sign which read: “Do not disturb. Therapy in progress,” then stood and left the room, leaving the monitor on. On it, the girl rolled, her body straining, slamming into the padded walls of the cell. Some minutes later, anyone in that empty video room could have watched him reenter the cell carrying a small bag. Out of it he pulled a leather hood which he clipped, then laced, over her head. He unclipped her toes, pulled off the leg warmers, then strapped those limbs together, affixing her thighs to her shins with a wide, black band.

He stood, looking down at her still writhing shape, then left the cell, locking it firmly behind him, the sign in place in case anyone ventured that far back in the neglected wing. He returned to the security-cam room and watched the girl contort for many minutes more. As with everything else in his plan, this understaffed, underfinanced mental hospital had been perfect, and securing a job there had been no problem.

It was time for his rounds. He took a final look at the extraordinarily pretty, shapely, slim, and sleek brunette trapped in the padded prison, then reached behind the monitors to affix another wire to the camera for the next cell over.

The image of Anne Rutherford struggling in her sexual hell winked out. The image of an empty cell winked on instead.

He left the room, memories of how it felt inside her filling his brain. But in his mind were images of what came next. His pants started to bulge as he disappeared into the darkness at the end of the hospital hall…. TO BE CONTINUED.


IN PART 1 thru 3: Anne Rutherford (5’6″, chestnut hair, violet eyes, 105 pounds, 34D-22-34) is the bound and gagged, repeatedly violated, captive of a man rejected by her mother before she was born. After playing with her in his house, yard, and car, he has secreted her shapely, straitjacketed, and muzzled form in his place of employment: a padded room in a rundown sanitarium….


“Holy shhhhh…!” breathed the orderly.

He stared down at the girl on the floor of the padded room. Form-fitting black vinyl covered her from her head to her hips. A thick strap was adhered where her panties should have been The new- style straightjacket forced her to embrace herself, but he could see the swell of her strong, full, bosoms beneath her shapely arms He could tell her legs were even more shapely, even though a thick band affixed them in a totally bent position; the back of her shins tight against the back of her thighs.

The words hadn’t even finished hissing out of his mouth before he was kneeling beside her, his clipboard dropped to the mats, his fingers pulling at the buckles and laces adhering the leather hood across her head. He couldn’t even manage words when he peeled back the cowl and her extraordinary face emerged, a mane of thick auburn hair curtaining it. The skin shone from sweat while the deep purple eyes were smoky and glassy at the same time. Her luscious lips were slack and soft, drooling around the plastic knob affixed deep in her mouth.

“There…there was no one listed in this room,” the orderly finally managed to blurt as he grappled with the dental device designed to keep electroshock patients from biting or swallowing their tongues “Who…who the hell are you?”

Anne couldn’t answer. She tried, but her mouth gaped open, her eyelids lowering. How long had she been cramped in there? How long had she writhed in the darkness, her mouth stuffed, her face covered, her limbs trapped, and the clip on her clitoris clamped down by the leg strap?

“Uh…uh…,” she finally managed as the orderly hastily undid her legs. “Ah…!” she gasped as her glorious gams finally stretched out.

“Where are you from?” the orderly muttered, hands on his knees. “The college?” Anne writhed piteously, moaning. “Those aren’t standard issue hospital garments,” he gaped in understatement.

“H-help me,” Anne managed to whisper, straining, undulating, in the vinyl constraint. “Please….”

“Shiiiit!” The orderly finally managed to complete the word in wonder and confusion. He stood by the comatose girl. She heard him start to shout for the ward nurse just as the darkness returned. Then, in her stupor, she felt the straightjacket straps loosening. She felt the air on her naked form. She even heard a gasp from a woman as the clip between her legs was finally revealed.

The last thing she heard, in fact, before her body retreated into sleep, was a feisty woman’s voice. “Now this,” she heard, “is totally fucked up!”

Anne Rutherford woke slowly. To her relief she was in a soft bed in a sunlit ward. She could see an open window looking out onto the rolling hills of her town, the white curtains fluttering in the late afternoon breeze. She looked slowly down at herself. Her young, shapely, firm body was enclosed in a soft, cotton, hospital gown, but was otherwise unfettered. She stretched luxuriously, then stiffened as memory splashed back.

“Ohmigod,” she choked. “Him! He might come back!”

Suddenly a round, kindly nurse was by her side, a reassuring hand on her arm. “There, there,” she said. Anne could tell by her voice that she was the nurse who had freed her. “Nobody’s going to hurt you any more….”

“But…!” Anne started, her eyes tearing as she started remembering all that had happened.

“Now, don’t worry, dear,” the old nurse soothed, patting her arm. “We know. We know all about it. He can’t get you here. There are guards on the door. The police have been called. They’ll get all the information and evidence. I know it was horrible, but it’s all over now. You’re finally safe.”

Anne started to cry, but in relief. The nurse stayed by her side, rubbing her back and making comforting sounds.

“Now, now,” said the nurse. “That’s all right. Would you like something to help you sleep?”

“But, the police…,” Anne managed through her tears.

“Don’t worry,” said the nurse. “We’ll wake you when they get here.”

“Uh, no,” Anne finally decided. “No, thank you.”

“All right, but do get some rest, my dear,” the nurse suggested, helping her lay back. “You need to regain your strength.”

“Yes,” Anne said quietly. “You’re right. Thank you.”

“No problem, darling child,” the nurse said, smoothing the covers across her. “That’s what I’m here for. Now you just relax and as soon as the police arrive, I’ll bring them right in….”

The nurse walked to the door, taking just one moment to glance back. She was pleased to see that Anne Rutherford’s tired eyes were already beginning to close. She smiled in satisfaction and left … locking the door behind her.

At about the same time the receptionist – the one who had been on duty when Anne Rutherford had been brought in as a head case – was talking to the man who had admitted her.

“She’s in a private room,” the big woman hissed. “Can you get here before…?”

“No,” he said. He was in his car, watching people beginning to enter an industrial-looking banquet hall set amidst car repair and stereo installation shops. “The schedule has gotten tight. How she look?”

“As good as ever,” the woman replied in impressed disbelief. “She gives new meaning to the term ‘ravished beauty.’”

He grinned tightly, staring at the station wagon which was pulling around back. He got a glimpse of blonde hair and white lace as it disappeared around the corner of the squat concrete building.

“Good,” he grunted.

“Hey,” interjected the woman. “You’re not going to let them catch you, are you?”

“No way,” he grunted. “I’ll be miles away by then.”

“Good,” she said. “Well, okay then….”

“You got nothing to worry about,” he assured her, glancing at the seat beside him. The bag was there, filled with tape, straps, and packing. “Good luck … and by the way? Thanks.”

He imagined her conspiratorial smile as he ended the call and started the engine. He slowly drove his car past the “Wedding Show Tonight” sign and toward the banquet hall’s fire escape. He parked by the side door as he had for the last two weeks and waited to make sure all his planning had paid off. Even though he had spent years preparing, there was no sense taking any chances now. Taking and defiling the brunette had gone without a hitch, but that was no reason to get… well, cocky.

Even so, there were no surprises. The “no exit” sign he had affixed to the other side of the side door was not questioned, and the event staffing was so nominal that no one checked the building’s perimeter. He quietly emerged from his car, wearing the same nondescript, dark outfit he had worn to kidnap Anne. Holding the bag, he started up the fire escape to the changing room….

Mindy Hollister had the corner room. It was only right, since she was the last girl to go on tonight. The organizers had taken one look at her and unanimously decided that she was their curtain call. The people who ran these wedding events tried to be fair – after all, it was the relatives of all the local amateur models who usually filled the hall, bought the expensive refreshments, and placed orders with the attending retailers – but there was no denying the logic of having Mindy close the show.

She looked in the full length mirror again, excited to start seeing what they saw. Soft, real blonde hair around a sweet oval face. Blue- green eyes, pink lips, perfect teeth, straight nose, and a bright, natural, unaffected smile. 5’3″ tall, with a body to kill for. Her breasts had grown full, high, round, and firm throughout puberty while her waist remained slim, her hips sleek, and her legs shapely and seemingly long, despite her height. As her father used to say before the divorce: “You’re all girl, and then some.”

Mindy almost giggled at the memory of how she “aw shucks” them, and how hard the whole family had worked not to let her beauty go to her head. She prided herself on not letting it change her too much or make her treat people different. Sure, she was aware of how she looked – especially by the way other people looked at her — but she refused to let it make her spoiled.

So even this event thrilled her instead of serving her vanity. She had even shooed her mom out of the room when she threatened to gush too much. So now she had the vision all to herself. And even she had to admit it was really something. The white corset was magnificent: hook-and-eye-clipped up the front, laced up the back, the whale boning bringing her already trim waist down to a impressive twenty- one and a half inches. The specially reinforced cups balled her creamy round breasts to a thirty-six D size. The shoulder straps were barely there and perfectly tailored.

She reveled in the lingerie beneath the floor length skirt: the matching white satin g-string panty, the garter belt, and the lace- topped thigh-high white stockings, tucked into pearl-colored, burnished, four-inch high heels. Even she could hardly take her eyes off her. She could just imagine how she’d smile when she stepped out onto the runway downstairs. Tonight was her night. She was going to light up the place.

Then it got dark. She smelled something. She felt something on her face. It was as if the roof were made of pillows and it had just fallen in. She finally felt something clamping onto the back of her head. Her hands raised to investigate but then it was gone. She blinked, tottering slightly on the heels, and dully stared back into the mirror. It looked as if she had suddenly gotten drunk. Mindy leaned forward, putting one small hand, complete with light pink nail polish, on the plain table in front of her.

What had just happened? Had she suffered some kind of stroke? She was studying to be a nurse so she knew it wasn’t impossible, but….

She raised her head with a slight effort, then stared at herself in the mirror again. She was looking better, but still a bit unfocused and confused. She couldn’t think straight. She tried to concentrate, noticing how deep and dark and beautiful the sunset was in the mirror’s reflection.

She lowered her head to catch her breath. Then it happened again. She was blinded. Something was over her face. A brutal pressure was on the back of her head. Her upper body trembled as if something, or someone, had shaken her slightly. She smelled something awful, something sickly sweet.

Then it was gone again. Mindy staggered, a fuzz around her normally bright eyes. She stumbled forward, trying to focus on the door. She opened her mouth to call her mother but only a strange sigh emerged. She just managed to grab the doorknob with one hand, but didn’t twist it open. No, she used it to regain her balance. She looked down at her hand, trying to think. But all that appeared in her mind’s eye was the instruction: “remember to put on the long gloves.”

She stepped back, grabbing the table to stay upright. She felt the long, silky gloves beneath her fingers. She absently slipped them on, then stiffened. She had heard someone giggle.

She tried to turn around and scream, but he was on her again before she could do either. This time he held her longer, the thick pad soaked with anesthetic tight over her sweet little face. After Anne, she was practically a living doll in his strong arms. His eyes widened as her bulbous breasts swelled in the corset cups, threatening to burst out. He now knew she had sucked in the drug. His lips came off his teeth as her small, gloved hands weakly gripped his forearm.


He stepped forward, slamming her stomach into the table edge. He bore her torso over and down, the sodden pad still tight over her vibrating face. It acted like a pillow as her head hit the table top with a soft thunk. Then one hand was digging in his pocket for a thick elastic band. With a nimble move he snapped it into place, keeping the drenched pad over her nose and mouth. Then his hands shot for her uselessly waving wrists.

He wrenched them back and spun the thin, white medical tape around them both over the small of her back. He quickly dropped them and yanked the small brick of taffy-like caulking out of his other pocket. He wrenched the drugged pad from her face, allowing the elastic band to fall to her throat. But even before it settled, his entire weight was on her back, his mouth next to her ear as they bent face first on the table top.

“You never stood a chance, Mindy,” he hissed as he started stuffing pieces of the caulking into her lax, drooling mouth. “The anesthetone barbisol works instantly. I didn’t even have to put it over your nose and it would’ve done the trick. They use it to make psychotic patients cooperative during operations.” Mindy’s brow furrowed, her eyes drooping, as she tried to comprehend. “This stuff? New plastic. Non-toxic. Swells to gently fill spaces. Deadens sound.” She heard something rip and then felt a swash of tape pressed violently over her lower face.

“Nice,” she heard him whisper. “Matches your dress. Now come on.” He half-dragged, half-slid her along the table to the back, holding her head tight to its top. “Widen your legs. Come on, widen them.”

She felt him kicking at her ankles, then felt him taping them to the table legs with the same tape he used on her wrists. As he rose, he gathered up the wedding dress’ skirt with him. “Ah yes,” he breathed, as she felt the air caressing her thighs above the stockings. “That’s more like it.”

She tried to scream again when she felt him tear off the g-string with one sharp pull, but then he suddenly grabbed her hair, slid the drug-soaked cushion under her head, and pushed her face into it. Mindy moaned, trying to drag her face off of the cloying sop, but then he was on top of her again, his chest to her back, his legs along hers, his mouth by her ear.

She jerked beneath him as his fingers slid into the corset cups and squeezed, but before she could respond further, she felt something even worse. He was ready As his cock forced open her vaginal lips, his right hand snaked around her mouth. It clamped there, pressing deep into her face flesh, as his hard-on surged inside her, and his left hand started kneading.

“Can’t wait, Mindy dear,” he hissed. “Oh no. Waited long enough. You think I’d let those others see you like this? No, this special day is for us, and us alone….” He mauled her succulent left breast, as he jammed her onto him by her triple-sealed mouth. He laid atop her trapped, dazed, form, pumping insistently, and almost silently, again and again and again.

Mindy blinked in disbelief, feeling the vile impalement. She looked around, trying to find a way out or any kind of understanding. But, to her horror, she saw her reflection in the full- length mirror instead. She stared back at her stunned, agonized, sweating face around the deep, clamping fingers. She saw the way her beautiful round breasts surged in his fingers and the corset. And she saw the way he mercilessly, unceasingly rutted.

“That’s it, Mindy, give it to me,” he whispered hoarsely, incessantly fucking. “Give it all to me. I’ve waited so long and I knew, for so long, that it would be like this. The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew. But she wouldn’t let me visit, would she? Oh no, you were the daughter of her new husband, not me. No, I was all in the past….”

Mindy stiffened beneath him, his words like a broken shard of glass in her head. It tore open a hole in the gauze wrapping her brain. Mindy saw herself as a child in the attic, discovering some letters. They weren’t from daddy, but suddenly, now, a decade later, she finally knew what they meant. And the full horror of what was happening fell on her.

“Nooooo!” the little blonde girl tried to scream. Her incredibly sexy little body bucked like a terrified pony. But he just gathered up her mouth, slapped his other hand tight across her forehead, and held her tighter … and thrust into her harder.

Downstairs, the ladies applauded as the first of thirty models appeared for their minute on the runway….


Just then, Anne Rutherford awoke with a start. The room was dark and quiet. She could see the lights of the town in the distance out the window. She even managed a tired smile as she felt the cool night air caress her face. Then she stopped. ShouldnТt the police have been there by now? She looked around for a nurseТs button. She only stopped her search when she saw the door open.

The nurse who had soothed her came in. Behind her was another nurse. It was only the size of the second one which made Anne realize how large and strong the first one was. Anne didnТt know why she was troubled for a moment Е until she noticed that neither nurse had turned on the light.

УAre the police here?” Anne asked, her voice still hoarse and weak.

The nurses kept approaching the bed. УNot yet,” said the first. УAny second, though.”

УDo you have any idea whatТs taking them so long?” Anne asked, her voice getting stronger, the words getting faster.

УGot to have their donut and coffee break, I suspect,” said the second nurse. The first one giggled.

AnneТs growing disquiet was tempered for a split second by her brain grabbing onto the second nurseТs voice. Where had she heard it before?

She remembered just as the two reached the bed. УТShit, you know what to do,” she had said when Anne had been dragged into the hospital. УТYou been here long enough.Т”

She had been the receptionist in the ER. She had let him keep her prisoner here.

УWhatЕ,” was all Anne managed to get out. They were on either side of the bed by then. The big one grabbed the girlТs wrists and laid atop her as the other one jammed the big, soft, tan-colored prod into AnneТs working mouth.

It was what they affixed to the faces of patients with throat surgery. The prod filled their mouths without setting off the gag reflex, while the clear plastic shield mashed their lips and sealed their lower face. With a tug, twist, and press, the nurse had it affixed to AnneТs head like an alien parasite.

The brunette struggled and tried to scream, kicking like mad, but it was no contest. The receptionist laughed softly as Anne thrashed about on the soft bed. УOh you shoulda seen your face, missy,” she chortled. УYou shoulda seen your face!”

Oh, he was right,” grunted the nurse, gathering up the bedcovers around AnneТs flailing legs. УThis is what makes it all worthwhile.” She dragged Anne over as the receptionist locked the contorting girlТs arms behind her back. УNow come on, you little bitch,” she spat into AnneТs pain-wracked, hysterical face. УTime to get whatТs coming to you.”

One moment, the hospital hall was dark and empty. The next moment three figures scuttled across. Two held the third between them, her shapely female body rising and falling as if exercising in mid-air. There were sounds of a scuffle and muffled bleats. Then they were gone.

Inside the supply room, the two big women dragged Anne back to the furthest corner. She watched, wide-eyed, as they went by piles of scrubs and drugs. As they rounded the corner of the last shelf, Anne wailed in their grip. Waiting for them, in the corner, was a sex nest.

There were piles of blankets, rolls of bandage, rubber gloves, face guards, and even condoms. And sitting in the middle of it, his pants off, his cock already hard, was the orderly who had Уrescued” her.

Anne screamed in despair as she never had before. Yes, she had been kidnapped and held captive and raped She had been tricked into thinking her attacker was letting her go only to be fucked again within sight of her own house. But even though he had done all this to her and more, she never expected such a sick trick.

It happened quickly. The receptionist retaped her wrists tightly behind her as the nurse wrapped a bandage tautly around her lower face. Anne trembled as she felt the orderlyТs cold fingers creeping up her thighs to grip her hips, pulling her toward him.

Her head rose to try another scream as they forced her to kneel, but the cry was choked back by pain. The receptionist and nurse were kicking at the back of her knees and stepping on the back of her shins as they pushed her shoulders down.

She wrenched uselessly in their grip as the orderly cupped her tight, firm, excellent ass and drew her inexorably toward him. The receptionist had gripped her head in a full nelson, one hand tight over her stuffed, bandaged mouth. The nurse started wrapping her ankles to her thighs with surgical tape. Anne tried to burst from their grip as her haunches hovered agonizingly just above his quivering cock crown.

Then they all heard a bell. It was the device left at the reception desk to alert the staff that someone needed service. AnneТs eyes rolled back, straining to somehow see through the wall. But the receptionist took the diversion to slam Anne hard on the top of her head, sending her deep into the orderlyТs arms.

There was a soft thud and then the others heard the big woman say softly: УKeep her quiet. Keep her occupiedЕ!” The next moment she was gone, the supply room door shut tightly behind her.

The nurse grabbed AnneТs wobbling head again as the orderly placed her cunt directly over his erection. УCome on now, bitch,” he murmured. УIТve been waiting all day for thisЕ!” His hard-on stabbed into her and then sunk deep as the nurse forced her down.

The condoms went unused.

His cock surged up inside the lovely brunette like a scimitar in molasses. As her head raised to moan, the nurse slipped an elastic tube around her throat. She pulled it tight, sandwiching the girl between her attackersТ bodies.

УYou think this is it, whore?” she hissed in the girlТs ear. УOh no, the best is yet to comeЕ.”


Anne stiffened as she choked. She bulged in their grip like a sex toy about to burst, her eyes so huge and pleading they practically shone in the closet gloom. For she heard the receptionist’s voice again … only hers was not the only voice. Right outside the supply room door, the big woman was chatting with a pair of cops about “a series of petty burglaries.”

Anne’s nostrils flared, air snorting out as she tried to call to them. The nurse pulled the elastic tube tighter and the orderly had one arm around her face, and the other hand atop her head, pressing down. She tried to shriek, to kick, to make any noise at all, but all she succeeded in doing was throb in her captors’ grip like an erratically beating heart. The only sounds she could make were swallows and snorts and burbles.

Her muffled, choking, gasping, gurgling noises, mingling with the wet, searing, slopping sounds of his knobby cock surging into her cunt filled the enclosed space. The receptionist even thought she heard it once or twice. But the cops didn’t say boo as the nurse checked the tape affixing Anne’s ankles to her thighs, keeping her in a seated position. This stuff held wounds closed, so it would certainly do the trick for their exhausted victim.

“Look at these,” the nurse whispered to the orderly as she slowly, almost soundlessly, started tearing the cotton gown over Anne’s chest.

The orderly held his breath as her buoyant, jutting, trembling tits appeared. Daring to take his hand off her head, he gripped the right one tighter and tighter. The nurse quickly held Anne down as he both kneaded and rutted. They pressed her shuddering, nearly naked, body between them as the receptionist led the cops away, none the wiser.

As soon as their footsteps faded, the orderly threw Anne to her face, yanked up her hips, and mounted her from the rear.

“Now you’ll know what fucking’s really about,” he hissed, gathering up both her tits. Anne turned her head to try to scream one last time, but nursie was there, pressing the girl’s face into a hemorrhoid pad.

Just at that moment, Anne’s original abductor came in Mindy Hollister. Ten girls had had their moment on the catwalk. There were nine more before it was Mindy’s turn. But by then she had just become a trapped body and stunned face beneath his shape and hands. She had heard every round of applause and cheer from downstairs as the only sound in this room was of flesh thudding against flesh, the table creaking, and her mewing grunts.

She moaned in agony, twisting in his grip, as he came – then stiffened when she heard the footsteps on the stairs. But even as she tried to turn her head to see if he had heard, the moistened pad was back over her squealing face – the elastic snapped back to hold it there. She felt his hands at her taped ankles as she reared up, wailing. But just as her legs were free, his arms crushed her throat and face.

The last thing she heard was the knock on the door. She didn’t even hear her name being called. The cutting-edge narcotic had redone its work by then.

Mrs. Hollister opened the dressing room door. Her daughter wasn’t there. She looked around to see the empty space and the darkness out the windows beyond. She shrugged, figuring that Mindy had gone downstairs and was watching the show from off-stage. She closed the door behind her, not noticing the one area of discoloration on the wall above the left window … the place where the “Fire Escape” sign had been.

Outside that window, on the fire escape, he lay between the blonde and the wedding dress skirt – one hand clamped over the drugged face cushion, the other deep inside her left corset cup, and his legs scissored around hers. He jerked his hips so his cock divided her tight buns, and fidgeted until the crown was wedged just inside her. It made the soft sound of lips smacking.

He heard the distant noise of applause, and resisted the temptation to do her again right there. He had to force himself to think of the long term. She knew who he was and he had fucked her, so it was time for the next step. He grabbed his bag and the skirt section of the dress, dropped it over the side of the fire escape, then lifted Mindy Hollister in his arms.

She was a small, light, shapely figure in his grip – a true blonde doll come to life. The white corset, stockings, garters, and high heels were delectable perfection, as was the body within them. He quickly went down the steps and lay her on the passenger side of his car’s front seat. He threw the dress and bag into the back and slid behind the wheel. He took only a moment to lay her head on his lap, then started the engine.

He slowly, quietly, let the car roll out from behind the banquet hall as he slowly, quietly slipped one hand inside her corset top. As he made his way through the parking lot, he felt her right breast fill his fingers like rising dough, and her little pink nipple tickling his palm. He hazarded a glance over at her.

The drugged pad had slipped out from the elastic. Her sweet face slept there, her bright eyes closed, her lower face sealed in shining white. Her arms were behind her, her wrists crossed in the small of her back. The balls of her chest swelled with each breath. Her lovely legs lay half on the seat, her dainty feet in the softly coated high heels laying on the floorboards.

His cock threaten to rip his pants as he turned into the street … with not a single person witnessing his exit. Despite the fact that Mindy Hollister lay there, he couldn’t help thinking back to when he had Anne Rutherford in the back seat. He wondered how she was doing now….


Now, Anne Rutherford’s fingers spasmed, reaching desperately, as the orderly’s cock impaled her repeatedly. He gripped one wrist as the nurse grabbed another. They held her clawing hands as she was brutally fucked on the closet floor.

“Oh man,” the orderly breathed as he felt her tight, warm, wet cunt. “Oh man, oh man, oh man…!” His fingers tore away from her tits to grab the gown, all but tearing it off her splendid shape. He filled his palms with her chest once more, never pausing in his pumping.

Suddenly, the nurse pushed Anne’s head to the floor, and sat on it, pressing the girl’s face into the plastic pillow. They stayed that way until the orderly came the first time. When the receptionist returned, they had Anne on her back.

The nurse was rubbing the girl’s gagged face against her own cunt while twisting her nipples. The orderly was doing push-ups off her, his wang thudding back into her again and again as her still bound and bent legs lay on either side of him.

“Oh baby,” the receptionist breathed. “Can I get some of that action?”

They waited until the orderly came a second time, then lay her back on his prone front. That way he could fuck her up the ass while the receptionist toyed with her clit and the nurse saw to her tits. Anne shuddered again and again, wracked with tremors.

Her beautiful body was covered with beaded, drooling, and coursing sweat. The orderly sucked on her throat and tongued her ears as he violated her.

By the time they were done with her, she just lay there, her naked body all but glowing in the gloom, the tape at her legs and wrists dug in, and the bandage over her stuffed and sealed mouth dark with slobber.

The orderly stood above her, his cock drooling. “You think she’s ready?” he asked.

The nurse smiled, holding up the white lace bra, thong, and thigh- highs. “As ready as she’s ever going to be.” She glanced at the receptionist, who only stared at the fallen girl. But there, in the big woman’s hands, was what the other one had been looking for: a small, polyester, specially prepared nurse’s uniform.

When they dragged Anne out, she was wearing it. The “special preparation” was obvious. It was now a minidress and the top two buttons were nonexistent, showing her wonderful tits bulging in the push-up bra. Her legs were free of bonds, but simple white nurse’s shoes were wedged on her feet.

Each woman held one of Anne’s arms as they hustled her down the hall. But the elastic tube was now tied tightly around her head, holding in her mouth a big cotton ball. Anne Rutherford was hardly aware of it. Her lolling head and drooping eyes even missed the small wall sign they passed as they half-led, half-dragged her down the corridor.

“Warning. Psychosexual Ward Ahead. Authorized Entry Only.”

The receptionist smiled as she thought of the men incarcerated there. She smiled as she looked down at the comatose girl beside her … somehow even more lovely in the abbreviated nurse’s outfit and the minimal gag. She smiled as she remembered the orderly giving her a special sponge bath back in the closet – lovingly molesting every centimeter of her with a specially medicated washcloth, designed to make her skin all but glow with health. She smiled as she retrieved the plastic pull-tie from her pocket.

They turned the corner and there it was: a short hallway with solid metal doors on either side. They stopped by the first one. A chart was hanging from a nail next to the door. The nurse just glanced at it as the receptionist crossed the girl’s wrists behind her and tightly affixed the plastic cuff with a sharp tug.

“Okay, now don’t say we didn’t give you a fighting chance,” the nurse whispered into Anne’s ear as the receptionist started undoing the door’s locks. “With only that one pull-tie, I bet you could reach the gag if you strained hard enough. And if you scream loud enough, it might actually be heard out here So that’s what I suggest you do first….”

She glanced at the door again as the receptionist was just about to get the last bolt undone. Her eyes unavoidably crossed the chart again, the words “sociopathic”, “violent”, and “depraved” burning into her brain. “Oh, of course,” the nurse continued flatly, “with your nice, long, smooth, legs free, you might even be able to kick a little, but I really do suggest that you try to get your mouth free first. Who knows? If he doesn’t see you right away, you might have a few whole seconds before he’s on you….”

The nurse will never forget it. Just before the receptionist got the door open, she felt Anne return to full consciousness. Her lowered head stilled, she seemed to vibrate, and then, at the last possible second, she looked up at the woman who had fooled her. Her lustrous hair parted like a curtain from her face, then the girl’s amazing purple eyes locked with the nurse’s gaze. The look of astonished dread, the sight of her cotton stuffed mouth held in by the tan rubber tube, and her young vibrant beauty was powerful.

But then she saw the swelling cleavage aching in the bra and shirt, the fabulous legs in the thigh-highs and heels, and the firm, sleek ass just under the stretched uniform hem.

“Good luck, bitch,” seethed the nurse as the receptionist grabbed Anne’s other arm and they hurled her into the room.

They slammed the door behind her, locked it tight, and ran toward the video room to check the ward’s security monitors….


In Parts 1 thru 4:
“The Vulture” has abducted Mindy Hollister, (5’3” blonde, blue/green-eyed, 36D-22-33) – the daughter of his ex-wife – from a bridal show. Meanwhile Anne Rutherford (5’6″, chestnut hair, violet eyes, 34D-22-34), the daughter of an ex-girlfriend, has been thrown into the Psychosexual Ward by his sanitarium accomplices.



The two nurses watched it on the security monitor again and again. A young, beautiful, slim, big-breasted, long-legged brunette stumbles into a private room as a metal door slams shut behind her. She is wearing a stunningly tight, low-necked, micro-mini polyester “nursie” outfit, push-up bra, and sensible shoes. She slides to a stop, immediately ducks her head down and agonizingly reaches for a rubber tube which is tied around her head, holding a big cotton ball in her mouth. What should have been easy is complicated by the tight plastic pulltie cinching her wrists together behind her back.


“Ewww!” the squatter of the nurses grimaces as the taller one freeze-frames it, then rewinds it again.

She slides in, stops, ducks, reaches, and…bam. A fast moving figure comes out of nowhere and slams into her like a football tackler. He hits her high, one arm over her left shoulder, the other at her right hip. Her feet swing out from under her. Her lustrous auburn mane flies out like an explosion. Her frightened cry, even from behind the cotton and plastic, is rendered into a stunned grunt.

They slam into the wall together, his hands scrabbling across her like a disturbed nest of spiders. The nurse freeze-frames the image again, paralyzing his hands midway down her top and up her skirt.

“Doesn’t stand on ceremony, huh?” said the first nurse.

The second nurse shook her head, then rewound it to watch the capture once more. But this time, however, she let the tape play out in the otherwise quiet, dark sanitarium security room. Both nurses watched silently as the attacker hurls into the girl again, slams her against the wall, and, even before bearing her to the floor, hauls her right breast free of the bra to lodge it in the outfit’s neck opening. He then jams his hand between her legs.

The dazed girl suddenly rears up from her slide down the wall as she reacts to his right hand’s invasion. She kicks and lurches up frenetically as his fingers slash into her pudenda. But then his right hand is on her diaphragm, pushing intensely. The nurses see that the girl has lost all her air, and while she struggles to breathe, he is tearing at her.

Within seconds she is on the floor, the nursie outfit torn open, the shoes hurled away, and the stockings pulled off. Then, all they can see is his figure hunched down on her prone form, her legs scissoring wildly, until his body stretches out beside her.

The nurses marvel at his skill. She is still wearing the outfit, but in a completely different way. With a maniacal strength that was nearly impossible to comprehend, he had rendered it into long strips of material.

She was only completely revealed to the security lens for a moment. The nurse freeze-framed it. Anne Rutherford’s deep brown eyes were wide in astonishment and horror. Her cheeks bulged over a strip of material tied around the tube and stuffing so tightly it was hard to believe.

Her pull-tied wrists were no longer scrambling in sight on either side of her waist. Another strip of material was sunk deep in her already trim and firm stomach, holding her wrists in the small of her back. More strips attached her ankles to her thighs so severely it looked as if she had been born without lower legs.

But then he was sitting on her stomach, frenetically bunching her tits like a pizza maker kneading dough. A pizza maker on speed.

The nurses marveled at the intense range of his rapid molestation. His hands dancing on her chest and between her legs. The nurses actually saw goosebumps rise on her flesh. She was sweating profusely, her skin glowing, her mane shining.

She was writhing shortly after, grunting and panting through the gag. They watched incredulously as she was wracked with orgasms even though they had already had her raped by an orderly in the supply closet. They soon realized that it was nothing compared to the expert treatment she was getting now.

He didn’t care where he ejaculated. As he tested her responses (because that was clearly what he was doing), he spurted on her tits, in her face, and across her thighs. He’d occasionally wipe himself in her hair before returning to her private parts.

When he finally rolled her over, face first, on the floor, and mounted her from behind, it was almost anticlimactic. But not for long. Only after he entered her, reaching down to grab one breast and pulling her exhausted face up with a palm on her forehead, did her eyes snap open and her expression reflect renewed amazement.

The squat nurse free-framed on that incredulous, terrified expression, then switched over to the live camera…


They saw his lower body moving like a jackhammer, while his hips rotated and his forefinger played her clit like a telegraph. Her skin reddened, even more perspiration poured off, she started to contort, her knees scraped the floor, and her elbows jutted like clipped wings.

Finally they heard her try to scream. Before it had been muffled moans, whimpers, snorts, and gasps. Only now was she desperately trying to scream. But then his spasming hands were over her already gagged mouth and gulping throat as his hips never paused in their surging.

They saw and heard him cut off her cries as she shuddered in his grip, now acknowledging why he was kept here. He had been there for months, maybe years. It was as if he had been waiting all that time – planning, thinking, practicing in his mind – for her.

At the very least, he had a lot saved up.

He jammed all the way into her, thrusting mightily, pulling back on her mouth until she was in a tight “U” with only her thighs and waist on the tile floor.

The nurses could see by both their expressions that he was coming, but could only imagine how hard and how much…at first. Because then he used her like a pump.

One second, his cock was half out and he lowered her head slightly – the bottoms of her voluminous breasts flattening on the floor. The nurses almost laughed when they saw Anne’s relieved expression. Because, in the next second, he had quickly yanked and plugged her back up – obviously ejaculating again, if the stunned look on her face was any evidence.

He did it again, then again, then again. By the last time, Anne was shuddering in revulsion and exhaustion, her body practically shimmering in sweat. Finally he dropped her. It was clear by the way the glorious brunette settled, she thought it was again over, but before her hair even spread completely, he had grabbed her by her tits and hauled her up.

Even through her flowing mane, the nurses could see her disbelieving, frightened eyes. But then he had her bent back over his bolted steel slat bed’s “baseboard” – her head and arms on the mattress and her knees hovering over the tile.

She shivered when his face slopped into her thighs, his mouth over her crotch. The nurses couldn’t believe it either. They thought he’d at least get a tit fuck…maybe even go for her mouth. Instead, he gripped her hips and his head practically vibrated.

Anne’s reaction was gratifying. She tried to wail, but choked. Her torso shifted jerkily, her breasts jiggling, as her bound legs fluttered. Within moments, her body was arched, her head agonizingly back, the already tight gag almost tearing open her spread lips.

Her orgasm was wrenching, nearly making her faint. The nurses saw, way before Anne did, that was his intent. Because, as her eyelids fluttered, he was on her again, pinioning her in the center of the bed, his erection filling her like an inflatable hook.

One fist was in her hair, the other hand tight over her mouth. His chest was mashing her tits. Yet his hips never stopped surging, like a wind-up toy whose spring never loosened. He pressed her into the mattress, fucking, fucking, always fucking.

The nurses watched her try to beg, try to scream, try to cry, try to even go mad. But nothing worked. They watched him come into her again, then screw some more, then come a third time.

Only then did they finally go to the ward. He didn’t even look up when they came in with a tazer and club. Anne did, however, with a mix of total misery tinged with reviled relief. Her look froze when all they did was close the door, lean on the wall, and continue watching.

With one last burst of strength, Anne Rutherford started really trying to scream, sob, and struggle.

He didn’t even seem to notice. He just kept rutting like an animal, pressing her bound and gagged form deep into the cushioning. Seconds, then minutes passed. Finally, he came into her a fourth time.

By then, blessed unconsciousness had nearly come over the girl – her eyes rolled back into her head, jism streaks slowly drying across her lovely face and in her sweat-soaked hair

Naturally, that was when the nurses came cautiously forward. But to their surprise, he didn’t turn on them. He didn’t even turn around. Instead, he only said six quiet words.

“Do you have the smelling salts?”


Across town, the man who had originally attacked Anne Rutherford in her family home before taking her to his house, and then his place of business, didn’t need or want smelling salts. He looked out a tiny window to a house across a quiet suburban yard.

It was dark. Obviously no one had come back from the wedding show yet. He wondered what they had done when the “star” of the show hadn’t appeared, and they had found her dressing room empty.

It didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was that no one had thought to look for her here and he knew where she was. She was under him, wearing just a stunningly tight, bone-white, shining velvet corset, matching high heel shoes, and virginal white lace stockings.

The only noise was the sound of his cock squishing in and out of her cunt.

Her gorgeous blonde hair was fanned out beneath her sweet face – what he could see of it, that is. Everything below her pert nose was obscured by a thick, tight, black, padded prod gag adhered to her head by six buckles – three on either side of her mouth. It pressed down, hard, sealing her mashed lips around a large pear shaped obstruction which filled her oral cavity.

Her blue/green eyes were closed, since she was still in a stupor from the anesthetic he had used on her back at the show, on the fire escape outside her dressing room, and in his car. So, even without the black straps that now held her wrists and ankles to her thighs, he had no trouble getting her from the car seat to where she was now.

They were in her playhouse, left abandoned out in the yard since she came of age. Yet it still nestled in the far corner, virtually forgotten once her breasts started growing. Then it had been big enough for her and a childhood friend to sit down for tea inside. Now, it was big enough for him to crouch atop her.

He considered the main house for a moment more before returning his gaze to her comatose face. Her full, succulent left breast was popped out of its corset cup and into his right hand – the little pink nipple tickling his palm as he mauled it thoughtfully. The rest of the wedding dress was bunched in the small of her back, jutting her perfect hips up to meet his.

He leaned down and slowly started suckling her throat without pausing in his slow kneading and fucking – reveling in the satiny feel of her sleek thighs. He only looked up again when he heard the cars pulling into the driveway not fifty feet away.

He watched the cops follow Mindy’s mother up to the porch and into the house. When he looked back down at the sexy, semi-conscious girl, his face was a dark mask of memory. After all, he had been married to the woman for three years, and when he looked at Mindy, he saw the other…only younger, prettier, and better endowed.

He started to rut faster, squeezing tighter.

Mindy came to full consciousness slowly. Swimming into her sight was her own house. The image should have given her comfort, but it only served to make her aware of what else she was seeing and feeling.

Her own reflection was superimposed over the house, but something was obscuring her lower face. Something white and viscous was dripping from her chin into her cleavage. Her arms were behind her, strapped parallel to one another in the small of her back. Her legs were bent double, each ankle strapped to each thigh. Her feet were pointed in viciously tight high heels.

And she was sitting on something. Something rough and hard…and hairy.

Mindy’s beautiful eyes snapped wide. She jerked in place, feeling hands tightening in her hair and on her shoulder. That’s when she noticed the police cars in the driveway.

“There, there,” she heard the rough, low whisper in her right ear. “Easy there, Mindy. Everything’s gonna be all right….”

But it wasn’t going to be all right. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t cry out. And most, horribly, she felt something beneath her. Something thick and gnarly and hard and wet. And it wasn’t against her…it was in her. She was impaled on it.

Her wail was cut off by fingers squeezing her lovely throat.

“Easy,” he hissed pleasantly in her ear. “Best you just relax, dear. Nothing you can do about it now….”

His hand went from her neck to her jutting right breast. He inexorably pulled her head back to his shoulder by her hair with one hand and squeezed with the other. She groaned as he ground his hips up, moving her slowly around as if she was on a child’s hydraulic horse outside a supermarket.

“They’ve been in there for about ten minutes now,” he murmured into her trembling ear. “Looking for clues to your whereabouts, no doubt.” He rolled her full, juicy breast in his hand. “You want to tell them, Mindy? Better tell them…before it’s too late…!”

She went for it. But as she surged up, so did he, his right hand slapping over her already adhered mouth, and his left arm encircling her throat like a boa constrictor. Then the hydraulic horse went into overdrive.

Inside the playhouse, the sounds of him thudding into her were louder than her choked-off pleas. Outside the playhouse, the wind swallowed the muffled sounds up a few feet from the door.

Inside Mindy’s room in the main house, a cop glanced out the window when he thought he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He found himself staring at the playhouse in the far end of the yard. He peered carefully. Was something shifting inside?

When he couldn’t tell for sure, he shrugged and went back to searching for clues. It must’ve been the moonlit shadow of tree limbs in the wind….

At that moment, his hand went from Mindy’s gag back to her right tit. Its bouncing, as he fucked her, was too much for him to let alone. His fingers sank deep as he jerked himself up into her once more. She only managed a grunt into the padding as her chin bounced on his left arm and the back of her head hit his shoulder.

He leaned in like a vampire and started suckling her neck, all while watching the troops gathering in the kitchen. The window there reminded him of his first assault on Anne Rutherford in her own kitchen…and the thought of her only made him harder. He suddenly grabbed the blonde’s tit like a football.

Only the first part of her squeal managed to get past the gag and his constricting arm before her jerked her back even farther. His squeezing hand now held her tit only inches from the playhouse window, as if it were a water balloon about to burst.

He finally let it go as the police appeared on the porch. To his delight, they were carrying boxes of her stuff. Given that no one had heard or seen anything at the wedding show, and that there were no obvious signs of a struggle in her dressing room, they hadn’t bothered checking for any hint of sexual assault.

So any of crotch hair lost during his first rape of her on the dressing room table had, no doubt, long since blown away. Maybe one or two were even on the bottom of these cops’ shoes….

“Look, look,” he hissed at her. “They’ve got your diary. They’ve got your emails. No mention of me in there, huh? They obviously think you ran away, you naughty girl.” He jerked her head toward the little window. “Better tell them no,” he urged. “Better tell them now while you have the chance….”

Their faces were side by side, their eyes bright. Her face was twisted in effort and despair. His by something else. The noises she managed to make were amazing in their yearning and desperation as the cops put the boxes in their cars’ trunks.

Then both he and Mindy froze in place. While the rest of the officers were wrapping up, the one who had looked through her room window turned to stare directly at the playhouse.

“Hey,” said his partner as he started across the yard.

“Wait a second,” he called back. “I just want to check something.”

Mindy screamed and screamed and screamed…through the gag, and into the thick, sodden towel he was viciously pressing her face into, holding her head just below the window sill. He didn’t dare use the zapper. Even holding it behind her would create a flash the cop would see.

Instead he looked from the cop’s progress across the yard to the way her breasts swung just over the playhouse floor.

“Come on, man,” said the cop’s partner as she started to get behind the wheel of their car. “We’ve got to get going.”

“Just a second, would you?” he called back, stopping and turning toward her. Just at that moment, something clearly passed by the inside of the window. But his partner was too far away to see it, and he was looking in the wrong direction.

The next moment the cop was at the window, peering in. He could just make out the dark interior. He was surprised by how much room there was inside, and the funky small-scale furniture in the darkness.

Naturally, below the sill, just out of his sightline, Mindy lay unconscious – her mouth sealed, her arms and legs brutally bound, her breasts gleaming in the starlight, her inner thighs shining in the refracted moonlight, and the white stockings like police outlines on her wonderful legs.

To the left of the window, her kidnapper’s slimy cock crown was wagging like an accusing finger just at the edge of the glass’ frame. He watched and waited – holding the rest of the wedding dress behind him.

“What?” the cop’s partner called impatiently.

“All right, all right!” the cop complained, turning away. “I just had to make sure, that’s all.”

At that moment, something spurted by the inside of the window. As the cop walked back to the patrol car, the cum splattered across Mindy’s face and chest.

As the patrol car backed out of the driveway and drove away, her captor leaned down to carefully rub it deep into her smooth, creamy skin.

Hours later, he lay atop her, his cock corking her, waiting for the bowels of the night. By then, much more jism was coating her chin and face. He had taken the time for a good tit fuck – for starters – with or without her awareness.

When he decided it was finally late enough, he pulled his log out of her warm snatch and unrolled the night-camouflaged duffel bag. He strapped her knees together. After making sure her arms were still affixed firmly to her torso, he wrapped the wedding dress around her lower face, then tightened a pillow case over her head before sliding her inside the duffel.

He was tempted to add a vibrator to the mix, but had foolishly left them in his own car, which was parked on the adjoining street just beyond the Hollister house fence. Keeping a close watch on the dark and curtained house windows, he slipped out of the playhouse, dragging the bag behind him.

Then all he had to do was step behind the overgrown dollhouse to where he had cut the fence links just enough to slide through. He went out the way he had brought her in, leaving her in the bushes until he made sure the coast was clear.

Then back into the front seat she went, bag and all. He didn’t even go around to the driver’s door. He crawled over her instead, got behind the wheel, started the ignition, and drove away.

It took less than a half minute. No one saw anything. At the first stop light, he had reached inside the bag and started kneading.

The videotape was waiting for him when he got her home.

He didn’t watch it in the privacy of his musty over-stuffed living room until he was ready. Which meant when Mindy was readied. By then the drug had begun to wear off, so she was weak, but aware of the red, plaid, pleated microminiskirt which just barely covered her haunches, and the black, demi-cup, balcony, needlessly push-up bra which thrust her already full, buoyant tits even more up and out…


He thought about adding some black, thigh-high woolies to the ensemble, but her legs were so wonderful that he left them bare. Her feet were not so lucky. On them were his favorite: extreme, granny-style, lace-up, ankle boots – black to match the bra – with five inch high heels. They all but made her “en pointe.”

That was not the absolute worst. There was the bondage. Her lovely arms were wrenched behind her, tied at the wrists, then affixed to her waist as well. Her upper arms were tied to her torso above her breasts. Each leg was roped, above the boots, to her thighs, forcing her to kneel.

Even that wasn’t the absolute worst. The worst was what was on her head and in her mouth. He had ordered it off an internet dental supply site. From either side of her newly coifed ponytail, it looked like forceps, but it was, of course, a stainless steel mouth spreader to keep the teeth open during throat surgery – complete with ratchets and a leatherized rubber strap in back to keep it tightly in place.

Completing the ensemble was a lovely pearl decorated choker, which lived up to its name.

Mindy Hollister kneeled facing the sofa, between his legs. One of his hands was firmly gripping her head, holding his cock deep in her gaping mouth. The other hand held the VCR remote control. As he forced his ex-wife’s gurgling, drooling, moaning daughter to blow him, he watched what the sanitarium patients and staff did, and were doing, to his ex-girlfriend’s daughter.

At first he saw almost nothing in the dark, grainy images on the screen…but he heard things – even beyond the sound of the desperate blonde’s slurping. He heard a humming he well recognized. He heard the sound of flesh on flesh, and fetid muscle spreading moist sinew.

Then the pen light came on, and there was Anne Rutherford. He jerked, momentarily choking the blonde, when he saw her. The brunette’s eyes were closed and her face, what there was of it, was deep in torment. The orderly holding her head in two meaty limbs was smiling, however, as he wrapped the shapely girl’s forehead with one arm, and clamped over her mouth with the other.

He nodded downward, quietly urging the camera to explore Anne’s predicament. The view shifted accordingly, the lens slowly turning down to reveal the way her arms were bandaged hopelessly tight behind her otherwise naked body.

But that was incidental to the orderly. What he really wanted to capture was the way his cock was deep in her anus, while another was in her crotch. The camera slowly rose to reveal the cunt violator. He was the psychosexual patient, who was not just fucking her but expertly manhandling her chest as well.

They had her inside the psychosexual cell’s bathroom, which was roughly the size of a coffin. She staggered on her tippy-toes as the men kept her legs open with their own.

“What you say, bitch?” the orderly kept asking her quietly, jerking her head with his arms as he thrust up with his hips. “I can’t hear you.” He glanced over at the camera. “What’s wrong with this ho?” he asked. “Cotton mouth?”

He heard the nurse behind the camera say, “You got it, ace. Bandage too. She ain’t telling nobody ‘bout nothin’. Right, bitch?”

Anne didn’t reply, and the men kept rutting until they were done. Then the image jumped, flickered, and suddenly the brunette was on her back, across the bed, the orderly kneeling between her legs and the patient sitting on her stomach, his dick between her mounds.

Her head was sunk over the edge, but he could see that everything from below her nostrils to her chin was completely covered by surgical tape. Her arms were wrenched behind her, disappearing beneath her body. Her ankles were spread and each tied to a bolted-down bed leg. That scene continued, again, until they were finished.

The scene jumped. The brunette was huddled on a wheelchair, an IV in her arm, a surgical gas mask over her nose and mouth, obviously sedated. The camera showed her nude body before a surgical gown was draped over her chest and a blanket was put over her waist and legs. Then she was wheeled out into the hall.

The next scene showed her in the gynecological room, strapped to the examining table, her lower face bandaged. The nurses took turns making the groggy girl orgasm.

Then the camera was at the front desk, just as a beat cop came in for a nightly coffee. The nurse on duty chatted with him from behind the admitting counter. Sitting beneath the counter, just out of sight, was Anne Rutherford, wearing a patient gown backwards, so the laces revealed her sagging cleavage and dewy tuft.

Although she was obviously still semi-conscious, she was viciously hog-tied with twine and gagged with both tape and bandage – as the patrolman chatted just one width of pressboard away from her….

The blonde’s head surged in his grip. He looked down in surprise to see he had rammed her onto his cock with both hands and was already splooging deep inside her mouth. He let go and Mindy Hollister fell back, gagging, semen streaming from her slobbering lips.

He watched her drop onto his refuse-strewn floor, her frog-bound legs jerking, her hair flailing, and her tits flouncing in their black lace enclosure. She coughed and choked and tried to spit the cupful of cum he had filled her throat with.

Then he was on her, his hips forcing open her legs, one hand yanking down the bra, while the other found a penis-shaped gag on a pile of newspapers. He anchored her down, his still firm erection finding her cunt lips just under the pleated skirt’s hem like a magnet, as he neatly pushed the plastic prod where his flesh had just been.

He dispassionately looked down into her huge, horrified blue eyes while he snaked into her mane with his free hand.

“Swallow,” he urged quietly. He forced her head back with the gag and soothingly rubbed her graceful throat. “Swallow…. That’s it, that’s it. Get used to the taste….”

The blonde started to cry, her body shuddering beneath him, so he held the plug tight, filled his free hand with her left tit, and started fucking again.

As he slowly thrust in and out, absent-mindedly rolling her succulent breast, he stared back up at the TV screen where the lithe and supple brunette was back in the psychosexual patient’s bed, lying spread-eagled on her face, with him under her.

Her wrists and ankles were firmly affixed to each metal bed post with hospital restraints, and a electroshock therapy mouthpiece was strapped to her face so she could neither speak nor scream.

She was, essentially, the psycho’s human bedsheet. He lay beneath her, his cock in her cunt, one hand milking her left breast, while the other just managed to reach far enough to finger her anus.


As the psycho’s tongue flicked into Anne’s ear, her kidnapper felt something beyond the sensations of his new captive’s clit and chest. Despite nailing the incredibly sexy blonde who was helpless to do anything about it, he felt an emotion he knew well. A white hot jealousy that knew no bounds.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt since first clamping his hand over Anne Rutherford’s soft lips. But now, notwithstanding Mindy’s tight, wet, warm, cunt and undulating shape, it was back…with a vengeance.

Pushing off Mindy’s body, he rammed into her until she was bunched by the wall, with only her shoulders on the floor. Then he grabbed her hips, pulled her up – still all the way inside her – and swung back toward the couch as she tried to screech.

The penis prod stayed screwed into her mouth, however, as he fell atop her. Pressing her deep into the cushions, still rutting away, he held the prod all the way in with one hand and reached for the phone with the other.

Holding her mouth shut, he pressed a speed-dial button as his hips kept thrusting. He felt her wonderful tits mashed against his chest as the desk nurse picked up.

“Bertha?” he said. “I need you to do me a…wait a minute.” Before Mindy knew what was happening or could even start trying to cry for help, he had jammed himself all the way up and ejaculated again.

Then he mashed a sofa cushion over her horrified, wailing face, and told his sanitarium collaborator what he wanted….

Deep in the night, within the psychosexual cell, Anne Rutherford’s extraordinary eyes opened. To her amazement, nothing was in any of her orifices. She looked down to see her torturer lying with his eyes closed and mouth open. She looked up to see her right hand halfway out of the restraint.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to do. The next moment, instinct took over completely. With a caution born of near hysteria, she twisted her arm until her hand came free.

She looked down again, certain she would stare into open, insane eyes. But she didn’t. He was still dead to the world, drool coursing out the corner of his mouth. Anne twisted her remarkable torso so it lay beside him.

She waited only until the strength had returned to her free arm enough to get it up at the buckle holding her still shackled wrist. She concentrated with everything she had, and, in a few endless moments, was rubbing her left wrist.

Then she had to do the impossible. She pushed up on either side of the rapist and kneeled, leaning back, to undo her ankles. She would have been flatly astonished that he didn’t awaken during the whole process if she hadn’t been so desperate.

But there she was, naked, but untied. She reached back and started working on the gag’s straps, refusing to allow despair to overwhelm her as she neared the room’s door. She stiffened as she saw it was ajar.

It was too good to be true, but what could she do? Go back to the bed, the lav, the supply closet? Rutherford peeked out. The hall was empty. The clock high on the wall read 4am. She moved carefully out, retracing her steps. She poked her head around the corner, then jerked back when she saw the receptionist far down the right hall.

She went left instead, staying in the shadows. She only slowed when she reached the supply closet. She desperately fought off hysteria as she remembered what had happened inside, but then she realized that she couldn’t leave naked. Her story would never be believed if she was found that way.

Steeling herself, she slipped into the closet, searching quickly for any covering. Much to her dismay and frustration, all she could find was children’s sizes. She just barely got a v-necked top on over her chest, but then had to knot a small towel around her waist to cover her crotch.

When she left the cupboard, she looked like a club girl, with the second-skin top exposing her midriff and the makeshift microminiskirt slit all the way up to the knot on one leg. Still no one saw her, no one caught her, and when she made it to the far exit door, no alarm went off.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she was outside. The town yawned out around her. She felt the chill of the night and her mashed nipples hardening into the abortive top’s cloth. She felt an incredible urge to start running and screaming, but then it would be child’s play to convince anyone that she was an escaped lunatic.

Instead she walked purposefully, but carefully, away from the hospital, toward the road. Her house was in the opposite direction, but she couldn’t risk passing by the sanitarium’s entrance. So she went into the darkness instead, hoping for a patrol car she could approach or a house she could hide behind until it was early enough to alert someone sanely.

She kept her legs moving, amazed that she could walk at all. Despite her ordeal, she hadn’t been beaten, only repeatedly restrained and defiled. Unbelievably, that had somehow sustained her in the asylum. But what sustained her now was the obsession to escape.

She turned the corner and there it was. A pay phone beside a street lamp in front of a closed garage on an otherwise empty stretch of road. Anne ran as fast as her deadened legs could take her, praying that the secluded device would work.

She grabbed the receiver and almost fainted when she heard the dial tone. She quickly pressed the buttons for a collect calling service, then looked around nervously while waiting for the connection. Shrubs, trees, rocks, hills. Nothing else around or behind the ramshackle garage.

The automated service asked her to dial her number. She did as fast as she could. She waited, then, finally, the phone rang. Then rang again. And again. Just then she realized she should have called 911, but before she could comprehend her choice, she heard the receiver click and a sleepy voice say “Hello?”

You know what happened then, don’t you? But even Anne Rutherford was not prepared for the violent strength of the way her mouth was clamped, her right arm was wrenched up her back, and her body was hauled backwards.


Anne was slammed to the ground on her front, her left hand clutching at the fingers holding a thick, wet pad over her mouth and nose as pain ripped up her right arm and into her brain.

“Breathe…,” she heard a horribly familiar voice say. “Breathe, Annie….”

She kicked. She cried. She clawed.

“Who’s there?”

She tried to surge up to answer, but he was flat on her back, gripping, twisting, kneeing her….

“Who is this?”

“It’s meeeeeeee!” she screamed beneath the wadding, but it was, of course, swallowed up by the cloth, and set up the gut-wrenching sob which sucked the sedative deep into her lungs.

Her eyes were drooping as he stuffed the padding into her mouth. Then he was gathering up both her wrists in the small of her back with a plastic pull tie. Then he rolled her over onto her back.

She looked up at him with a hopelessness that was all the more powerful for her expectation. Somehow she knew this was all going to happen from the moment she woke up on the bed. It couldn’t have happened otherwise. It was just another, literally, fucking set-up.

That didn’t make any less awful.

“Hey Annie,” he said. “I missed you.” Then he grabbed her legs and dragged her into the bushes as the pay phone began to emit the piercing, lonely sound of disconnection.

Inside the shrubbery he ripped open her top and grabbed her tits. With his erection already poking out of his sweatpants, he surged beneath the tiny towel to find her snatch. Then one hand was over her mouth again, holding in the pad as he made up for lost time.

It was only a matter of minutes, then he had dragged her deeper into the woods and lashed her to a tree until a phone company truck had shown up to replace the receiver. Since no ransom had ever been demanded for either missing girl, no authority had seriously considered the truth. So it was a phone company van, not a posse of investigators.

He sat behind her, mauling her tits with one hand while clamping her mouth shut with the other, until the vehicle disappeared from sight. By then the sunrise had barely started.

After undoing the ropes around her waist, he cinched her ankles and replaced the drugging cloth with a big white ball gag. He then carried her even deeper through the forest until he came out the side…where his car was parked.

He dropped her on the front seat, looking to all the world like a female Tarzan, because the hand-towel was still knotted on her hip. When he got behind the wheel, he immediately leaned over and dragged her to him so he could press swash after swash of tape over her mouth. Then he taped over her nipples and pushed a dildo deep within her vagina.

Her eyes snapped open at that point, but it was already too late. He was tightening the thin waist and cunt-lip straps just as she started writhing. It was fairly easy then to cinch her knees as well before dragging her over in a sick satire of courtship. He forced her head onto his shoulder by leaning on her hair, put one arm around her and filled his hand with her right breast.

“Well, what do you say, darling?” he jeered. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

She nearly made him crash the car twice – once with a kick and once with a headbutt – but she was too weak and he was too strong. He had her by the throat, her head against the seat and his thigh, as they rolled up his street. It was the only way to control her hysteria as they drew ever closer.

She nearly snapped the industrial strength pull-tie with her thrashing as he parked, but he grabbed her arms just in time, and wrapped tape from her elbows to her wrists. Pressing her back against the seat, he leered into her sweating, enraged face.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he said just before he jabbed the zapper into her side and thumbed the switch.

He shoved the twitching girl into the same duffel he had used on Mindy, and dragged her inside the house. He only glanced over to the sofa where the blonde lay on the floor on her side, head encased in a lace-up leather hood complete with pear gag. Her ponytail, which emerged from a hole at the top of the hood, was knotted to the couch’s left leg, wrists tied behind her – elbows cinched – to the center leg, and her ankles lashed – knees corded – to the end leg.

She wore only the tightest and smallest of the modern, seemingly sprayed-on, black lycra/spandex bustiers, with the thinnest of shoulder straps tightly holding up the deepest of bulging cleavages – ending with two garter belts just below her navel, clipped to black, lace-topped, thigh-high stockings. On her feet were five inch ankle strap high heels. Slung low across her hips and deep into her hip bone grooves was a “V” shaped vinyl thong which both revealed the top of her thatch and held in a surging, twisting, knobby vibrator and butt plug.

Despite this “encouragement,” her 101 pounds couldn’t budge the screwed-down sofa.

“Don’t worry,” he told her as he dragged the bag up the stairs. “The batteries’ll run out in a few more hours.”

When Anne returned to her senses, she was in the shower. Despite lashed wrists and a plastic mouth plug, she tried to surprise him. But even before she raised her knee or lurched toward the door, he had her around the waist and was clutching her back to his front … an anesthetic-soaked washcloth clamped over her nose.

When she awoke again, she was alone in the room where he had first “let her go” … only to grab her again in the front yard. When she saw what she was wearing in the reflection of the one window’s bullet-proof, one-way glass, she couldn’t stop crying for almost a half hour.

It was a shiny red, body molding, latex rubber microminidress that was so absurdly low cut that her proud breasts were barely contained. On her feet were fire engine red, ankle-strap high heels, complete with a delicate but unsnappable hobble chain.

Her arms were encased behind her in a red, lace-up single sleeve. In her mouth was strapped a red, combination ball and prod gag. The part that showed was the ball. The part that didn’t held down her tongue and muffled any sound.

He stepped inside and beamed down at her. Even without makeup and after all she had been through, she was still breath-taking.

“Come on,” he said, reaching down to grab her hair and breast. “I want you to meet someone.”


He dragged her down the stairs where the television was playing the tape of her hospital stay. She stared in horror, but he just pushed her on. “We can watch that later,” he promised.

He propelled her down the cellar steps where she had crawled the first time she awoke inside the house. And there, between the steps and the laundry room, was the blonde.

Her latex rubber micromini was black, with a zipper opened all the way down to her belly button. Her bondage sleeve, ball/prod gag, and heels were also black. She lay on her back, her shins strapped to her thighs, her body arched. Semen drooled down her inner thighs. He had fucked her while Anne cried.

The brunette looked away, wondering if she were finally insane. But everywhere she looked were pictures – tacked up on the wall, scattered on the floor, and even taped to the ceiling. They were them, in every walk of their lives for the last five years, up until they both vanished.

He introduced them, told them who they were, and how he knew about them. He said, “I’m gonna do to you what your mothers never let me do to them…!”Then he pushed Anne down beside Mindy and went to work.

Some time later, the doorbell rang. He answered it, knotting his bathrobe, to find his mentally challenged neighbor, Rocky, on the stoop. “Hey, how’s it going, neighbor?’ he asked, standing aside so Rocky could step in.

“Good, man, good,” Rocky replied, looking around the quiet, dark, living room.

“What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing. I just stopped by to see if you were okay. Haven’t seen you around much.”

Well, you know,” he replied. “Been busy.”

Deep in the undercellar, below the laundry and photo room, Mindy Hollister screamed for help with all her might. But the padded, six-buckled prod gag and the thick, wide leather collar only let a small, but extended, moan out.

She tried to run, but the steel ankle cuffs held her feet, in the ankle strap high heels, down to the rings in the cement floor. Her fingers spasmed, the cuffs affixing her wrists to the clip at the bottom of the back of her collar not allowing her hands anywhere near her mouth nor her crotch.

She was affixed to an impaling pole – by attached hip bone straps – topped with a curving vibrator which tapped her clit as it trembled her inner canals.

She tried to rear up, then cringed as the nipple clamps, hung tightly from the clip at the front of her collar, sang just above the black lace waist cinch.

Her juices drooled down her inner legs and across the black lace thigh high stockings. But she had to alert the neighbor she saw coming through the small, one way basement window. If she didn’t, the nightmare of bondage, forced feeding, evacuation, washing, and sex would continue.

She screamed again and again and again and again….

“Sure,” said Rocky. “I understand. Well, if you ever need anything, you just be sure to ask.”

“I sure will, Rocky, thanks.” He led his neighbor back to the door but stopped when he had it half open. “Uh, Rocky….”

“Yeah, neighbor?”

“You ever have a girlfriend?”

The man reddened. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. You’re a big strong guy. Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted a little action…!’

The man grinned sheepishly. “Well, sure, heck…but, you know, girls ain’t interested in a guy like me….”

“Oh, come on, you’re kidding!”

“No,” Rocky said, suddenly serious. “I…tried a couple of times, y’know, just to be friendly-like, but they…they….”

He could see the humiliation and embarrassment on the man’s face. “Now, come on, Rocky, don’t you worry about them. They weren’t right for you. Come on, you can tell me. What’s your favorite type?”

Rocky hemmed and hawed awhile, but his neighbor could be very persuasive. “Oh, all right, I’ll fess up. I have to admit…I like them little blondes.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his expression unreadable.

“Yeah,” Rocky admitted. “Like them dolls, you know?”

“Oh yes,” Rocky’s neighbor said. “I know exactly what you mean, believe me. And someday, Rocky, you know what?”

Rocky shook his head.

“I promise you, you’ll have them right where you want ‘em.”

He showed Rocky out, then stood in the living room, staring at the stairs to the cellar, making mental plans for another little surprise … someday. Finally, he walked up the stairs, unlatched and unlocked his bedroom door and stepped inside.

Anne Rutherford lay naked, spreadeagled, on the bed, face down. Her ankles and wrists were attached with padded steel cuffs. A rubber-coated mouth spreader was affixed under her hair, complete with an inflatable gag wedged inside.

He took off his robe and sat on the edge of the bed, admiring her flank, her ass, her legs, her back, her mane, and the way her tits puddled onto the bottom sheet.

“Good evening, Annie,” he murmured, laying a hand where her waist met her hip. “Hope that enema wasn’t too much for you, but I don’t want any accidents tonight.”

Then he half-slid, half forced himself under her. Later he would change positions so his cock would go into her mouth while he played with her clit, but for now he wanted the feel of her boobs crushed on his chest or in his hands, and his crank all nice and warm inside her.

Her eyelids fluttered and her amazing violet eyes darkened then rolled as he gripped her hips, positioning himself. His mouth found her throat, one hand found a breast, and the other pushed his cock crown between her vaginal lips.

Tomorrow he’d go to work with Mindy in the trunk and Anne on the floor of the back seat. The blonde would be in a low-cut, micromini cheerleader outfit. She’d be hogtied with rope, sucking on polymer, her lips sealed with glue and tape. During the shift she would serve as therapy in the psychosexual ward, but not the brunette, oh no.

She’d be lashed to the underseat, a plug in her mouth sealed in with bandage which would also cover her eyes.. She’d be wearing only pasties and a black leather version of the knotted towel she had on last night. She’d serve time in the off limits padded cell again, nicely silenced in a hood and stilled in a straight-jacket until it was time to go home. No more sharing her, with anybody.

He jutted his hips, his member sinking deeper into Anne Rutherford as she unwillingly shivered. He thought of the blonde downstairs and imagined her in a nice wraparound cocktail dress, handcuffs, and heels, on her back with Rocky between her hobbled legs, holding her mouth shut around her panties.

Then he wrapped his arms around his ex-girlfrend’s daughter, forced his cock all the way in, and thought of no one else for the next eight hours.


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