Message-ID: <11457eli$9805201526@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: AuryMan Subject: Story (untitled) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <4510b849.356278d7@aol.com> Diane opened her eyes, raised her head slightly and looked around the room. "She's awake!" someone called out with a laugh. Fear clutched her - she'd hoped she could survey the room once without them noticing she was awake. As near as she could tell, she'd passed out for the third time, but who was counting? Michael put his toe underneath her cheek and nudged her. Already sensing her imminent defeat, she rolled over. "Someone get a washrag, she looks awful like this," he said to no one in particular. She felt another wave of humiliation sweep over her - she must look awful. She felt the nearly-dry film on her face and hair, tried to open her mouth and felt her lips stuck together with dried cum. "Position three," he said matter-of-factly. She rolled onto her back, pulled her feet up just under her ass, and spread her knees wide. The goal of "position three" was to have both knees touching the floor. She never quite made it, but she was getting closer. "Someone help her," he ordered. Immediately two of the students set down their beer bottles and knelt on the floor beside her. She watched with fear as they went to their task. Each took a knee, pressed it toward the floor, gently at first, then rougher as her tight muscles resisted. "Please, just give me a little slack here!" "Oh, Diane, you knew this was coming for months. For months, I send you email, telling you to stretch, get flexible, do yoga, whatever it took. Don't talk to me about going easy on you." She arched her back, hoping that would give a little relief to her hamstrings and leg muscles. Someone returned with a washrag and she felt the warm water on her face. Michael was leaning over, gently washing her eyes, cheeks and mouth. "We'll leave the cum to dry in your hair and ears, you're just going to get dirty again anyway," he said with a grin. He stood up. "So which of you guys knows this town well?" Several of them laughed and said they did. "You know we're only in town for 2 more days, so we want to make them memorable. Then, the show goes back on the road. I've had Bill working on lining up the next stop, Diane, maybe you'll be interested. There's a group of about a dozen cyberdoms up in Denver who want to have their chance at you. Like I said, I think that as long as we don't go near your home town or mine, we can keep this up forever!" She fought back her tears as she listened to him discuss plans with Bill. Bill was the van driver who'd been shuttling the two of them around the country for the last three months. He'd equipped it with all the latest telecom gear. Michael spent most of his time pimping her and Bill spent most of his time lining up new 'engagements' for them using his internet connections. Bill lurked around the channels as 'perveyer' - a combination of 'pervert' and 'purveyor'. He'd organize groups of anywhere from three to ten who were interested in her. They would pay Michael and he'd provide them with several days use of her body. It had started as cybersex. He was hot, she was curious, and the chemistry was right. After six months or so, they finally met face to face while he was on a business trip. Now, she knew that there had been no trip at all, just a matter of timing. He'd had to bring her along far enough, had to know enough about her, had to time the kidnapping just right. And he had. There hadn't been any trace of anyone looking for them, he seemed to have pulled off a perfect crime. He'd talked her into his van for some passionate kissing and touchy-feely. The next thing she knew, there was a driver in the front seat and the van was rolling. Letters sent to her employer, roommate, and family told about a need to 'get away for a while' by herself. The letter to the roommate contained 6 months advance rent, the excuse to her employer for quitting abruptly had been based on an incident she'd told Michael about months earlier - no one would doubt she'd leave after such an advance from a superior. There seemed to be no trace. It was perfect. Perfect for him. Hell for her. Unless something drastic happened, she would spend the rest of her life as a sex slave filling her own life with horrible memories while she filled his pockets with cash. "Let's whip her again - I loved the look on her face just before she passed out last time!" "You asshole, cut the shit. Leave her alone for a few minutes," one of the others said. He walked across the room and stood stradding her face. He was dressed only in his t-shirt and socks, like several of them. "Maybe if we let her recover a bit, she'll fuck us all again! Isn't that right, you slut?" He crouched down, rubbing his balls against her nose and upper lip. She smelled both his crotch and his asshole. She wanted to gag. He ground his ass in slow circles. "Let's feel that tongue," he demanded. Repulsed but helpless, she parted her lips tentatively, let the tip of her tongue slide out. She tried to focus on his balls, but wherever her tongue went, he'd navigate himself so she was licking his asshole. She knew Michael always made them wash before the 'festivities' started, but the idea still repulsed her. He was certainly clean of anything she could get sick on, but still, after the last 3 hours of fucking, there was a lot of sweat and male-smell to contend with. She also smelled her own juices, dried at the base of his cock. He was moaning slightly, she saw his hand rubbing his cock. She reached for it instinctively and he let her take the head in her hand. Her fingers cupped the head, her other hand made a ring and slid up and down the shaft. Soon, he was fucking her hand, yelling out to his friends "Oh, shit, yeah!" When he started to cum, he leaned forward and took his cock back in his own hand. He pumped it wildly, making sure the jism landed squarely on her forehead and dripped up to her hairline. "Damn that was nice. Who's next?" he asked as he stood up. "I want my fist up that pussy, you promised you'd let me do that!" one of the men whined. "I didn't promise, you asshole," another one answered him. "I said 'we'll see'." "Well, what's to see? This bitch's do anything we want." "All right, you punks, listen up!" It was Michael. He and Bill had finished their session and he looked at her intently. "I have one more stop to make before we leave town tomorrow and you're all invited." "Oh yeah?" one of them asked. "What if we don't want to go? Maybe we'd rather stay here and fuck." "Oh, I doubt it. Isn't it part of every young boy's dream to watch a girl get passed around at a biker bar?" Her stomach dropped five feet. There were few things she dreaded but that was one. She remembered stories she'd heard as a girl about the Hells Angels parties and the kinds of initiations their women had to go through. Dozens of visions filled her head. Gang bangs were the mildest. Pool cues up her cunt. Burning off cunt hair. Beer bottles, hot dogs, screwdriver and hammer handles, riding on someone's lap on the bike, their cock up her cunt, feeling each bump and accelleration, thrown in the mud with pigs, fucking and sucking dogs and donkeys. Competition between biker girls for who could shove the most BenWa or golf balls up insider her cunt. Nipples snipped off so they wouldn't chafe against the leather vests. How much was fiction? None could be fact - could it? Even if it wasn't, they'd almost certainly be more cruel with a slut stranger than with one of their own biker women. She'd seen those women around. They looked hard and used. What would she look like when they were done? She thought of begging him to change his mind, but what could she possibly offer than he didn't already have? No, that wouldn't work. She looked around, they were all looking at Michael. She bolted to her feet and ran for the door. It was hopeless and she knew it, but she had to try. One of the college boys intercepted her before she even got down the small hallway. He tackled her hard, dropped her to the floor. She felt - or rather heard - something snap and then it all went black. ---- Diane woke on a dirty matress on a dirty floor in a dirty room. She took inventory of her muscles and realized that the snap she'd heard must have just been an arm of a leg banging against the wall in the hallway. The light was dim but she could make out enough of the room to know she was in either a cellar or a pantry. There were boxes stacked everywhere, brooms and mops, piles of clothes. The room smelled slightly, body odor, cleaning fluid, possibly rancid food. She heard something beside her. Her eyes adjusted to the dark enough for her to make out another figure, lying on the floor a few feet away. "Hey," a woman's voice whispered. "You awake?" Diane wasn't sure whether she should answer. this could be anything from one of his mind games to a chance for escape. "Yeah," she finally whispered. The figure reached out an arm. She raised her head and Diane could see her tear streaked face. "Oh, please, you've got to get me out of her! You wouldn't believe what they've done!" Diane was scared - was this a plant, or another woman in the same situation as her? "I'm sorry, I don't think I'm going to be much help. I don't even know where..." "I see we're awake!" a voice boomed into the dim room. She didn't recognize it, but the other woman must have. She screamed at it. "Let me out of here, you bastards! I want you...ARGG!" she screamed and was suddently silent. "Are you OK?" Diane whispered. "I'll...don't let them put one of these..." the woman passed out before she could finish her sentence. The lights came up bright and harsh. Diane squinted. In a few seconds, here eyes adjusted to the light. She looked down at her companion. The woman was dressed in a leather harness that covered most of her torso. It started with stiff leather around her neck, with more supple leather running down both arms to just below the elbows. There were cutouts for the breasts. Around her midsection, there was an arrangement of zippers and buckles. Her waist was compressed to what looked like 20 or less inches. The harness quit at the waist, with two leather bands that ran down between her legs. The woman was lying on her back, her legs had fallen open. Diane could see that there as something held in place inside her cunt by another buckle in the leather strap as it passed between her legs. Her legs were naked. Diane saw that there were white and red stripes - welts and marks from prior whippings - covering the front, back, and insides of her thighs from just above the knees right to the crotch. She's been whipped often and well. She couldn't take her eyes off the young woman's body - she saw her future there. Her breasts had been beaten too, Diane saw the stripes and marks there as well. She wasn't sure if it was natural or not, but the nipples were nearly an inch and a half long, the surrounding brown nearly 3 inches across. She imagined what might have been done to the woman's body to cause such changes and shuddered. Looking further, she saw that the woman was bald except for a single pony tail about twelve inches long starting at the base of her skull. The words "SEX SLAVE" was written across her forehead in blue ink. A tattoo? A permanent one or something that was part of the game? There was something below it. Diane leaned closer and read "my body is used for your wildest fantasies" there just above the eyebrow line. "Wake her up," the voice demanded. "Kiss her cunt and wake her up." Diane looked around. There was a window - obviously one way glass. Someone was watching. Michael must be there. Isn't he? He wouldn't have given her to them - that never seemed to be part of his deal. "Do it." She didn't know what to expect, what she was up against, who these people were, so she proceeded. She put her had between the woman's legs and started licking her cunt. "Ptew!" she jerked her head back and spit. Her tongue burned - it was like biting into a hot pepper. "You stupid bitch, did we tell you to stop?" "No, but..." "Beat her." "No, wait, I'll..." The lights went out and the room went black. She heard a door open and footsteps approach. With no warning, she felt something whip across her shoulder and neck. Then another across her ass, then her breasts. She raised her hands to protect her face. They were hitting at random, maybe they couldn't see any better than she could. She screamed and cried out as the whips (belts? cat?) bit into her flesh in a dozen different places. Someone picked her up and she felt someone else holding her legs open. Then, her pussy and thighs were being whipped. Twice, three, four, ten, twenty times. She screamed and felt herself slipping away. -------- Diane woke standing. More precisely, she was in a vertical position when she woke up. She couldn't open her eyes, there was something covering them. She felt a large ball gag in her mouth, tied tightly around the back of her head. She tried moving parts of her body and determined that she was secured to a wooden structure of some sort in a crucifixion position. Arms were out, restrained at the wrist, elbow, and shoulder. She felt ropes or leather around her breasts, secured to whatever her back was leaning against. Her midsection was exposed and untied - that worried her again. They would obviously be using that area for something. Her feet were secured to some kind of platform. Her knees were parted and secured to another cross piece of some kind. She recognized this position - it was 'position three' Michael had been working on her. She knew that this opened her up and exposed her private area completely. Any sense of shame or humiliation would have been just a waste of time - this was complete and utter exposure and total helplessness. She was uncomfortable, especially her shoulders and back. She found that she could push herself up slightly on her feet, even with her knees open, and that relieved the pressure. But she was sure she couldn't stay like that for long. "Ah, you discovered it," another stranger's voice said. She shook her head gently from side to side. He couldn't have been expecting an answer. Footsteps across a hard floor approached her. She smelled something, oil? grease? "You're in our shop. We work on our bikes here." Someone started up a motor. The loud noise hurt her ears, hurt even more when he revved the engine. "We like something to look at, something more than a calendar, you know?" She heard several voices laughing, at least one was a woman's. They were quite for a while, she wondered whether they were looking. No, why would they be? This was probably common. Or was it? A million thoughts raced through her head, then a million others. All of them followed by the realization that she could not know. There might be a dozen eyes on her or none. There might be guys fucking their girls, laughing to themselves, the girls relieved that it wasn't them. This time. She noticed the pain in her shoulders again and pushed herself up on her feet. The pain subsided. And she could breath easier. That thought made her panic. She remembered back to what she'd read about Roman crucifixion. It was a slow and painful way to die, often taking days. The victim suffocated - unable to continue standing erect to breathe, eventuallly, the legs gave out, then the lungs couldn't take in any more air and that was that. Diane started panicking. That couldn't be part of his plan. There was never any indication he had that kind of streak in him. But she didn't know. Couldn't. She never expected he'd kidnap her either. Fanstasies. Vagrant stories about snuff films - about sex slave rings - about shieks who treated human beings like toys - about underground slave networks. Her beathing began to race. "Diane?" It was Michael's voice. "I noticed you were getting agitated. Don't. Relax, everything is under control. They only want you for a day or two. Then, we're off." A day or two, she thought. Could she last? She felt his lips kissing her pussy, then her thighs. She lost herself in a fantasy of their fucking the first few days on the road. Felt herself getting wet despite her predicament. He slid a finger into her body, she moved around, squirming on it. His tongue worked the lips of her cunt, then down to the swelling bud. She started to feel the excitement build. He was going deeper, his tongue making the moves he knew she loved. She started moving her hips in time to his hand. Then, she heard several snickers, and then a full blown laugh. There must have been ten or more of them and they started cheering her on. "YEah, we knew you had it in you!" "Come on, hot pussy babe!" "Get yourself worked up for me!" Tears streamed down her face, but she continued. No reason not to, there was nothing he was going to let her hide, she might as well minimize resistance. As her body squirmed and her pulse raced, she felt something invade her ass. It was long and thin, she recognized it immediately. She felt the warm water filling her up and started sobbing now, uncontrollable. She abanadoned all parts of her body to them, knew she'd cum on his hand, knew she'd expel the water, knew they'd see, knew they'd take her down and fuck her, knew they'd photograph her and sell the pictures, scan them and post them, tell the stories to their friends, and as she travelled around the country with Michael, they'd pass the word to their friends in the next town and the next town. Her complete breakdown and rebuilding as a sex slave would be complete - nothing would be left to hide, no shred of her original self left, only identification as a pussy made to serve him. She felt the orgasm build as they chanted, as he licked, as the warm fluids started trickling down the inside of her body, toward the anus which would not be able to stop it from flowing out. Another nozzle as slid up into her cunt, her pussy was filled with something warm as well. She recognized a stinging sensation. They were using salt water in both of her holes. It didn't hurt, but it stung. Enough to make squirm in an even more obscene way as he continued to lick her clit. Finally, the orgasm came and along with it, a flood of water from both of her holes. She heard it all being expelled, splashing on the concrete floor, heard the sounds her body made as the last pockets of air were flushed out of her, heard the laughs and cheers of her audience all just before she passed out again. ---end of day 1 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----