Message-ID: <17972eli$9812120439@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: quantumleap01@hotmail.com (QuantumLeap) Subject: *NEW* {QuantumLeap} "The Visitors" Part XVII (wife nc humil mc) 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: <36731ef6.12629659@news.supernews.com> ****************************WARNING!WARNING!*************************** The following story contains material of an adult, explicit sexual nature. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THIS SUBJECT MATTER OR UNDER 18, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!! *********************************************************************** The Visitors by QuantumLeap Part XVII I returned to our bedroom door soon after hearing my wife's screams slowly fade. As I neared the closed door, I found her shrieks had become quiet sobs, her continuous crying just audible over the creatures' disgusting grunting and growling. Collapsing onto the floor against a nearby wall, I was assaulted by the relentless sounds of her torture for the rest of the night. I fought unimaginable levels of helplessness and rage as my mind was filled with images of what must be taking place in our room. As dawn approached, I was wrenched from a light sleep by my wife's sudden, horrifying scream. It pierced the quiet morning, jolting me to my feet, as it continued to echo through the house. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, replaced with a dead, eerie silence. I ran to the door, watching in disbelief as it slowly opened ahead of me. The hinges groaned a sinister invitation as it slowed to a stop. Entering the dim, stale smelling room, I was shocked to find it completely deserted. The furniture was not just overturned, it was slashed, gouged, and broken into pieces. The carpet and bedding were sopping wet, the smell of sweat and semen wafting by me as I surveyed the damage. The only object left intact was the large mirror, rising grotesquely from the piles of rubble. A week passed, then two. My wife had vanished without a trace, taken by the demons to a place I remembered all too well. I had tried to smash the full-length mirror, but each time I entered our bedroom, the smooth surface began to distort and ripple, many pairs of glowing eyes warning me from the other side. I was resigned to the despair I felt, living from day to day, helpless and defeated. Two months later, I received the first email. --------------------------------------------------- Friend, We can help. Look for your wife in the Grotto. --------------------------------------------------- The header included a cryptic address, containing symbols unlike any I had ever seen. Was this a trap set by Spike or one of the other demons? Was it possible that someone, somewhere, knew of the creatures, that they walked among us, using us as they wished? I had to find out. The Grotto was not the pleasant sounding place its name implied. Located on the west side of town near an abandoned industrial site, it had become a collection of biker bars, pawn shops, and adult book stores. It was an area frequented by drug dealers, prostitutes, and all varieties of the most unsavory characters the city had to offer. Arriving thirty minutes later, I cruised the main drag, looking for some clue to my wife's whereabouts. It was a Saturday night, and the streets were crowded with hookers and their prospective clients. A small group of "ladies of the evening" strutted and posed in their scanty outfits as they hovered near a gathering of leather-clad thugs. The largest of the group climbed off his bike and took one of the women by the hand, leading her to the closest alley. As my headlights flashed across them, I was stunned to see my wife's face, almost unrecognizable under the heavy makeup. She strolled willingly beside him, headed for the dark alley. The black, leather halter barely concealed her breasts, pushing them up and over the front of the skin-tight top. A long expanse of bare waist led to a tiny, black, leather skirt, just covering the bottom of her firm ass. Her hips swayed as she skillfully maneuvered on the four-inch heels. The once long and luxurious black hair was now cropped short and slicked back over her head, exaggerating the bright blue eyeshadow and red lipstick. Shaken at the sight of what she had become, I continued down the street, pulling over a few blocks away. I circled the block on foot, entering the alley from the opposite end. Halfway into the alley, I saw them. She was bent at the waist, holding the dumpster for support. The tiny skirt was pulled up, exposing her to him as he pumped his huge cock into her. The biker towered over her as he worked, arching her head backwards as he grasped her by the hair. Each of his savage thrusts jolted her compact body, crushing her large breasts against the side of the rusty container. Her eyes were closed, her face expressionless, showing neither excitement nor disgust, as she allowed him to use her cunt for as long as he wished. Then, with a loud grunt, he came, spewing his cum into her as he rode her like a mindless animal. When he finished, he shoved her to the ground, throwing a fistful of bills at her before returning to his gang. She just sat there, breathing hard, staring at the far wall of the alley. Finally, she collected the money, crawling to recover it on her hands and knees. I watched her from behind as the tiny skirt remained gathered around her waist. Her gaping labia were slick with the biker's semen, thick globs dripping from the reddened slit as she scrambled for the scattered bills. As I walked toward her, she turned, crawling in my direction to snag the last bill. She looked up from the pavement, surprised to see someone standing so close. Slowly raising her head to look into my eyes, she stared at me, her face showing the horror and humiliation of her new life. The meager halter failed to contain her breasts, which now spilled out over the top, both dark nipples pointing toward the damp cement beneath her. "Oh,...nooo!" she sobbed, still looking up from below me. "H-how did you f-find me?" she asked, now crying openly. I reached down, pulling her up into my arms, allowing her to cry harder as I tried to comfort her. We stood in the dark alley, holding each other, each of us struggling with the onslaught of emotions that suddenly overwhelmed us. "We're going home now," I promised. "No...you don't understand...I can't," she sobbed. "Why not?" "They're watching me. They did horrible things to me. I just can't go through that again! They make me give them the money I earn. They said my torture would be worse if I didn't cooperate. Please, we can't stay here; they'll see us. I have a room. We can go there." I followed her out of the alley, fighting the rage from yet another humiliating situation brought about by the disgusting creatures. The bikers whistled and fondled her as we passed, assuming I was one of her customers. She pushed their hands away halfheartedly, smiling coyly as she led me into a nearby stairway. Climbing the steep stairs to the third floor, she produced a key from her small, leather purse and opened one of the doors lining the narrow hall, leading me inside. The room was small, sparsely furnished, and smelled like dirty laundry. Peeling wallpaper provided a depressing backdrop behind the simple table and chair and the single unmade bed in the opposite corner. A small clothes rack hung from the wall, containing a row of outfits so revealing that at first glance, it was difficult to tell how they should be worn. She lowered herself carefully to the bed, sighing as she dangled her bare legs over the side. I winced as I noticed the biker's cum still leaking from her, the tiny skirt unable to hide her reddened slit as she sat facing me. "So, how did you know I was here," she asked. "I really can't-or, um, shouldn't tell you that now," I answered, believing she was safer not knowing. "Just get in the car and come home," I demanded. "I told you, I can't. They're watching you too. They see every move we make. Oh, God! What are we going to do?" She began to cry again, the tears melting her makeup into a pitiful mask of blue and black streaks. Suddenly, we heard the doorknob rattle, then the furious pounding from the other side of the door. "I told ya to keep the fuckin' door unlocked, bitch!" Horrified, she jumped to her feet, shaking as she stared at the door. "Oh, God...it's Spike! Hurry, hide in there," she whispered, pointing to the bathroom door. I bolted across the room, closing the door behind me just as she let Spike in. I watched through a small crack in the rickety door as he circled her, inspecting his investment. "So, you're cryin' again, huh? Won't you ever learn? Jesus, you're harder to train than my fuckin' dog! OK, let's go over this one more time. If you don't start showin' me that you like your new life, we'll take a little trip back to "my place" for some extra training." "Now, what are you?" "I'm your whore, Spike." "Good. Do you like being my whore?" "Yes, Spike." "OK. Who do ya love, baby?" Her hands went to his belly, sliding up under the t-shirt to his scrawny chest as she answered. "I love you, Spike." "Show me!" Shaking with rage, I watched her kneel in front of him, pulling the punk's jeans to the floor. She closed her mouth around his thin, white cock, capturing it as it bobbed inches from her tear-streaked face. As he buried inch after inch of it into her throat, she raised both hands to his pale, hairless scrotum, gently teasing his balls with her gentle fingers. She licked and sucked hungrily on the purple, rubbery head, leaving thick strings of saliva when she paused briefly to catch her breath. Soon, he began to thrust harder, stomach tensing, as the demon spurted the vile contents of his body into her. She closed her mouth tightly around him, not allowing a drop to escape as she pumped the thin, hard shaft with both hands. Swallowing desperately, she milked every drop from him, knowing that his disappointment would bring unbearable torture. He watched her lick and suck his shrinking erection, knowing she would not stop until he gave his permission. "Alright, alright, that's enough," he said, grinning with satisfaction. Turning away from her, he hiked the torn jeans to his waist, now looking through the only window onto the busy street below. "Strip," he ordered, his attention still focused on the passing riffraff as they prowled the sidewalks beneath him. Visibly shaken, she rose slowly to her feet, hesitating just a little too long. Turning to watch her, Spike exploded. "I said, get your fuckin' clothes off, bitch! We've got work to do! NOW!" Deliberately, mechanically, she shrugged the leather halter from her shoulders, then peeled the tiny skirt over her hips, letting it fall to the floor. She stood before him, naked and dazed, wearing only the black heels, afraid to imagine what he had in mind. He strolled to the rack of outfits on the far wall, removing a particularly tiny item from its hanger. Returning to her, he fastened the narrow leather collar around her neck, then attached the six-foot leash to it, tugging several times to test its strength. "Let's go," he ordered, as he led her by the leash, disappearing through the door into the hallway beyond. After several minutes, I opened the door, hurrying across the dreary room to the window. Shaking with anger and disgust, tears clouding my eyes, I watched him parade her, naked, into the street. Whistles and cheers rose in a sudden chorus as the bikers spotted them, the outrageous display quickly drawing a small crowd. As a sea of leather surrounded them, an imposing figure drifted from the growing circle of bystanders to where Spike offered her to the highest bidder. She sauntered boldly to face my wife, stopping two feet in front of her. Well over six feet tall, she smiled cruelly at my wife, eyes roving over her firm, naked body. Her resemblance to my wife was uncanny. Except for her towering height, the hard, slim physique and black, cropped hair made them a perverse match, silencing the circle of anxious spectators. I continued to watch from the window as Spike spoke to my wife while removing her leash, grinning excitedly at the stunning, statuesque beauty. My wife went to her knees, reaching for the zipper at the side of the lesbian's skin-tight pants. Then, with a few firm tugs, she peeled the soft leather down over her long, muscular legs, pulling it over both six-inch heels. Kneeling before her, she placed a hand on each sculptured thigh, then slowly traced a path to her moist slit. Parting the meaty labia with both hands, she leaned forward, burying her mouth in the slick valley between her shaking fingers. Her mouth and throat pulsed rhythmically as she worked her tongue along the wet, swollen inner lips, then plunging into her warm depths, finally circling the hardened clit with the tip. Her customer grasped her hair with both hands, guiding her mouth, forcing her face against her sopping cunt, while my wife struggled to please her. The scene below was almost surreal; my wife worked feverishly between the beautiful dom's legs while the street filled with an ever increasing crowd of eager onlookers. Spike was in his glory as he watched his new possession, now defeated, willingly perform the ultimate act of submission, a public display of her obedience. Eyes closed, full lips parted, the panting amazon soon shared her orgasm with her audience as she gyrated wildly against my wife's face, now soaked with her juices. The crowd's "oohs" and "ahhs" quickly turned to outbursts of cheers and applause as they watched her cum, using my wife's wet, aching face until the violent orgasm finally subsided. She backed away from my wife as she recovered the leather pants, then returned to Spike, handing him the money, retrieved from the small pocket. After planting a quick kiss on his pale cheek, she turned and disappeared into the cheering crowd, proud of her performance. Spike returned to my wife, still kneeling on the street, her face shiny with the secretions of her latest customer. Reaching down, he fastened the leash to her collar, then, with a sudden jerk, pulled her to her feet. The crowd parted as she followed him, many of its members bidding for the next chance to sample her, begging Spike for her submission to their depraved fantasies. He led her through the frenzied crowd, domination and profit buoying him to new heights of satisfaction; he, the proverbial piper, she, the intoxicating lure that attracted the vermin that followed them. ----------------------------------------- "Yes, I believe, but I'd rather not pray; what I believe in I'd rather not say..." QuantumLeap -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----