Okay, okay, okay, he thought as he taped her eyes shut with two squares of the industrial sealant, he had to go now or he never would.
Leaving her was the hardest thing he ever did, but he managed it. He walked calmly through the building, the box he had left there now in his arms. He walked through the break room. He walked through the empty office hallways. He walked through the empty lobby. He walked into the studio where they were holding the try-outs. It was filled with the organizers and a line of auditioners. He noticed Claire’s mother still talking to the local cop in the corner.
He walked right up to the men and women sitting at the head table and put the box down in front of them.
“Hey guys,” he said. “Here’s your lunch order.”
“Ah,” said the boss man. “Punctual as always, Al. Thanks.”
The three started to pick out their favorite sandwiches as the deliveryman kept looking at the cop. “Hey,” he said mildly. “What’s Ted doing here?”
The boss man was already eating. “Missing girl,” he said between bites. “Or so her mom says.”
“What?” said the deliveryman. “Missing from here?”
“Supposedly one of the hopeful models-slash-actresses,” said another.
“Got her application, got her resume, got her picture, but never saw her,” said the third.
They were interrupted by the local cop, who approached the group, leaving the distraught mother behind.
She stirred, but he ignored it, choosing instead to concentrate on forcing his erect cock deep inside her incredibly tight, incredibly sweet cunt.
He grabbed her shoulders and rammed inside her as if he were sledge-hammering a spike. She reacted as if electrocuted. He couldn’t tell if she were awake or not, and didn’t care. The sensation of her snatch was blinding. Within moments he was ramming and desperately trying not to scream with delirium. Instead he slammed his mouth onto her right tit, suckling like a madman.
She was definitely awake by now, as if that made any difference. She surged, arched, and tried to kick and scream, but it was all useless.
Archive for March 31, 2016
The Governor reclined on his couch and contemplated his new Hibernian slave. Her original name was Fedlimid, but no one remembered that. The Governor had renamed her Cula, from the Latin culus or ass. It was the girl’s buttocks that had impressed him when he first saw her in the slave market…
It was only the slave’s second week in his household. She came untrained, as he had ordered. The training sessions were interesting, the Governor always thought. Why would anyone want to miss them and give the trainer all the fun?
Training in the second week included a severe flogging session every lunch-time.
The girl was stripped and tied to a flogging cart, which was wheeled into the atrium or central patio before lunch.
The session began with a painful whipping of her back, especially the buttocks. This was always performed by the Governor’s chief slave.
The whole household was expected to gather to watch the flogging, during which the girl screamed and begged for mercy.
In the second part of the session the Governor’s aged counselor conducted a brief conversation with the girl. His intention was to turn the slave’s private life into a public life.
On this occasion the subject was masturbation.
Decimus Dresus contemplated the slave’s shapely buttocks and was intrigued. He liked the deep dark crack in them too…
“Show me your ass,” he ordered. “Hold your cheeks apart and show me where a woman’s turds come from.”
Anna the Briton obeyed, showing him her wrinkly anus, still virgin…
“Turn round. Stick your tits out.”
The girl obeyed, arching her back…
“Pull your sex lips apart!”
Anna glanced nervously at the slave dealer, who nodded. She pulled her lips apart and showed him the soft gentle pink of her lips… He licked his own lips unconsciously…
Anna hoped he would buy her. She had not asked to be a slave, but she was a slave, and there were probably worse Masters than this one. At least he was young. And he did not look like a brothel owner, which was what she dreaded most.
Decimus Dresus had inherited his money from his father, a merchant who dealt in garum, a salty sauce made from the entrails of fish. Patricians used it to spice up their meals, partly because they considered it an aphrodisiac. Decimus thought this was nonsense. What made the meals aphrodisiac, he thought, was the way they were served by naked-breasted slave girls who later in the meal offered you figs and dates from their naked cunt lips and who were stripped completely naked and flogged and fucked after the meal… But the garum made a lot of money for his father, and the money gave him all the tits and cunts and asses he could dream of, which was a lot of tits and cunts and asses, so he had nothing against it…
Decimus realized that he had an aching hard-on that was bothering him and he took it out and began fondling it…
The people of Russia knew him by many names. The Mad Monk, some called him. A Holy Fool, others called him. But the young women of St. Petersburg knew him by another name: “Master.” That was the name they spoke late at night, when they were face down on a dirty mattress, or pressed up against a wall somewhere in the shadows of the street.
Rasputin had his fill of women, though no one was quite sure how.
To look upon him was to be repulsed. This man was not attractive. He had a dark face, his eyes shadowed and cruel. His hair was limp and greasy, a testament to his infrequent bathing. His rotting teeth and rancid breath did not inspire passion, and his body reeked like a goat. There was no earthly reason why this man should draw women to him like honey draws flies. Yet he did. He fucked with wild abandon, and no one ever seemed to refuse his advances.
There were whispers among the people that Rasputin possessed supernatural powers. That he could control minds and bend the will of the women he took to bed. Perhaps these powers were a gift from God. Perhaps they were a gift from the Devil. No one knew for sure.
Katya had felt his powers first-hand. A maid in the Tsar’s household, she had been cleaning late one night when she felt a presence behind her. She turned and…nothing. Everything went fuzzy. When she became aware again, she was standing in a hall gagged and bound, naked but for her panties.
Rasputin’s whores were numerous. Often they were young; pretty things that laboured as maids or cooks in the Tsar’s household. Sometimes they were older, and of a higher class. A few were actual whores, procured in the streets and alleyways of St. Petersburg. The women varied, though most had one thing in common. All had begged him to take them.
All those who knew Rasputin were confused by his ability to fuck such a collection of women. He was not an attractive man. They supposed the appeal came from his political connections to the royal family or his skills between the sheets. After all, the women all left his bed singing praise of his skills and his holiness. But there was something that was just so hard to believe about that. His eyes were so cruel, his hair so greasy, his manner so hard. Why would women want a man like him?
What no one knew was that the women were not willing at all. Rasputin was like a vampire, stalking his prey and taking them whenever it suited him. He enjoyed the unwillingness; their little cries made his dick so much harder.
He had grabbed this woman during a ball that was being held for the Tsar’s nephew. She was easy prey, standing by herself near the window. It was a simple matter for him to creep up outside the window and take her.
She had put up a valiant struggle; her dress had ripped in the fight, exposing her breasts. But Rasputin had won in the end. He always did. This woman had bit him before he managed to get the gag in. Oh, she would pay for that.
Her breasts were soft… luscious… inviting. He would get great joy from biting them. He sank his teeth into her warm skin; he felt her tense underneath him as the pain made her stiffen. Her cries of pain and her muted pleas to stop took him right to the edge of cumming. He held off, though. He had plans for this little bitch.
“Have you ever had your ass fucked, woman?” he asked.
She shrieked and started thrashing around.
Just a few more seconds, her foggy mind told her. Just a few more moments and they’d find her. They’d save her before he could defile her completely. They’d rescue her from this sex maniac. Just a few scant seconds more….”
A fourth key went into the lock.
“Hey guys,” a third voice called. “The cops are here.”
The clinking of keys stopped. “Okay,” said one. “We’ll be right there.”
The key turned. The lock popped open. He grabbed Claire by the throat with both hands, buried his cock all the way inside her, and came.
Tears exploded out of the girl’s eyes as drool and spit soaked the padding. It coursed down her face and chin, mingling with the sweat that coated her skin and dampened her clothes.
The door didn’t open.
They heard footsteps and then the men’s room door closing.
He laughed and laughed and laughed as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed … both silently, their bodies quaking.
He pulled her hair out of the way, letting it flow out the quarter-melon openings in the thing. He rocked back on his knees to survey his handiwork. Only the top part of her face could be seen through the cunning device. He nodded with satisfaction.
Even when a mouth is efficiently stuffed and covered, noise and vocal communication remains possible … but not if the outside of cheeks and the area around the larynx is stifled. When something, like this thing, is designed to clamp the mouth closed rather than cover a wedge gag, it can be an almost total silencer.
He nearly lost control again. She was so lovely, helpless, victimized, and vulnerable that he was nearly overwhelmed by lust.
He just barely managed to contain himself by carefully tearing open her shirt and cutting off the bra to reveal her magnificent tits.
“C’mon you sluggish bitch! Damn, for a girl who spent so much time in the gym, you are one slow piece of fuckmeat! I think your friend, our visitor, is awake and I would think you would be anxious to meet her again. After all, she came all this way out into the desert for you. Ha, ha, ha, hah! Right, blondie?”
My butt is so sore… just having my cheeks rub together around my anus hurts! That bastard fucked me there so long and hard that…
No! Madison? Is that Madison?
“Get your pretty white ass down these stairs now, slut! I think you know that I am not patient, and certainly not with a tied up blonde that I own. You are going to suffer enough to keep my rod hard. You don’t want me to have to teach you lessons too, do you?”
“We got a lot of work to do, blondie, now that your redhead friend is with us in the cellar. You and I, we had a lot of fun in this place, but it is only gonna get better, cockbreath.”
“See, blondie, the new slave bitch is awake. I knew that I heard a cute little whore in bondage moaning for attention down here. You are just the cunt to give it to her, aren’t you? You’ll get plenty of help from ol’ Sanchez… and his cock… and his whip. But you know that, don’t you blondie?
That can’t be Olivia! That means… Olivia was kidnapped… and I’ve been kidnapped! No! Shit, no!
Look at that ugly fat man. He’s half naked and his cock is hard! He is a rapist. He is going to rape me!
How can that be… That can’t be Olivia, can it?
Madison! This maniac has taken Madison, too? No one is out there finding me! No one is arresting him. This bastard is free to run around and kidnap my friends and bring them here! It’s hopeless, isn’t it? Oh, Madison!
“Oaggleea! Ggooh! Ongg eegchh iiimm!”
“Two gagged sluts talking to each other. How very sexy!”