Land Of Rape And Honey 3/3

[Sickman]

"Six o'clock. It's punishment time, little whore"

She was lead to a large tree twenty feet from camp.

He made two holes in a black garbage bag, one in either bottom corner. Her wrists were passed through these and then bound in front of her with the nylon bowline. He passed the dangling cord through a small hole he made in the bottom of a second bag. Leading her to a large maple tree, with the rope in his teeth he jumped up to hang from a large branch. Swinging his feet up he managed to clamber on top of the branch and out some distance where he tied the rope so taut that she was forced to her toes.

Fetching a roll of duct tape from the tackle box he pulled the lower bag over her head and tucked and taped it tight around her neck.

"I'll give you some air in a minute", he said, gathering and taping the excess bag at the back of her head.

Somehow, she knew he was not going to suffocate her, but as she started re-breathing the same stale air the panic started to rise. As she took a breath, the bag sucked to her face then puffed away as she exhaled, the warm stale air enveloping her head.

"Keep still or it will take longer" he commanded.

"Now I'm going to make a hole at your mouth with a knife. Keep your tongue back."

Fresh air flowed into her mouth. Not a lot, but enough. She sucked at it greedily. She could still see fairly well through the black film, but she was discovering a claustrophobia that she never knew she had.

He had her stick her curled tongue out of the hole, enlarging it as she did. Then he told her she may suck air through her curled tongue, but that she was to exhale through her nose. And her punishment would be doubled for every word she spoke.

As she adapted to this new state, he continued working, gathering the excess bag in a roll down her spine, drawing the plastic into a second skin. Holes much smaller than her breasts were cut with the scissors of a Swiss army knife. These were tugged and stretched until the plastic was snug to her chest, her breasts protruding obscenely, only slightly constricted at their bases.

Her fear grew. Why? She could breathe. Her arms hurt and her hands were going numb, but this fear had no explanation, it just was.

The rim of the bag was gathered and over-lapped between her legs, but no tape was used. Instead, he carefully buried a length of fishing line into the crack of her pussy, drawing it between her legs and up the crack of her ass. It was tied very tightly at her shoulder. A second line was tied to the first between her breasts and followed the first except that it was drawn over the other shoulder. The bag that hung on the rope was pulled down over her arms and behind her head and gathered. A third bag was pulled up over her legs.

So she was totally encased in plastic. So what? She was surviving tolerably well on her meager allotment of air. But there was something totally nightmarish about the feeling. The world looked surreal through the black bag. She was terrifyingly aware of every breath she took. About her vulnerability, sucking her life through a tiny slit.

A loop of fishing line was passed over her thumbs and pulled tight. It was wrapped around her hands, binding her palms together. Then he started passing the spool around and around her tightly spiraling the thin cord down her arms, over her face and down her body. The rounds were uniformly spaced at about two inches except where they missed her breasts entirely. Everywhere they dug deep into her soft flesh. Numerous rounds encompassing her insteps and arches held her feet tight. Then the procedure was repeated in the opposite direction so that when completed, she was decorated front and back with a row perfectly centered 'X's.

He called Ted over and had him lift her feet behind her so and hold them on his shoulder, pushing her away from the branch so that she arched back like a diver. He then threaded the fishing line under the lowest crossed thread on her heels and up to a loop in the loose end of the bowline. Then back to the second lowest cross on her ankle and back to the bowline. Over and over again, tying one length off on the nylon loop, only to start a new one, until he had reached her wrists.

The rope around her wrists which had long since stopped taking her weight was carefully cut through the bag and removed and there she hung in a bow, frozen in a dive: a black worm with full firm breasts thrusting proudly in front of her, glowing pink with sunburn in the dying light.

A mosquito landed to take advantage of the exposed and defenseless tender flesh.

"What I would like is a piece of flexible tubing for her to breathe through", Sir told Ted. They brainstormed a bit and then left her to build it out of sections of toilet paper tube cut into a ribcage form, encased in a condom. The tip was cut off and the rim was taped over her mouth. So that it hung down towards her breasts.

"She looks like a worm". Ted declared.

"Exactly. She IS a worm, so she should look like one. But that is only for effect. She is being punished." She could hear Sir walking away from her as he talked, calling back to Ted from the fire pit.

"Do you recall me specifically telling our worm not to scratch herself like the flea-bitten bitch that she is?"

"Yeah.?"

"Well she kept doing it all day, today. Only when she thought I was not looking, but I saw her do it, and could see the red scratches".

He was back now, and he stopped talking while he lit the miner's lantern and tied it with fishing line to the rope which had, until recently, bound her arms. She could now see nothing except its light swinging a few inches in front of her breasts.

"Did you noticed how thick the mosquitoes got last night at dusk", he asked, off-handedly.

Ted chuckled. "Yeah. Swarms of them. We would have been eaten alive if we didn't have DEET."

"Yeah, well tonight, dinners ready."

She groaned her protest.

"Did you know that what attracts mosquitoes is the smell of sweat, and CO2? Look, four early diners already. Guess even mosquitoes want to nurse on jugs like those.

Hey, you want a coffee?", and they left her.

Alone with her hell.

It is hard to say if her torture was worse for her not being able to see. In her mind she pictured her breasts covered with the feeding demons. Every breath she exhaled she pictured a little cloud of CO2 summoning a dozen more, and certainly for every real vampire she created five more. At first.

But as the dusk grew, her tender mounds became veritable hells of horrid itching, so that she could scarcely feel if a particular tingle was caused by a fresh feeder or a previous bite. If, at that point, she had been able to see, she would have been absolutely horrified to realize that her worst imaginings were now, in fact, true. As dark enveloped the woods, her fleshy mounds were continuously completely covered in the sucking fiends. Fifteen, twenty, thirty at a time.

Early on, the two men had returned with their coffee. Sir went to carefully wash any bug repellent from his hands before milking her into their mugs. Then they stood back, watching her writhe in the air. She tried to keep her breasts moving, attempting to shoo the things off. The men did not tell her that this had no effect at all. It may have made it more difficult to land, but once one of the fiends had gotten a grip, it rode the wobbling flesh like a bucking bronco, drinking its leisurely fill.

She heard a zipper. Her writhing, her torture had one of them so excited that he was masturbating. Her tears of frustration redoubled at the realization that they were enjoying her torment.

Eventually they left, bored with their sport. Again, they did not tell her that whether due to the deepening night, the lack of unbitten flesh, or that she had fed every mosquito in the valley, the swarm had dwindled. Also, she had tired out, and now just hung limply, sobbing as she accepted her lot.

It was over an hour later that voices could be heard in the woods. Someone was at her side, blowing out the lantern. A knife was unfolded and placed to her neck.

"Understand?" the coach whispered. She grunted assent, not knowing if she was allowed to speak yet.

In a few minutes, Greg could be heard cackling "I bet some pre-verts kidnapped that cunt and are raping her. We better call the police."

The lantern was re-lit.

They had gone into M. a little holiday town forty minutes down the road. Then they decided to go into R. a small city half an hour beyond that to go to an army surplus store. Then they decided to have dinner (and they brought wings for the two that stayed), and then they went to watch strippers. They ran into some high school friends of Ferrari's and Greg's and brought them along, Larry, Race and Flea. And holy shit, what happened to her tits?

Sir explained, describing the bugs at their worst, which they all found amusing.

"Well lets take her down, I want some snatch." someone crowed.

"Not yet," Sir demanded. "The slut hesitated before eating her sperm and smegma soup for lunch, so we have to punish her."

The lines to her feet were cut, and her calves and knees, continuing until her legs hung down.

"She hesitated for five, so she is to get five of the best from each of us. Too bad about Ferrari's friends, her punishment just went from thirty five to fifty."

Oh God! How they beat her! They started with full swings of the canoe paddle, each man stepping up to take one swing. The blade hummed through the air, announcing each assault. She spasmed and writhed after every blow, shrieks filling the dark woods, but the next did not come until she swung calmly. How she managed not to beg for mercy, let alone not break the fishing lines that supported her, she had no idea. Her bladder let go and piss filled the bottom of the bag around her legs

During the second round, they started improvising. Thus she never knew until it landed whether to expect the paddle, a crop-like stick, or the coach's bramble flail on her ass, her thighs or her breasts.

During the third round someone turned the paddle around and found whole new levels of pain by clubbing her ass with that. They liked that, so the fourth round was each trying to out swing the others, causing her to blackout. They agreed to finish that round and then save the last for later, when she could appreciate it.

She groaned on awaking, signaling them to resume her torture though they stopped Stark from clubbing her tits.

She had not recovered from the last stroke before she was cut down and carried before the cold fire pit and summarily raped. The two lines in her vulva were cut, she was folded in half on her back and brutally impaled. Another instant and the condom was ripped from her mouth and the hole filled with a cock. She couldn't breathe and started to panic.

Someone pointed out her predicament.

"Fuck 'er. She doesn't need to fuckin' breathe."

But hands ripped the plastic at her nose.

Then, for hours and hours, they raped and re-raped her. Her pussy, her ass, her mouth. The plastic was cut from her legs so they could spread her, and ripped from her eyes so they could see her cry, torn from her mouth so they could feel her lips, and from between her tits so they too could be fucked. Someone stubbed a cigarette out on the back of her thigh. She almost drowned when someone pissed in her mouth while she was lying on her back. And even when they were all sated, one after another they forced themselves hard just so as to continue her abuse. She was forced to suck her own blood, shit, and pussy juice off too many cocks to count, to steel them to further rape her. They pounded her holes viciously, trying to wring one last orgasm from their drained balls.

When none could get it up any longer, they splayed her legs apart and each took his turn completing the last round of whipping, using the bramble flail on her most delicate skin. The barbed withes turned her pink oyster into a bloody hash.

She never felt the last of these, but became aware that she was kneeling, sitting on a metal cup, her arms held over her head. Someone was cutting the last of the plastic from her. On finding her awake, they had her squat over the cup. Chain was dragged over, wrapped around her neck, and, with firm click that sounded very final to her, locked to itself with a huge padlock. The chain was of huge thick links, and long.

They told her to hold her cunt open. One by one they came to her and she licked their cocks clean. She felt herself draining into the cup, and knew they would want her to eat it.

And she would. Immediately, she vowed, anything rather then another round of...

"Look at this, Bitch. We have some more cock for you" They were leading in two rottweilers!

"Sit", they were ordered, and did.

"Suck", she was ordered, and did. No hesitation. While her mind reeled at the thought, she did not give herself time to stop, but just did as she was told, too scared but to comply. It was only while she was doing it that she had a chance to fully grasp what she did.

Sucking dog's cocks. When everything they made her do seemed to be the worst, how could they continue finding things ever more disgusting. The taste was repulsive, the feel disgusting, the idea beyond words.

And they ridiculed her for it. Tears rolled down her face as they told her to work on the other one. She returned to the first to find it covered with a condom.

"Dog whores aren't good enough to suck Bronte's scum direct from his balls."

She gave up and just sucked the thing like it was any other cock. God, it wasn't like she hadn't sucked enough cocks in the last two days. It came, and she went dutifully to service the other. Someone held the cup against her pussy the whole time.

"Dinner time, bitch." Ferrari said, holding up the limp scumbags, "Why don't you go wash up while it gets cold".

Sir led her to the river.

On crawling back from a chilling wash, she found the other end of the chain had been locked about a large tree in the middle of the camp. No escape.

A plate sat in front of the fire pit, the lantern beside it. Though she could not make out what it was on the plate, she could see that it had been artistically arranged, and knew it would be repulsive to eat.

The men sat around sucking beer. Waiting.

"Dinner tonight, madam, is one of your favourites: headcheese salad, with a blood and sperm rape puree, served with fresh doggie scumbags, and garnished with a lump of shit. How does that sound?"

A question. Oh God. Was she supposed to answer? What answer did they want? The truth? Eager?

"Answer him", the coach said, informing her she was allowed to speak more than ordering her to respond.

"It...it sounds very...repulsive. I think I may throw up if I eat it. May I start right away?"

"Of course," he glowed. Right answer.

She crawled forward to behold the horrid slop, a slab of jellied brain on a sheet of lettuce, absolutely covered with congealed sperm, pink with her own blood. Condoms on the side.

But she did not hesitate. She dove face first into the slop and started hoovering it up, gnawing at the lettuce, swallowing the small lump of turd whole. Their groans of disgust told her they thought it was as vile as she did.

Not knowing what she was to do with the condoms, she left them until last, finally asking in a meek voice.

"Should I... May I swallow the uh...fresh doggie scumbags?"

No, she was told she could use her hands for those. So she picked one of the things up and holding it by the tip, drained it on her tongue and swallowed. Her stomach heaved, but she did it and managed to suck the thing clean inside and out. And its mate.

Nothing. She thought she was done, but they seemed to be waiting. She went down to lick the last traces of slime of the enameled plate. Then she was done. They even gave her a beer, which she drank greedily until she realized that she would be back to work as soon as it was done.

Then she was back to making coffee on a camp stove they had bought and being milked, getting beers, licking balls, singing stupid camp songs and drinking piss. Flea, who seemed to know about such things, said that if her tits were not sucked, they would dry up. So not finding any volunteers, they had her suck her own tits, a timed fifteen minutes a side.

By dawn only Stark and Bill were still awake to torment her. Stark fucked her ass for over an hour, all the time assuring her that they were going to kill her when they were done, and describing in gruesome detail the many slow tortures he would inflict. Throughout this, Bill carefully clipped a full eleven of his twenty packages of clothespins onto her, five hundred and fifty wooden pincers covering her body. Four packages alone had been used to so cover her breasts that it was quite impossible to put any more on. Another package was used entirely on her face and even her tongue and lips, so she looked like a bizarre voodoo mask.

She never did get to sleep, because by the time they were done with her, Ted was up and wanted a cup of coffee and a blowjob. All day she made her rounds, sucking cock and making blueberry pancakes and coffee to order.

They put up a huge camouflage tarp over the fire pit so they could have a fire without it showing.

A poker game started but there was always someone willing to sit out a couple of hands for a blowjob or a fuck. If one was too drained to keep it up, she would have to hold one of the dirty magazines they had bought over her face and slowly turn the pages for them while they fucked one of her wounds.

It all started drifting. She stopped caring. Endless cocks, endless pain, endless humiliation and revulsion. She tried to keep acting the whore that they wanted, but the act became shallow. They made her fuck the dogs. She didn't care. After you've sucked dog cock what does it matter if you fuck them.

She could not say when she knew they were going to kill her. It slowly surfaced in her mind that they really could not let her live. She knew their names, some of them their last names. She knew that Ferrari's friends were from R.; how many people named Flea or Race could there be in R.?

She almost didn't even care that they would kill her. Half of them had taken to butting their cigarettes out on her legs and her poor breasts had become the focus of their sadistic sport. They had made her 'decorate' herself with the clothespins, and then fucked her while making her sing the camp songs. They disinfected a plastic box full of sewing pins, the kind with the round plastic heads, and had her jab hundreds of them deep into her breasts until they looked like twin porcupines. They had hung her by her ankles and taken turns punching her inverted breasts like she was a boxer's punching bag. Then they roped her breasts excruciatingly tightly and actually hung her by them! God, did that make her howl! She quite literally thought her breasts were going to rip from her chest; the pain could not have been worse if they had. Her tormentors made no secret of how amusing that would be. She had barely slept in four days, her knees were raw from crawling, her breasts were swollen from mosquito bites, beatings, pins and sunburn. Her ass was black and blue from the beatings, but they whipped it none the less. Her pussy was a gaping wound that they continued to worry with endless fucking. Her asshole was in tatters; she actually had to push her colon back inside after taking a dump!

The next morning, a holiday Monday, while Ferrari was milking her into his coffee, feeling she had nothing to lose she asked,

"When are you going to kill me?"

He hesitated a moment, then answered, "Don't know. After next weekend, maybe."

He actually apologized for having to break his word, explaining needlessly, that they could not let her live. But he swore to her that if she served them well, he would do it personally as quickly and painlessly as possible. Otherwise, Stark was itching to do it one limb per day, making her roast and eat her own flesh.

The men then fell into a discussion of planning "next weekend". Most of them had to go back to work the next day, but they planned to return the next weekend with as many friends as they could trust. Race alone promised to bring an entire motorcycle club. When they counted up their friends, they guessed she would be servicing over sixty men! They roared at this prospect!

The coach argued that by the next weekend she would be good for shit. Her pussy and face would be scabbed, her tits would be peeling, and her ass would still be one enormous bruise. He convinced them to wait an extra week. It was decided that he, Ferrari and Bill would stay with her, as none had jobs to return to.

By mid afternoon most of the others were preparing to leave. The coach had her crawl to each one and thank them for brutally raping her, and invite them back with all their friends. The three local guys stayed until evening and again she was made to perform with Sasha and Bronte, the dogs.

Life seemed easy after that. With only three of them to service, and none of them using either her pussy or her ass, it almost seemed like a vacation. The novelty had worn off for them, and they seemed to move into a more relaxed two-weeks-to-kill-no-hurry mode. She still barely slept for the first couple of nights because her breasts itched so ferociously and they bound her hands behind her before they slept so she could not scratch. But she did sleep some and more each night.

She would find herself eating her dinner, sucking table scraps out of the mud, and realize that she didn't mind. It became second nature for her to grovel and beg to suck cock; they came so much quicker when she humiliated herself. After the worst of the mosquito bite itching had passed, Bill caused her only tears in days by successfully using every one of his thousand clothespins on her. She found she could not even cry for missing her son anymore, though in her idle time, which she had a fair amount of, she tried to think of nothing else.

The coach had all but stopped instructing her. She was being tested, they said. Every time she failed to satisfy, did not grovel and debase herself enough, or did not seem eager enough to please, they would make a note of it with the punishment she would receive next weekend. She never saw the list. They kept her infractions secret so that she never knew if a blowjob or even a request to suck cock had been whorish enough to please. So she worked very hard at being the slut they wanted.

She had no pride left. When they decided that she should turn over rocks and eat what ever she found there for breakfast, she thanked them and did it. And not mechanically. She had been so long playing the wanton whore, acting as if every humiliation, every violating cock turned her on more than the last, that she found herself naturally purring and grunting as she leaned her head back to lick slugs off her fingers or crunched down on grubs and beetles.

Not that she did not mind. Her stomach roiled at the thought and she vomited into her mouth before re-swallowing when they started making her swallow the things alive. But the act, the whore act, was so second nature that she just did it without thinking.

Almost over. Just a few days of hell to go and they would mercifully kill her. She wished she could see her son just one more time, but she had accepted her fate and would be glad when it was over.

Then, a couple of days before the appointed weekend, Ferrari and Bill decided they were going fishing at dawn. No sooner had they crossed the ridge then the Sir told her to eat her fill of anything she wanted. He started rummaging around in his tent. Then in the other tents. He came to her with a fully loaded rucksack.

And he unlocked the chain!

"Lets go", and they were off, him with a canoe on his shoulders. They hiked what seemed like miles further up the path not speaking a word. During a rest, she offered to try caring the pack but he declined; she was still barefoot and they had to make speed so she carried nothing but paddles. It never occurred to her that she should try and get away from him. This was a rescue, she had no doubts.

They came to a lake and as they paddled in and out of its bays she realized he did not know where he was going. He told her to get some clothes from the pack.

They found a portage. And a lake and a portage. And a hunter's cabin and a lake. All day under a blistering sun they trudged, until about four, when they found a road, a narrow gravel track. They followed it only to the first cottage they came to then he broke in, and brought the canoe in after him.

Flopping on a double bed, they slept.

Later, as it grew dark, he explained his dilemma. If he left her there, the others might find her. If he saw her back to safety, she could turn him in. She asked why he was doing this, and after he thought, he said simply, "Because its right".

"I won't turn you in." she vowed.

Could he believe her? He thought a long time before he declared,

"I'll trust you."

"What about the others?", she asked.

"Do what you want. I only just met them when they picked me up hitchhiking. What a bunch of assholes." (Ah, that explained a lot.) "Do you want to spend the next three years in court?"

Good question.

In the dark they walked for miles down the twisting road as other roads joined it and it widened finally joining a highway. He left her in a roadside diner and went out to beg a ride from a trucker.

She refused to talk to the police, aborted the baby they had left in her, and she never, ever had sex again.

[SiCkMaN '97]


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