The Plan and the Price

[suradis]

THE PLAN AND THE PRICE

Although it should be obvious, I would nevertheless like to state at this point that this story is a work of fiction.

part 1

It had been a beautiful day. Now, the shadows grew longer and darker beneath the trees as the sun continued its gradual descent towards the horizon. The birds that had been singing all day in the forest canopy were gradually being replaced by mosquitoes, but I didn’t care. So far, everything was going according to plan.
It was hot, and we’d been walking for hours now, but none of that mattered. What was important was-
“I need to rest,” came the girl’s tired, slightly nasal voice from behind me.
I sat down on a mossy rock. I didn’t want to stop, but it was better to do as she wished for now and I didn’t want to do anything that would cause her to be suspicious or uncooperative until I had to. True, we were already deep enough in the forest that no matter what she might think there was no way we could make it out before dark and unless she were much better at woodcraft than her choice of clothing, shoes and general clumsiness with her pack led me to believe she wouldn’t make it out of the woods on her own, but I didn’t want to take any chances. And besides, I didn’t want to have to carry her.
The truth was, for all my impatience I was a little tired myself. It really had been a long walk.
I watched her as she squirmed out of her pack, and impressively large and monstrous thing for such a tiny girl, and sat down.

I hadn’t planned to be here at all. In fact, until I saw her, in the right place, at the right time, all alone, I don’t think I’d really planned to ever go through with it. Certainly it made for a compelling and powerful fantasy, but planning and execution were two very different things. I explored the fantasy, though, planning what I would do, what criteria I would use to select the particular slut I wanted to play with and, most importantly, how I would get away with it. The challenge of devising such a plan was almost as exciting as the prospect of carrying it out, and so I’d planned and schemed and, yes, even prepared. It made me feel good. It was exciting to carry around this secret plan, to know that all it would take to implement it was a decision. Kind of like secret agent stuff, really, only much more… fun. Less risk, too, if it comes down to that. But I mustn’t get caught. And I wouldn’t, either, because I would never, not in a million years, actually go through with it.
Only I did.
I was walking along the seldom-travelled Monroe wilderness trail, considering the difficulties of getting my hands on suitable prey. My plans all favored caution over audacity, and the consequence of this is that it would be difficult to arrange for the proper person and set of conditions to coincide. This wasn’t a huge problem because my plan would never be carried out, but as an intellectual exercise I found it particularly vexing.
The path was an old one, mostly flat but rocky and overgrown with weeds that the sparse traffic of boots and shoes had failed to stamp out. There were occasional trail markers and even picnic areas, but these were old and in poor repair and there was either no money to repair or replace them or, it seemed more likely to me, nobody cared. It was peaceful and quiet, and walking in the shadow of the pines with only birds and an occasional squirrel for company helped me think. I wouldn’t have wanted to tarry there after dark, but that wouldn’t be for the better part of a day yet.
This path was part of my plan. It was still travelled, however sparsely, and, and there was a section where the trail bent around the base of a small hill and at one point two sections of the trail were separated by mere yards of underbrush. It took five minutes or so to walk around, and what that meant to me was that I could watch that if I saw a likely bit o’ prey approaching from either direction I could basically look five minutes ahead and make sure nobody was coming. The slightest chance of a witness would be grounds for an immediate abort.
After all, it was better to miss a chance and have to wait for another one than take a risk.
Not that any witness would see a kidnapping, oh no. Not at all. As uncommonly travelled as this trail was, it was still public. I would have to get my prey away from here, and she would have to go of her own free will. Once I had her deep in the woods where no human ear could hear any cry or scream, where she’d be hopelessly lost without me, then I’d have my way with her, but not until then. And even then, if there was the slightest sign of anything wrong, I could still abort. True, we’d be in the middle of nowhere, but I could claim I’d gotten lost. Maybe joke about how I didn’t want to stop and ask a passing squirrel for directions, sort of thing. But when I got her to the cabin-
And then I saw her.
She was laying on her back on one of the dilapidated and partially collapsing picnic tables wearing cut-off jeans and a reddish plaid shirt, unbuttoned and opened to reveal the biggest breasts I’ve ever seen on a girl her size, apparently covered only by a white tank top. I was still some yards away, but I could see her nipples through the pale, thin material. Her pack, one so big I thought I might have trouble shouldering and walking around with it all day, was leaning against one of the table’s benches. She was either asleep or resting.
I knew right away that she was the one, that I would have to have her. I could have taken her right then and there, and plan or not I would have if it wasn’t that I wanted to be able to take my time with her. I didn’t want her just once, I wanted to take my time and play with her, and I wanted to hear her scream with pleasure as well as pain. Actually, I didn’t care much about the pleasure part beyond my own pleasure, but it might be fun to make her cum against her will.
And she was a redhead, too. Whether natural or not I didn’t know, but I resolved to find out.
I considered for a moment how I might best approach her.
She would have to follow me, a complete stranger, into the woods. Here, she was practically gift wrapped, and if she really was asleep there would be at least a few seconds when she was disoriented. I’m no bodybuilder, but I was at least a foot taller and except for her tits, my body outmassed hers by a good deal as well. Given that she was already on her back, it should be simple to approach her, carefully undo the button and zipper on her cut-offs, pull or yank her jeans and any panties she might be wearing down, and, presuming the ancient table didn’t collapse beneath us, have her legs bent up so her knees were on top of her tits and I was in her before she knew what was happening. I could see it already, being on top of her and hearing her cry or whimper as I told her how good her pussy felt and asking her how it feels to have my cum inside her. With any luck, she’d get pregnant, and I’d tell her she would regardless, but that would be long after I was gone. She might even be a heavy sleeper, which would give me that much more time before she was aware enough to fight back, for all the good that would do her.
It SHOULD be pretty simple. But like I said, I wanted to take my time with her, and I couldn’t carry her all the way to the cabin. I didn’t want to drag her, either; it would be too easy to track.
All this came in a moment’s thought and was dismissed just as quickly. I’d never intended to actually use it, but I had a plan and I’d follow it.
If I couldn’t somehow convince her to follow a me, I’d worry about what to do then.
Whispering the Name, I touched the engraved sigil I wore around my neck underneath my clothing, invoking the power of the thought-form represented by the pentacle. Many, including my prey-to-be might have considered it more than a little superstitions, but I didn’t care. If the goddess whose symbol it was heard me and intervened, there would be a price to be paid, but that would come later.
My mouth was dry and even the wind in the trees dropped so that I could hear my own heart hammering in my ears as I walked towards the apparently sleeping form. “Good morning!” I called out loudly, as though I were addressing a long-lost best friend. “Nice day for a walk.”
She sat up and quickly pulled her shirt closed. I pretended not to notice her nipples which had still been plainly visible through the white material and, smiling in my best good-natured way, raised my hand in a gesture of greeting.
“Yes it is, she agreed, brushing wayward strands of auburn hair out of her face.

It turned out that her name was Sara, and she was not where she was supposed to be. Copperhead trail, where she thought she was, was nowhere near Madison trail, not by twenty miles or more. It wasn’t simply that she had taken a wrong turn somewhere, she was never on the right path in the first place, and instead of turning back when things didn’t look right had kept going. That had been yesterday evening, and while she hadn’t actually slept on this very table, she had slept on another a few miles back. She still had a couple hours walk ahead of her and she’d be fine, but I gathered she didn’t know that.
I was amazed that she’d been able to walk so far with that huge pack, and told her so.
“It isn’t as heavy as it looks,” she replied, lifting it with one hand. “Most of the weight is water, and there’s not much of that because I thought Copperhead trail was a bit more…” she looked around her at the trees and empty sky above the little clearing. “Public,” she finished at last.
“Yes it is,” I agreed. “But you’re not on Copperhead or anywhere near it. And it’s just as well. Its named for its snakes, you know.”
Her face fell. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m afraid not. Copperhead trail is pretty well travelled. You wouldn’t see any of these ancient tables slowly rotting. Graffitti’d, sure, but these here are already well on their way back to the earth.”
“Back to the earth,” she said, smiling slightly again. “I like that. What are you doing here?”
“I like to think, and it helps to walk while I’m doing it. Sort of a ‘keep my legs busy while my mind wanders’ thing, I think. I like being alone with the trees and the sky. Sometimes I recite poetry. I’d be too self-conscious to try that somewhere that was better travelled.”
“Are we really that far from Copperhead?”
“I’m afraid so. If you need to be there, your best bet is to follow the trail back the way you came, all the way to the beginning and drive a few miles down to the right path…” her face fell again. What I had told her so far was true, in that it was the best way to get where she was supposed to be, and she didn’t like it any more than I would have in her place.
“Or,” I continued, trying to keep my voice free of any excitement, “you could cut through the woods in that direction. It’s much quicker, but it’s easy to get lost. I did once myself.”
Her head turned to follow the direction I was gesturing in. I could tell she was considering it, and all there was left for me to do was to see what she decided. If she went for it, she was mine.
“Don’t you have a car?” she said, suddenly turning back to me.
“Well yes, I do,” I replied slowly. “But I had a friend drop me off. He was planning on picking me up near the end of this trail around dark. This was sort of an all day thing for me.”

In the end, she actually asked me to take her through the woods to copperhead trail and we headed off into the woods towards the abandoned cabin and even further from civilization.

...to be continued in part 2

[suradis]

Since the story is still a work in progress, comments would not be unwelcome.

[suradis]

“How much further,” she asked.
About five minutes, I thought to myself but answered aloud “Not very far. I can’t be exactly sure, but the terrain is about right, so it can’t be but so long.
After walking for a couple hours she was too hot to button her shirt and it came open again as she sat down and I could see her nipples again, standing out against the thin fabric. But it looked as though I was wrong about her not wearing a bra; the tank top was damp with her sweat and through the wet fabric I could see the unmistakable color and outline of a blue brassiere. This girl’s nipples must be huge.
All the better to play with.
Oh, I wouldn’t do them any permanent damage, or at least I didn’t think I would, but I wasn’t going to be gentle with them, or her in general, at all.
I couldn’t wait.
I studied her, trying to imagine what she’d look like when I got her clothes off. Saggy tits, I decided, I didn’t see any way they could be that huge and not be. Shaved pussy, too, if I had to guess. Which would be a shame, because I’d never know whether or not she was a natural redhead unless I kept her here long enough for it to start growing back. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually. I certainly had enough food. It would be a shame I wouldn’t be able to keep her forever.
I looked away, and studied the woods around me, the huge, dead cedar, the mossy stones, a patch of cloudless blue sky visible through the poplar leaves overhead and took a deep breath. I could almost feel my hands squeezing her huge breasts and pinching her nipples. If we didn’t leave soon, I’d take her right here, and that would make things more difficult.
“You might want to button your shirt,” I said, turning back to her. She looked up at me with an almost comical shocked expression and her face turned nearly as red as her hair as she quickly closed her shirt and buttoned it. I didn’t comment further, but we got up and she picked up her pack.
Part of me had been hoping that she really was the slut I’d made her out to be in my mind. I didn’t expect it, though and the way she blushed was enough confirmation for me. With any luck, I might have a virgin on my hands to boot. But I didn’t want to find out for certain just here. After all, like I said, I’d wanted to take my time and enjoy her properly.

I feigned surprise when we reached the cabin.
I had heard stories from an old hunter about houses and cabins back in woods that became national park land whose inhabitants were evicted and lacking transportation, forced to leave all of their furniture behind. He’d been in some of them, he said, way back in the woods where there were no roads anymore. There were beds, mahogany tables, dressers; he said he’d seen them while hunting, a day’s walk or more from civilization.
Whether that was what happened here or not I don’t know and never will, but I have my doubts. The building, obviously abandoned overgrown with ivy and lacking any sort of electrical fixtures, was in remarkably good shape when I found it. There had been a road once, which at first was merely impassable to vehicles became after an hour or so’s walk impassable to anything larger than a rabbit, its bed overgrown with dense and thorny secondary growth through which the occasional young sapling managed to thrust its leafy head. I was curious where the road led, but I didn’t follow it any further.
The furniture was sparse and plain but very sturdy and other than a layer of dust and mildew was in excellent condition, as were the doors and windows. There was a basement, cavernously empty and with a dirt floor, but solid stone walls. There had even been a bathroom with indoor plumbing, of a sort. No shower or bath, but a primitive toilet had been made using lead pipes and a reservoir on the roof. This reservoir hadn’t survived, but I fashioned a replacement using a large bucket, although I hadn’t actually tested it.
All in all, with very little actual effort, I had been able to make it livable and even comfortable. I had prepared it, because it was a critical part of my plan, but hadn’t actually expected to use it. I hoped I’d gotten everything right.
The first thing I would need to do would be to securely restrain her. Once I’d done that, she’d be at my mercy. The handcuffs were my best bet, I had decided. That’s why they, along with a roll of duct tape, were hanging next to the door.
“Lets check it out,” I said. “Maybe they have a phone.”
“I hope so,” replied Sara.
I walked up the crude wooden steps to the door and knocked, as if I thought there might be someone home. When nobody answered, I knocked again and tried the doorknob. It was, of course, unlocked from the outside, just as I had left it.
This was the moment. It all came down to this.
Holding the door open, I bowed and gestured for her to enter, saying “ladies first.” I was worried she’d insist on me going first or on staying outside herself, but after barely a moment’s hesitation she set her pack down next to the door and walked through.
I followed her, and as soon as she was far enough inside, pulled the door shut. The heavy door’s lock clicked loudly, trapping us inside but I had already grabbed for her wrists. She fought me and tried to kick me and stamp on my feet but her aim was off and the heavy leather of my boots protected me from any damage she might have been able to do. She was very, very quick, though; and I was very lucky she wasn’t very strong.
In moments her hands were restrained behind her back, but I wasn’t going to take any chances I didn’t have to. Wrestling her over to a bench that was probably originally intended to be a primitive couch, I pushed her down onto it, face first. Her head hits one of the arms which stuns her for a moment, and I’m able to get duct tape around her ankles and just below her knees.
I didn’t reply to her frantic and high-pitched demands to know what I was doing with her or why any more than I was willing to entertain her demand to let her go; for the moment I merely added tape to her wrists as well, just in case she managed to figure out the trick to unlocking the handcuffs. I doubted it, but I wanted to make sure.
When I was finished I took a step back and examined my handiwork, watching this Sara squirm and try to break the bonds that held her hands and legs in place.
In retrospect, I should have removed her cut-offs already. Still, though…
I grab a fistful of her hair and she screams as I pull her off the bench onto the rough wooden floorboards.
She’s crying now, and there words in there, but I tune them out. I intend for her to scream, cry, beg, plead and moan, but I don’t care about that yet. At this point her words mean nothing and she isn’t worth any of mine.
“Hold still,” I tell her in as flat and emotionless a voice as I can manage, “Or I’ll cut you.”
She doesn’t hold still, but I put my left knee in the small of her back and shift most of my weight to it to keep her from moving too much as I cut the tape below her knees. Once she realizes what I’m doing she stops struggling so much, perhaps out of hope that I’m letting her go after all, perhaps out of fear that I’ll cut her. The respite is brief, however, because instead of cutting the tape around her ankles I reach underneath her waist and start to work on the button and zipper.
It isn’t as easy to remove as I thought it would be with her trying to buck me off or ineffectually kick at me, and all of that against the background of pleading, crying and cursing I’m trying to tune out, but in the end there can be only one result. The cut-off jeans and a pair of surprisingly sexy black panties, possibly matching her bra, are removed along with her shoes and socks and her knees and ankles are taped back together.
I still don’t reply to any sounds she makes and I slap her bare ass once, but the angle is off and instead of the satisfying SLAP! I’m hoping for there’s just a dull thud which nevertheless brings about another round of squirming and noise to tune out.
Now that I have her in my nefarious clutches, it’s important to decide what to do to her in what order. The truth is, I had planned the technical details in great detail, but had left the details of the actual rape rather vague. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what to do, it was that there was so much that I could do it was like Christmas morning all over again. I couldn’t decide which toy –or in this case, how- to play with first. There was one more thing I wanted to do first, though.
She still fought me as I turned her over, but I think she had given up any serious hope of escaping. Her hair was a mess, her eyes red and swollen and her face streaked with tears. There’s a little blood on her temple, no doubt from when she hit her head on the arm of the ‘couch’. I examine it, briefly, but it looks like little more than a cut. It will heal. I’ve had worse- in fact I have a scar from worse-, so I turn back to the task at hand.
I’m not about to free her wrists, but in this case I don’t have to. Still in silence except for occasional sobs on her part and a small amount of wriggling, I unbutton her shirt and simply cut her tank top down the middle. Her bra turns out to, indeed, be a match for the panties that are currently lying crumpled on the floor about five feet away, and is actually quite striking. I don’t want to have to ruin it. It isn’t that I intend to let her wear it again, but it would be a shame to ruin it. I decide to tell her I’ll keep it as a trophy.
Conveniently, it’s one of those designs with the clasp in front. Before I remove it, though, I run my hand gently over the sheer, black material, massaging her breasts and gently pinching her nipples. I can afford to be gentle now; later, I won’t be. She whimpers and turns her head away.
Freed of their constraints, her breasts really were amazing. There was just no other word for it. But not yet. Not yet.
I get down on my knees and lean over her, grabbing a fistful of her hair with one hand and one of her nipples between my other thumb and forefinger.
“You like that, don’t you?” I breathe in her ear, as I pinch her nipple as hard as I can. She screeches in pain, an ear-splitting sound that makes my ear on that side feel like my eardrum’s being jabbed with an ice pick. I let go of her nipple and slap her hard across the face. I raise my hand to slap her again, harder, so that the satisfying sound will soothe the ringing in my ear, but I never bring it down.
It’s not like me to lose my temper. No. Not this way. Not out of anger.
I leave her wriggling and crying on the floor. I don’t have much in the way of toys, never saw any use for them when often an innocent household item would do just as well, and I hadn’t felt comfortable leaving the cabin fully stocked just in case someone else stumbled by in my absence. What I did have were a few basic multipurpose items – and the contents of her pack.
I didn’t need much for the present, really, just some clothespins, a little rope, and… ah, this would do. I’d found her hairbrush. Why she’d brought it with her, I couldn’t say. But a lot of things about her suggested that she had little or no outdoor experience, which was of course all the better.
Without much difficulty, I secured one end of the rope around her knees and looped it around her neck in a way that probably wouldn’t cause her to choke if she struggled against it and tied her so that she was on her side with her knees crushed up against her breasts and her defenseless pussy exposed.
I still wasn’t paying attention to any words in the sounds she was making, but my ear was still ringing a little bit so I balled up her panties, shoved them in her mouth and used a leftover bit of rope to tie it in so she couldn’t spit it out. I would like to have just used tape, but I would have had to wrap it all around the back of her head to keep it from coming off and I didn’t want to cut it out of her hair later on.
The noise level thus substantially muffled, I roughly fished around beneath her legs for her nipples, pulled them out from behind her legs and put a clothespin on each one.
I watched her twist around, her auburn hair flying this way and that, her tits with their clothespinned nipples flopping around on either side of her legs as she rolled and jerked around in a futile effort to remove the painful devices, her neatly trimmed pussy so invitingly exposed.
I should wait, I know. I want to do this right. But I can’t stop myself. I just have to be inside her. The hell with waiting, and hell with the plan, I’ve waited hours to fill this slut’s hopefully unprotected pussy with my cum, I’m not going to wait any longer.
I unbuckle my belt, then the button and zipper, everything seems to be happing in slow motion, it seems to take forever. Then my pants and briefs are down around my shoes and I grab one of her ankles. She still struggles, but the way she’s tied up there’s nothing she can do.
I spit on her pussy and rub it in to make sure she’s sufficiently lubricated, and I bury myself in her to the hilt in one powerful thrust. There’s a muffled scream and she tries to buck me off, but I’m on top of her and she isn’t nearly strong enough to do more than excite me further, if that’s possible. “How do you like that, you slut?” I growl at her as I pound her, noting that her struggles become increasingly more frantic when I add “Ready to have your pussy filled with cum? I bet you’ve been waiting for it all day.” Its weak, I know, but the important part is that she knows she’s about to be impregnated against her will by a stranger and there’s nothing she can do about it. For me, just the thought of it is too delicious, too intoxicating to describe.
I thrust in and out of her, watching the clothespins on those nipples of hers bounce around. I wondered, not exactly in words but in feelings and images if those huge tits would bounce around the same way when they were swollen with milk intended for the contents of her swollen belly. I’d do everything I possibly could to find out the answer.
I take myself right up to the very edge, the point of no return… and I regain control. For a second my mind wavers between ‘what the hell, I’ve come this far’ and ‘NO!’, but no wins. The balance, after all, is in the mind and once the mind is behind intent, control usually follows.
Now more or less in control of myself, I move in and out of her more slowly, sliding now, almost gently where before I’d just been fucking her as hard as I could, like an animal really. Frankly, I’m surprised I lasted long enough to regain control. Then I stop, still buried deep inside her.
“You know what,“ I say, as if an idea suddenly occurred to me, “I’ve changed my mind.” I wait fifteen seconds or so, long enough for any relief she might feel to register.
“Oh, I’m still going to fill your belly with my cum. I’m still going to make you pregnant, and I think I’ll keep you here long enough to fuck you like the bitch you are and milk you like a cow at the same time. That way I can make sure you’re pregnant. But you don’t deserve my cum inside you. You’ll have to earn it first."
I was rather impressed with myself, actually. It was all spur-of-the-moment, but it conveyed just the right combination of her helplessness, hopelessness and worthlessness. That sentiment wasn’t entirely honest, but I intended to hurt her mind as well as her body for my amusement.
I went on, pulling back and thrusting into her a little bit just to remind her that I was still inside her, “I mean, look at you. I could probably milk you now, you’ve got udders on you as big and saggy as any cow. I could take you home, hook you up to a milking machine and I’d be in the dairy business. You sure you aren’t part cow? In fact, I think I’ll call you cowslut. And you must not have all that much going on upstairs, either. I bet this is what you wanted to happen all along. You can’t find anyone who’ll fuck a cow like you so you wait around in slutty underwear hoping someone who doesn’t know you will take the bait. And you must not have all that much going on upstairs, either. I bet this is what you wanted to happen all along. You can’t find anyone who’ll fuck a cow like you and put a calf in your belly so you wait around hoping someone who doesn’t know any better will take you off of the trail and into the woods and knock you up. How many little cow babies did you want in there, anyway? I reached under her legs and caressed her stomach. “How many babies did you want me to put in there, anyway? Two? Three? I wouldn’t get greedy if I were you. But don’t worry, just as soon as you earn it, youll get what you want.” I can’t help but cringe inwardly as I say the words. Cowslut? Really? Now I really can’t get caught. I don’t mind the time, but I’ll never live having said that down.
“But you must not have very much going on upstairs, either, no matter how much you’ got goin’ on downstairs,” and here I give her another little thrust as she weakly struggles against the ropes and my weight, “because you obviously don’t know anything about being outside. Or did you wear that sexy underwear just for me? I bet you did, so nevermind that. But this hairbrush…” I pull out of her and thrust the brush’s thick handle into her freshly vacated pussy all the way up to the bristles.
“I bet that’s what you packed it for, isn’t it? Well I’ll just let it stay there, then, while I decide what a cow like you has to do to earn the right to have my cum inside of her.”
I left her sobbing into her makeshift gag with clothespins on her nipples and the bristle end of her comb protruding from her recently violated pussy. Given the shape of the handle, I doubted she’d be able to work it out on her own.

I took the door key from its hiding spot and let myself out. That had been close.
It wasn’t that I felt any hesitation, its that if I didn’t go about that first time a certain way I’d regret it later. I’d wish I’d had more self control and cursed myself for nearly losing the one chance to do her right the first time. It needed to be painful, for her, of course, but it was much more important that it be humiliating. In other words, it had to be done as an art, carefully, even slowly, and deliberately. I almost ruined that.

I sat on what passed for the cabin’s porch. I couldn’t hear her from out here, but I wasn’t worried. She wasn’t going anywhere and the sobbing, moaning noises she’d been making were music to my ears. She couldn’t get loose, and if she somehow did it would just make the game more interesting. Without a compass (her cell phone probably had one, but I doubt she knew how to use it) she couldn’t navigate in the daylight; otherwise, she would have known I was leading her the wrong way. It was near twilight, now, it seemed ridiculous to think she’d be able find her way out of the woods through navigating by stars. And there were stars out already, too. I sat and watched the light of the setting sun turn red and one by one they came out, like cold and distant diamonds, shining in the gathering twilight while a pleasantly cool breeze stirred the leaves in a susurrus of strange whispers.
It was important to give her time to fully realize the futility of her situation and besides that, I needed to cool my head somewhat. Long ago in the distant past I had heard the secondhand advice admonishing the original listener to ‘think with his big head instead of his little one.’ Good advice, maybe, but it had always seemed more fun to me to get them both thinking along the same lines. As for her, either she’d be easier to handle after a little despair had set in or if she was the intellectual type she might decide to play along and wait for a chance. If so, I would have to be cautious and careful, and the longer I kept her the more carefully I’d have to watch.
I found myself hoping it would be the latter rather than the former. To be sure, I intended to use and abuse her, body and mind, for my amusement, but on another level I hoped she wouldn’t turn out to be the cow I had accused her of being. I mean, what I’d do to her would happen to her anyway, and I’d have fun doing it, but while I have uses for a sheep, I do not have respect. It was a strange thought, contrasting sharply with the situation the two of us were in, my victim and I.

I suddenly realized that there were words in the rustling of the leaves. A debt, said the voice of the wind in the leaves. A debt. I had forgotten. She had delivered Sara into my hands, and payment was owed. With all the excitement of having my fantasy come to life, I had forgotten there was a bargain involved, and how steep the price to be paid would be. Yes, there was a debt I owed. I just hadn’t expected any sort of… manifestation. That sort of thing never happens. And not this soon…
“Not so soon!” I called out to the coldly shining stars. “She’s mine!”
She’s mine, whispered the wind in the leaves. A debt is owed. She’s mine.
“The debt will be paid!” I called back to the voice on the wind. “But not yet. It’s not time yet.”
The debt will be paid, the whispers repeated, and faded back into the sound of gently rustling leaves. I shivered slightly, and went back inside, pulling the door tightly closed behind me. There had been a presence there as well. It was still out there, waiting. It wasn’t malicious or evil- the terms didn’t apply- but she was powerful and patient and in the end would have her way.

But there was nothing I could do about that now. I turned back to the matter at hand.

...to be continued in part 3

[Ambush-predator]

Utterly brilliant - very well written indeed and, well, exciting!

[suradis]

Thank you. That is quite a compliment, especially considering this is the first writing of this type I've posted online anywhere.

[suradis]

I've been away for a long time. I suppose I really should finish the story. I could do it quick... or I could take a while. I'm not sure yet.

[suradis]

She was right where I had left her, writhing and moaning on the floor, probably trying to work either the clothespins on her nipples or the hairbrush protruding from her violated pussy loose. She wasn’t having much success.
I shouldn’t have said that part about ‘earning the right’ to have my cum inside her. Now I had to follow through with it or lose my credibility as far as threats were concerned, and that just would not do. I could have her suck me off, I suppose, or at least I could make her try. It was a good start, anyway, and maybe I’d think of something else- something she could do while mostly restrained that would be humiliating.

I grab a fistful of her hair and slap her face to get her attention. Its not very hard, but the angle is right and her muffled yelp nicely complements the crisp SLAP! as my hand connects.
“Listen, cowslut. I’m going to take those panties out of your mouth and you’re going to suck whatever I want to put in there. If you do a good job, I’ll start removing things, like combs and clothespins. If you don’t, well…” and here I smiled an evil little smile- “in that case, I have more clothespins. And safety pins, too. And if you get any bright ideas about using your teeth, I’ll remove them for you. You hurt me and I’ll cut your nipples off and shove the down your throat, understand? There’s nothing you can do that will prevent me from doing both of those things.”
There really wasn’t anything she could do to prevent me from doing both of those things. This was taking a risk, though, because anything I stuck in her mouth she could bite off if she took a mind to, and if she did I would probably bleed to death. Its what I’d have done in her place. But it would take time to bleed out; not much, but plenty of time to make her regret what she’d done to me.
I remove the comb as a false token of good faith and reposition her so that I can shove my member down her throat and remove her gag. Her technique is awful, either because she’s inexperienced, scared or both; but her mouth feels wonderful around me, especially when she gags. After a round of thrusting followed by holding the back of her head and forcing myself as far into her mouth and down her throat as I can go I relent and let her have a chance. Her hands are still tied so she can’t use them, but the inside of her mouth and her tongue is warm and soft, and I guess she took my threat seriously because she does everything she can to keep her teeth from touching me. I hadn’t actually planned on removing the clothespins from her nipples however good she might have been, and I didn’t really care for oral sex anyway but her mouth really is comfortable. I remove them both and she makes this mewling sound, almost like a kitten as the blood rushes back into them but it turns into a gag as I once again grab the back of her head and force myself down her throat.

I let her try to get me off for a while, and I’m tempted to let her do it. I’ve never been a fan of oral sex, like I said, and I wouldn’t mind blowing a load or two down my new fucktoy’s throat, but anything that went down her throat would be that much less that went in her pussy later. I wanted to fill her up. It really did feel good, though, but it wasn’t humiliating, or at least not humiliating enough. I thought of something that was.

“That’s enough, you little whore. I’ve got to go pee, and unless you want me to do it right here I think I’ll take a little break.”
She takes her mouth off of my member so quickly she loses her balance and falls on her back, her legs still tied to her chest, exposing her pussy.
That’s alright though.
“That’s a good idea,” I say to her. “I like your thinking.”
Before she can figure out what I’m talking about, I once again bury myself to the hilt in her soaking pussy. She struggles and cries and pleads with me not to cum inside her, not to make her pregnant and makes all sorts of wild promises that she almost certainly wouldn’t be able to fulfill anyway. If she knew what I intended, I wondered, would she be relieved or horrified?
“No little calves in your belly for you yet, fucktoy,” I tease her in my best evil-sounding voice. “First I have to know how much cum it’ll take to fill you up completely so I’ll fill you up with something else.”
It isn’t easy to pee inside a woman, whatever they may have said on South Park. Its something that is simply not biologically meant to happen, and the harder it is, as it were, the harder it is to do; but it can be done if one is determined enough. Her howl of anguish and listening to her cry as a thin stream of golden liquid leaked out of from between her pussy lips in trickles and spurts in time with her sobs was well worth the effort. It certainly had been as humiliating as I had hoped it would, however moderately distasteful I found the action itself to be. I thought about making her clean me off with her mouth, but decided against it. It would be more humiliation, but I planned on making her kiss me, or at least me kissing her while I shot my seed deep into her belly. No, I wanted her mouth to stay as clean as possible. And the rest of her, too, for that matter.

I drag her out onto the porch so that I can clean the floor. There was no point in that nonsense about seeing how much she could hold, although it had been sort of fun in a disturbing kind of way. The important part, the point of it all, was that she was out on the porch, still tied and taped in a fetal position, sobbing with foreign liquid leaking out of her pussy. She might not be broken, I hoped not, in fact, but this was something I could do to her again and again, each time emphasizing her worthlessness as her most private and intimate parts were used for a urinal. In fact, if I took her outside to use her each time, I’d just have to clean her off and nothing else. It wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as other things I wanted to do to her, in fact it was moderately distasteful, but I didn’t want to give any sign that anything I did to her was anything but thoroughly enjoyable to me.

I listened to her whimper while I pondered how best to clean the floor. I had some toilet paper, whatever she might have in her pack, some alcohol in a first aid kit and water from a crumbling well, courtesy of a rusted, creaking pump out back, and that was it. There were a couple of old towels as well, mine not the cabin’s, but I didn’t want them getting dirty; I might need them for myself. And that was it. The longer I kept her here, the longer I’d have to make what little I did have last, which was an even better reason to keep her as clean as possible than any personal feelings I might have.

It occurs to me that I have something more suitable than my towels. I still have her clothes. I hadn’t planned anything special for them other than simply keeping them around. I could wash them out afterwards if I wanted using the pump, but I didn’t want to. Instead, I’d use them to clean up any messes she made, anything liquid, anyway, so if she ever did wear them again the smell would remind her of how she’d been used and violated. After I was done with her, after all, what did it matter to me how clean she was?

I turned back to her and, taking the brush that I’d shoved in her pussy, and said “Open your mouth.” I said it calmly, as if it constituted some sort of everyday ritual between friends. She started to do it but clamped her mouth shut again and just for a moment there was something in her eyes.
A little defiance. Good. But not good for her.
I slapped her as hard as I could, as I screamed at her “Open your mouth, you fucking cowslut or I’ll put a calf in your belly right here and now!”
I don’t know whether she intended to do it or not, but I pinched her cheeks hard until her mouth opened far enough and I thrust the brush’s handle down her throat. She gagged and her whole body spasmed as she thrashed and tried desperately to somehow shake it out, but I had been ready for that. It wasn’t easy, but I managed to take her mouth shut around it.
The brush must have slipped some because she eventually stopped gagging, but at least she was still making those wonderful, muffled crying noises.
I bent down and whispered in her ear, in a hoarse voice, “You like the taste of your pussy, fucktoy? You’ll be tasting it a lot, because whenever its not in your pussy keeping my cum from leaking out of you before it can start making a little calf inside you, it’ll be in your mouth so you can taste it.

She made an urgent sort of ‘mmmph!’ noise and shook her head back and forth. The brush’s handle must have slipped again in her throat because she started gagging. Standing over her, she really was a pitiful sight. I’d never seen her that way before; as something to be used, abused and hurt, as a challenge, with lust and desire, but I’d never seen her as pitiful. It must have been the brush.
I resisted the urge to remove it for a few moments. I didn’t enjoy seeing her like that, gagging her throat raw, but I couldn’t let her know that. I couldn’t let her notice I was in a hurry. But if I made it hurt…
I bent down and ripped the tape off of her face and the brush and a few wayward strands of ginger hair came with it.

I shoved the brush handle back in her pussy and went out to the porch, closing the door behind me. Suddenly this wasn’t quite so simple, and things weren’t so black and white.

...to be continued in part 4