Chapter 12
Carol's head hurt. She wasn't quite sure what kind of pain she was feeling, but she was definitely dizzy. The pain was in the center of her head, a rotating, whirling pain that was more dull than painful as she slowly rose from the black vortex of total unconsciousness. She had obviously been drugged, just as the man in the ski mask had said.
She was cold, and shivering, tried touching her head, only to find neither hand would respond. Not only that, but the pain in her head was starting to intensify.
That was when she heard a loud ringing in her ears, and wondered why someone had a gong nearby. Oh God! The ringing hurt! Her eyes fluttered open, and then panic washed over her like a black tidal wave. The exterior of her body felt chillingly cold, but her bowels were burning from the liquid she had been forced to drink.
What she saw when she awoke was so horrifying, she wanted to faint again, but was unable to do so. She saw a huge hammer flashing near her face, a short sledge hammer. For a moment she thought she was going to be killed instantly; that the hammer was going to cave in her skull. But instead of feeling the crushing impact of the hammer on her head, she once again heard a loud metal ringing, as if the hammer was striking some kind of metallic object.
She opened her eyes, just a little. She was terrified, and there was no way to hide her fear. She was glad she had emptied her bladder just before leaving Ann's apartment. Otherwise she was certain she would have voided then and there.
The hammering continued, and so did the ringing. She recalled being in the car with the man in the ski mask, and then blacking out. Now, everything was slowly but surely coming into focus.
She was bound between two large wooden posts. Looking down, she saw she was totally naked. Her arms were wide apart, over her head, and rope was tied around both, her wrists and her elbows, keeping her firmly, securely locked to the posts. Her legs were spread apart, secured at the ankles to the same posts, her feet unable to touch the floor so that her weight was pulling against the ropes that bound her. The rope was made of some rough hemp that abrasively scratched her skin, and she felt agony in her tender shoulders because of the pull of her body. She looked down and realized she was suspended about six inches off the floor, just high enough so that her feet were unable to touch. The floor itself looked to be cold cement.
There was added pain on her body, and looking down, she gasped. Little clips had been attached to her nipples, clips that were actually electrodes, and wires from the clips ran to a machine off to the side. Her breasts wobbled back and forth as she shuddered, aware of the coolness of where she was. It felt wet and damp. Her nipples had been pulled out by the electrode clips, artificially induced to be swollen, thus causing her melon-shaped breasts to enlarge, as well.
A totally naked man stood in front of her, his body nut-brown, as if it has been in the sun a long time. He had on the ski mask. He was the one swinging the hammer, and what he was doing was securing a heavy metal slave collar around her neck with a metal loop in it through which one was able to attach a chain. The weight of the collar was, in itself, extremely uncomfortable.
"What are you doing?" she whimpered.
The man didn't even bother whispering to her, this time. Rather he put the hammer down, gathered her pony tail, tied a piece of twine around it, then secured the other end of the twine to a five pound weight. There was a beam overhead, and he tossed the weight over the beam, so that when it came down it pulled on the twine, which in turn pulled on her pony tail, tugging her hair upward, intensifying the headache she had. Not only that, but the pull of the weight altered her facial features by pulling her skin.
Between the weight tugging on her pony tail, and the heft of the metal collar around her throat, Carol felt ready to totally collapse and would have done so had she not been bound upright. She saw the man step back, as if finished with his work, and wondered why this was happening to her. He walked over to the machine where the wires were attached, flipped a switch, then turned a knob, and suddenly she felt a small, stinging jolt of electricity blast through both nipples. He shut the machine off, then nodded.
The fear gripping Carol made her want to throw up. She felt horrified beyond belief. All this seemed like some kind of nightmare from the great beyond. It simply wasn't happening to her. Yet she felt the perspiration breaking out all over her body, and her sensitive nipples felt raw because of the electrical pain that had shot through them.
Lord! She wanted to get out of this. It was something out of some masochist's nightmare, and Carol was many things, but not a masochist.
But the reality was there, and Carol knew there was no way out, but she did know she was here.
She looked at the naked man in front of her. His body might have seemed familiar had it not been for his nut-brown tan. It was difficult to determine the shape of his head because of the ski mask. The mask covered everything, with holes for his eyes and his mouth. She knew he had brown hair. This she was able to determine because of the pelvic stubble hairs above his penis.
At the moment the penis was quiescent, but even so, it was huge. She was certain that when it grew hard, it would be something of unbelievable size. Like the rest of him, it was nut-brown. Hard, she was willing to bet it was as large as the one attached to Randall Forrest. But Randall Forrest had a whitish-pink cock with a purple head. This man was brown all over, including his balls and his feet.
She wanted to somehow or other talk her way out of this, but when she opened her mouth to speak, he slapped her across the face, hard, signaling with a finger that she was to remain silent. Oh God! That weight on her pony tail was intensifying her headache. She felt the five pound weight swinging back and forth, tapping against the back of her skull.
Once again the realization that no one would miss her came to mind. By the time someone did think to look for her, it would be much too late. Looking around, she tried to see if there was a window through which she might look and see the time of day, or possibly a clock that might let her know the time. Nothing!
She seemed to be in some kind of bomb shelter. There were no windows, and if there was a door, it had to be behind her, out of sight. She was alone down here with this monster of a man, a man who, for the moment wasn't doing anything. He had dragged a hard-backed chair into the middle of the room, and he was sitting in it, looking at her body, nodding now and again as if to say he found it pleasing. But his continued silence horrified her and she began perspiring in spite of the coolness.
Consciousness slowly, painfully returned completely, and with it, and the details of the room in which she was being held captive, the girl felt fear began building ever more steadily in her, fear that had lowered for a little while until her conscious mind was able to truly comprehend what was happening to her. Now what was happening to her burst upon Carol's psyche with full force.
It was far worse than any nightmare her mind might have fashioned. Whatever had taken place with Ann had occurred because she had wanted it to happen, for the most part. Her subjugation to the older, porcine woman had all been part of a game until she had no longer felt like playing. But this, this was totally against her will. What was more, it was with a male. It was a totally unknown male. He had even clipped the hairs around his pelvis short to keep her from guessing the color, but he hadn't cut the hairs short enough. She was still able to see the medium brown stubble.
Carol knew she was bound beyond any hope of freeing herself. Her body was locked in place, her neck surrounded by a weighty metal slave collar with a metal loop attached to it so a chain might be hooked on.
The silence in the room was equally unbearable. But the worst thing was the sense of being completely cut off from the rest of humanity. There was no way for her to reach the outside world, nor was there any way for her to determine whether it was night or day, or, for that matter, what time it was.
Carol had no idea at all where she was, nor had she any idea what the man wearing the ski mask had planned for her, save that it was something she was certain she would not like. She wanted to ask questions, but she knew he wouldn't respond until he was ready to do so. Her body quaked, and she was only too aware that soon, certain basic needs would require attention. The last thing she wanted was for this unknown man to see her totally humiliated by either voiding or eliminating while hanging from the two beams to which she had been bound. She jerked her head, and it pained her, because the weight attached to her pony tail swung freely and hit her in the back of her head, hurting all the more. A cataclysm of hopelessness washed over her, and she quaked.
Carol wondered what she had done to deserve something like this. But then, men who did things like this had to be sick in the first place, and so it wasn't so much a question of what one deserved as it was how mentally ill this man who was imprisoning her was. Seeing the size of the man's penis made her think of Randall Forrest for a moment. It was just about the time she was denying his claim that she had gone to the psychoanalyst, who in turn, had made her conscious of the fact that she wasn't really lesbianic. Everything about him seemed to radiate trouble. She ought to have been intelligent enough to have allowed the claim once Micky had been seduced by him. Maybe that would have changed her luck, and this sickie wouldn't have bothered with her. She would have welcomed anything Ann had in mind rather than suffer what was obviously about to be a hideous fate.
The man sitting in the chair was holding his cock, and it was no longer soft, but semi-erect. As he massaged it, it grew longer, thicker, harder, and she had to admit, like Randall Forrest's, it was huge. If not the same color as that of Forrest's cock, this one was at least every bit as big. Now it was hot, hard, bloated with passion, and pulsating with lusty blood surging through it.
His cock, so erect and trembling, reminded her that her own body was crying out for masculine attention. It was ridiculous, but true. She wanted to be fucked. This time, thick as the cock was, she was certain it wouldn't cause pain as her stepfather's had done. God! What was wrong with her? She had been a perfectly healthy lesbian before, and now she was crying out to be possessed by this strange, horrible man whom she didn't even know.
She was panting with terror, and her body quaked, so that her full breasts jumped up and down, slapping against her chest. She felt embarrassed that any man should witness such reactions in her body.
At the same time she felt pain. There was the pain in her head from the pull of the weight on her pony tail. Then there was pain in her nipples, because of the pressure of the teeth of the clips that were attached. Even so, she made up her mind she would not cry. Her attention gradually began to focus itself more and more on the man seated in front of her. The details of the frightening room in which she was imprisoned were no longer vivid as her mind focused on the horrible man.
He lit a small, thin, brown cigar, and the woman's nostrils flared at the pleasant aroma of burning tobacco. Though she, herself, had never smoked, the aroma of the burning little cigar was reassuring. It was a touch of reality in an otherwise bizarre nightmare.
Again she tugged at the bonds holding her arms and ankles in place, but she was unable to move. The weight behind her swung against her head again, hitting her. Oh God! This horror was too real!
A scream of rage welled up in her slender throat, despair filling her large brown eyes, but she swallowed it. At the moment there was no way in the world to access the reactions of her masculine captor. The ski mask totally obscured his features. She had no idea what he looked like, although his body was certainly magnificent. It looked to be even more muscular than that of Randall Forrest, but perhaps that was because this man had an oiled body. As a matter of fact, the oiled body was actually frightening in appearance, far more frightening than the body of Randall Forrest had ever been. Every one of his muscles was limned in clear, magnificent detail against the rest of his torso. He was powerful, and his cock was also powerful, perhaps even more powerful than the one attached to Randall Forrest, though this might only be in her imagination. Though colored somewhat differently from that of Forrest's cock, it had the same magnificent shape. Her stepfather had possessed one of those uncircumcised penises, one that was hooded until he tugged the foreskin back by hand. This one was circumcised, and the very power of it seemingly frightened her. The way it visibly pulsated, its unseeing eye staring at her, the drop of seminal oil oozing from the tiny opening in the head.
Remembering how her stepfather had crammed his cock into her mouth, aware that his oil had tasted much like the oils oozing from the cunts of the different women she had licked, Carol felt her mouth watering. She was astonished that she actually wanted to taste it. As a result, sexual frustration surged through her shuddering form.
"Oh God!" she finally gasped in despair, and she felt totally exhausted, as if what she had drank had drained the strength from her so that when she had awakened, she was still weak. She relaxed completely, letting her body-weight drag at her bonds, which merely served to increase the discomfort in her shoulders.
As her head fell forward she felt folds of skin caught at the edge of her metal slave collar, cutting into the softness of her flesh. She partially lifted her head, only to feel the weight swinging from her hair again. Sharp, stinging prickles of pain in her scalp told this was worse than when Ann had bound her by her hair to the chinning bar, even though there was a lot less weight pulling her hair, this time.
The tension between them mounted, and the silence seemed to weight her down as the hooded man finished his little cigar, smoking it through the mouth hole in his mask. He butted it out in an ashtray on the floor beside him and left it there.
Rising, he walked over to where she was bound, and he stared right at her. His coffee colored eyes burned right through her as they glittered evilly through the holes in the ski mask. She was almost positive she was able to see a twitching in his cheek muscle.
She wished he would say something, anything, or do something, even hit her to relieve the tension that had built between them. The suspense was agonizing. What was more, it added to her physical discomfort, increasing the mental anguish she was feeling.
Carol was certain if the man kept up this unbearable silence much longer, she would go insane. Every little pain pricked at her consciousness and defined itself, then added to the welter of agony surging through her bound form.
The man finally moved, and Carol had good cause to regret her wish that he do something. He walked over to a table that stood against the far wall of the dim room, and that was when she realized all the lighting came from two low-wattage incandescent bulbs which was why it was so difficult to make everything out. He picked up something from the table and came back to her. Carol suddenly realized it was the man's tweezers. Tweezers? What would a man be doing with tweezers?
Approaching Carol, he stood before her body, and she realized his head was level with her belly. He had bound her so that though her toes were barely able not to touch the floor beneath her, that part of the floor was two steps higher than the rest of the floor.
Without climbing the steps, the man merely leaned forward, and using the tweezers, began plucking the hairs from her pelvis one at a time. He pulled them quickly and expertly, thus yanking out the roots as well. Because he was taking them out one at a time, the process seemed to take forever. She twitched, wept, and cried, for a few moment insane with the little continuous pain running through her helpless pubis. It was a tortuous, constant, never-ending pain.
But the pain wasn't nearly as overpowering as some of the other agonies she was suffering. Nevertheless, it was like the constant stinging of a mosquito or a flea, and with her hands bound she was unable to relieve the discomfort. It became a screaming agony which finally took total possession of her.
The men finished, and even after her pelvis was totally relieved of its brown hedge she continued squirming, wriggling, feeling the stinging, hurting sensation in her plucked skin.
Looking down, she stared at the bare little mound of love, and gasped. She saw little dots of blood where some of the roots had been deeper than others. The little beads flecked her denuded flesh, making her think she might catch some infection.
Apparently the man was way ahead of her here, as well. He returned to the table, and she saw him pick up a small piece of cotton wadding and saturate it with what was obviously an astringent. The odor told her it was wood alcohol. She knew what he intended doing, and she was horrified. This would only cause her more agony.
He applied the cotton wadding to her pelvis, avoiding her mucous membranes, but the pain on her open little sores, caused by his plucking her hairs was excruciating, at best.
"Aaaahhhhh!" she screamed, her eyes filling with tears. She had the wildest impulse to laugh and cry at the same time as she realized the alcohol would at least protect her from germs.
The man sat in the chair he had been in before, but he had brought a bottle and glass with him from the table against the wall. He poured wine from the bottle into the glass, and sipped it. His drinking let Carol realize she was tremendously thirsty. Whatever it was that he had made her swallow that had knocked her out, had left her with a parched throat, and she was dying of thirst. She felt her dry lips cracking a little.
As the man continued sipping the red liquid, Carol's focus on him became more and more keen. His arousing body caused stirrings of delight to rise in her vagina.
She was shocked that she should feel arousal, just as shocked as when the analyst had told her she wasn't really homosexual. It was true. Her stepfather's actions had quashed her desires for a normal relationship, and so she had gone to homosexuality, keeping the brutality with which her father had treated her, but hanging onto a different kind of sexual thrill. Now she knew the truth of the matter. She had been looking for the glorious kind of relationship she had seen between Randall Forrest and Micky Mantoparte, but had been unaware of it. She ached to be dominated, but not harmed. Now she realized she was in a position where harm was the one thing of which she was assured, whereas being loved and maturely dominated was the one thing she would lack. The lips of her vagina became wet with desire as they swelled and pouted, and she was certain the man was well aware of what it was she was feeling.
Bound as she was, totally helpless, she realized that embarrassment was the most superficial emotion she might be able to feel. She sensed this and dismissed it. Besides, it was stupid to be embarrassed considering she was bound like a helpless lamb being tied to an altar on which it would shortly be sacrificed.
She kept the focus of her attention intently on the man, feeling the strangest abandonment of the senses as well as her sense of inner control, the one thing she had mastered for so long. The simple truth of the matter was, there was only one reality, and that was the fact that she was bound with her legs spread wide apart; totally helpless and at the mercy of this tall, bronzed stranger wearing the ski mask.
When the man finished his wine, he stood, walked over to the table, put down the glass and bottle, and picked up a flat leather paddle. He walked over to where the bound girl was hanging, but this time he mounted the steps behind her.
She turned her head, watching as he drew back his right arm, the one with the paddle, and then he swung-hard! Pain shot through the rounded cheeks of her buttocks as agony went blasting through her. The burning, stinging sensation shot through her pooled vagina, causing great gouts of colorless oil to blast from within her all over the cement floor. Much as all this hurt, because of all she had undergone with Ann, she was fast becoming more aroused with every passing second. She felt an uncontrolled sense of abandonment, and this, in turn, brought on a bizarre feeling of rapturous ecstasy, which made her body tremble like a tuning fork.
Her vaginal lips swelled and puffed up even more, the inner pink labia spreading themselves against the outer white lips, both of which more oil sprouted from within her, washing down her vaginal lips, making them gleam. Blood made the inner lips pout even more.
The sharp crack of the flat paddle against the cheeks of her behind was as brutal as it was arousing, and yet her body reacted to all of this, unable to control itself. She felt as if her rounded buttocks had enlarged to twice their normal size.
Her flesh was tingling, and it got to the point where some of the agony was no longer there. She knew she was still being hurt by the man, yet his beating her behind seemed more arousing than painful. The lovely woman was confused. Carol was unable to understand being beaten to the point where pain actually became pleasure. It had been one thing to revel in humiliation. After all, Ann had humiliated her countless times, making her enjoy it every time, but as the analyst had explained, unable to enjoy a normal relationship with a man, and ashamed, deep down, of her homosexual relationships, she took comfort in being humiliated, thinking she deserved to be treated that way for indulging in lesbianism.
Nevertheless, the pain she was feeling had translated itself into something entirely different. That different something was pleasure. But the erotic component of it all was far more powerful than anything she had ever known before. Desire had built to insatiable heights in her, totally unlike anything she had ever felt when with Ann.
The man finally seemed to tire of beating her backside. He put the paddle on the floor, but remained standing beside her. Everything he did, he did with maddening casualness, and this heightened the fearful sensations Carol was feeling.
He stood directly in back of her now, and she felt the head of his cock nudging between the cheeks of her ass. Carol stiffened, aware of the man's intent. It became even more evident when he tugged her beaten asscheeks apart and pressed the hot tip of his cock against the little pucker of her anus.
If there was on humiliation Carol had never undergone until now, it was being ass-fucked. Hell! She didn't want to be ass-fucked. As a result, she stupidly stiffened, and thereby heightened the torment as the man began rudely thrusting his stiff organ into the tightness of her narrow anal passage.
She screamed out loud, her shout echoing through the entire room, feeling a burning pain in her rectum. But the man's penis continued to brutally dig its way into her back trench, stretching her dry inner walls wide apart.
Carol felt her stomach churning in the center of her body, and she swallowed hard, forcing down liver bile. The perspiration began oozing from her body as the man slowly but surely continued pushing his penis deeper and deeper into her asshole. His weighty testicles hit against the pouting lips of her leaking vagina, making her gasp as she realized every last bit of his cock had been buried in her rectum.
The woman tried hard to relax and ease the pain a little. God! Her vagina was leaking more insanely than ever, washing his testicles. She stopped trying to relax, perhaps because she was straining at it, and it hurt too much. She surrendered to her agony, to her humiliation, for she was indeed being humiliated again, and to this bondage which was far worse than anything she had ever suffered with Ann. That was when she discovered the simple fact that in surrendering to everything, she was causing the veil of pain to be lifted. The torture in the depths of her rectum eased.
Ever since being raped by her stepfather, she had almost no command over her own life. There had been nothing other than the brutal helplessness of many years, and what this man was doing to her made her feel more helpless than ever. As she surrendered to him, the powerful man started ramming his cock in and out of the narrow fissure of her asshole, his violent movement so jarring, it set the weight tugging her hair down into action, and it banged lightly against the back of her head.
His throbbing penis moved in and out of the narrowly tight back tunnel with a strong, steady motion. She was aware of his hairy testicles slapping against the lower part of her ass as well as her cuntlips as his weighty cock continued reaming through the tightness of her tiny rectum.
A weird agonizing ecstasy began tingling through her quaking form as she realized she was on the verge of an orgasm, of all things. Her waist was being gripped firmly by both his hands, keeping her body steady as he continued lunging inward, piercing the depths of her newly opened asshole.
Vaguely, as she gave up each rational process, she felt the pleasure wash all the more strongly over her, wallowing in the sensual experience of being wildly ass-fucked as never before. She wondered now, even with all the pain, why she had never wanted a man's cock again. This one had started out hurting her far more than her stepfather's and yet she was mad about it. She felt as if her body was being totally possessed as the man continued impaling her deeply on his thrusting cock, with an increasing ferocity. Her ears picked up the man's grunts and she felt his cock swelling in her aft-tunnel, enhancing the sensations in her depths that much more.
Her tight, doughnutlike sphincter clamped greedily around his throbbing organ and the center of her body was suddenly a maddeningly wild welter of total pleasure as the painful sensations slowly began receding.
She was not a masochist - at least not in the sense that she enjoyed pain. What she was enjoying was the pleasure following the pain, but her mind reasoned that what she was feeling was definite pleasure. For some reason, the movement of his cock in the rear tube of her body was causing enthralling sensations. What was more, the harder he plunged into her, the more she enjoyed what was happening. Her body was responding.
"Aaaaaiigggghhhhh!" she screamed, as the orgasm suddenly took total possession of her.
It was her first rectal orgasm, and was far more powerful than the vaginal and oral ones induced by her father, or the many clitoral climaxes she'd had brought on by women. A hot gush of vaginal fluid came from the depths of her self and splashed out all over the stone floor. Her vaginal walls tingled with the sensation of the anal orgasm, and a subtle, strange kind of thrilling sensation centered from her rectum spread to her vagina, and then to the rest of her body as she twitched and jerked while coming.
The man's hand reached out and turned the knob on the nearby machine. He was barely able to reach it without pulling out of her vagina, and electricity sizzled through her nipples shocking her, heightening the orgasmic effect that much more. Her tightly pulled-back hair seemed to prickle, and goosebumps formed all over her sweet flesh. She began perspiring profusely, causing her beautiful white skin to take on a delectable sheen. Soon her body was actually glowing with radiance.
For the first time since her father's touching of her, Carol felt beautiful. In the midst of this total degradation she felt more lovely than she had ever known herself to be in her life. She wasn't certain if what she was feeling was philosophical, mystical, mental, or actually physical, but she did know she was coming more wildly than she had ever been able to before.
Hot juices continued spurting from her vagina, squirting all over the floor and steps in front of her. At the same time her rectal muscles responded to the cock in her rectum, squeezing and crushing it.
He was panting heavily, and it seemingly took all his willpower not to shout as he began firing into her rectum and colon. Hot, white salve washed through her rectum, washing down the burning walls, coating the violated interior, easing the passage of his huge pole as it continued moving in and out of her crushing anal vise. He turned off the electricity.
Carol felt as if the massaging cock was trying to cut through to her belly in the hope of shooting some of that hot oil into her mouth by way of her belly. He continued slamming into her until he had emptied his balls into her. By that time, his cock had shrunk.
Pulling out, he looked at her, then hosed her down, the cold water shocking her, but washing the perspiration from her. Then he left her, walking out of the room, turning off the dim light, leaving her in darkness. She was all alone.
Carol no longer cared. She was too tired to care. She hung, suspended in mid-air, bound to the posts, and this way she finally fell into a dreamless sleep.