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Collected by Djian
Captured!
BDsm, MMMM/f
By Argus
The day was getting long.
Skyler began scanning ahead and around her, looking for a likely
place to spend the night. Nights were dangerous. When she slept, if she slept,
she was vulnerable, helpless. She needed somewhere hidden, somewhere she
could look out on the world without being seen, somewhere safe.
No, not safe. There was no safe place any more. She would settle for
somewhere hidden, somewhere that she could have some warning of
attackers, some chance to escape, to run. Hunting season had been open
for a dozen years now, and she was prey.
She slowed down as she approached a bend in the highway. Up ahead to
her left the ground rose gradually, then sharply, ending in a low hill
top covered in scrub brush and a few scraggly trees. It would be hard
getting the bike up there, but she thought she could get it done.
She throttled back, then poured on the gas. The big Suzuki dirt bike
purred, the engine making hardly a whisper as it shot towards the gentle
slope. Learning how to refurbish bikes was one of her many talents,
learned through painful experience, and unlike males with their stupid
ego problems, she had no need of a powerful sounding bike. Hers had the
best muffler she could rig.
The bike bounced as it left the road, then raced up the slope. She
headed for the left side, which seemed to be smoother, putting more
power into the bike as it bounced and jerked, fighting her control. She
made it over the roughest patch, but then the ground grew too steep. The
wheels began to spin and she powered down and hopped off when the bike
slowed to a near halt. She crested the hill and let the bike fall over
on its side, doing the same.
She yawned, flopping on her back and spreading her arms and legs.
She
jerked the zipper down the front of her coveralls down all the way to
her lower belly, waving a hand under her sweat coated face.
"Fuuuuuck," she moaned.
She set up her small army camouflage tent and pulled her packs in,
then laid a camouflaged tarp over her bike. No one would be able to see the
bike from the roadside, but she never took chances, not ever. She rubbed
her dusty face with a dirty, sweaty hand and cursed mildly, then went
back behind the tent, carrying a small jug of water.
She unbuckled the sam brown belt from around her hips and pulled
that off. It contained a Koslov machine pistol, several clips of ammo and a
bayonet. She laid it on the ground with a sigh of relief.
She felt like she'd dropped fifty pounds in a minute, though it'd
been more like four. She unzipped her leather motorcycle boots and pulled
them off, along with her moist, dirty socks. She unzipped the front of
the tight, black coverall and shrugged it off, tossing it on the ground.
Now clad in a lacy pink french bra and G-string she stretched out
her arms and ran her fingers through her hair. Clad in these stupid, simple
frilly things, she reminded herself she was a woman, and allowed herself
to feel, in a small, relatively safe way, sexy, seductive. Here, where
no one could see, that was all right. Nowhere else was the slightest
weakness acceptable.
She unclipped the bra and removed it, then skimmed out of the
G-string.
She was belligerent about them anyway. She hated being a female as much
as she felt the odd yearning to be an attractive, sensual one. She'd
given up figuring out the contrasting emotions. There were no shrinks
left anyway.
She examined her body for bug bites or cuts. Her skin was white as
ivory where the coverall did as its name implied. No blemishes marred
her finely contoured legs, or the smoothly tapered ankles. Her small
feet were sore, but otherwise seemed healthy. And from what she could
see of her torso, that didn't seem to be marred or damaged either.
She ran her hands over her flesh, convincing herself that she was
merely making sure there were no bites somewhere out of sight. Still,
she appreciated the trimness of her body. She was a willowy young woman,
slender without being thin. Her full high breasts pushed out firmly,
and, as she cupped and weighed them for a moment, showed no signs of
acknowledging gravity.
She padded naked to the side of the tent, her graceful figure
seeming to float over the ground, long hair caressing her soft shoulders and
back. She squatted by the tent and opened the small mirror she kept,
examining her face.
It was a small face, elfin fine in sharply-drawn detail, yet with
pouty, sensuous lips, a small snub nose, large, and limpid blue eyes. It
was a sweet, innocent face, bordering that, without any conscious
thought could fade into seductive and beguiling. It was a face that
caught eyes and held them, captivated, a face men would kill for, and
had.
Surrounding it, as she brushed it out, was a thick mass of long
coppery red hair. It was straight but wind-blown, for she never wore a helmet on
the bike. She wanted anyone seeing her to know she was a woman, and the
long hair helped.
It wasn't that she was looking for company. Far from it. She would
go far to avoid meeting any man. However there were hunters out there,
killers. They were the type of men who, seeing a motorcycle moving by,
would get their rifle, focus in, and shoot without inquiring as to who
the rider might be. Then they'd flop back down, big beer bellies
bouncing, and laugh uproariously with their buddies.
So Skyler kept her hair long, and wore form-fitting clothes, like
the coverall that hugged every curve. Such men wouldn't try to kill her
outright. In that way her sex was a help. The hunters would try and
capture her if they knew she was a woman, a nice gang rape always
livened up their day.
Besides, young females were worth a fortune these days. One that
looked like her would be worth even more. She'd be used as a breeder if the
slavers ever got their hands on her. And even if it was someone else,
some brutal gang who kept her for their own use, she wouldn't fare much
better.
Still, it was better than getting her head blown off by a sniper,
and anyway, men almost always underestimated her abilities, giving her a
better than even chance of escaping.
Skyler sighed, trying to think of something else. She took out a
reasonably clean rag and poured some water on it, then tried to clean
herself off a little. She hated to go to bed smelling of sweat. She
hated the whole south, wished she dared go back north, but that's where
the Chisums were supposed to be now.
The Chisums. Now that had been a close thing.
Bad luck, she told herself. Bad luck that she'd been coming out of
the woods just then. Bad luck that her engine was low on gas, that Rolly
Sims, the leader of the Chisums had caught sight of her as he led some
of his men in search of food.
She'd almost lost them anyway, but Sims was smart, too smart for her
improvised boobie traps. There were too many of them too, and even in
avoiding one, then another, then another, desperately racing through
woods and brush, she'd known there was no escape, known what would
happen.
The bike swerved then hit a rock, bouncing, the wheel twisting as
she screamed and was hurled sideways into some brush. She rolled as well as
she could, then scrambled to her feet, but a heavy body hit her high and
bore her to the ground, knocking the wind from her.
She swung her elbow back desperately, caught something hard and
heard a grunt. She whirled, her leg arcing up, foot slashing across a man's jaw
and sending him reeling back. Another one jumped her and she grabbed
him, using his weight to fling him into a tree across from her.
She ran, her shoes barely touching the ground as she dodged in and
out among the too-scarce underbrush. Another motorcycle growled louder and
louder and she whipped her automatic out from its belt, whirled and
fired in one motion.
The big forty-five slammed into the rider's head and flung him
backwards off the bike. The bike itself barely missed her as she jumped
aside, then fell yards ahead. She ran to it, right it, then jumped
aboard, gunning the engine.
But a hand reached out and grabbed her by the long hair just as the
bike took off, and she screamed as she was yanked backwards off the
seat. His weight bore her down and he sneered with laughter as his hands
reached for her.
She twisted then cried out as a big fist slammed into her jaw,
throwing her head back to the ground and stunning her.
Powerful hands tore at her jacket and blouse, ripping them open,
baring her proud young breasts to hands and teeth as the chortling man, his jaw
gaping with many missing teeth, cackled with delight at his prize.
His hands moved to her waist as she lay there groaning, undoing her
belt buckle, then the clasp of her jeans as she moaned dazedly. He
yanked her zipper down as she began to feebly fight again.
She kicked at him, throwing him back, and staggered to her feet only
to be tripped up on her first step by her jeans around her knees.
Then he was on her again, laughing and cackling, yanking her pants
the rest of the way off, her shoes popping off with them.
He tore her already open shirt back over her shoulders, then ripped her
panties off as if they were paper.
She was naked in the dirt, in the dust, her mouth full of it as he
jammed her face down, then his cock pushed against her rectum, for that
was the way he liked it.
Gruel, he was called, Gruel the Cruel, and she screamed as he thrust
into her, his cock thick and hard, ramming up her virginal anus as she
squirmed and clawed at the dirt, her tears falling to moisten it.
He just laughed in delight, his heavy body pinning her to the
ground, his blunt-nosed, uncircumcised cock forcing its way up her tight little
hole to the balls. She felt torn open back there as he began to rut into
her, his teeth biting at her throat, chewing savagely as he slammed his
hips into her soft buttocks with all his might, his cock spearing up
her, impaling her again and again as she sobbed and screamed.
She thought he'd break her tail bone as he pounded himself into her
with demented fury, his cock ripsawing up and down inside her rectum.
Then the sound of engines closing, many of them, and men running up,
laughing, men and women, laughing and snickering as they surrounded her
and watched Gruel raping her, sodomizing her there in the dirt, his
heavy body crushing her as he continued to pound himself up into her
numbed anus.
She shuddered and stopped struggling, grunting as she lay spread out
there, the heavy man atop her, his loins thrusting, his hands racing
over her. She screamed as he suddenly grabbed her hair and yanked it up
and back, forcing her head up off the ground.
Then he dropped it again, his big hands slamming down into the dirt
next to her head, then grabbing at her arms as he thrust into her with
hard, deep, powerful blows, his cock slamming up her rectum, making her
tremble and sob.
When he'd finally finished and he got up, she lay there, moaning,
gulping in air, feeling broken. Then a hand wound her long, thick hair
around it and yanked her head up, then her upper chest.
She screamed in pain, her hands pawing at the dirt, her arms pushing
up as she tried to take the pressure off, rising to her knees, then her
feet. And still her scalp screamed as the man holding it lifted higher
still, forcing her head up and back, her high round breasts up and out.
Sims was the man who came up close, his big, beefy hand going up
under her jaw, grasping her tightly, painfully, twisting her head from side to
side to examine her face.
"Quality meat," he said, nodding slowly as his eyes looked down her
lithe, athletic body.
Desperation had driven her to try to escape then. She knew what was
coming, and knew that after a gang rape by all these men she'd be in no
position to run anywhere.
Her knee slammed up into his crotch, then she brought the leg back
sharply, her foot cracking into the knee of the man behind her.
Surprise had its effect, and she reeled away, naked but temporarily
free, diving through the bushes, then racing for the distant trees as
curses echoed around her.
She never made it, of course. They tackled her well short, laughing
as Sims came limping up, glaring at her. Rough ropes bound her wrists
together and she was hung from low branch on a scrubby pine tree.
The ache in her wrists, arms and shoulders melted to nothing as her
stomach turned to acid at the sight of Rolly with a belt in his hand.
"You'll beg for it, bitch," was all he said.
Then the belt hissed through the air and her back exploded with fire
as a scream was torn from her mouth. The shock of the pain drove her mind
into tumbling orbits as she swung on the end of the rope.
Another blast, then another, then another, careful, calculated,
lashing across her sensitive flesh as he worked his way down from shoulders to
hips. One blow followed another, each one slashing across her pale white
skin, the pain tearing through her mind.
Across her shapely rear, and who would have imagined her buttocks
could hurt so much, the pain be so sharp, so jagged, as the belt whipped
across them again and again.
Then down her thighs, to the backs of her legs, behind her knees.
She wasn't screaming by then, for her voice had become worn and gravelly,
the sound a hoarse croak as half her body burned like fire.
But that had been the warmup.
Ropes were twisted around her ankles, then they were lifted up
behind her, the ropes tied around her waist. Rolly dropped his belt and picked
up a small, thin rubber hose from one of the bikes.
The first time it hit the sole of her foot she thought her mind
would explode. Agony filled the world and there was no place for her to hide
from it.
She screamed, the shockwave of agony tearing her throat open.
Laughter echoed around her, then the hose struck again, then again,
then again, hissing through the air as it whipped against her heel, her
sole, and the balls of her foot. First the left foot, then the right,
then back again, or maybe not. No point letting her prepare.
She screamed and sobbed like a baby, pride gone, begging him to
stop, promising anything and everything, offering herself to him, her pussy,
her mouth, her anus.
They cut the rope free from her waist, and her legs swung down. Then
they cut the rope below the branch and she collapsed to the ground,
grunting dazedly as her chin struck the soft earth.
"You want more, slut?" Rolly demanded. "That's just the start. It'll
get ten times worse if you don't fall into line. Now come here. Now!"
She lay there in the dirt, shaking and sobbing, lungs straining for
breath, her tear-stained face coated in dust, her hair a tangled mess,
arms and legs spread.
Then she heard heavy footsteps, and a moment later a hard motorcycle
boot slammed into her from behind, into her pubic mound.
An explosion of dizzying, nauseous pain filled her as her body
flipped forward then onto its back, jerking spastically. A strong hand gripped
her hair, yanking her up to a sitting position, then almost lifting her
up onto her feet.
Her rubbery legs scrambled for purchase as she coughed and sobbed in
pain, misery and dazed confusion.
"He said now, slut!" a woman sneered, her face inches from Skyler's.
Then the woman's knee slammed up into her crotch. Skyler's legs
flopped aside, but strong arms kept her up. The woman's knee slammed up into her
crotch again, then again, then again, each time throwing her upwards a
few inches, her head falling back as she gargled in agony.
Then they dropped her back into the dirt, where she lay choking and
desperately trying to breath.
"Now crawl or you'll get more of the same!" the woman screamed at her.
"Crawl!"
Her battered mind barely functioned, but a crude animal instinct for
self-preservation made her seize on the woman's words. Anything.
Anything to avoid pain. Anything to make it stop. Anything.
Sobbing, coughing, choking on dirt and bile, she dragged herself
slowly over the ground, fingernails breaking as she clawed at the dirt to halt
in front of Sims.
Again a hand gripped her hair, Sims' hand, yanking her head off the
ground, pulling it back so he could look into her eyes.
"Do you want to become one of my slags, bitch?"
She knew what answer he wanted, what answer he demanded.
"Y...y...y...yesssss," she said in a choked, pain-filled gasp.
He let her hair go and her face dropped back into the dirt as she
groaned weakly.
"Well then, as one of my slags you can show you're sorry for making
us go to all this goddamn effort to catch you. You can start by cleaning
off my boots."
She had no idea what he meant.
"With your tongue, slag. Lick them clean. You've gotten dirt all
over them."
Still she lay there groaning, until an open hand cracked across the
back of her head.
"Lick em', slut! Lick my boots!" he shouted.
An order accompanied by pain, something she understood.
She raised her face, her vision blurred, and saw his boots inches
from her. She stretched her neck out and licked at the top of one boot, then
seized it weakly, her hands grasping it as her tongue slipped up and
down its dusty surface.
The gang surrounded them, laughing and chortling, making obscene
jokes as she licked at Sims' boots, but all that mattered to her was pain, and
getting no more of it.
After a few minutes Sims pulled his boots back and moved around her.
His hands gripped her hair and crotch, lifting her bodily off the
ground, and dropping her on all fours.
She sagged, but he dropped quickly behind her, seizing her hips.
Then a new source of pain, but a small one, as he entered her, raping away her
virginity as the gang gathered around. His cock ploughed through her
hymen as though it didn't exist, then beginning a cruel, furious
rutting.
His hips slammed against her aching buttocks as his hands dug into
her flanks, then reached forward, sliding under her ribs to mash and maul
her breasts.
He hadn't lasted long, nor had the man who came after, but there
were a lot of them. One after another they took her, on her back, on her knees,
thrusting brutally into her pussy and rectum, then her mouth, pouring
their hot seed into her and over her, grasping and clawing at her
breasts, slapping at her face.
They built up a campfire and settled their sleeping bags out around
her, and still the raping went on, come spewing over her flesh, coating
her lips and nostrils, her eyes and hair, her breasts and thighs and
buttocks and crotch.
One and two and three at a time they piled over her, all of them
using her at least once, most two or three times, until she thought she'd
drown with the semen poured down her throat.
They did not tie her that night. They had no need. She lay spread
out on the ground, throbbing with pain, coated in dirt and semen, breathing
in shallow, agonized breaths as the gang fell asleep all around her.
Sentries moved around the campsite, watching for intruders, then
were replaced, and they in their turn also replaced. Still she lay there,
dazed, surely no virgin any longer, not by a long, long shot.
Her mind shied away from her months with the Chisums. Though things
could have gone much worse. Sims had been taken by her red hair and
looks. Many girls in her position would have been killed after the
gang's lust had been sated. Others would have been kept around for use
by anyone in the gang who wanted her, subjected to nightly bang bangs.
Instead she'd been his personal slag, collared and chained, kept
naked and ready for his attentions.
She'd seen the whipping and beatings other slags got for the
slightest disobedience to any of the Chisums. But Rollie never used the whip on
her. She was too valuable. He was going to take her to San Jose, where a
slag of her class would fetch a fortune, and he wanted her skin
unmarked.
That didn't mean she wasn't punished, of course. He was an evil,
brutal man and took a great deal of pleasure in breaking her, forcing her to
submit.
Or so he thought.
She'd gone along with it, pretended, as her father had taught her,
to become a meek, obedient slag, then she'd cut his
throat one night and slipped away with one of the Chisums' bikes.
If they ever caught her now...
She wiped herself off as best she could then got the little coleman
heater and made dinner. She didn't bother to dress for it. She wasn't
expecting company, after all, and didn't want to get any more clothes
sweaty and dirty. Maybe tomorrow she'd find a river or something to wash
in.
They were supposed to have real bathtubs at the better slaver
houses, with hot and cold running water and indoor plumbing. The breeder girls
lived pretty good there, except for having no say in who they slept
with, or what happened to their babes once they were born. She'd thought
about it a time or two. At least it would keep her out of the hands of
the Chisums and their ilk. Sex wasn't so bad, after all. She'd even
gotten to like it a little with Rollie, when he wasn't too rough or
mean.
How that had happened she wasn't quite sure. The first couple of
times she'd felt nothing, other than pain of course. Then, as the weeks
passed, she started to...to lose herself during the sex. She didn't know
why that was since she'd hated Rollie's guts, but it had happened.
She'd even started climaxing every time he used her. And the longer
she was with him the less she'd taken to come, the more responsive her body
become to him, and the more powerful the orgasms had been.
She'd hated herself for that. She knew it was unnatural. Even the
other slags looked at her oddly after her screams of ecstasy had started
echoing around the camp. But it had seemed to be completely out of her
control.
It was one of the reasons she'd risked everything to escape. She'd
been afraid she was losing her mind, turning into some brainless fuck toy for
Rollie's use.
It hadn't just been him, though. For months afterwards she'd found
herself almost constantly aroused, had masturbated to massive orgasms
that had blown her mind. They'd slowly begun to ease, though, and
whatever weird sexual need had inhabited her faded the farther she got
from Sims body.
She closed her eyes, and slept.
Her vision was hazy, unfocused. She was in a strange room, all
white, with odd looking instruments. She was naked, strapped down on a table as
men in white coats bent over her. Lights flashed in her eyes and metal
instruments probed her.
Her legs were lifted up and apart, her ankles locked into metal
arms.
Her eyes jerked frantically as she tried to see what was happening,
but her head was strapped down, almost immovable, and a heavy gag had been
forced into her mouth and locked in place.
She saw one of the men take a strange looking metal tube, then bend
forward at the end of the table. She felt his fingers at her sex, felt
him spreading her lips. Then the thing pushed against her, into her,
slipping deeper and deeper as he twisted it from side to side.
She moaned weakly into the gag, eyes bulging as her insides bulged
out.
It pushed deeper and deeper, driving far inside, until she felt impaled
on it, and screamed in agony.
"Full penetration," the man said "I make it..."
She shrieked as he pushed down harder. "Hmm, almost twelve inches."
"All right. Expand the tube."
She felt the tube twist as the men turned something at its base, then
blinked her eyes uncertainly. It felt...larger. Then she was sure it was
no mistake. The tube was expanding, somehow unfolding inside her,
pushing the tight, virginal walls of her sex apart.
"Dilation at two centimetres," one of the men said.
She moaned again, terrified and bewildered. She had expected rape
when they caught her, and when they'd stripped her naked she had been sure of it.
"Dilation at four centimetres."
She cried out softly, a helpless moan, as the tube stretched the
softly elastic walls of her sheath. Already she could feel them straining, and
as each second passed the tube seemed to swell more and more.
"Dilation now eight centimetres," one of the men said.
She let out a soft cry, easily muffled by the gag, then another one,
more desperate. She yanked at the straps around her wrists, and tried to
free her ankles from the stirrups holding them. But her efforts only
shook the metal frames a little, and one of the men in white responded
by slipping additional straps around her upper thigh, then yanking them
apart and strapping them down to the table.
"Dilation twelve centimetres."
She screamed as the tube split her wider and wider. Her pelvic bones
were slowly being forced apart as though she were in childbirth. Beads
of sweat trickled down her forehead and she strained despairingly
against the bonds holding her as pain tore into her mind like a hammer.
Her eyes bulged whitely as her pelvic bones spread further apart,
and she screamed madly into the gag, thrashing with the desperation of an animal.
"Dilation now fifteen centimetres."
"All right. That should be sufficient."
The locked the tube in place, then opened the bottom and flashed a
light down the hallow tube, observing her cervix.
"Everything looks perfect," he said.
He took a long, narrow instrument and slid it down the open tube. It
slipped through her partly open cervix and into her womb, where it
pierced the flesh and locked tightly in place. A small electrical
current passed down the tube and the men examined the readouts on a
machine.
Moments alter she felt sharp little stabs up and down her aching
vaginal tunnel as the walls were pierced in a dozen more places.
"Nerve stimulators in place."
"All right. Let's find that central node and put in the amplifier."
Pain beyond agony tore though her and her eyes rolled back in her
head as she blacked out.
From - The Hunger by Argus