One
Sara yawned and stretched out in her bed, then rubbed her eyes and
slowly sat up. Her gaze turned immediately to the window and she felt
a slight surge of pleasure at the bright sunlight and the cloudless
sky.
She had a game today, after all, and the last thing she wanted was
for it to be called on account of rain.
She threw back the covers and swung her long legs around and over the
edge, then stood up. She walked across to the window and looked out
again, just to make sure there wasn't a storm somewhere off in the
distance. There wasn't. She sighed happily, leaning on the window
sill, only peripherally aware of the weight of her breasts pulling
down against the thin, cropped halter she habitually slept in.
Below the light, somewhat warn halter she wore a pair of thin, high
cut panties, the narrow triangle of fabric over her mons held tightly
in place by two thin strips curving up high across her hips, her
buttocks peeking out of the rear as it was pulled tightly across her
bottom.
"Right on," she said, straightening and turning away, then strolling
across the room to the door. She flung it open and trotted down the
stairs, then into the kitchen.
"Hi," she said.
"Good morning," her mother smiled.
"You iron my uniform?"
"Sitting on the table."
"Thanks."
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Uhm, I dunno," Sara said, pulling her blouse up and shaking it out.
"You have to eat something. You're too skinny."
"Oh right," Sara snorted.
"You are. You're tiny. You're all skin and bones."
"Hardly, mother."
"The only thing big about you is your boobs."
"Mother!"
"Well it's true."
"Look, I'll have a couple of pancakes, okay."
"That'll do."
Grumbling, Sara carried her blouse and skirt upstairs and into her
room, then laid them out and went down the hall to the bathroom. She
grabbed a big towel from the linen closet, then closed the bathroom
door and locked it.
After hanging up the towel she turned and looked at herself briefly
in the mirror, eyeing her loose, shoulder length blonde hair,
reasonably pretty face and...
She reached down to the hem of her little crop top and gripped it
cross-handed, then, as sexily as she could, she peeled it up her body
and over her head, then hung it on a hook, then slipped her thumbs
into the thin waist of her bottoms and peeled it down and out,
bending, her breasts hanging heavily as she stepped out of them before
straightening. Naked, she looked at herself again.
She had a tiny waist, but her hip were wide. She turned and looked at
her behind in the mirror. It wasn't bad, really, quite round and firm,
though small.
She faced the mirror again and stood straight, pushing her chest out.
Funny, she thought, they did look rather big now. When she had clothes
on they seemed pretty normal, well, noticeable, maybe, but not this
big. Now, naked, they seemed somehow too large for her body. Maybe it
was because of her tiny waist, her thin frame.
Sara was something of an athlete, and her body looked trim and firm,
the musculature of her chest and belly clearly showing when she pushed
her chest out. Her thighs were toned, her legs strong and
well-proportioned, nicely contoured all the way down to her ankles.
She was no more a narcissist than any other girl her age, which
wasn't saying much, but enjoyed the sight of herself naked. It was
still a reasonably new body, after all, only a few years since she had
"sprouted". She was well aware of how attractive she was to boys, how
they lusted after her, longed to get their hands on her.
That kind of turned her on. It wasn't just boys any more either. Men
too were glancing at her with lust and interest when she moved past
now, real men, men with real jobs, men old enough to be her father.
She knew - vaguely - what was on their minds. She was a virgin, but
knew all the details involved in sex. she hadn't gone all that far
with guys yet, mostly because she was worried about her reputation,
and kind of scared and disgusted at the idea of a guy putting his -
thing - inside her body.
It was exciting, too, though, and she had many fantasies where she
and some gorgeous guy writhed naked in front of a fireplace, or on a
beach, or in a field of grass...
But so far she hadn't dared. The furthest she'd gone was when Joey
Morgan had gotten her top open in his car one time and had sucked and
chewed on her nipples before she'd managed to draw together enough
strength to push him off and close her shirt.
Every time she thought of that her heart gave a little lurch at the
pleasure and the intensity of the lust which had rippled through her
young body.
But she'd never dared repeat it, afraid of the stories which would
get out, afraid of a reputation, and afraid of herself, of her own
weakness. Father Frasier had given many sermons on the topic of
extra-marital sex, on the subject of immorality and moral weakness.
She was determined to be strong, to follow the will of God and not
give in to lewd, immoral debauchery.
She was eighteen, after all; a woman - if for all of five weeks. She
needed to conduct herself like a lady, and was determined to be a
virgin on her wedding night. She would save herself for her husband,
as the Church said she must.
But oh it was difficult sometimes!
She cupped her breasts and then slid her fingers onto her nipples,
pinching them just a bit, and pulling them outwards. They were small
and bright pink, but she remembered how hard and sensitive and long
they'd gotten when Joey had sucked. How they had throbbed and burned
and set her chest on fire.
She shook her head in annoyance and turned, stepping to the bathtub.
She turned on the water, got in, and began to soap herself up.
Her thoughts turned to the game that day as she casually ran her
hands over her soapy young flesh. She was playing right wing on the
school's field hockey team, and anticipated a win today, since Sherman
Oaks was a weaker team than St. Mary's, her school. It was her last
year, after all. She'd be off to college in the fall - where any
manner of lewd things might happen, she thought a bit daringly.
She dried herself in the towel, then blow dried her hair so it was
thick and full and fluffy, with just the right amount of bangs. That
took awhile, and she didn't really have time for breakfast. Her mother
made her eat it anyway.
She raced to the corner just in time to catch the bus. It wasn't a
school bus, just a regular city one, and more than a few of the men
eyed her with less than paternal thoughts as the pretty blonde girl in
the blue jacket and tartan skirt made her way down the aisle
She ignored them, mostly, though she was aware of some looking a bit
longer than was polite. She sat in the back, her legs chastely
crossed, and looked out the window as the bus lurched along. She
pulled her math book out of her gym bag and buried her nose in it,
ignoring the world for the half hour ride to school.
The world, however, did not ignore her. It was a boring ride, and
every one of the men in back let his eyes flicker across to the pretty
girl from time to time. Some merely exercised their eyes, scanning her
nice legs and soft, golden hair, enjoying her as they would a pretty
picture.
A few let graphic daydreams slide over their minds, their eyes trying
desperately to slide up under the tartan skirt as they imagined her on
all fours, bottom in the air, or on her back with her knees shoved
back against her tits.
And then there was one whose mind was far more calculating. He never
stared, but his eyes seldom left the girl. He assessed her age, her
likely measurements, whether the blonde hair was real (He was sure it
was), whether she were a virgin (probably, he guessed), and more
importantly for Sara, whether she was worth the careful effort of
following, and grabbing.
He watched her eyes when they came up from the book and looked out
the window. They were a very bright blue, and seemed almost
unnaturally wide as she looked upwards. She had a small, pert nose, a
sweet mouth with full, pouting lips, and a narrow, elfin chin.
Very pretty. Lovely, in fact, with a certain special... something, a
certain character that he found quite appealing. She was of an age for
training, certainly. His only problem lay in her schoolgirl uniform.
It covered and shaded too much. He couldn't be sure of her figure.
Only the best would do.
She appeared to have good legs, from what he could see, but the chest
was uncertain. He studied her as the bus moved, then studied more
carefully as she put her book away and stood up. His eyes narrowed as
he saw the jacket held out by her chest.
Perhaps. Yes, perhaps.
He rose and got off behind her, staying well behind as she walked
down a couple of blocks amongst a group of similarly clad teenagers.
They turned into a large grey stone structure, St Mary's Catholic High
School, it said on a sign.
He nodded his head and turned away.
"Karen! Over here!" Sara yelled, slapping her stick on the grass. The
ball came skidding across the grass and she raced for it, beating a
Sherman Oaks girl and elbowing her aside as she moved in on goal.
She saw the goalie running forward to block her off, stick handled to
the right, swung, then feinted left and backhanded the ball past her
and into the net.
There were cheers amongst her team and she jumped up and down in
glee, clutching Karen and Susan as they yelled in victory. They
trotted back, laughing and joking as the unhappy Sherman Oaks' girls
glumly followed.
"Sara."
She turned at the tap on the shoulder to see Amy Simpson, a small,
black haired girl.
"You're off," she said, thumbing towards the sidelines.
Sara glared indignantly towards the coach, then sighed and trotted
off.
"Why'd you pull me off?" she demanded.
"There's only ten minutes left, Sara, and we're up by three."
"So?"
"So I want to see how Simpson plays."
"She plays lousy."
"Don't be snotty. Sit down and rest."
Sara mumbled to herself, but didn't dare say anything out loud. Coach
had a quick hand, and she'd felt it on the side of her head often
enough to know better than to mouth off.
"Nice goal," Toni said.
"You see how I decked her?" Sara grinned.
"Yeah, dumb cow."
"They're all losers."
"Yeah."
"Hey, are you going to the mall after school?" Tricia asked.
"I don't know. I got homework in Science." Sara sighed.
"I hate science."
"Who doesn't?"
None of them noted the van across the street, and if they had would
not have suspected there was a high powered spotting scope in the back
trained on them, trained specifically on Sara. The scope was powerful
enough that her face filled the entire field of view.,
When it panned down, the watched had a close-up of her chest, then
her crotch. The shorts and t-shirt she wore left little doubt about
her figure, and the watcher doubted strongly she'd bothered to stuff
her bra before a game, especially with other girls watching.
She turned and he caught her chest in profile, humming to himself,
then caught her bottom once again, a bottom that he guessed must be
incredibly firm and round from the way it pushed out behind her like
it did.
The game ended, and St. Mary's senior girls' field hockey team headed
back to the school in victory, while the visitors moved dejectedly to
their bus. The locker room soon filled with laughing, happy young
women in various states of undress.
Sara stripped off her T-shirt without a second thought, then slid her
shorts down and stepped out of her running shoes and socks. She felt a
slight arousal as she slid her bra off and skimmed down her panties.
As always, being naked around others turned her on just a little.
True, they were only girls, and they were naked too, but it still
felt odd and vaguely erotic to be moving around in semi-public utterly
naked. The other girls all felt the same way, though nobody mentioned
it, and nobody thought much about it.
They all moved about their business, mostly ignoring each other,
trying not to look anywhere they shouldn't, lest someone start
rumours. All of them felt the little tingling between their legs,
though.
Sara moved into the shower room, where at least a dozen girls stood
washing, and moved under an empty showerhead. She turned on the water
and soaked herself, then began to soap up.
She was not thinking of how luscious her body was, or about how soft
and silky her skin felt as her hands moved over her soapy flesh. She
noted, casually enough, the other girls in sight, and what they looked
like, almost routinely comparing herself to them.
Tori's breasts were bigger, but looked saggy. Susan had small,
conical ones. Angie was almost flat chested. Kate had nice ones but
not as good as hers.
That was part of being a girl, comparing oneself to others, and she
did it routinely, without really even thinking about it. Her breasts,
she thought, were just about the best. Ashley Fisher's ass was a bit
better, and she thought maybe Cory O'Neil had better legs. But then
she was almost six feet, and her legs were really long.
Content in her own looks she continued soaping up, thinking about
whether she could do her Science homework later and still go to the
mall. Tomorrow she did volunteer work at the hospital, so couldn't go
to the mall then, and the next day she had a date with Mark Hunter.
He was kind of dreamy looking, and had a nice car, and half the girls
at school made goo goo eyes over him. Sara had been much more
dignified, playing a kind of, who cares game, and it had worked.
She rinsed the soap off, then turned off the water and went to the
wall, grabbing her towel. She towelled off quickly, then wrapped it
around her soaking hair as she walked naked out of the shower room.
Other girls were similarly clad, so there was nothing to be
embarrassed about. She wasn't consciously showing off, though she
didn't mind that other girls would see her like this and be a little
envious. Whenever she caught a girl eyeing her body, out of the corner
of her eyes, she felt a little shivery, a little naughty. Pride was
one of the deadly sins, after all, and especially pride in - well - in
naughty things like her breasts and bottom. Father Frasier would be
very upset.
She dressed and finished drying her hair, then headed off to class on
what she thought of as another routine day.
He followed the girl with his eyes as she walked to the bus stop.
There were too many others around to grab her here, but he was
patient. If an opportunity arose, he'd make his move. Otherwise he'd
wait, study, and plan.
He followed them to the bus, then followed the bus after it picked
her up. Half an hour later he saw her get off. She turned down a side
street and he picked up speed, the van passing her. He slowed, looking
for a likely place, somewhere he could do a quick grab, but then she
turned another corner behind him.
He cursed and turned around, getting to the corner just in time to
see her walk up the driveway of a large Tudor style house. She went to
the door, produced a key, then unlocked it and let herself in. He
frowned unhappily, wondering if she were alone there.
He studied the terrain around her. Tall hedges bordered her home's
lawn on either side, so only the people directly across the street
would see anything unusual. This was quite good. He drove up and
parked beside the hedge, then eyed the house with binoculars.
He saw no car, but the garage door was closed. Did he dare sneak up
to the house in broad daylight and check? Better not. The risk was too
high. He studied the surrounding area one more time, then started the
engine, preparing to back off, maybe get the girl on her way to school
tomorrow morning.
Then she appeared at the door. He couldn't believe it. She turned her
back and brought out the key again, and he hurriedly got out of the
driver's seat and slid the side door of the van open. He jumped out
and dropped lightly onto the sidewalk, his hand going to his pocket.
He pulled out a plastic bag, opened it, and then discarded it,
holding the rag in his gloved hand. It had been previously soaked in
chloroform, and would make short work of any resistance the girl put
up.
He watched her covertly as she walked down the driveway. She was clad
in jeans and a red, button down blouse now, and didn't appear to even
notice him. He turned his back to her a bit more, judging the timing
expertly.
Suddenly, as she passed, he whirled around, his hand jamming the rag
into her face as his other arm slid around her and crushed her against
him. She gave a startled yelp into the rag, then started to struggle
as he carried her to the van. It was only a couple of steps, and by
the time he reached it she was limp.
He tossed her body in and slid the door closed, then threw the rag
away and got in the driver's door. He looked around anxiously, but
nobody seemed to have seen anything. His heart racing, he started the
engine and drove off, Sara Miller unconscious in the back.
Sara woke slowly. She felt a little sick, and very dizzy and
confused. At first she didn't know why, or remember anything. She was
a little more confused that her legs and arms didn't seem to be moving
properly, but not alarmed about it.
Then real awareness returned, and she blinked her eyes against
blindness. There was something over her eyes, she realized, and
something holding her wrists down at her sides. Her ankles were also
bound, and wouldn't move an inch.
Fear blasted into her, raw, hot, gut wrenching. She remembered the
man, then, the man and his rag jammed into her face, the medicine
smell, the numbness in her arms and legs, then the blurred vision.
Where was she? What had happened? H-Hello?" she gasped.
Nothing.
She pulled more determinedly but her wrists and ankles were held
tight. Where was she? What was he going to do her?
She had a pretty good idea about the latter. She'd been grabbed by
some kind of nasty, evil pervert, and he was going to... to... to rape
her!
She had to get away! Again she struggled desperately, but her wrists
and ankles stayed where they were. She thought about screaming. In
fact, she was on the verge of screaming in sheer, raw terror, but was
afraid the only one who would hear would be.... him.
She was still wearing all her clothes. Had he raped her and then
dressed her again? She didn't feel anything different down there.
She'd heard that Angela Cooper had gotten drunk at a party and passed
out, and that Phil Bradshaw and Bill Arron had fucked her. Supposedly
she hadn't even known about it until a few days later when they'd
started bragging.
She trembled in terror, her head moving from side to side, trying to
see something... anything, but there was only total blackness. Her
heart was racing, and she was starting to sweat. What would he do to
her? What would it be like? Would he hurt her? Would he... kill her?
She pulled again and again and again but couldn't free her arms and
legs. She gave up, panting wearily and laying her head back on the...
whatever.
She was on some kind of bed, she thought. It was padded, anyway, even
if there was no pillow. She listened, but heard no sounds. She smelled
damp air.
A noise! Her heart went into overdrive as she heard the sound of a
heavy wooden door opening, then closing. She stared around her
desperately, wondering where he was.
"Hello."
She let out a short scream, her head tilting back as she looked up
towards the voice.
"How do you feel?"
"Wh... where am I?" she gulped.
"Home."
"M-My home?"
"Your new home."
She felt a blast of terror at that.
"Feeling better?"
"Y-yes."
"Good."
"Please... untie me," she begged.
"They're straps."
"Could you... could you let me up?" she gulped.
His voice was soft, calm, almost casual. "I could... if I wanted to."
"What... what are you going to do to me?"
"Anything I want," he said.
She trembled, and bit back another scream. Her heart was racing so
fast that she thought she'd faint.
She felt hands, fingers down at her ankles, and felt the... straps
opened. Her legs were free!
But a second later she felt something else, something leathery,
wrapped around first one ankle, then the other.
"Wh... what are you doing?" she gulped.
"Don't ask questions," he said.
She felt his fingers at her right wrist. The strap was pulled loose,
then another leather something was wrapped tightly around her wrist.
He unstrapped her other hand, and again wrapped a leather something
around it, then, his hands tightly on her wrists, he pulled her into a
sitting position.
"Swing your legs to your right," he ordered.
Still terrified, she obeyed, and felt them drop over the edge of
the... bed. Her feet touched the floor.
"Now you're going to stand, and go where I lead you. Understand?"
"Yes," she said in a small voice.
A thought slipped into her mind. Maybe he had just kidnapped her for
money. Maybe he thought her parents were rich or something, and would
let her go when he found out they weren't.
Or maybe he'd kill her.
He pulled on her wrists and she slid off the bed. She tried to stand
but her legs were surprisingly rubbery and weak, and if hadn't been
for his tight grip she would have fallen. He lifted her hands up high
and pulled her forward, and she shuffled awkwardly along until he
stopped.
He raised her hands even higher, and then took his hands away. She
swung her arms a little, but they were caught on something up there,
like a rope or something. She turned her head from side to side
fearfully, wondering what he was doing.
She gasped as she felt his fingers in her hair.
"Your hair is very soft," he said.
She swallowed nervously, saying nothing.
"What's your name?"
"S-S-Sara," she croaked.
"Sara. That's a lovely name," he said, sliding his hand down along
her cheek, stroking her skin.
Her heart beat louder.
"Sara?"
"Wh...what?"
"I want you to kiss me."
"What?"
"Kiss me."
"Bu...but...Please don't!"
"I want you to kiss me."
"I-I can't," she whimpered.
"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asked, sliding his hand around
behind her head, his fingers tightening.
"Yes!" she squeaked.
"Say it."
"Sa... say what?"
"Say you're going to be a good girl."
"I-I-I'm going to be a good girl," she gulped.
"Master. Say master."
"Please, she whimpered.
He jerked her hair back and she gasped in pain.
"Say it, you slut!" he hissed.
"Master! Master! I'll be a good girl, Master!" she cried.
His grip loosened, but her chest heaved as she gulped in air.
"Do you want me to take off your blindfold, Sara?"
"Y...yes," she whimpered.
She felt his hands at the blindfold, felt it tugged up and off, and
blinked her eyes rapidly as she looked up at him. She gasped and
averted her eyes as he smiled smugly.
He was a big man, with a thick chest, about her father's age. He wore
heavy black boots and a leather vest. Aside from that all he had on
was a kind of leather G-string. He stepped forward as she turned her
head to the side, his hands going to her head, squeezing it and
turning it to face him.
He bent and his lips slid onto hers, his tongue slipping through and
into her mouth. She gave a muffled, choked gasp of terror and
embarrassment, but could do nothing to resist him, and didn't dare
try. His tongue was squirming around in her mouth as his lips bruised
hers, and she fought down terror as she anticipated her imminent rape.
He pulled his lips back and smiled grimly. "I said kiss me," he
hissed, his eyes turning angry.
He jammed his mouth in against hers again and she kissed back
fearfully, sliding her tongue up against his and sliding her lips over
his.
He pulled back, still smiling, though his eyes were cold.
"Sara, tell me about the first time a man fucked you."
"Please let me go!" she begged.
He glared. "I thought you said you'd be a good girl."
"I-I did but..."
"Then do as you're told!" he screamed.
She screamed in fear and tried to pull back, but couldn't.
He snarled into her face, then stepped back.
"Tell me about the first guy who fucked your dirty cunt!"
"I-I-I... never... I didn't... I mean... I haven't... done it...
sir."
"Master!" he screamed, nearly making her heart explode.
"Master! Master! I didn't do it, Master! I haven't done it, master!"
"You mean you're a virgin?" he said quietly, smiling pleasantly.
"Ye...ye...yes," she squeaked.
"Why you filthy bitch." He glared at her. "You walk around in your
tight pants, showing off your ass and wagging your tits around, and
you don't let anybody shove their cocks into you!? You filthy little
cocktease! I'm going to punish you for that!"
"But...but I-I..."
"Shut up!"
He stared silently at the trembling, terrified girl, revelling in her
fear. His lips curled in a nasty smile.
"How old are you, bitch?"
"E-E-Eighteen," she gasped.
"Eighteen. A good age. A woman's body with a girl's mind." He nodded
his head thoughtfully. "I can train you."
"T-Train me?"
His fingers slid up around her face and his hands enclosed it, then
he kissed her gently. He eased back, his hands sliding down her cheeks
and onto her throat, then down over her shoulders and over her
breasts. He squeezed them gently, smiling as he felt her heart
fluttering like a little bird.
He unbuttoned the top button slowly, teasingly, then shifted his
fingers to the next one, then the next, saying nothing as she trembled
and shook.
"Please," she whimpered. "P-P-Please don't!"
His hand drew back and he slapped her face hard, throwing it to one
side. She cried out in pain and shocked fear as he continued to undo
the buttons down her shirt.
"I have told you that you must say master whenever you speak. Do not
forget again," he said, his voice soft, calm.
He tugged the red shirt out of her pants and gazed in at her firm,
tight belly and the only partially clad breasts. Then he walked over
to a nearby table and picked up a pair of heavy shears. He came back
to her and carefully cut her shirt off her arms, then tossed the
ragged remnants onto the floor.
Terrified and feeling a growing flush of embarrassment, Sara looked
away, seeing the small cot in the corner, the stone floor under her
and the stone walls around her. There was no window. The door was of
thick, heavy wood. There was a big, rough table in one corner, a
dresser next to it, and some strange looking wooden things scattered
around, none of which she recognized, but all of which looked
frightening.
She saw that her wrists were encased in leather restraints, and the
restraints were locked to chains that hung down from the ceiling. She
gasped, her eyes returning to the man as his hands cupped her breasts
and squeezed them.
"You have lovely breasts, Sara," he said. "I will enjoy sliding my
tongue over them."
Sara thought her head would explode with the humiliation and terror
as the man stroked and fondled her breasts through her bra. Then he
slid the heavy scissors over the straps, neatly snipping the elastics
and cutting the bra apart. It dropped away and her breasts were
utterly bare.
Never had she been so mortified, or so frightened, as the man stood
there only a foot away and feasted his eyes on her body. She sniffled,
tears filling her eyes, then began weeping as his hands stroked and
cupped her breasts, then began squeezing and kneading them.
He bent and began to lick her nipples as she sobbed in misery and
hopelessness. His tongue rasped hungrily against her round pink
buttons, and then his lips closed around them as he began to suck. He
nipped and gnawed with his teeth, pinching and chewing her sensitive
nipples, ignoring her weeping as his hands mauled her firm, young
breasts.
His hands stroked up and down her belly and over her sides and back,
but his lips never strayed from her breasts and nipples as he licked
and lapped and sucked them for long minutes. Despite her shame and
fear her nipples quickly grew erect, a she continued to suckle and
lick and chew grew more and more sensitive, throbbing and tingling in
his mouth.
Finally he pulled his head up and his arms went around her, cupping
her bottom through her jeans. He smiled down nastily, then licked the
tears along her cheeks before sliding his lips over hers again. He
kissed her roughly, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, but she
was too miserable and hopeless to respond.
He pulled back. "I thought you said you'd be a good girl," he said,
sounding regretful. "Maybe you need to be punished, hmmm?"
"N-N-noooo! I-I'll be g-good," she whimpered.
He kissed her again and she made an effort to kiss back as his lips
crushed hers and his hands squeezed and fondled her naked breasts. In
the midst of the kiss she felt his hands sliding down her belly and
unbuckling her belt. Her heart rate surged higher as she felt it
released, then felt the catch pop loose.
He smiled at her as he stepped back, then slowly, tauntingly, lowered
her zipper. He smiled and pushed the jeans down, baring her pink
cotton bikini panties. He shoved the jeans down around her ankles,
then reached down and yanked them loose.
Of course that also yanked her legs out from under her, and she
gasped as she swung freely by the wrists before her feet found the
floor again. Her shoes had been popped loose, and since she wore no
socks she was now in bare feet, the stone cold beneath them.
He smiled, the nastiest smile she'd seen on anyone, and gripped her
panties, then ripped them free. Sara cringed and closed her eyes in
mortification as her body was laid utterly bare before him. She
trembled as his hands slid over her belly, one going up to fondle her
breasts, the other...
She moaned and started to weep again as he cupped her pussy mound and
squeezed it tightly.
"Nice little pussy," he crooned. "Goooood pussy,"
Sarah shuddered in terror. Clearly he was mad.
"Tell me how much you want my cock, Sara. Tell me how much you want
me to fuck you."
"Nooo," she sobbed.
In an instant he changed.
"Don't disobey me, you whore!" he screamed into her face, his eyes
bulging, his face filled with rage and hate.
She screamed in fear and cringed back as he glared angrily at her.
"So you don't want me to fuck you, is that it?"
"I-I-I'm a v-v-virgin," she whimpered.
"Okay then, I won't fuck your cherry away until you beg for it. How's
that sound?" he said.
He moved away behind her and then came back a moment later carrying,
of all things, a pair of black shoes. They were extremely high
stiletto heeled shoes which she'd never have worn willingly.
"Your feet must be cold on the floor, Sara," he said. "Here's some
shoes for you to wear."
He bent and lifted one of her feet, forcing the shoe onto it. It was
too tight, but he didn't seem to care. He lifted her other foot and
forced the other shoe onto that one.
He moved away again, and then returned with some kind of black wooden
rod. It was a couple of feet wide, and he bent down again and attached
the rings in her ankle restraints to either end of the rod. She
realized immediately that she couldn't close her legs now, and again
her terror rose.
He moved behind her again, then once more returned, but didn't come
around in front. She turned around as his hand stroked her bottom, and
gasped as she saw what was in his hand.
"You like this, slut?" he smiled. "Ever seen a riding crop before?
It's used on stubborn ANIMALS that don't know THEIR PLACE!!"
She whimpered and her heart pounded as her blood raced. He raised the
crop as his other hand slid over her bottom lovingly. "Such a pity to
mark up this nice round little ass," He smiled. "But then you have to
learn YOUR PLACE!"