The Secret Words

R. Pearle

Downtown, just past midnight. Amidst the lights and glitter of bars and restaurants, Kelsea had a little too much to drink…

…After three drinks? Impossible!

She awoke into darkness. At least sleep provided dreams; in consciousness, Kelsea hadn’t the slightest where she was. Her fragmented memory provided minimal clues: walking down the strip with Tara, heading toward the parking lot on the outskirts of downtown. They’d planned to stay ‘til one, but after a few drinks, Kelsea felt a little sick.

Kelsea groaned and rolled over. Tara must have driven her home, and placed her in bed. She felt the sheets beneath her body.

Wait, another image played across her mind’s eye, like two jigsaw pieces falling together. Not only had Kelsea felt sick, she’d gotten dizzy as they approached the parking lot. She recalled glancing at her feet, wondering why they weren’t working the way they were supposed to, and finally her legs turned to jelly and the world collapsed around her. Everything had gone black; the dreams took over.

Another soft groan. Something wasn’t right. Kelsea examined the room. Which room had Tara placed her in? This definitely wasn’t her room. Though the shades were closed, silver rectangles indicated the locations of windows, and her room had more than two windows.

Come to think of it, Kelsea’s bedroom didn’t have shades, either. Just curtains.

The ceiling spun relentlessly, but slowed gradually with every passing second. Bit by bit, Kelsea recognized various inconsistencies. Why had Tara stripped Kelsea’s mattress? Why had the room decreased in size? Why hadn’t she left any of the lights on?

Kelsea’s heart began to flutter in her chest. Something is seriously amiss here, but what?

Kelsea needed to shed some light on the situation. She rolled over and attempted to sit up. The endeavor proved fruitless. Her muscles still felt weak, but by no means too weak to perform such simple tasks. Something prevented her from moving.

Kelsea closed her eyes again, and explored her body with her mind. First she found her hands, which were both behind her back. Her wrists were physically inseparable. The blood pulsated in Kelsea’s veins now. Not only were her wrists restrained; her ankles were locked together also. Even her knees refused to part.

As soon as she tasted the fabric in her mouth, prodded it with the tip of her tongue, and felt the knot at the back of her skull, the mortifying truth set in. Despite the darkness, Kelsea’s eyes snapped open and bulged out of her head, and she screamed.

A stomach-churning realization: that last drink hadn’t made Kelsea drunk. Her shrieks echoed emptily in this foreign room; she yanked at the restraints, to no avail. She couldn’t tell what bound her knees—it felt like tape of some sort—but her wrists and ankles had been roped together. Worst of all, she felt a leather collar around her neck, which seemed to be chained to the bed frame.

And then she heard something in the hall. Freezing in place, Kelsea listened. Whoever had done this to her must have heard her waking up. Instantly she regretted her inability to maintain her composure.

Of course, in this case, Kelsea’s composure couldn’t possibly have prevailed.

A new source of light now. Kelsea didn’t even breathe. She could only muster the courage to move her eyes, averting her gaze from the abysmal ceiling to the slender shaft of illumination beneath the door. A pair of shadows encroached on the threshold and stopped; moments later the doorknob began to turn. Kelsea swallowed hard.

This is a joke, this is a joke…

But even Kelsea’s desperate prayers offered no optimism. The mechanism clicked and the door creaked open; a silhouetted hand reached into the room and rubbed at the wall, finding a light switch.

Blindness. Though Kelsea longed to see her surroundings, this privilege came with a price: two sets of fluorescent lights sprung to life, forcing Kelsea’s eyes shut. The prospect of whatever lurked beyond her eyelids, good or bad, kept them sealed until a voice disturbed the silence:

“All awake, girlie?”

A man’s voice, gruff, oozing with a taunting tone. A voice, Kelsea realized, she’d never heard in her entire life.

Do or die. Kelsea eased her eyes open. Immediately, her belly flopped over on itself.

She noticed this depraved despot’s work before noticing the lunatic himself. Like despicable wallpaper, polaroids of naked women covered three of the walls. Crying, screaming, enduring sexual tortures Kelsea couldn’t even begin to imagine: there were only about six or seven different girls in total, but their every pose and facial expression had been captured with obsessive dedication.

Tearing her eyes from the walls of horror, Kelsea looked herself over. The clothes she’d worn downtown were still intact, and she lay upon a wide bed with a firm mattress, atop a silky pink blanket. Various white, hardened splatters stained the center of the blanket, beneath Kelsea’s bum. Horrified, Kelsea looked away again.

But, she found only a new visage, the most grotesque of all. Beside the bed, a table, littered with objects too despicable to conceive. Dildos of every size and color, some of such enormity, Kelsea couldn’t bear to think of any human being able to handle them; pliers, clamps, and an assortment of other tools one normally would find in a carpenter’s possession; handcuffs, ropes, laces, and rolls of duct tape in every color of the spectrum.

And these were only the objects Kelsea could identify.

By this point, Kelsea couldn’t bear to bring herself to face the man that addressed her. She didn’t have a choice, however. When she caught a flash of light out of the corner of her eye, Kelsea’s instincts took rein and she found herself staring into the cold, black lens of a camera.

Having acquired her attention, Kelsea’s captor snapped a second picture. “Ahhh, I love the reactions, baby.”

Every muscle in her body ceased to listen. Bound and gagged, what feeble resistance Kelsea could have mustered would have certainly attested to her helplessness. Behind that soulless lens, a man at least two heads taller than herself, his arms and legs swollen with sheer muscle. He didn’t wear a mask but coal-black facial hair, speckled profusely with grey strands, concealed the lower aspect of his face. Judging by the glimmering malignancy lurking in his eyes, Kelsea suspected he was sneering at her.

Please don’t hurt me. The words were lost behind her gag. Kelsea’s pouty lips worked to form the pleas, but only a string of stifled squeals emerged, evidently amusing her assailant. He snapped another picture and sat on the bed beside her.

“What are you, girlie? College-girlie, sure, if you’re down there drinking. But what?” He leaned over Kelsea’s quivering form and tentatively collected several strands of strawberry-blond hair, sniffing curiously at her shampoo. “A pretty little cheerleader, maybe? Nah, you don’t have the looks for that. Maybe a track-runnin’ athlete? You got the shape for it…that’s right, girlie, you got nice shapes.”

The face of Kelsea’s captor hovered inches from her own. This man’s eyes, unblinking and relentless, transfixed her to the point that she couldn’t bear to look away. Those eyes spoke volumes of this man’s intent.

“Did you have fun with Tara?”

This inquiry surprised Kelsea. She paused for a moment, unsure of her reaction. How did he know Tara’s name? Had he drugged her drink as well?

“Answer me, you fucking bitch!” He hissed, prompting Kelsea to sink into the firm mattress and nod vehemently.

“Yesh…” she managed through the gag.

“Good. Lots of tasty drinks, weren’t there?”

“Yesh…” Kelsea answered once again. She should have been relieved that her captor’s voice returned to normal, but the effect was just the opposite. Knowing that his personality could swing at such little provocation didn’t sit well.

“You gon’ scream, girlie?”

Kelsea shook her head. A pair of thick, calloused fingers scratched at her lips, pulling the gag from her mouth. As soon as it fell free, a meaty palm smothered her mouth. “You best be a woman of your word. Ain’t no-one gon’ hear you, not out here. And hearing girlies scream, at least when they’re not s’posed to, now that just makes me angry.” The fingers curled, applying an uncomfortable pressure to Kelsea’s jaw. “I like to hit the ones that don’t listen. Just tie you to this here bed, and punch you in your face, over and over again. Mut’late that face so bad, no pretty college-boy ever gon’ want to touch you.”

Without waiting for any response, the man withdrew his hand, and stared at Kelsea. Gingerly parsing her lips, Kelsea ventured to speak, albeit in a tattered whisper. “Who are you?”

“You dun remember me? …How quickly they forget! Or maybe you never noticed me at all?”

The sheen of sweat that coated Kelsea’s face shimmered in the light. “Wh…what’s your name…?”

“I’m Stanley, but you never knew that. You never asked, don’tcha remember? …Of course you don’t, how you gon’ remember what you never did?”

Stanley’s explanation only raised more questions. This man appeared to be decades Kelsea’s senior. Why would she ask his name? Without a response, Kelsea changed the subject.

“…Where am I? Why am I here?”

Stanley smiled and stroked her forehead lovingly. “I think you can probably guess why you’re here. But you can leave any time, y’see.”

Kelsea’s heart skipped a beat. There had to be a catch. Of course, there was.

“I can leave? …Can I leave right now, please?” She wriggled in her bonds, hoping to get the hint across.

“Of course! You jus’ gotta say the magic words.”

“I said ‘please’…”

“Not that magic word! If I let every girl go that ever said ‘please’, I wouldn’t have no fun!”

“Well…is it like, ‘abracadabra’? Is it something I have to figure out?”

Stanley chuckled. “You already know it. You just have to say it.”

When her captor slung a leg over Kelsea’s knees, she shuddered. If Stanley was trying to hide his tented trousers, he was doing a terrible job. This intimacy repulsed her outright, and based on what she’d seen, Kelsea suspected it would only get worse from here. She had to figure out that secret word.

“But…I don’t know what to say!” Kelsea cried. “I don’t know what you want.”

This time, Kelsea saw the smile through the beard. Gradually, he lowered his weight atop the girl, trapping her in place. Not only were Kelsea’s hands pinned behind her back, the man’s weight forbade even the minutest of motions.

“Why’d you go downtown tonight, girlie?”

“…My name is Kelsea. And I went there to have fun.”

“Didja?”

“…For a while. Until you kidnapped me.”

“You were looking for the college-boys, I think. You were hoping to get lucky, yeah?”

Kelsea didn’t need a mirror to know her face became flush with embarrassment. What right did this asshole have, prying into Kelsea’s private life? But she feared the darker side of Stanley, and, biting her lip, shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s just what girls do…we look for boys.”

“Looks like you found one!” Stanley exclaimed with mock-excitement.

“What are you, like, fifty? Shouldn’t you be married, and have a home life, instead of abducting teenagers?”

Stanley shrugged. “You’ve heard all the married men. They hate their wives and their lives are dull. But teenie-girlies—ooh, you little softies never get old.”

The fingers closing around Kelsea’s breast sent an electric jolt through her body. She squirmed, but her struggles only seemed to fuel his despotic lust. Not to mention, she felt her silken thighs grinding that tented monstrosity through Stanley’s jeans.

To her dismay, Kelsea’s only option was to lie there, and let herself be gently groped, biting back humiliated gasps.

“How do I know what the magic word is?” Kelsea ventured, hoping to draw his attention from her chest. “There’s lots of words.”

“You know the word. You’ll remember it, sooner or later.” Stanley withdrew, made himself comfortable on the edge of the mattress, and reached to his belt.

This wretched moment upon her, Kelsea felt her stomach tie itself in knots. Darkness prodded at the edges of her vision; every ounce of blood in her petite body rushed swiftly to her head.

“Oh my God…please, don’t do this to me…”

Her pleas fell uselessly on callous ears. Kicking away his jeans, Stanley stood erect, dropped his boxers to the floor, and displayed his hardened penis. It stood gloriously before her eyes, lurching and oozing with every stroke of Stanley’s palm.

“I wanna get the boring parts out of the way first,” Stanley cooed, working his way around the bed toward the table of horrors on the other side. “Then we’ll get to the real fun.”

“Please! Stop!” Kelsea squealed, absent-mindedly allowing her tone to raise. “Stop this! I don’t know what you want from me! Stop it, stop it!”

Stanley snapped. Snatching Kelsea’s nearest breast, he dragged her flopping body close to the edge, pulling taut the chain between the bed frame and her neck, and clamped his hand across her mouth. “You wan’ open your fuckin’ mouth, fuckin’ cunt? You gon’ pay for that!”

Without even looking at the table, Stanley seized an object and relented his grip on Kelsea’s face just enough to trace the curve of her jawbone, and clamp his thumb and forefinger on the edges of her jaw.

Faced with excruciating pain, Kelsea couldn’t help but squeal. Stanley capitalized on Kelsea’s gaping mouth, forcing some rigid, beige length of plastic between her teeth. She gagged as it jabbed the back of her throat, cutting the squeal short before it became a scream. At first she thought he’d forced a dildo down her throat, but this wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen before. The penis-shaped object was attached to a length of leather with a pair of straps, which Stanley fastened tightly around the back of her head.

A sensation Kelsea could only describe as claustrophobia overwhelmed her. She felt like she was choking, and Stanley’s work prevented her from eschewing the awful thing. Its enormity widened Kelsea’s lips as far as they could stretch and effectively stifled her every screech for freedom.

Facing what she perceived as death, Kelsea panicked. She yanked against the ropes and kicked wildly, her erect form flailing and bucking, the collar keeping the girl tethered in place.

Aroused by Kelsea’s crisis, Stanley dragged his shirt up over his head and threw it aside, jumping up onto the mattress beside the frenzied Kelsea, and mounted her thighs when she rolled onto her stomach.

Pinned by Stanley’s weight again, Kelsea suffered in silence. Her only available option would be to bend her waist and bounce her torso on the bed. Not only would that exhaust her outright, Kelsea also stood the chance of bashing her head off the frame. Unconsciousness would leave her body at the mercy of her captor, and Kelsea wasn’t about to take that risk.

So she let went limp, hoping to calm down. Being hysterical wouldn’t help her survive, either. So she focused on Stanley instead, but his actions only drew Kelsea closer to the insanity she feared encroached upon her.

Using a pair of scissors retrieved from the table, Stanley sheared away the tape around her knees; thus accomplished, he straddled her calves and released her knotted ankles.

“Your legs feel nice, girlie,” Stanley clucked, flipping Kelsea onto her back and moving to her waist. “But we don’t need these any more.”

Any doubt in Kelsea’s mind that Stanley committed similar atrocities in the past dissipated instantly. With jarring expertise, he leaned on Kelsea’s thighs—negating her feeble kicks—and worked her buttoned jeans undone. Clawing at her hips, Stanley dragged the girl’s pants to her sneakers and left them bunched at her ankles while gingerly untying her shoes.

“Ooooh,” he cooed, leaning into her freshly-exposed socks and inhaling deeply. “These smell nice and sweet, th’ way girlie feet oughta smell.”

Kelsea recoiled in disgust. She almost thought she’d misheard the man, but as she felt him tugging her second shoe away, she peered cautiously over her shoulder and inspected her captor. Sure enough, he was smelling her feet, and rubbing his penis excitedly while doing so.

Now it wasn’t just the phallic object in her mouth that threatened to make Kelsea gag. It only became more grotesque from there. In an almost ritualistic fashion, Stanley lifted Kelsea’s feet, tugged away her jeans, and bared her feet one-by-one. The socks were not removed with haste; instead he slid a finger beneath the band, bent the sock over her heel, and methodically peeled them from her feet.

“Ohhhh…God…” Stanley gurgled, setting Kelsea’s socks aside and inspecting her soles. “Ohhhh…” Stanley pressed the girl’s insteps together and buried his face in Kelsea’s arches, snorting and licking her footflesh, before collecting them in his hands and raising them about an inch off the mattress.

Stanley’s infatuation proved bittersweet at best. On the bright side, the rest of Kelsea’s body ceased to have any bearing. His hairy, bare bum seated on the backs of Kelsea’s knees, Stanley bent her legs and angled her toes into his mouth, nibbling and gobbling greedily.

On the dark side, Stanley’s grotesque obsession frightened Kelsea to no end. This intermission provided Kelsea a chance to examine the sickening photos that surrounded her, and many of them depicted girls’ feet. Some were streaked with thin red marks, some bore testament to vicious oral treatment. Kelsea could only stand to stare at the bizarre sexual photographs for a little while, but many of them featured close-ups of soles and toes.

Case in point: another flash of light. Kelsea cast a furtive glance at Stanley, feeling the warmth of a recent flash upon her feet. She wasn’t surprised to see him snapping away.

And then, Stanley’s eyes met hers.

Her nakedness ignited the sicko’s twisted lust to mortifying levels. She could tell by the primal fury in his eyes. Stanley turned and squeezed his testicles, expunging a glistening strand of viscous semen that collected on her bared calves in a warm, slimy glob.

“I can’t take it no more,” Stanley growled, crawling toward Kelsea’s chest like a predator preparing to pounce. “I fuckin’ need you, girlie.”

Nothing can save me now.

Seating himself on Kelsea’s thighs again, Stanley wasted no time collecting his scissors and slicing at her T-shirt. Kelsea’s every instinct urged her to fight against this humiliation, but she feared even the slightest movement would bury the blade in her stomach or ribs.

Her shirt fell open, exposing her supple midriff and a pair of peach-sized breasts hidden safely behind Kelsea’s bra. This haven for her breasts was quickly pillaged and her perky chest spilled forth. Braced on her elbows, Kelsea’s breasts protruded toward the ceiling, inviting ravishment. Stanley accepted, hungrily seizing a wad of cleavage and squeezing, pushing her nipple into the moisture of his mouth.

Kelsea whined loudly, but the dildo-gag prevailed. “I like when you make noises, girlie. I like to make you hurt…”

Taking her breast between his chapped lips, Stanley feasted on the pliant cleavage, grinding into her belly as he did so. Hovering above the whorl of Kelsea’s belly-button, Stanley’s cock dispensed a constant stream of pre-cum with every thrust.

Tears worked their way into Kelsea’s eyes. I’m going to be raped. I’m going to be raped. It seemed impossible to prepare herself for the inevitable, no matter how many times she repeated those horrific words in her mind.

Lifting her head, Kelsea watched her last line of defense—the pair of tasteful white panties, donned so innocently hours prior—disappear down her legs and fall away from her toes. Desperate for even the tiniest delay, Kelsea swallowed her pride and raised her feet, displaying her soles before Stanley’s gaze.

“An offering, huh?” Stanley queried, arching forward to steal another sniff. “Well that’s no good.” He gripped her ankles and spread her feet, parsing Kelsea’s thighs in the process. “I take, you dumb girlie cunt. There’s only one thing you give, and that’s the magic word.”

To Kelsea’s horror, not even Stanley’s perverse fetish could be exploited. Walking on his knees, his mammoth member swaying back and forth, Stanley pulled Kelsea’s legs up over his shoulders and raised her bum completely off the bed. Inevitably, the closer Stanley came, the wider Kelsea’s thighs were spread, until her pussy came face-to-face with her rapist’s gleaming eyes.

By no means was Kelsea bald down there. She didn’t have a bush, either. Instead, Kelsea’s pubic region sported a patch of strawberry hair, trimmed neatly into a thin rectangle. Stanley made no mention of her grooming, he simply craned his neck and ran his tongue up the length of Kelsea’s pussy lips.

Kelsea jolted. She’d never had the mouth of a man on her womanhood before. He bit and gnawed on the fragile flesh, luxuriating in the scent and taste of Kelsea’s femininity. Stanley’s beard ground at Kelsea’s soft thighs like steel wool on silk.

He saturated Kelsea with saliva and lowered her waist, teasing the crease of Kelsea’s bum with the tip of his oozing cock. “It’s time, baby-girl. If you wanna scream, go ahead. You’re allowed to, now.”

The sobbing Kelsea only lay motionless, letting tears coagulate with sweat and trickle to her earlobes. Stanley leered down at her, letting the full extent of his utter mastery over her sacred body sink in.

Supporting Kelsea’s tailbone with one hand and guiding his erection to her pussy with the other, Stanley aligned his cockhead with the entry to the sacred crease. Kelsea didn’t feel like a prostitute, on the other side of a glory-hole; to feel that way would be too human. Kelsea was just the wall.

Stanley didn’t lunge. Instead he arched his back, letting his engorged tool parse her pussy lips. Kelsea flinched as her passage stretched to accommodate his unimaginable girth. Her rape would not be savage and brutal, that much she ascertained from the beginning. Instead it would be prolonged and deliberate.

Her rape would be enjoyed.

Stanley’s entire cockhead lodged itself in Kelsea’s pussy. Stanley paused, closed his eyes, relishing the warmth of her depths. Kelsea wondered what part of her body played across his mind’s eye. Stanley’s hand fell to his genitals and he squeezed his balls, and then the base of his shaft; slowly he squeezed the contents of his dick to the tip and deposited copious globs of pre-cum into Kelsea’s pussy, like the nozzle of a fuel pump.

A little further now. Kelsea broke out into a series of sobs. A stranger’s penis presently worked its way into her precious vagina. Bound and gagged, chained to a bed with a fucking leash around her neck, Kelsea was expected to scream and cry while being sexually assaulted.

Hell of a way to lose her virginity.

Stanley paused. His cockhead reached an unexpected barrier. “Hmm…what’s that, girlie?” He withdrew a bit, and pushed in again, poking at Kelsea’s hymen. “I got myself a virgin! My lucky day, huh? Maybe this won’t be so boring after all.”

Kelsea looked away, squeezed her eyes shut, forcing a flow of tears down either cheek. That’s right, rape would be the boring part. The interesting part probably involved the monstrosities on the table.

To Kelsea’s surprise, Stanley poked at Kelsea’s pussy a few more times, and withdrew a bit, though left his cockhead lodged between her lips. “Look at me, Girlie.” The command earned Stanley a hateful, tear-streaked stare from his captive. “I bet you dun want me fucking that tight puss of yours, huh? Tell the truth, now.”

“Nnnn.” Without taking her eyes off Stanley, Kelsea shook her head.

“Tell you what.” Stanley dropped Kelsea. He didn’t withdraw, per se; her pussy just kind of fell off the end of his dick. She bounced gently to the bed, but Stanley wouldn’t let her curl up into the fetal position. “I’ll make you a deal. Wiggle them titties if yer interested, otherwise I’ll just stuff It in you.”

Though humiliated, Kelsea bent her elbows—first left, then right, back and forth—causing her breasts to sway gently. Stanley made no mention of the degrading act.

“I’ll take that thing out of your mouth, and if yeh think you know the magic word, you can say it then. If nut, I’ll let’cha suck my big fat dick instead.”

Had Kelsea not been gagged, she surely would have puked. Not only did her rapist wish to violate her mouth, his cock was now awash with Kelsea’s fluids. She’d had a cock in her mouth before, but that one hadn’t filled her mouth with semen, and hadn’t been soaked with rape.

Letting her head fall shamefully to the side, Kelsea moved her elbows once again.

“There’s a good Girlie.” Leaving the panting, sobbing woman curled into a ball, Stanley faced the table and collected a pair of items: a roll of pink duct tape, and a key.

The key, he used on Kelsea’s padlock. Though freed from the chain, the collar remained around Kelsea’s neck. The tape, he applied to her eyes, after gruffly drying her face with a loose corner of the blanket.

She let the strength flow completely from her body. Resistance would only work to Kelsea’s disadvantage. Limply, she let Stanley drag her from the bed and place her on her feet. With his butt against the mattress, he spun Kelsea around and drew her close to him.

His embrace was almost loving. Sure, he meant only to reach around her head and unfasten the cock-gag, not to mention, savor rubbing his scrotum against Kelsea’s tummy. When the gag fell free, Kelsea spit it out, only to have it replaced by Stanley’s tongue in a vicious, sickening French-kiss.

“Kneel before me.” Not a difficult task. Kelsea squatted, lowered herself to one knee, then the other. Finding handholds with Kelsea’s hair, Stanley tugged the girl’s head between his thighs.

Thank God she couldn’t see what awaited her.

Waves of heat emanated from Stanley’s crotch, ripe with the odor of stale sweat and fresh pre-cum mixed with her own loins. Like her rape, Kelsea wasn’t expected to simply engorge herself with male fluids; the violation would be prolonged.

Kelsea’s mouth grazed the throbbing cock. It shuddered at the sensation of her soft lips. “Kiss it, Girlie. Just little pecks, lil’ tastes.”

So Kelsea did. She felt him lean over her body and was moments later struck with inspiration. One way or another, Kelsea suspected, she would be subjected to bitter mouthfuls of ejaculate. But she always planned ahead. Maybe, if Stanley was impressed with what he perceived to be obedience, he’d forget about his stupid magic words and let her go.

Presently, Kelsea balanced on her tip-toes and knees. Praying he would see it, Kelsea shifted her weight and lifted her feet, curling her toes over and setting her calves back to the floor, leaving her soles wrinkled and facing the ceiling.

Evidently, Stanley saw this. His penis lurched with ecstasy as soon as Kelsea exposed herself.

“Good girl…” Stanley purred, “Now take it into your mouth. Do it.”

Beneath the blindfold, Kelsea grimaced. She nervously rubbed her hands together behind her back. Opening her mouth, without Stanley urging her forward, Kelsea leaned between his thighs and enveloped the head of his cock.

Just the sensation of Kelsea’s mouth and tongue grazing across his head had Stanley’s penis spasming. Ignoring the waves of nausea rolling through her body, Kelsea licked away the juices of her rape until only the filthy, vulgar taste of cock remained.

Stanley stared at the ceiling and shut his eyes, losing himself in the pleasure, letting this delectable teenager service him. Deeper now; the head of Stanley’s cock passed between her parted teeth. Due to its size, Kelsea’s jaw already hurt from her effort not to bite that awful thing.

The pair of meaty hands drew Kelsea’s head closer now, stuffing inch after inch of pulsating genitals deeper into her throat. Every now and then, Kelsea flinched, just Stanley wasn’t about to let her spit him out.

Once she felt his bulbous, spongy ballsack quivering against her chin, Kelsea paused, giving her mouth a moment to acclimate itself to the swelling foreign object. Her captor didn’t seem to have a problem. Its head extending slightly down her throat, Kelsea struggled to breathe, and the moist air she managed to exhale Stanley’s shaft only further aroused him.

“Yeah…” Stanley cooed, trailing off. “That’s a good girl…” Kelsea felt him lean forward, providing her throat an instant of cock-less bliss, and then he pushed his way inside again, this time prompting a stifled gag.

“That’s the stuff…” In and out, in and out. Stanley fucked his captive’s mouth unhurriedly, and under different circumstances, Kelsea might have found this erotic. Stanley’s behavior took Kelsea by surprise. She was almost grateful for his almost cautious treatment of her mouth. Where he could have simply thrown Kelsea on her back and spent two minutes slamming in and out of her mouth, Stanley gently worked his way inside and ebbed away, quickening his pace at occasional intervals.

She didn’t even see it coming. With Kelsea’s body under such duress, her mind simply ceased to recognize this atrocity.

And then, it happened: an acrid geyser surging into Kelsea’s throat, erupting forth from Stanley’s convulsing cock. So much bitter ejaculate gushed into Kelsea’s mouth, she had to let her cheeks puff out to accommodate it all. In its engorged state, the cock forbade even a sliver of room for Kelsea to spit, forcing her to swallow bits of what fluid wasn’t injected directly into her stomach.

Stanley cried out, his hips pulsing in rhythm with every explosion of essence. His fingers clamped painfully on Kelsea’s hair, mashing her face into his loins. Only once Kelsea sucked every trace of semen from the flesh of his member did Stanley relent, permitting her to jerk her head back and gasp for breath between coughs.

“That was…horrible…” Kelsea panted, letting her head slump to her chest. Something thick and gooey drooled from her tormented mouth—either spit or semen—and collected on her thigh.

“Nah…” Stanley argued, falling backward on the mattress. “It was amazin’. You’re a good lil’ girlie.”

Kelsea bit her lip, feeling Stanley’s fingers brushing through her hair. “There…you’re finished, right? I mean…you can only do that once, and then you have to wait a while, right?”

“Where’d you hear that?” Kelsea didn’t need to see his face to hear the grin in his tone.

Kelsea’s heart sank. “Please, sir…I don’t know the secret word. I don’t know how to figure it out. Is it…penis? Vagina? …Rape?” The third one sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’re overcomplicatin’ this, Girlie,” Stanley teased, standing up and pulling Kelsea to her feet. “Dun’ worry though. I’ll give yeh some time to think about it.”

Kelsea squeaked as Stanley tugged her arm, pulling her toward where she’d seen the door. On the one hand, she would finally be leaving this chamber of horror. On the other, he might be leading her to a chamber far worse.

Stumbling, Kelsea helplessly allowed her captor to command her every direction. Her bare feet slapped on a frigid tile floor, and gauging by the echo, they’d entered a relatively narrow hallway. She wondered if those awful photographs covered these walls as well.

And then, the sudden stinging pain across her face. Kelsea thought at first that she’d been slapped—but then she blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the light. Stanley had removed the blindfold.

Despite her earlier worries, Kelsea found the room before her fairly typical. It was just a kitchen, complete with appliances and a barren kitchen table. Stanley led her wordlessly to the doorway opposite the entry and into a surprisingly cozy living room.

Smaller than the kitchen, the living room boasted a plush sofa, two recliners, and a cackling fireplace. Candles lent the room a pleasant scent reminiscent of Autumn, and spotless white drapes concealed the windows.

Only one detail deprived the living room of its comforting, intimate feel: the sobbing girl in the corner. Then, the atmosphere became like rape itself: the humiliating warmth and vile closeness only achieved during sexual assault.

She sat in a chair, facing the wall. The wooden chair seemed customized to expose specific portions of her body. Her tender feet were locked in leather cuffs that dangled from the underside, and the seat itself wasn’t very long, forcing the girl to lean forward acutely. Her hands were tied to the outside of the backing.

The prisoner was only semi-clad, but Kelsea knew the clothes she saw. She couldn’t see the girl’s face, but the flirtatious denim cutoffs bunched around her knees seemed all too familiar.

“Tara…?” Kelsea whimpered, choking back a sob.

Hearing the familiar voice, Tara broke out into tears, her entire body jerking as she cried. Something stifled Tara’s voice.

“It was pretty easy,” Stanley bragged. “Always is. Once the fizzies took effect and lil’ Kelsea here was out of the picture, this one jus’ needed a healthy dose’a chloroform.” He tugged Kelsea across the room to Tara’s side and brought her to a halt. “And here you are.”

Kelsea barely heard him. Tara’s revolting task commanded her attention. She faced the wall with a beige dildo in her mouth. With the dildo’s flattened end, she held a picture against the wall. Kelsea couldn’t see the picture, but evidently, Tara was being forced to stare at it.

“This’s what I had to do as a kid, girlies,” Stanley started, releasing Kelsea and squatting beside Tara. “When I was a bad lil’ boy, I had to hold a penny against the wall with my nose. This is jus’ a…what-cha-ma-call-it, ‘alteration’!”

Tara didn’t seem amused. In fact, she seemed substantially relieved when Stanley pulled the photo away and tugged the dildo from her mouth.

“Ugh!” Tara cried as the plastic sex toy left her lips. “Oh God…please let us go…”

Kelsea studied Tara’s face. Like her own, Tara’s cheeks were stained with tears. The scrunchie had been pulled from her hair, concealing her face behind unkempt brunette strands. Kelsea then examined Tara’s body. Aside from the denim cutoffs, Tara had been stripped, but her flesh betrayed no signs of physical abuse. Had Stanley used the pliers or whips on Tara, or just manhandled her, surely there would have been bruises and marks.

“I was waitin’ for Kelsea here to come around,” Stanley announced, leading Kelsea to the sofa and tossing her to the cushions. “Let’s have us a bitta fun!”

After bending down and playfully tickling at Kelsea’s tight tummy, Stanley turned and headed for the kitchen. She watched him disappear from sight and turned to Tara.

“Kelsea…oh my fucking God…what’s going on?” Tara’s whisper, strained by fear, cracked and trembled with every syllable.

“Listen closely…he wants to hear a secret word.”

Tara stared at Kelsea like she had two heads. “What are you talking about?”

“He did this to us so we could say something. But I don’t know what it is…did he hurt you?” Kelsea cringed, knowing what she was about to say: did he hurt you yet?

A tear dribbled from Tara’s eye. “…It hurts. It hurts all over. He did things to me, while you were in the other room. I woke up on the couch and he tied me up…said he liked ‘wrestling’ with me…he hurt me all over…”

Kelsea could have died. She knew what Tara meant. At least he hadn’t raped or tortured Tara yet.

They listened to the silence. Stanley made no noise in the bedroom, making it difficult to gauge his proximity. This time, Kelsea spoke in the softest voice that she could muster. “Well…keep it in your mind. He wants to hear a magic word.”

“How did this happen…?” Tara moaned quietly. “Why did he choose us? Why did he drug your drink?”

Kelsea shook her head, buying herself time to choose a response.

Because he’s a dirty old man.

Because he’s a sick fuck.

Because he wants to hear us scream.

Because his daddy didn’t hug him enough.

“Because. Just because…”

Tara didn’t reply, and Kelsea turned her attention to her surroundings. She couldn’t see a door, and hadn’t seen one in the kitchen. Maybe that was why he’d kept her blindfolded while they walked—to keep her from finding the escape.

She listened intently for a minute, but all remained silent. Casting a furtive glance to the door, Kelsea tentatively rolled off the couch and stood erect.

“Kelsea!” Tara chided. Kelsea shushed her and tiptoed to the window. She felt unutterably embarrassed by her nakedness, but quickly pushed those thoughts aside. They both understood their jeopardy.

Without the use of her hands, Kelsea had to improvise. She turned around and found the drapes, and pulled them aside. As her gaze fell upon the darkened panes, the color drained from Kelsea’s face.

Bars. There were iron bars on the windows.

Iron bars on the fucking windows.

Defeated, Kelsea stumbled backward, her mouth agape. How could this be? Tara’s questions filled her mind, along with a surge of new ones. How could anyone do this to women stood at the forefront.

Footsteps in the other room. Kelsea’s head snapped to the side. She scampered to the sofa and hopped over the backing, bouncing gently into place. This time, she faced the opposite direction. Rather than giving Stanley the impression she didn’t care, and showing off her breasts and pussy by facing the room, Kelsea chose instead to show her bum—a ‘lesser of evils’ sort of thing.

“Holy fuck…please, no!” She heard Tara cry. Kelsea swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she focused hard enough on the insides of her eyelids, this whole atrocity would disappear.

An enormous hand slapped her bum, and a pointed nose prodded at her feet. “Lookin’ to impress me with them tootsies, Girlie?” Stanley taunted. Kelsea buried her face in the cushion. She wasn’t in any hurry to find out what had elicited Tara’s reaction to Stanley’s return.

So she ignored the rustling to the side. The struggle. She blocked out the sounds of Tara’s feet plodding on the carpet and disappearing into the kitchen, followed closely by Stanley. And then she ignored the thumping in the other room, as the man assailed Tara. All Kelsea could ascertain was that Tara fought against her captor, and ultimately failed. She couldn’t protect herself…neither of them could.

She was only alone for a few minutes. Kelsea didn’t dare leave the sanctity of darkness. Even if she found the door, who’s to say she’d be able to leave? The windows were fucking barred, for Christ’s sake! Stanley probably had the door of a vault between the girls and their freedom.

The man returned, knelt by the sofa, and ran his fingertips down Kelsea’s back, relishing the definition of her muscles as she tensed. He cupped her buttocks, wormed his middle finger between her thighs, and toyed with her pussy lips.

“Stop hurting Tara…” Kelsea managed.

“Say the magic word.”

“…Please, I’m begging you, please!”

Jekyll vanished; Hyde emerged. His hand wedged between Kelsea’s thighs and gripped a wad of cunt—literally, he grabbed her pussy and held it in a handful—and squeezed. “How many time I gotta fuckin’ tell you, Girlie. That innit gonna work!”

Frozen in place, Kelsea nodded. Tears threatened to overtake her, but Kelsea prevailed, denying him the satisfaction of seeing her grimace by stuffing her face into the fabric. Eventually, Stanley returned to normal.

“…No.”

“Whuzzat?”

“No.” Kelsea lifted her head, looked over her shoulder, and stared into his eyes. “I said no. You can’t do this to me. To us.”

Stanley paused, and for a moment, Kelsea thought he looked impressed. “…You’re close, Girlie.” Kelsea bit her quivering lip and waited for a follow-up. “But that’s not the word I’m looking for. It doesn’t work…yet.”

Kelsea cocked her head. “…What do you mean? When a woman says no, it’s final.”

“True. But like you said, it’s final. You brought this on yerself…you have to say somethin’ else first. Then you can say no. You gots to have a beginnin’ before you can have a finale, Girlie.”

“…But what’s the beginning?”

Stanley’s hand gripped Kelsea’s shoulder and rolled her over. “Yeh already know. Yer just being stubborn.”

With a bit of effort, Stanley pushed the writhing Kelsea against the backing, her hands falling into the crease between the backing and the cushions she lay upon. “Open up them legs, Girlie! I think you need a lil’ incentive!”

Stanley’s command seemed rhetorical; he gripped her knees and yanked the girl’s thighs open. Kelsea’s body had betrayed her; having the cock inside her tricked her pussy into coming alive. A cloud of sweet-smelling sex emerged from Kelsea’s splayed thighs.

Apparently, while in the other room with Tara, Stanley had gathered some equipment for Kelsea as well, which had been deposited on the floor. He pulled Kelsea’s left foot off the edge of the cushion and tied her ankle to the sofa’s leg; he tied her knee to the other leg.

Kelsea’s right foot was yanked atop the backing, her ankle bound to another leg, and the process was repeated with her knee. Ultimately she was pinned against the couch with her legs splayed lewdly before her captor, hopelessly unable to shut her thighs at least a slight amount. A rush of humiliation turned Kelsea’s face a throbbing scarlet as Stanley’s eyes feasted on her cunt and bum, the crease between her legs parsed obscenely.

From the floor, he produced something Kelsea recalled seeing in the other room. It was a large red sphere with a strap protruding from either end. Stanley grabbed a wad of Kelsea’s hair, drew her head toward him, and worked the sphere between her teeth, before buckling the ball in place. Only then did Kelsea recognize the object’s use; it strained her jaw painfully. Not only did it stifle her every squeal, the immediate soreness deferred her from wanting to make another sound.

Then, a dildo. Kelsea’s eyes widened as it rose into her vision. She glanced from the dildo to her captor’s penis, which was once again erect, comparing the two shapes. They looked about the same size; maybe the dildo was slightly smaller.

To Kelsea’s horror, Stanley wordlessly leaned over her calf and examined her lower-torso. At first, she figured he intended on molesting her vaginally; to her abhorrence, Stanley started poking at her bum with the dildo.

“Let’s play a game, Girlie!” Stanley narrated. “You dun do everythin’ I say, I just start fuckin’ you right here and now. Whatcha gon’ do to stop me, after all? So, Simon says: pull them soft little asscheeks open.”

While Kelsea didn’t refuse, she was reluctant at best. How could anyone be interested in…that place? But she took a deep breath through her nose and clawed at the tender flesh of her buttocks with her fingertips, opening her backside as wide as she could manage.

Without any lubrication, the insertion proved excruciating, if not brutally savage. It seemed to grind its way into Kelsea’s butt-hole, a centimeter at a time. As soon as the dildo’s tip began poking at the entry, her entire body tensed, turning her muscles to concrete and making the insertion that much more difficult. Stanley didn’t seem to mind. After fifteen minutes, he’d only gotten the dildo’s head into Kelsea’s ass, so he used the ball of his palm to force it the remainder of the way inside—another twenty minutes right there.

The torment didn’t end once fully nestled in Kelsea’s bum. Her muscles fought to dislodge the foreign object, a struggle that only created a searing agony. Kelsea squirmed in discomfort, which only worsened the pain. She knew now, why that particular gag had been chosen; without it, she probably would have bitten through her tongue. Hell, it felt as though her teeth were digging into the rubber.

Stanley seemed amused, however, staring down at Kelsea’s tortured expression. “How’s that, Girlie?”

Kelsea struggled not to move, but her immobility was soon jeopardized, as Stanley revealed the next step of his deviant plan. He reached to the floor and produced a gleaming pair of needle-nosed pliers, and then leaned into her pussy, sniffing curiously.

She knew at once what he intended. “NNnnn!” She cried, watching the tip encroach upon her pussy-lips, its shimmering teeth parsing gently. Stanley collected a tiny flap of tender flesh and squeezed.

Around Kelsea, the world exploded. She saw stars for a minute. Fiery pain shot through a pussy lip and engulfed her loins. Her mind became a white-hot panic and the ropes strained against her knees and ankles. Her tied hands became fists so tight, if she’d been clutching coal, there’d be a diamond in its place.

Kelsea lifted her head, wide-eyed, screaming and writhing. The throbbing ache in her ass ceased to have effect. Stanley’s eyes were focused on his work. He found another flap of flesh and pinched again. Kelsea arched her back, lifting her butt from the cushion and throwing it back and forth, desperate for a second of relief.

The senseless persecution carried on. The pliers worked their way up and down her pussy, searching for the spots that made the girl writhe and squeal the most. From time to time, Stanley got creative—taking both lips in a wad and squeezing; pinching a clump of pussy until Kelsea shrieked for mercy.

Whether or not Stanley intended for this to happen, Kelsea couldn’t tell. But when those pliers found her clit and worked their horrid magic, her mind rebelled against the situation and Kelsea’s vision went black.

Unconsciousness didn’t provide much sanctity. Before long, Stanley brought her to with a sharply-scented bottle held beneath her nose. On the bright side, the gag had been discarded, and he’d set the pliers aside.

As soon as Kelsea’s thoughts caught up with her, she began to bawl. Her pleas were lost in choking sobs and hysterical squeals. Amused, Stanley rubbed her pussy with his fingers, waiting for her to calm down.

She could barely feel him masturbating her. Kelsea felt as though her body had short-circuited. Her asshole ached and her pussy pounded. When she finally regained control and slumped quietly against the cushion, Stanley removed his hand.

“I stopped doin’ that to you, Girlie,” He remarked.

Kelsea stared at him hatefully. “Why did you need to do it in the first place?”

“I was helpin’ you remember. An’ then I stopped hurtin’ that soft lil’ puss of yours. You gonna say the magic word yet?”

“I don’t know the fucking word!” Kelsea screeched. “I don’t know what you want with me! I wish you’d just admit you’re a sick fucking pervert!”

Strangely enough, Stanley didn’t seem bothered by her words. In a way, Kelsea wished he’d snapped, so she’d at least know her words had hit a nerve. No dice. “I wish yeh’d just give me what I’m owed, Girlie.”

Holding a small, round jar of clear gel in his hand, Stanley scooped up a glob and began to masturbate Kelsea once more. He smeared the slick goo all over her agonized pussy lips and then stuck his fingers inside her, lubricating her passage. Kelsea couldn’t tell what the slimy substance would be used for. Maybe Stanley was preparing to rape her. Maybe it would take away the pain.

“You jus’ wait right there. Me’n your friend have a lil’ business in the bedroom.” Stanley announced with a sneer. “Jus’ between you an’ me…yer the prettier’un.” Kelsea didn’t respond. Instead, she lay still, avoiding eye contact while he stared down at her. “Gawd, I wanna fuck you so bad.”

With that, he turned on his heel and departed, leaving Kelsea alone with her misery. She couldn’t tell if the gloop was numbing her pussy, or if it was doing that on its own.

Kelsea looked herself over. The sight nearly sent her into hysterics once more. Here she lay, naked, with her legs tied open, lewdly exposing her most private parts to the cold world. In the other room, her best friend was being tortured and probably sexually assaulted. She had no idea where this hell was. If she screamed, would anyone hear her? Or had Stanley abducted them deep into the heart of Nowhere, where only he would be able to enjoy the shrieks of the terrified teenage girls?

And the secret word…oh, that damnable secret word! Kelsea cursed the stupid word for its ambiguity; she cursed herself for her inability to decipher it. What was all that nonsense Stanley fed her earlier? Something about beginnings, and endings?

Kelsea stared at the blank, gray ceiling. How had she gotten into this? She thought back to the bar. Obviously, Stanley had been there. But where? She tried to recall the bartender, and couldn’t. That would make sense. Knowing that he’d be getting off work soon, Stanley could have drugged her final drink, and awaited she and Tara in the parking lot.

That damnable final drink. She and Tara weren’t looking for an exciting night. They planned to hang out at the bar for a little while, and then find something else to do, maybe just wander around downtown. Kelsea only wanted two drinks, but someone in the bar had bought her the third.

If she’d been searching for love, maybe something would have evolved from that. But Kelsea wasn’t on the prowl, so she sipped the drink away and left. That was when she started feeling sick.

And here she was.

She heard thumping in the other room. Either Tara was being raped or Tara was being tortured. Or way or another, she was fighting like hell. Hearing the struggle brought tears to Kelsea’s eyes. Rather than focus on the battle, she turned her attention to her tormented asshole.

From this position, she could probably remove the dildo. After all, she’d been able to spread her cheeks and accept the Thing, so why not pull it out? Careful not to push it deeper, Kelsea arched her back until she was able to wrap her fingers around the dildo’s base. Then, slowly, cautiously, she pulled.

Going too fast proved excruciating, and made her feel like she was taking a shit. Pulling slowly had the same effect, though not as badly, and it didn’t hurt as much. Working the dildo back and forth, jiggling it out a little bit at a time, Kelsea managed to get it halfway out before having to take a break. Then she tried again. The Thing popped free all of a sudden and Kelsea’s asshole clamped shut. She finished pushing it into the crease between the cushions just as Stanley returned.

To Kelsea’s dismay, the first thing he noticed was the absence of the dildo. “Aww, yer a spoil-sport, Girlie!” Stanley said. “I was jus’ gonna come out here and lick tha’ lil’ puss to get ready for your friend. But now…” He began untying Kelsea’s legs. “You gotta be punished.”

Kelsea didn’t let herself be bogged down with whatever atrocity Stanley had in store for them. Assuming there actually was one, Kelsea had to figure out the secret word. And to do this, she had to go back to the beginning.

“You were at the bar,” She said.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Were you the bartender?”

Stanley chuckled. “Not so good at payin’ attention, huh Girlie?”

Kelsea set aside her annoyance and continued. “Okay, you weren’t the bartender. But you were there. And that’s the ‘beginning’, right?”

“That’s where I first saw yeh, I did. I bought you a drink.”

Kelsea crinkled her nose. “Were you hoping to get lucky or something? Did you think I’d take off my shoes, and you could be a pervert with my feet all night?”

“It’s always a poss’bility, Girlie. Of course, if you wouldn’t have me, I’da gone about my merry way.”

This time, Kelsea couldn’t hide the venom in her voice. “You never asked me! You just drugged my drink and kidnapped me!”

“Yeh never gave me a chance to ask you, Girlie.” He finished releasing Kelsea’s legs and stood her up.

“I don’t talk to weird old men in bars, Stanley. That’s just the way it is. Why don’t you just grow up?”

Stanley chuckled as they began to walk. “I can respect that! I wouldn’t either, if’un I was you. ‘Specially with so many guys out there, that do this stuff fer no good reason.”

“You’re doing this to me for no good reason.”

“Naaah, there’s a reason. You gots to say the magic word.”

Now Kelsea just felt like they were running in circles. She tried another approach. “Do you and the bartender have some kind of deal? How did you get away with drugging my drink?”

Again, Stanley laughed. Kelsea was starting to feel stupid. “Nah, no deals. You an’ yer friend went to the bathroom together. I jus’ went up to the bar, got myself another Bud, and put yer next drink on my tab. The ‘tender put it on the bar and I popped yer fizzy.”

Suddenly, the memory hit Kelsea. “When I came back…the bartender pointed you out. I remember seeing you, now.”

As Kelsea entered the hall, she went quiet, searching for a door, to no avail. The end of the corridor opposite the kitchen was a T-intersection, terminating in a blank wall. He led her into the bedroom once again.

If Kelsea felt exposed on the sofa, she couldn’t imagine how Tara must be feeling. Stanley had laid her out on the mattress, chained to the bed in the shape of an ‘X’. The collar had been fastened around her neck and a stack of three or four pillows beneath her bum arched her body uncomfortably.

Stanley led Kelsea to the foot of the bed and bent her at the waist, aligning her neck with the bed frame as though setting her in a guillotine. Instead of a blade, however, Kelsea fell victim to a rope. Stanley wove it around her slender neck and bound it tightly. It didn’t choke the girl, but if she lost her balance, she’d probably be done for.

Assuming she didn’t do it on purpose.

Presently, Kelsea stared into Tara’s throbbing red cunt. Her breasts, stomach, and legs were streaked with welts and her nipples had been replaced with bruises. A mass of broken blood vessels marred her glowing cheek. Even Tara’s toes were red, as though Stanley had taken the pliers to more than the girl’s vagina.

When Tara groaned, Kelsea almost jumped out of her skin. Truth be told, she hadn’t really expected her friend to be alive any more. Kelsea’s socks were wadded in Tara’s mouth and held in place with a cleave gag.

But what truly mortified Kelsea was the tingling in her pussy. Seeing Tara in this shape was turning her on. Her entire pussy, inside and out, seemed to itch with arousal. As though reading Kelsea’s mind, Stanley reached between her thighs and tickled her pussy. Her thighs were already slicked with lubrication, but she did notice that the glop had all been absorbed.

“Yeh like that, don’tcha, Girlie?” Stanley didn’t give Kelsea a chance to respond before wiggling his middle finger against her aching clit. Kelsea could have melted, and almost cried when Stanley pulled his hands away.

The deprivation didn’t last long though. Stanley knelt behind Kelsea, pulled her asscheeks and thighs apart with a pair of meaty paws, and helped himself to Kelsea’s backside. Kelsea’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she whimpered, feeling his tongue sliding up and down her pussy; her knees nearly buckled when that blisteringly hot tongue poked in and out of her passage. A tiny voice in Kelsea’s mind tried to remind her of her morals, but she ignored it. Stanley even licked at her asshole, and she found it erotic.

Stanley withdrew as Kelsea teetered on the edge of orgasm. Her body quaked with anticipation, but Stanley denied her the pleasure. Still, his oral ministrations stole the voice from Kelsea’s throat, and by the time she regained the ability to talk, Stanley’s naked form was already mounting Tara.

“Yeh just watch, Girlie. Yeh’ll have yer turn.” A while back, Kelsea had been reading an issue of Cosmo (sporting Whitney Port on the cover) and, in a sexy article, learned that watching a penis thrust in and out of her pussy could be erotic. Kelsea didn’t believe it at the time.

Even though that article referred to the woman that was having sex, watching Stanley do it to Tara proved equally erotic. At least under these circumstances. The man positioned himself over Tara’s body, wholly eclipsing the fluorescent lights, and positioned his bulbous cock at the girl’s entrance.

Without skipping a beat, Stanley buried himself balls-deep between Tara’s thighs. Tara shrieked and fought against the restraints, desperate to shut her legs, to no avail. Stanley adjusted his position—planting his claws on both her breasts, as though doing a push-up—and simply started pounding Tara like a jackhammer. There was nothing eloquent about this act, just pure, unbridled sexual savagery.

While Tara languished, Kelsea could barely control herself. At one point she even caught herself trying to lean back and finger herself with her bound hands. Now she understood what men referred to, when they said girls looked better when they were drunk. Whatever Stanley had done to her, it made her drunk with lust, and before long she wished it was her pussy that the man was pummeling.

Kelsea knew that Stanley was coming when Tara erupted in a gale of miserable shrieks. Stanley laid into her, forcing her petite body into the mattress. Globs of semen spurted from Tara’s vagina and splattered across the bedspread.

She knew the feelings were false, but Kelsea’s lust had become an inferno. Sweat coated her face and her pussy begged for stimulation. She stared at that awful display of twisted sexual deviancy before her face with an unblinking stare.

Without making any mention of Kelsea, Stanley dismounted the sobbing teenager and collected a rag from the table, along with an unmarked bottle of clear liquid. It looked like rubbing alcohol or vodka, but judging by the way he dumped it on the rag and held it over Tara’s face, Kelsea presumed it to be chloroform. Tara begged and pleaded through the gag and rag, probably thinking that she’d be assaulted again while unconscious.

But Kelsea knew the truth. Now it’s my turn.

Tara fell limp, and Stanley began to untie her. Oddly, he didn’t re-restrain her; he simply flipped her on her stomach. Kelsea never felt this way before; seeing Tara nude and vulnerable before her filled her mind with all sorts of dirty ideas. This must be the way Stanley felt, seeing the two of them in the bar: a pair of young, teenage girls, oblivious to what’s about to happen.

“Is…is it my turn now?” Kelsea stammered, doing her best to conceal her fervor. “Are you going to rape me now? Are you going to do me from behind, like a doggy? Please don’t.”

“Yeh want it, don’tcha?” Okay, so Kelsea’s acting was terrible. Still, how hard could it be, to convince a rapist to rape?

“…Please. I don’t know what you did to me, but I need it. Let me have an orgasm.”

Again, Stanley walked behind Kelsea and toyed with her cunt. The sensations drove her absolutely wild. Hoping to distract Stanley, Kelsea lifted her foot and ran her toes up and down his calf, letting him get an eye-full of her sole. But once again, she was denied, right on the brink of orgasm.

“Yeh know, yeh’ve almost remembered the magic words.”

This comment caught Kelsea by surprise. That stupid little detail had abandoned her thoughts at least half an hour prior. “Wait…it’s words? I thought it was just one word.”

“Nah. But yeh dun want to know it yet, do yeh? Yeh wouldn’t like to be set free jus’ yet, not when yeh’re so turned on, huh Girlie?”

Kelsea felt torn in half. Her mind was still a blank, but she felt as though the magic words were imminent, like they could pop into her head at any moment. The gentle, innocent teenager she’d once been pleaded with her to delay the sex, and save herself for someone worthy.

But what she’d since become won out. Her pussy burned with lust. “Please…just let me finish.”

Stanley untied Kelsea’s neck and pushed her thighs against the bed frame, bending her at the waist so her head lay upon the mattress. Then, he collected Tara’s limp ankles and pushed the girl’s insteps together under Kelsea’s face. “I’ve fucked yeh girls twice t’night, so it’ll take a bitta work on yer part to keep me good an’ horny.”

“I thought that was your job…beating and hurting us.”

“Aye. But now it’s yer turn. I wantcha to see the world through my eyes, Girlie.”

Kelsea swallowed hard and looked over her shoulder, up at her soon-to-be rapist. “What do I have to do?”

Stanley simply pointed. Kelsea followed his gaze to the undersides of Tara’s feet. “Yer gonna enjoy them while I enjoy you.”

Curious, Kelsea cocked her head and struggled to see what Stanley found sexy about those things. She saw the curves of Tara’s heels, her arches, her toes. Yup, they’re feet all right, typically used for walking and other related activities.

“How?”

“We’ll do a dry run…catch a whiff’a them soft lil’ beauties.”

Obediently, Kelsea obeyed. She gingerly set her nose in the crease between Tara’s soles and inhaled. The scent took Kelsea by surprise. She hadn’t smelled feet since being a little girl, and that wasn’t sexual. It was children being children. They had a peculiar aroma, one that wasn’t bad, but wasn’t sweet, either. Not like smelling honey or flowers, anyway.

“Now lick’em,” Stanley ordered, moving to the bedside. They hadn’t smelled that bad, but how would they taste? If spoiled milk smells bad, it usually tastes bad, right? So Tara’s feet should taste…well, not bad.

Kelsea opened her mouth and painted a stroke across Tara’s arch. She was right; the foot had a muted, piquant taste that she found to be rather inoffensive. Stanley gripped Tara’s feet, seized a nearby pillow, and set them beneath Tara’s ankles. “Not bad, huh?”

“I guess not…they just taste like skin,” Kelsea admitted reluctantly.

“Good.” He wove his way around the curve of Kelsea’s naked bum and fisted his growing erection. “If yeh want to come, I’m gon’ see some toes in your mouth too, Girlie.” The pillow raised Tara’s feet but left her toes dangling in mid-air, to compensate for Kelsea’s inability to lift them to her mouth herself.

Kelsea took a deep breath and, as soon as Stanley’s cockhead parsed her burning pussy lips, she leaned into Tara’s feet and scooped her toes into her mouth. Stanley pushed himself deeper, to Kelsea’s hymen, prompting her to nibble on the toes and flick her tongue between them.

Though when Stanley punctured Kelsea’s barrier, she collapsed into the soles, burying her face into the ultra-sensitive flesh. Stanley must have appreciated this, judging by the surge of excitement that coursed through his engorged dick. Kelsea nuzzled Tara’s heels and arches, letting Stanley bury himself in her depths. She’d never been so turned on in her entire life.

Gently at first, and then with a growing vigor, Stanley pumped into Kelsea’s pussy, watching his victim rub her face on Tara’s feet. In no time, his beer belly pounded Kelsea’s bum, causing the girl’s waist and thighs to hammer into the bed frame.

Kelsea let herself collapse into the waves of ecstasy coursing through her body. Worshipping Tara’s feet became autonomous; Kelsea’s sole focus was the absolute rapture working its way in and out of her vagina. She felt hypnotized by the sex, always on the brink of orgasm, feeling like it would never end.

Suddenly, the moment arrived. Stanley tensed and ground his hips into Kelsea’s ass, burying the full length of his cock in her cunt, and white-hot fluid erupted into her deepest core. Kelsea screamed with pleasure, no longer using her mouth on Tara’s feet but instead using her arches as a means to stifle her shrieks of bliss.

Then, as soon as it began, the sex was over. Stanley withdrew.

…And Kelsea hadn’t orgasmed.

Panting, Kelsea raised her head and looked over her shoulder at Stanley, peering at him with dazed eyes through a shroud of messy hair. When the ability to speak returned, Kelsea addressed the issue. “…Um…Stanley? I didn’t…you know…”

“Yeh didn’t come? What d’ya think that slimy crap was, that I put in your cunt?”

Kelsea stared hollowly at him, her mouth agape. “…It kept me from having one…?”

“Thass right!”

Feeling utterly betrayed, Kelsea simply stared at him. “But…what was it? It was an aphrodisiac, right? It made me feel turned on, right?”

But Stanley didn’t answer. His clothes were still in a pile beside the bed. To her surprise, he began to put them on. “Tell the truth…yeh enjoyed it, dinnitcha?”

Kelsea thought it over for a minute. Sure, this wasn’t exactly what she and Tara set out to do, earlier that evening. But still…

“I guess so…”

“If yeh hadn’t had that drink, I’da left you all alone. Yeh’d probably just go home and touch yerself.”

True. Well, partially true. Whether or not Kelsea would have masturbated, she didn’t know. It wasn’t exactly a habit. Still…in spite of the way this evening began, she’d kind of…

…enjoyed it.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Stanley…but thank-you for the drink.”

At first, Kelsea thought that she was kidding. But as she listened to herself, she made the sudden realization.

“…And I guess…I’m sorry I didn’t thank you earlier.”

They were bound and gagged again.

Kelsea was a little bit afraid, but she suspected that Stanley was letting them go. Only a few minutes prior, Tara had come to consciousness. Like Kelsea, her hands were cuffed behind her back, her eyes and mouth smeared with duct tape. She’d struggled, but Kelsea scooted across the seat and nuzzled Tara’s shoulder. It’s gonna be okay this time.

Tara had gotten the idea. And here they sat.

Stanley was at the wheel. He hadn’t said anything during the entire ride. When Kelsea thought about him, she couldn’t really come to any firm conclusion. He’d abducted them, tortured them, raped them both.

…Or had he? He raped Tara, for certain, but Kelsea couldn’t convince herself that he’d raped her, too. He wouldn’t even comment on whether or not the ‘pussy-goo’ had turned Kelsea on, or just denied her the orgasm.

Whatever the case, its effect had worn off. The urge for sex had faded, Kelsea just wanted to go home. More than likely, Tara would sleep at her apartment tonight. They might take a few days off to recover, especially Tara, the innocent.

Kelsea felt bad for Tara. She hadn’t really done anything to deserve this. In that regard, she hated Stanley. Then again, Kelsea hadn’t done anything to deserve it either, but that had been her problem, hadn’t it? She hadn’t done anything.

And Stanley had taken it deadly serious.

The car pulled to a slow stop. Without a word, Stanley abandoned the drivers seat, moved to the rear doors, and pulled the girls out of the car. He led them a little ways down the street.

“Kneel, Girlies.”

Kelsea quickly fell to her knees and felt Tara do the same beside her. Her heart thudded in her chest. For a moment, she wondered if he wasn’t executing them. Maybe he’d taken them out into the wilderness to put them down, like dogs. Maybe they’d be on the morning news in a few hours: two young girls found in a ditch, both tortured and sexually assaulted.

No suspects.

To Kelsea’s relief, Stanley released her handcuffs, and she heard something metallic fall to the pavement, several yards to her left.

“Now. Girlies. Yeh’re gon’ walk into town, an’ yeh’re gon’ live your lil’ lives. If yeh come lookin’ for me, yeh ain’t gon’ find me. And if yeh make too big a deal, I’m gon’ come for yeh. There won’t be no magic words to say no more, understand?”

A heavy, steel-toed boot crushed Kelsea’s toes against the pavement. Squealing, Kelsea vehemently nodded her head.

“Good.”

Then, the man named Stanley was gone. By the time Kelsea removed the blindfold, he was back in his car, driving in reverse down the road. She couldn’t see his license plate, being blinded by the headlights, and by the time he turned around the car was too far away to discern anyway.

She peeled the tape from her mouth and looked at Tara. Their situation didn’t look good. Two young girls, kneeling naked on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Tara’s handcuffs hadn’t been removed, either. Kelsea pulled the tape from Tara’s face.

“Is he gone…?” Tara whimpered softly. Her tone punched holes in Kelsea’s heart.

“Yes. He’s gone now.”

Tara pulled at the handcuffs. “What are we gonna do? Where are we?”

Kelsea looked around, and remembered something she’d heard before Stanley left. “Hey…get off the road real quick. Scootch down if you see a car coming. I think he left the key to your handcuffs.”

Jumping to her feet, Kelsea scampered down the road, peering through the darkness at the pavement. She didn’t even see the key; she stepped on it. Still barefoot, she squeaked at the sudden stinging pain.

Collecting it, Kelsea returned to Tara, who was kneeling in a ditch beside the road. To the relief of both girls, the key fit, and Tara was free. They began walking.

“Kelsea?”

She looked at her friend. Seeing her freed of the restraints brought a wave of warmth to Kelsea’s heart. “What is it?”

“…What happened? Tonight, I mean. How did that happen? Why did he let us go? Why didn’t he…”

“…Kill us?” Kelsea finished. Tara nodded. “I…I don’t know. I don’t think he wanted to hurt us.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Kelsea raised her hands in her defense. “No, just listen…I think, if I’d just thanked him in the bar, he would have left us alone. He drugged my drink, but I would have woken up tomorrow morning and figured I was drunk. He would have left us alone.” She turned to Tara and looked her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tara interrupted quickly. “He was the bad guy here.”

“Was he…?”

Catching something in the corner of her eye, Kelsea turned her head. A pair of headlights was approaching.

“What do we do? Should we hide?”

It took a moment for Kelsea to respond. “No…but I hope this a woman, all alone. We can catch a ride.”

Kelsea didn’t catch the drift of what she’d said until she looked at Tara’s face, drained of all its color. “…If it’s a man, he might hurt us!”

“…That’s what I thought you meant…” Tara said, but she sounded unconvinced.

Together, they watched the car approach.