Given the time of day, given the terrain, he settled upon the last of the three females who made the mistake of eliciting a sadistic response from his libido. He would find out later (within his basement) that the brunette’s name was Christina. And looking back - long after - he supposed he selected this particular slut over the other pair simply because the tiny straps of her summer top came up woefully short in obscuring the equally thin straps of her bra as they looped over her tanned shoulders.
Given the position of the sun, given the terrain, he decided the brunette carried herself thee most convincingly as a whore.
So he pounced.
(two hours and fifteen minutes later)
He’d chosen well.
Twenty-three year old Christina Collins had been strung up by her wrists. Her slutty top and the brassiere beneath had ridden up as the brunette dangled helplessly…and the kidnapper appreciated the bare midriff and sexy bare back that resulted from his captive’s manifest discomfort. Christina had fought like a lioness to keep her skirt and panties on…but that had resulted in merely a busted lip and a set of aching ribs.
Nude from the waist down, her new Owner had propped Christina’s fine legs wide apart via lengths of clothesline that tethered her ankles to hitching posts to the left and right. As a reward for her ferocity in not submitting immediately to her new status in life the brunette was squirming in agony due to an ordinary stationery clip that had been applied to - and allowed to crush - one of Christina’s pinkish labia petals.
Yet still she had not submitted. She had yet to beg for mercy.
But given the place, given the sadist, it was only a matter of time.
He played with his fresh meat only after donning mint-green latex gloves that allowed his fingers to delve painfully deep up Christina’s snatch. And brutally deep within her anus. He watched Christina’s most excellent body contort as his hands manipulated her dignity. Shredded away all hope for her future. It was a joy for him to see her legs kick against the ankle bindings that kept her wickets so very wide apart. To witness her fingers splay like spiders’ legs as the strain of her restraint tortured the brunette’s shoulders, arms and lower back. All inside his basement.
Given the circumstances, given his predilection for administering pain, Christina was - in hindsight - very foolish not to have knelt before her tormentor from the very start.
He took his time and informed Christina that the additional stationery clips he meant to attach to her pussy lips wouldn’t interfere with the rape schedule he’d set up for her vagina. And that other girls who had suffered within these same walls assured him that anal sex was truly one of thee most humiliating (and painful) experiences of their lives. Given the size of his cock. Given his innate ferocity.
He took his time with Christina Collins and scolded her for dressing like a whore.
(several agonizing hours later)
With her slutty top forgotten in a corner and her bra displayed along her kidnapper’s trophy cabinet Christina absorbed her first rapes in the nude. Barefoot…her wrists bound up ever so painfully behind her back and grinding into her spine…sobbing. He noted that the slut finally started pleading for mercy around the fifth hour of her captivity. Probably because the grit and sandpaper attack of his erection at both the vagina and ass of the squealing brunette left Christina in a state where ‘using her filthy fucking mouth’ was - as a worthless whore - her best option.
“Please! I’m…I’m sorry th-that I kicked you. Please s-sir…PLEASE! Not this…not again! I’m begging you s-sir! PLEASE! Oh, no…oh God! PLEASE! PLEASE! Noooooo…!!”
Given the selection available he’d chosen the right female. Given her bad attitude Christina was sure to suffer more than most.
“Uu - uugghhhh! EE - aarrgghhhh! Magh - magh - magh - uuuugggghhhhhhhh!!”
(six days later)
Given what her immediate future entailed Christina was weeping. Her naked body had been constricted into yet another of her Master’s crippling hogties. And the penis gag in the brunette’s mouth seemed to reach with claws down past her throat and down into her belly. Christina felt that seemingly EVERYTHING had been done to, with and in spite of her body.
And now her Owner was making plans.
Given the substance of the cell phone conversation Christina had no recourse but to sob and pray…as her torturer advised what had to be a colleague that ’the bitch’s body’ was capable of handling ten - maybe twelve - rapes a day. Once it had duly been transported to Caracas.
“Yup. She’s gonna’ make a stellar prostitute Jim. Noooo doubt! Tell the lads that she’s especially receptive with her ass. Oh my God. This cunt takes pain in equal measure to the pleasure she gives! What a whore. I truly chose a winner Jimbo. Yup! Two days. Fine. Gives me more than enough time to share a few parting gifts with my best girl. Sounds good! You won’t be disappointed. Cheers!”
When Christina looked up from her degrading position at the Controller’s feet he was brandishing five or six stationery clips in his hand. Given her experience within TheP.o.R.T. over the past week the brunette was resigned to the fact that her farewell party was going to involve excruciating pain.
