by Syra Bond
One woman had a fur cape pulled across her knees. She patted it and stroked it as if it was a pet. I watched her pulling it between her legs, massaging her cunt with it, purring to it as though it were her mate.
Every so often there were moments of eerie and oppressive silence and in these I heard the distant noise of breaking waves. The sound filled me with a sudden realisation that there was a world outside the confines of what had become my prison.
The woman with the fur cape got up and stared at me. Her flimsy dress had been folded down around her waist so that her breasts were bare. Dropping her head and dragging the cape in her hand, she went to a woman nearby and helped her up from her bed. They were joined by two others and the four of them walked over to me slowly. They were all grinning, as though they were trying to tell me something - as though they shared a secret to which I was not privy.
I sat in the wheelchair terrified as they approached. The woman dragging the fur cape stopped in front of me. She lifted her dress and exposed her crack. Her pubic hair was trimmed neatly so that the top of the slit of her cunt was fully exposed. One of the other women dropped to her knees in front of her and began licking it, extending her tongue along its centre and leaving a glistening stripe of spit along the beautiful pink furrow.
‘Every day at this time we tell our stories,’ the woman with the fur cape said, rolling her eyes up with delight as she widened her thighs to give the woman on her knees fuller access to her flesh. ‘It is the only way we know we exist. It is the only way we know we have a history beyond our death. Come and listen. I am called Lydia. Today it will be my story.’
One of the other women pushed me through a heavy door into an area at the base of a high tower. A table at its centre was lit by a single candle that cast a greasy pool of light over its surface.
Lydia sat down and opened her legs. The woman who had been licking her cunt took her place again and, this time kneeling between her thighs, she continued to lick the moist slit. She slurped noisily and moaned each time she drew her tongue back out of the warm interior. Every so often, she glanced back as me and smiled - her teeth were sharp and glistening, her lips were wet, and her tongue, when she dropped it out to show me, glittered with spit and moisture from Lydia’s cunt.
Lydia draped her fur cape across the back of the woman’s head who was licking her. She stroked it slowly.
‘This is a story of how I was tricked by someone who became my lover - a very special lover. Listen.’
I was wheeled up to the table and the remaining two women each pulled up a chair.
My eyes stopped hurting in the dim light of the candle and my headache eased. The yellow flickering of the flame was hypnotic and, as Lydia spoke, I felt instantly transported into the world she recreated with her soft toned, lilting Spanish accent.
‘I came into the US from Mexico. I hitched a ride with a group of soldiers on vacation in an old VW camper. They made me pay for the lift though - nothing’s free in this world. Yes, they made me pay alright. We drove along the border with Texas for a week, ending up in a shanty on a hillside above El Paso. What a pit! It was so hot - dogs, children, and prostitutes everywhere. The whores take their men every place imaginable: in old cars, in alleys, in shop doorways, right there in the street. Every night I was degraded in some way. I was made to take their cocks in my mouth, my cunt and my anus, and often all three at the same time. Sometimes it hurt me so much I begged for them to stop, but they took no notice. They made me drink their semen from a cup and they stood around me and covered me in it until it dripped from me. I used to kneel at their feet as they surrounded me with their cocks in their hands, semen running from my eyelashes, dripping from my chin, and smothering my breasts. Most of all they enjoyed tying me and beating me. They liked strapping me to the side of the camper, my wrists bound tightly with leather belts wound around the door handles. They would remove my T shirt but usually leave my panties on - they enjoyed pulling them down just before they thrashed me. As they pulled up the straps on my wrists tight, my nipples pressed against the hot metal of the side of the camper. The heat of the metal against my naked breasts made me cry. But they had no sympathy - my tears only excited them. It was in the evenings that they did this to me. In the afternoons they parked the van with the side facing the sun so that when they pulled me against the scorching metal it burned me just the same as if they held a lighted match beneath my nipples. They would take turns, using their belts or a rope, sometimes a whip, sometimes a stick. Once they used some wet washing stolen from a nearby line stretched between two corrugated iron and cardboard box hovels. If I started to lose consciousness they would throw a bucket of water over me and hold my hair and shake my head until I roused again. Dogs sniffed around my ankles as I hung by my wrists crying out hopelessly for relief from the pain. When we travelled in the day, they left me tied to the inside door handles of the camper. I crouched on the floor with my hands held up against the handles feeling dizzy and sick. Once I vomited and they just laughed and left me covered in it until the evening.
‘One night they took me to a bar where they traded me with a group of Mexicans in return for a night’s free drinking. They offered me for auction publicly, making me stand on the bar while they asked for bids. The Mexicans were already drunk. They tied a collar around my neck and pushed me roughly from one to the other as they sat at a table drinking. They doused me in Tequila, tore my clothes and bent me across a table and thrashed me. I felt so frightened, ashamed, and humiliated as they tore my panties down and spanked me while everyone else in the bar laughed and jeered. Later they pulled me outside, tied me by the ankles to a rope fixed to the tow bar of a pickup and dragged me through the dusty scrubland car park that surrounded the bar. They drove in circles. I was covered in dirt and choked as I bounced and twisted giddily in the potholes and furrows. Most of the Mexicans waited in a group at the rear entrance to the bar then, as the pickup dragged me past, they thrashed me with their belts, urinated over me, or threw buckets of water at me. I don’t know how I stayed conscious; all I know is that the whole time I wished that I was not.
‘The soldiers never claimed me back and the Mexicans kept me. I was treated as a slave - I washed for them, prepared and served their food, cleaned up after them, and was their plaything and constant victim. We stayed on a trailer park for weeks. At night they tied me naked to a post where I was surrounded by foraging Javelinas who grunted and pushed around me with their course-haired snouts. The men emptied the waste bins around me to encourage them.
‘One day they took me to the banks of the Rio Grande, tied me by a rope and threw me in. They pulled me back as if I was a fish, dragging me up the bank then throwing me out again so that once more they could haul me in. A few local Mexicans gathered on the bank shouting across the narrow river to Americans on the other side; offering them souvenirs, trinkets and pottery. The Americans laughed at me as my captors threw me into the river again and again. I shouted to them for help - pleading, offering them anything if they would save me - but my pleas only encouraged them to jeer and shout encouragement to my tormentors.
‘As I lay gasping on the narrow sandy beach, a figure appeared standing above me. I will never forget it. His shadow cast over me as if it had suddenly become night - it seemed to blacken my whole being.
‘He reached down and took my hand.
‘“I think you need a passport to a new life,” he said quietly.
‘I watched him pass some money over to my captors - just a few dollars. They grinned as he clipped a tight leather collar to my neck and led me away across the shallow river.
‘I hung my head and held my hands by my side. He tugged at the lead when I hesitated in mid-stream. I felt a tingling sensation in the soft flesh of my cunt as the warm water lapped around it. I lengthened my stride so that the water made even more contact with the slightly opening crack. He tugged again. I walked up on the opposite ban
k - the USA.
Water dripped from my chin. My hair was wet and tangled. An old pickup drew up. A man jumped out leaving the door open. I saw the glint of something shiny in the dashboard. It was the keys. The desire for freedom overwhelmed me as I was seized with a sudden energy.
‘I ran to the pickup and jumped into the driver’s seat. I drove off as fast as I could without even looking back once.
‘That night I lay in a motel bed sweating with fear. I had only driven a few miles before the pickup ran out of gas. I had got a room in a seedy motel but I had no money to pay for it. They had only given me the key because I convinced the sleazy man on the desk that I had money in my bag but that my bag was in the pickup.
‘There was a commotion in the next room - someone being thrashed. When it went quiet, I went to have a look - I thought there might be a chance of some money at least. I couldn’t believe my luck. Someone was tied to the bed. I untied her - kind of me, I thought - but then I saw the bag! I couldn’t stop myself from punching out. I grabbed hold of the passport and cards and, quick as I could, I ran outside. There was another girl in the car park. “Wow, sweetie, you look as if you’re trying to get away from something as well!” she said. We ran off together - just ran into the desert! He soon found us, of course. It was stupid to think we could escape him. He tied us up like hogs and took us back to the motel in his pickup. He’d had another girl tied up there as well. Now he’d lost them both. My, was he angry! I don’t know how we survived! He certainly took it out on the pair of us!
‘From there we drove for hours - days probably. When finally we did stop he left us tied up on the flat bed of the pickup for two days before he released us. We were both enslaved, held captive in his church in the desert in Arizona, and used by his ‘parishioners’ or in his ceremonies. I was kept tied by the neck in a kennel. Can you imagine it? Once we were driven up to Canada and the other girl and I were shut up in a log cabin for a whole week. It was cold and snowy, we used to huddle together in front of a big fire and lick each other’s cunts.
‘Back in Arizona things went from bad to worse. The last day I was there was the hottest I remember. He had some visitors from another church - two muscular men who arrived on motor bikes. One wore a dog collar; the other was decorated all over with fuzzy blue tattoos.
‘He had me brought out of my kennel. The two men thought it was very amusing the way I was tied up like a dog on a collar and lead. They threw buckets of water over me because they said I stank. I was made to kneel and pray for forgiveness. They pushed me over in the sand. My legs spread wide as I fell onto my back. I had no panties on - I had not been allowed any since I had been first leashed in the kennel. The two men leered at my exposed cunt. I thought of scowling, but I was fearful of what they might do, and more importantly how my master might punish me for disobedience - he had made a point of punishing me for even the most minor transgression. I waited a second or two before pulling my legs together. The fattest one sneered - he knew I had given him a moment to look at my flesh. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip. Spit smeared across it and glistened in the bright sunlight. I could not hold myself back. It was all I could do to keep my thighs together - I wanted to open them wide, to show the wet edges of my slit, to the show the leering men its soft pinkness, to let them know I wanted it smacked, or licked or filled with whatever they wanted to stuff into it. And then I wanted to be punished for my wantonness. I let my knees drop wide apart. Yes, all I could think of was the sharp slap of the flat of a hand across the tender flesh of my crack. More than anything that’s what I wanted - to feel it, to hear it, to be brought to ecstasy by it.
‘More water was thrown over me. I gasped and choked as it sloshed in my face. Some of it filled my mouth and I held my jaw wide and let it flow out as though it was my very essence running from me onto the desert sand. I stared down imagining my life dissipating into its searing grains.
‘They blindfolded me and made me stand naked in the scorching heat of the sun. I listened to a woman’s screams - they were terrible blood-curdling howls. They put a clip on my nose and forced me to drink something from a bowl. It was warm and sticky. I could hardly bear to swallow it down - it coagulated in my throat and made me heave. Some of it ran down my chin and I felt it drying on my throat. Some dripped down onto my naked breasts; as it was exposed to the blazing heat it dried and crinkled and tightened on my hard nipples. It was a delectable sensation - my throbbing flesh being squeezed, not knowing how much it would constrict me before it stopped.
‘He watched as the two men bent me over one of the motor cycles. They tied my wrists to the chromium plated footrest on the one side and my ankles to the footrest on the other. My nostrils filled with fumes - gas and oil. It made my head reel. The top of my naked crack was pressed against the hot leather saddle. I felt slipperiness as the edges of my cunt as it moistened in response to the delectable friction. I was terrified and yet, at the same time, my cunt was thrilling to the expectation of what might follow.
‘One stood on one side, the other opposite. They took off their leather belts - each studded along its full length with sharp silver rivets - and dangled them above my exposed buttocks. One glanced the end of his belt across my skin - stroking it, informing it of what was about to happen. The harsh rivets scraped against the taut flesh. I held my breath and tightened my body. The top of my crack squeezed tightly against the soft hot leather of the saddle. My stomach filled with waves of shivering delight. I clenched my teeth together and closed my eyes - as if I could block it out, as if I wanted to! I inhaled the fumes that surrounded the engine of the motorcycle. They burned my throat and lungs. I inhaled deeper. I felt my buttocks lifting. My wet crack stuck to the leather cover of the saddle as it lifted away. I was filled with a surging thrill of anticipation - it was overpowering! I lifted my buttocks more. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I waited, hoping that it would not be too long before the studded leather straps came down across my expectant bottom.
‘They brought the straps down alternately - keeping up a regular rhythm, not stopping. The first that landed made me howl so loudly, the second even louder and after that my screaming was continuous. The teeth of the studs dug in each time as they scraped across my skin; the straps themselves burned me with their slapping force and cut me with their harsh edges. Sometimes the ends of the straps wrapped around my hips and bit into my sides, my waist or the tops of my thighs. Some blows came down on my back, causing me to tighten my shoulder blades and explode lungfuls of animal like screams. I sucked in more of the fumes - fed on them, used them to nourish and replenish me as, with every tormenting stroke, the terrible punishment drained all the resources I had. I heard him laughing and, for as long as I was able to hold my head up, I saw him watching, standing at the entrance to his evil church, loosening his dog collar and mopping his brow as he sweated in the blazing heat of the desert sun.
‘In the end, I dropped my head; it was impossible to hold it up any longer. The thrashing continued, the pain got more intense, and the moisture in my cunt ran more freely. Even as everything was going black, I felt my body tightening with a massive culminating seizure of pleasure - a pleasure brought on by the bare torment of my suffering, a pleasure unsurpassable, a pleasure created in another world and gifted to me as if by angels.
‘I was barely conscious and only vaguely aware of them untying me from the saddle. They roused me by throwing a bucket of water over me. I gulped and choked as it washed into my mouth and up my nostrils. They dug a deep hole in the sand near the entrance to his church, and buried me up to my neck. I could hardly breathe as they filled in the hole around me - the pressure on my chest was ungiving and great. I stared forward along the surface of the sand, terrified, helpless, and struggling to keep myself sane as a black scorpion clattered its way towards my horrified face.
‘In the luminous semi-darkness of the desert night, I felt his presence. I felt him close - bendin
g to me, opening his mouth near my exposed neck. And I felt the surge of my blood as he sucked it out and the pressure of it as it came back into my veins, this time mixed with his spit, his own blood and the terrible germ that would guarantee me life even beyond my own death.
As the sun came up the scorpion lay dead only inches away from my dry lipped and gaping mouth. I licked out my tongue to try and reach it, to take it into my mouth and suck at its hard skeleton in an effort to draw away its last drops of evil blood.
‘The next morning they dug me out of the sand. I couldn’t even move my fingers. Sand had stuck to my whole body; it grated painfully against my skin as they dragged me from my grave. They pushed me on my back and tied my ankles to a long rope and hauled me up on an iron gantry that stuck out from the top of the tower that rose from the entrance to his church. I swung dizzily as they hauled me up above the sandy ground below. I was hardly able to make it out from the brilliant sky as I twisted high above it in nauseas revolutions.
‘They staked the other end of the rope to a heavy timber post that stood near the front of the church. One of the men who had beaten me lit a rag, dropped it into a can of oil and set it burning below the taut rope. The black smoke circled up and surrounded me. I choked and tasted vomit in my throat. The acrid smoke swirled around me, obscuring my view for a few moments before suddenly twisting away and allowing me to see its source - the flames that were burning through the rope!
‘I don’t know how long it took to burn through. I stared at it - far below, the licking flames that would spell my end. Then I saw the severed end of the rope curling up towards me, and I felt the sensation of falling in my stomach. For a moment I felt the cuts on my buttocks, the pressure on my chest from the grave of sand, and then I felt again the biting sting in my neck, before suddenly everything was black. The next thing I knew I was here, in this room, tied to a wheelchair - dead!’