Three Days a Slave: The Complete Novel

by Natasha Stevens

  * * *

  The wait seemed to stretch out into infinity, and Tara felt her heart beating – steadily, and her pussy getting hotter and wetter, and she was aware she was writhing, rubbing her legs together, her ass still in the air, and she said, “Please. Please fuck me now.”

  The lacy white panties were slid slowly down over her ass and onto her thighs.

  She felt very large hands on her hips, on her ass. VERY large hands, and then she felt a cock bounce against the outer lips of her pussy, and again – it seemed gigantic, far weightier than any cock she’d ever had before, certainly.

  It began to ease into her, very very slowly and it was indeed huge, and she felt like she was being stretched as wide as she could be stretched.

  She was panting now, trying to take deep breaths, aware of the vulgar unintelligible noises that were escaping her as this very big cock slid all the way into her. Every time she thought every inch of her was full, it managed to find more space.

  And then it was gone, the wonderful intense pressure that had never quite gotten to the point of pain, and she whimpered her disappointment.

  “More,” she said. “Give it to me.”

  The cock began sliding into her again, faster this time, and she cried out in pleasure at it bumped her g-spot, her whole body shivering, and then the cock slid out and back in, more easily, this time, as she relaxed and took it all, gratefully, even greedily.

  “More,” she gaped. “Faster.” And she cried out as the full length entered her twice in rapid succession.

  The cock was pounding her hard now, and she moaned and begged him not to stop as she rode it. She pressed her face against her forearms and pushed her ass back against the thrusts, the feel of her breasts brushing the floor and the soreness from the spanking anchoring her to reality and enhancing her pleasure as the fucking continued. She felt the building heat and pressure of another orgasm, and right as she got to the point of another …

  The fucking stopped.

  * * *

  Derek let the kid sit in the front seat as he drove back to the city. He knew the kid wouldn’t try anything; he was thoroughly broken. Besides, he had to admit it was kind of nice to watch the kid sit there, shirtless, weeping silently, his lips trembling, trying to pretend it all hadn’t happened, trying to deal with the nightmare that his life had very suddenly become.

  My skill set is still pretty good, thought Derek.

  He dropped the kid off at his apartment and watched as the kid got out of the car and walked, dazed and zombie-like, back to his door.

  Derek knew the kid wouldn’t tell anybody. He just … wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

  Derek smiled at the thought of it.

  He considered what he’d do to his daughter, when he found her and brought her back.

  He’d been spending a lot of time thinking about that, actually, down in the basement of the house, but now he knew he was going to do far worse things than he’d ever thought about before.

  * * *

  “Oh god, please!” she moaned. “Please don’t stop!”

  The room was beginning to spin. Tara was losing track of time again. Every time she approached orgasm, the huge cock withdrew, leaving her bound and helpless on the floor, begging for it. She was aware of cheers and applause occasionally from somewhere in the room – somewhere in front of her, and again she vaguely sensed there were at least three or four people there.

  She realize she was crying hysterically, out of breath, trapped on the verge of an orgasm, her whole body feeling like it was about to shake apart, like she was about to have some kind of seizure.

  “What’s your name?” asked Christopher’s voice from the loudspeaker.

  “Tara! Oh god please let me cum!”

  “Your name isn’t Tara. Not anymore.”

  She struggled to think. “Shade? My name is … Shade?”

  “No, not yet. You’re not Shade, not yet.”

  “Slave! My name is slave!” she cried.

  “Yes,” said Christopher. “Z, let her cum now.”

  The big cock drove into her again and again, filling her completely, filling her with heat and pressure and fire, and her whole body began shaking uncontrollably.

  She was more aware of people around her, now, heard footsteps, she felt body heat and heard breathing even over her own hammering heartbeat.

  Then she felt the first splash of something hot and sticky on her back, and knew that somebody had just jacked off on her. Another sticky hot splash from another direction. So hot! She felt more land in her hair.

  Breathless, she felt herself tensing around the big cock inside her and she began to cum, with such force that the whole world disappeared.

  * * *

  Derek met Richard at the private investigator’s office, and explained to him what he’d found out.

  Richard had only had a few hours of sleep – after Derek had left to “speak with” the kid, he had taken a nap on the sofa of his office – and he instructed his secretary to fix some coffee.

  “All right, we know the address of the coffee shop where he dropped her off, and when, we can get into the traffic camera footage and find out where she went. It’s going to take a while, though. There are a lot of streets downtown and a lot of foot traffic. We’ll have to look through footage from every camera around there.”

  “The let’s get started,” said Derek, pouring himself a cup.

  “You didn’t get any sleep at all last night. Do you want to catch a nap or something?” asked Richard.

  “No,” said Derek, drinking his coffee. “I do not.”

  * * *

  Tara awoke.

  Lying on the cold wooden floor, still blindfolded.

  The pressure and warmth between her legs throbbed. Her breasts ached.

  How long had she been unconscious? What was happening?

  Christopher’s voice spoke. “Is that you, Tara?”

  Tara thought, no. “No, that’s … not me.” She said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Slave. Nobody. I’m not anybody right now.”

  “Good,” said Christopher. “Very good. Can you stand?”

  She managed to stand up, unsteadily.

  “Take that prom dress off her, Z.”

  She felt the big hands unzip the dress in the back, and the dress was pulled over her head. She obediently raised her arms. Her tits were still hanging out of the push-up bra and the panties were still pulled down around her thighs; she’d lost the high heels somewhere during the fucking.

  She felt the panties being pulled into her crotch for a moment and then were ripped away entirely. The big hands unhooked the strapless push-up bra and then it was gone, also.

  She stood obediently, now completely naked, enjoying the touch from the big warm hands.

  “Walk forward,” said Christopher’s voice.

  Carefully, testing each step, she moved forward.

  “Stop. Now turn left, and walk forward ten steps.”

  She did so, carefully, her hands still cuffed in front of her, and felt the floor turn from wood to something cooler and smoother – concrete?

  “Okay, stop.”

  And warm water began falling on her. She cried out at first, and tried to stagger away, but then realized it was just something like a shower, and the temperature of the water was nice. She turned her face gratefully towards it, letting out a gasp of pleasure.

  The warm water fell on her and she rubbed it over her body, turning her cum-splashed back towards it. Her hair fell in her face and she tossed it back.

  Then it stopped, and she felt her wet body being lifted. A massive arm and massive hands went under her waist. She was being carried by somebody huge. She relaxed and sighed in pleasure, leaning her head against the huge chest. The person carrying her was naked, also, and she enjoyed the feeling of skin on skin.

  So good just to surrender. Submit. Submit to somebody she trusted.

  She was put in a chair, her handcuffed hands sti
ll in front of her.

  Finally the blindfold was removed, and it took her eyes a little while to adjust, but she realized she was sitting in a barber’s chair. And that there was a mirror in front of her, and the bedraggled mess of a girl she saw there was her.

  Her hair was hanging in strands in her face; her eye shadow and lipstick had mostly been washed away but smears off it still remained.

  Then she saw the giant behind her – he almost looked like a statue at first, he was so big – a huge muscular man, with a shaved head and golden-brown skin, a stocking mask covering his face.

  She looked at him in the mirror, and he raised the large pair of scissors in his hand, grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair and clipped it off.

  He let the handful of hair fall, and she felt a moment – only a moment – of panic, and then she felt the calmness of surrender. She leaned back in the chair and let out a sigh.

  The giant grabbed handfuls of hair and clipped them off, one by one, slowly and purposefully, without speaking, until her hair was nothing but short wet ratty spikes.

  “Goodbye, Tara,” she whispered.

  Then the giant turned on an electric trimmer and began shaving her head.

  She closed her eyes and enjoyed the tingling sensation on her skull as the remains of her hair fell over her shoulders and chest.

  * * *

  Outside the warehouse, Tara’s stepfather Derek parked his car. The sun was beginning to set, turning the dark streets of this shitty neighborhood grey.

  It had taken most of the afternoon to find Tara’s picture on the captured footage from the traffic cameras, but they’d found her, and they’d tracked her. The last picture they’d found showed her turning into the front of a particular warehouse in a bad area downtown, several miles from the coffee shop where Peter had dropped her off.

  Somehow he felt sure that his daughter was still in there.

  He looked at the building for a few minutes, then he started the car again and drove around the warehouse and around the surrounding neighborhood for a while, just looking, getting a feel for what was normal and abnormal down here. Establishing a baseline was always important. The warehouse seemed abandoned and the front entrance was padlocked with a giant industrial steel lock. The lock did look like it was fairly new, however.

  Then he parked down the street from the warehouse’s entrance and sank in his seat, just watching, waiting, his hand on the gun in its holster at his side, as the darkness claimed the neighborhood.

  DAY THREE: TATTOO YOU

  Tara was sore when she woke up. Every muscle seemed to ache … especially those between her legs.

  The ache was pleasant though, in her muscles and in her sex. Sore, in a good way. Her walls had a pleasant throbbing warmth to them.

  It was good to feel something. She’d been so numb for the last two years.

  Thanks to her stepdad. He’d sucked all the joy out of her life, and certainly taken all the joy away from her sexuality.

  The fucking she’d got the previous day was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She idly wondered what her sex life was going to be like after she finished this. When she started her new life.

  She went to run her hands through her hair to get it out of her face, as she did every morning … but then realized she no longer had any hair.

  She was changing in many ways.

  One more day, she thought. By the end of today I’ll have a new life, she thought. I’ll be a different person.

  That new life couldn’t come soon enough, but she found she was almost a little disappointed to be leaving the strange world of BDSM she’d entered, of submission and domination … and the powerful orgasms.

  It troubled her a little that she felt that way, but then she thought of the kind eyes of Christopher, the man who seemed to be the leader of this strange group.

  She went into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. The shaved head made her look strangely delicate, like a baby bird.

  There was no clock in the room; she had no idea what time it was, beyond some vague idea it was morning.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. Even the eyes looked different somehow, she thought. Clearer.

  More determined.

  * * *

  Shortly before dawn, Tara’s stepfather Derek saw somebody emerging from an alleyway near the warehouse.

  He’d waited all night, planning to enter just before the sun came up. If there was anybody awake in there at that hour, they’d be sufficiently exhausted that they probably wouldn’t give him much trouble.

  He, Derek, was used to going without sleep. The pills he’d taken helped, of course, as did the coffee.

  He waited, one of his feet twitching.

  But then, finally, he got a lucky break.

  A single figure, a man in a long coat with an old-fashioned fedora-style hat on, came out of an alleyway nearby.

  Derek slumped in his seat and watched. In the dark corner of the parking lot opposite the warehouse, he was sure he wasn’t visible. The man wasn’t looking in that direction, anyway.

  The man in the long coat crossed the street and walked across the parking lot, and then headed up the road a bit to a 24-hour donut shop.

  As Derek figured, he emerged soon after with a cardboard tray with four coffees in it.

  Four people inside the warehouse, at least, then. Or more, including some who don’t drink coffee.

  Derek felt a little thrill of anticipation at the challenge.

  He got out of the car and waited near a trash dumpster nearby, in the path that the guy had taken. The guy, like most civilians, was not paying any attention at all to what was going on around him. Stupid idea in general, and a stupid idea in this neighborhood in particular, and a stupid idea especially if he was involved in kidnapping his stepdaughter.

  Derek removed a collapsible baton from his pocket. A cylinder of telescoping steel, it was only eight inches long when folded up inside itself, but almost 18 inches long when fully extended.

  Derek extended it to its full length.

  When the guy walked by the garbage dumpster, Derek clubbed him on the collarbone with it.

  The guy yelped in surprise – more of a hiss, actually, the sudden incredible pain had taken his voice away– and the coffees went flying and splashing on the concrete.

  Derek grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pulled him backwards, poking him in the solar plexus with the steel rod and knocking the wind out of him.

  He didn’t want the guy screaming, or anything. Although he didn’t think it would attract attention in this neighborhood.

  The guy was a middle-aged man, Derek saw now – brown hair with a bit of grey in it – and not particularly fit. His face was red and his eyes bulged from the blow to his solar plexus.

  Derek yanked the guy’s coat down around his arms and pulled him back to his car, then tossed him in the passenger’s seat. He quickly fastened the safety belt over the guy’s chest and arms, which were still tangled in the coat.

  Derek got in the driver’s seat and took his gun out.

  The guy’s panicked rasping increased but when he got his breath, he spoke, keeping his eyes fixed on the gun. “My wallet is in my left front pocket. There’s about a hundred bucks in there. Or you want my ATM card, I’ll tell you the pin. Just calm down here, man, I’ll do anything you want.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Derek. “And I’m calm … man. You’re the one that needs to calm down. And then you’re going to tell me how many people are in that warehouse, the interior layout of it, and then tell me where my daughter is and what the fuck she’s doing in there.”

  * * *

  When she got out of the shower, the giant was waiting for her.

  She knew him only as Z. He was like a great ebony statue, nearly seven feet tall and probably weighing three hundred pounds of pure muscle. He still wore the skull mask he’d worn every time she’d seen him previously, and a pair of bodybuilder bikini briefs. His i
mmense rippling physique towered over her.

  She shivered a bit at his rather fearsome appearance, and perhaps in anticipation of whatever awaited her today. More fucking by him? She wondered.

  He said, “Good morning, miss. Please come with me.”

  “Should I get dressed?” she asked.

  “That’s won’t be necessary.”

  Naked, she followed him out into the hallway.

  Day two had concluded rather differently than she expected; after being fucked in front of a small audience by the black giant, he had shaved her head.

  Then, the giant had led her – still naked -- to a large room with gym mats on the floor, and had given her lessons in basic grappling, with a particular eye towards techniques for escaping from a larger attacker and slipping away from people who had you pinned. It was self-defense against rape, she’d realized.

  Then the girl who had played the nurse – a pneumatic blonde – came out, and she’d wrestled with Tara for a while. Tara had learned a fair bit, she felt, but the larger nurse still pinned her. Two men – the guys who had been playing the part of paramedics on the first day – jacked off while they watched.

  Her punishment for losing was to eat the nurse’s pussy.

  She’d never done that with a girl before, but she was so aroused by the wrestling that she supposed she made up in intensity what she lacked in technique. Her tongue worked the nurse’s wet slit until her jaw and neck were sore and her face was covered with the nurse’s juices.

  The nurse had seemed to enjoy it, anyway.

  Afterwards, she’d been given another protein shake, and the final event of the day had occurred.

  “A challenge to you,” said Tara. “These two guys are going to try to fuck you. They are not trained grapplers, just usual dudes. You have more training than they do. The usual rules for wrestling apply. You can tap out and the match will stop, but then they get to fuck you. No hitting, no eye gouging, no pinching or biting. Do you agree or do you want to say mercy?”