tagChain StoriesAbducted Ch. 12

Abducted Ch. 12


Chapter 12 –My Turn

I'm still pissed when I dump the Harley woman onto the mattress. In fact, I've still got half-a-mind to leave her back there with the cholos once we're finished.

I take a stack of towels and roll the Harley dame over onto them, with her hands still tied in the small of her back, and that perfect tear-drop ass facing ... up. It's too inviting.


She jumps as the palm of my hand falls heavily across her cheeks!


"You've been a very bad girl ... MS. Harley," I groused. I didn't say that she had this 'coming to her', ... I think we both knew.


"You have no idea how much trouble you've put us through, ... unnecessary trouble!"


It's amazing how flippin' therapeutic each slap on her ass is! My hands begin to sting. I can only imagine how much her cheeks are! Soon, her cheeks glow red, and contrast sharply against the tiny blue fabric of her panties.

I hear her grunt with each blow, and moan as the pain subsides.


But, then, ... the moans come to be different.

I've heard that moan before. When I was teasing my fingers, on her sexuality, ... and, when I was rubbing my eager cock on her quivering skin ... yes, I've heard that moan before.

It's the moan of her 'freaky' side. I pause to catch my breath. Then, I notice that she seems to be offering her sweet tear-drop rear to me!

I begin to massage her red cheeks, in the warmth of my palm. The sobs I'd heard before melted away into the moans, again. The moans of a 'freaky' girl.

I thought of the song by Rick James, "Superfreak!", and then of the MC Hammer song that sampled from it, "Can't Touch This!"

I barely catch myself from laughing out loud. But, it does break my mood, ... just a bit.

Or is it that red, glowing ass propped up in my face that broke it?

I feel stirrings in my pants, again.

I've 'hunted', and captured my 'prey'; I've established my dominance in the streets of the cholos; and, now, I'm ready to 'fuck' someone.

And, she is willing.

I know she is, willing, anticipating, as my slow, experienced hand circles her cheeks, and reaches between her thighs. My fingertips confirm the moistness in her panties, and the swelling of her lips, inside.

I make sure to unzip myself loudly, and to jangle my belt as I unbuckle it. I scarcely have to reach for my cock, as it fairly pops out of my jeans. The cobra-head of my shaft flexes, and aims itself straight for Ms. Harley's sweet tear-drop.

Her wet, blue panties slip to one side easily. I aim my cock for her, and slip it inside.

It is tight, and snug, and warm inside, but she offers not even a groan. I thrust in, and back out, ... and thrust in, and back out, ... and thrust, and thrust, and thrust, and thrust ...

I thrust deeper and harder, and deeper and harder, until the sound of my skin slapping against the back of her thighs makes a sort of music. And, with each thrust, the beat picks up.

Before I know it, my arms are guiding her sweet tear-drop buttocks around my fat, throbbing cock. I give her a quick slaaaap!, and she jumps again ... but I can tell, it is pleasure, not pain. I squeeze and force her cheeks to hug my shaft, while I begin short strokes -- quick, hard, powerful thrusts that make even her tight, trim ass begin to jiggle with my strokes!

And, then, I withdraw.

Even my cock complains, ... but, no, it won't be that easy. Not that impersonal.

I want her to see my face, see how much joy I'm getting out of it!

Deep down, I think I want to see how much joy she's getting out of it, too.

I leave the towels in place beneath her as I roll her over. I trap her thighs between my knees. I love the coolness of her skin, squirming and beckoning my warmth between her legs.

I groo-o-o-o-o-ooove my fat, hungry dick between her upper thighs. I stroo-o-o-o-o-o-oooke again, and let her watch my head broaden and flex, right above her all-but-sheer, wet panties.

I feel my legs, almost involuntarily, pumping ... and pumping ... and pumping my thick shaft between the helpless woman's legs, and I watch her slowly roll her head from side to side while my dick threatens the ultimate violation!

I pulse, and throb above her, dominating her, almost ready to mark my bound-and-gagged 'prey' with a fat spurt of warm gooey liquid.

I pry my knee between hers, and she opens her legs wide to accept me.

Ieee-e-e-e-e-ease my hungry cock in between her engorged lips.


Stroke. Strooooke. Stroooooooooke!!!

I feel my 'captive', my 'victim', wrap her legs around me and mewl, rhythmically, into her ropegag!


I pull her hips up further, to meet my thrusts. I growl, and begin licking at her neck as she turns away, and thruuusting eagerly when she turns back!

I hear her begin to moan, louder; I feel her thrust her hips against me, swallowing me, squeeeeezing my cock inside her, ... and, I give her one, long, hard THRUUUUUUST.

She trembles, as I explode inside her.


She rolls her eyes, and her head back, squirming, and thrusting back, and milking my cock for a few more drops of my seed!


She screams into the ropes, and I growl into her ear.

I stroke, and stroke, and stroke, milking my cock of its last drops. She trembles and bounces and heaves her sweet, petite, delicious freaky body against me, until she can thrust no more.

I go limp, finally, inside her. I linger, so nice, and warm, and snug inside. I lick at the sweat that covers her gagged lips.

I lean down, and swirl her tight little buds in my tongue, and savor the taste.

Then, I roll off of Elizabeth, panting, almost exhausted.

I think of Elise.

Elise, of my childhood. Blonde, blue-eyed, cherubic, mischievous and rebellious Elise. It's her fault -- she released the inner pervert in me, way back when we were seven years old.

She looked so pure, so innocent in her little cowgirl outfit. She always smelled so sweet, wearing her mother's perfume -- she regularly got in trouble for that, sneaking in and spritzing her mother's fragrances on her. I remember her brown leather boots, and her knee-length denim skirt, her pretty white blouse, and the deep-blue bandanna she wore around her neck.

I remember the bright, warm summer day she invited me to play Cowboys and Indians with her. The day that she snuck her mother's clothesline out of the garage

That was the day I knew. I didn't know what I knew, but I knew it just the same.

I knew it when my little 'wee-wee' grew, even though I didn't have to pee. I knew it when I was wrapping the clothesline around her legs, and her wrists, and her chest; when she 'begged' me not to tie her to the tracks; when I 'gagged' her with her blue bandanna. I dragged her between the rails, and laid her down, and twirled at my future moustache. I wore her black cowboy hat, as I pressed my body down upon her, to 'keep her from getting away'.

She got mad at me for wearing her hat. She almost wouldn't play with me again.

But, we played again. And, again. And, again.

We played every weekend, every summer, every school holiday that we could -- out of sight of our parents, between the rusty rails of those tracks.

Then, one day, just as we were beginning to understand why her growing boobies got 'tingly', and my growing 'wee-wee' kept growing and growing while I was tying her up ... just as we were beginning to understand why we liked each other, soooooo much ...

... Her parents moved away.

I never got to 'give it' to a bound and gagged Elise, the way I'd just 'given it' to my real-life adult hostage. The real-life, 'terrified' hostage with the dripping-wet blue panties, laying helplessly on her back, filled with my seed.

This one was for you, Elise, I thought to myself. Then, I grinned: Doesn't seem like Elizabeth minded too much, either.

I reach for my discarded pants, and fish the box-cutter from the pocket. Gently, carefully, I saw the ropes from Elizabeth's mouth, and allow her to breathe.

She goes limp. Her chest heaves, her eyes fixed on me. Dreamily, it seems, fixed on me.

I dress myself quickly, and glance at the watch. It is almost time.

I give Elizabeth a last look, and a smile curls my lips. She was good and thoroughly 'serviced'. Probably what she needed, maybe needed it for quite some time. I chuckle to myself, thinking: "If I'm ever in town again, I'll look you up, doll. Don't worry, I'll bring the ropes."

I open the door, and call out to Chano: "Let's get Ms. Harley some clothes. Harris, it's time to get this final phase ..."

I stop short. Chano is still gone.

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