Buying Bad Ch. 02

All the other guys glanced back at her as they left. Two of them walked backwards staring the whole way. If the leader had looked back once she would have spread herself totally open for him without a second thought.

When Jack returned with his coffee he lead her to his car naked. She crawled into the passenger seat, which was hotter than the ground, and waited until they were driving to plunge violently on his cock. Just as promised, she lavished attention with her tongue until they reached his garage.

As he came down her throat (finally replacing the awful taste of the dog treat with a new saltiness) he couldn't help but bark out, "Doggy likes her bone!"

////////////////////////////////////////

Pebble didn't know the way to the road, only the way that made the dogs sound quieter. Deer run faster than me, how do they know the right way to go?

She thought that she should try and see what side of the trees the mushrooms were all growing on. And then what? What's fucking 'North'?

I own no decision I follow Master's vision.

What did she want?

A road. I need a road.

The dogs would chase her faster down a road, and maybe the Boucher's would know where the road was and head her off at the pass. But there were people on the road. That was the only shot. Who wouldn't pick up a scared cutie wearing the total filth of nature and nothing else?

Well, nothing but her bonds.

Pebble couldn't remember being in nature this long, ever. And she was never a runner. Even through the adrenaline she could feel the ache in her legs, deep under the scrapes and welts, the feeling of muscles reaching their end. Franco's knock-off slave training had been planned around keeping her still and statuesque, not making her a long distance runner. She was being re-designed to be an object. All her stamina was intended for small repetitive motions and maintaining strained positions. She supposed that the hours she had been forced to spend shaking her ass might be helping her gait, but that was probably it.

I bet you look fantastic from behind, girl.

She had to stop and catch her breath, and it was a thick breath to catch. Her breasts shook with every deep, ragged gasp. Would a passer-by find her beautiful? With the belt and the collar, she hoped that someone would see her as a lascivious nature goddess, or some female warrior who lost her sword and honor.

Suddenly she thought of Franco's uncut cock thrusting towards her. And with that the taste of his sweat in her mouth.

No more!

Master's Dick is daily gift, dick in throat, my spirits lift

"I'm not his property," she said.

Whose property then?

She wasn't property at all. Jack said he would sell and buy you back here, where it was legal.

Well he hadn't. There was no number written into her, no chip to track her, no paperwork. She wasn't a slave.

Yet.

What about the other girl in the Boucher campground? She had a number running down her right pussy lip.

You should know, you've spent enough time going down on her.

The most offensive part of Franco Boucher wasn't his cock but his boorishness. Whipping Pebble with his belt and tossing rye into the back of his throat, laughing while he pushed her head into the other girl's snatch. "Lick! Lick! You don't know who your master will be! Maybe you get mistress, get lucky, eh?"

The liquor poured down his chin onto the small of her back. Not the worst fluid he would land there before letting her collapse onto her hay in the dirt beneath the tarp.

"And you, better look like a hotter piece of cock bait getting your cunt ate'en! Master's cunt all wide and open, show your master your devotion," he slurred and laughed.

At the time she thought: That's not even the mantra on the recording you idiot

My cunt is his, my cunt is open, if my cunt comes, I show devotion

Franco hadn't given the girl the numbers on her pussy. It was too elegant for him. Maybe he had stolen her from a reputable seller. From a real master.

Pebble was shocked how her body swooned at the thought.

The road. Back home. Away from slave stealers and mantras and this stupid forest.

It was nearly ten minutes before her stroke of luck came down hard. A highway, and well maintained. There was even a speed sign right where she came out: cars would race down here at 100 km/h. That was enough time to see a beautiful naked girl and slam your breaks.

I'll do anything to get a ride to the city. I'll make it a fucking movie for them.

How heavy the chastity belt felt around her waist. For all the sex training she was doing she hadn't orgasmed more than once since being kidnapped.

The other girl's come so many times already.

Maybe she was just a better slave?

She is not a better slave.

She could get it cut off in civilization. And then she could fuck whoever did it. She had enough money for a bus ticket back home, province-to-province. She couldn't eat on her way and she couldn't afford new clothes, but surely they would give her new things to wear when they knew what had happened.

What would a slave be given?

Maybe she could call Jack.

To get your real collar back?

Pebble jogged as far as she could down the road, on the trimmed grass between the woods and the pavement. The grass was cold and wet and while the road would be dry it would still be cold. Mostly she didn't want to get run over.

The second stroke of luck broke over her: she recognized a sign. She had seen it when they took her, even though she wasn't supposed to see anything. A deer crossing sign with three bullet holes running corner to corner. She laughed out loud. She was on the right road! Forget a driver maybe she could just walk out of here! There hadn't been a bark or yelp from the dogs since before the highway: this could be it!

She passed backwards down a fork in the road. Her mind wandered back to being tied up in the van. Franco had her laying prone on her tummy in the back seat, her pants pulled down to her duct taped ankles, her panties pulled to the side. This was before she managed to shake a corner of her blindfold loose. With nothin to see all she could feel was the van swerving and turning and banging through potholes. That and Franco's huge mass around her. "Eh, haven't sold one with a little extra in a while," he laughed.

His fingers pinched her scrotum like it was her cheek. "Don't worry, we find someone. The best feature for selling a woman, this is simple. A tight hole."

His thumb found her asshole and with only a brief pause for the sound of a lick, it found its way in as she wiggled on her kidnapper's lap.

But right now: it appeared in front of her, way down the road but approaching fast. Her third swift stroke of luck, she figured. Rattling down the road was a red and silver pickup truck. It was clearly old but there was no rust anywhere that she could see, and only a little road grit over the chrome on the bumper and the runners.

There was just enough dignity left in her to cover herself with one hand before using the other to hail it down. Her voice was raspy from the amount of cock that had been down her throat but never before had she shouted so loud with such cheeriness.

You have to stop. Please please stop.

She thought about running into the road but didn't feel like pushing her good fortune too far. There was no need anyway. Behind the wheel was a kindly looking old man with big white eyebrows, both of which shot up when he saw her creamy white skin (albeit streaked with mud and spotted here and there with leaves stuck on her by sweat) pop against the earthy shadows of the forest. She liked to think that he looked her up and down before he stopped but it all happened too quick to be sure.

"Good heavens!" he said when she pulled herself into the cab.

The chrome stung her foot and so did the door handle. The man hadn't needed more explanation than "naked girl looking for a ride" to get the truck moving again.

"Are you alright, girly? What's your name?"

He caught her looking at his thermos in the cup holder. "You like coffee? You go and help yourself, girl."

On any other day she would be too grossed out to share a tongue slot with a stranger but her standards had been severely curtailed recently. His coffee was plain, black, and strong. Old grandpa, back from fishing, black coffee and a packed sandwich. I'm going to give you such a story to tell grandma if you get me out of here, old timer.

"You've got to help me," she said. "I've been kidnapped!"

"Oh lord!" He said.

The truck picked up speed.

"Are you doing alright, girly? You--"

He saw the metal lump between her thighs. Did his shoulders stiffen?

Are you fucking kidding me?

Of all times to find a guy who was going to be weird about it: here? Now?

She crossed her legs as best she could despite the jagged point that dug into her.

His aged, white-haired hand went up like a senator's. "No, no, don't you worry. I've seen a lot of, ah, your type. I've got no problem with it. We've gotten pretty accepting here recently, with the change in laws," he said, laughing.

With the taste of coffee still buzzing in her mouth, Pebble realized that they were heading the wrong direction down the road.

"Oh," she croaked. "Uhm, could we, could you take me to a, uh, to the police or something?"

They were coming to the fork. "I need to get this off of me," she said.

Grandpa nodded. "Well I'll bet you do! And honestly we don't see a lot of those belts here. I don't know myself, but I figure it's just for the neophytes."

The old man turned his truck down the fork. The wrong way down the fork.

"No," she said, panicked, "no that's back to the campsite!!"

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Best to let the Boucher's know about this first and straighten it all out."

There wasn't a lock on her door and the handle was useless. The old man smiled sadly. "Don't you worry, we get a few girls like you down here. Well, ah, not like you but, ah, you know. Anyway, they all go to good homes."

No, no, no, no, no!!

"Last one, Tom up at the general store? Well, she comes in naked with a chain half around her neck, eating through a rotisserie chicken!" He laughed and slapped his thigh. "Anyway, the Boucher's figured it all out."

How little she had run. Already they passed the deer crossing sign and only a few moments later she saw a new sign planted in the dirt on the side of the highway, one with a skull wrapped in a beaver skin. "Boucher Bros." was written in yellow underneath, in fake stencil. Soon the chainlink fence would come into view. The junked cars, the bizarre, dirty buildings. And Franco.

She heard a quiet zip and had heard it often enough lately to know what it was. In the driver's seat, the old man was standing at the ready, grey and pale and full of old blue veins, barely big enough to stick out between the oversized flaps of his beaten beige slacks. "You don't have to, you know, suck it. But if we get there and you are, they'll take it as a sign that you know you did wrong."

His eyes glanced between the road and her, naked in his passenger seat.

You're worried about deer.

"Might save you a, ah, a punishment?"

They hit a bump and her tits bounced. She felt the barbells punched through her nipples, still stiff and sore from the piercing. The truck kept bouncing and speeding and the old man kept offering her his dick, like it was the best way he could help her out.

Look at you, bitch. Do you think there is any dignity left for you to be angry for?

She didn't want punishment, she really didn't.

It will be so bad for the other girl to watch. It's bad for you when you have to watch them punish her.

"Come on, girly. Don't be like that. I didn't put you here. And there are bears out this time of year, you know. It's dangerous, these woods. I haven't had my wife for a long while now, you know..."

He did give you that coffee.

And he wasn't Franco, whose cock she would be sucking before night fell anyway.

A slave doesn't choose, a slave is here to use.

She grabbed his thermos as swallowed down as much coffee as she could handle. The worst thing she could imagine was being dirty, disgusting, stinking of desperation and the harsh tang of running and still sucking off this gross old man who was taking her back to be an illegal slave for an even grosser fool. She could rationalize it any way she wanted. Franco will probably give him your ass as a reward if he can still get it up by the time you get there.

Sure. That was good enough.

The old man gave a foul groan as she leaned over his crotch. His hand slipped between her tits and the gear shifter.

"Don't you worry, girly. I'll get us there safe."

She hated him. And then she took his papery, silken skinned dick onto the flat of her tongue.

It's almost as soft as mine.

Her mouth began to use the techniques that Franco had drilled into it. She was sure the old man would have felt them before. Even with the bumps in the road his dick was too small to trigger her gag reflex. And if his story was true about how long it had been--

Like this old bastard isn't using whatever kind of brothel they have out here

--it wouldn't be very long at all before he came.

It happened just a few minutes before she was returned to the Bouchers. At the exact moment his ejaculate seeped weakly down her throat she found herself thinking: I'm the brothel they have out here.