Lost and Found

(Warning: Fetish content involved. Read at your own discretion.)

Few would deny Helene Winemaker, the former talk show host and top contender for the next year's NYC mayoral race, had great beauty. Whenever she showed her bright teeth in a perfectly engineered smile, people immediately thought about that one prettiest girl back in their high school days who drove every boy mad with longing and every girl dead with hopeless envy.

Indeed, Helene was one of those cheerleaders that got to keep their glamour all the way into their middle age. She was 43, single, rich, childless, and perfectly in shape, always wearing form-fitting dresses that could reveal her nicely toned biceps and smooth calves. When standing on a pair of thin black heels, Ms. Winemaker would have effortlessly stood out amidst a herd of overweight greasy men in the city hall like a flawless statue of grace.

Like every other important person in the city, Helene had her own driver, but unfortunately he called in sick this morning, and after dropping her secretary off at the train station she had to drive home alone from a donor event out of state. The day did not go as smooth as she had hoped, as a rumored appearance of several high-profile potential donors failed to materialize. Adding to the bad day was when her car suddenly reported a red warning sign about an impending engine trouble. Helene sighed and drove down the next exit.

The car held up until she left the ramp and reached the edge of a town; there its engine completely died and refused to start up again. Overhead, the green traffic sign said "Newton." She had been here once when she was a child, when her mother took her and her sister to a famous local ice-cream shop. Now the town was full of empty houses with boarded up windows, and the weed grew long and wild along the concrete pavement. Very few pedestrians could be seen and they all looked tense.

Trapped in her car in the middle of nowhere, Ms. Winemaker called the emergency road service but could not get through. In theory she could get one of her subordinates from her office to come rescue her but decided it would be embarrassing. Surely the boss could take care of a car problem herself.

Grudgingly she got out of her car and walked down the deserted street hunting for better signal. Maybe it was because she hadn't been to any rough area for a long time, Helene did not realize how out of place her impeccable stockings-and-heels outfit was in this urban wasteland. Her expensive grey sweater and tight black pencil skirt was screaming "rob me", and soon around the corner, not far from where she parked her car, she got into real troubles.

As she was searching through her contacts on her phone for any number that remotely resembled road rescue, the fine-looking blonde was jumped by a group of teenage rascals who seemed to have materialized out of thin air. In one split second they had her surrounded like a roe by a pack of coyotes. The little gang all had the same rough crew cut that made Helene think they would cut her throat for a mere twenty dollars. She told herself to keep calm and not panic.

"Where are you heading to, hot lady?" It was the tall white kid who seemed to be their leader. He spoke in a coarse accent and swept his eyes on her up and down; her sleek stockinged legs seemed to attract most of his attention. Teenage boys were all the same, Helene thought to herself. She told them they could have her phone and money, just don't do anything rush.

"You're telling me what to do, bitch? What the f-- is wrong with you?" The tall boy got out a pocket knife and started slicing the air in between them; Helene backed off a few steps but was caught by another teen thug behind her. "Hold her down and I'll cut this bitch's pretty face up!"

Suddenly a voice came from behind him, and it was one of his sidekicks, "wait, isn't she like famous or something? Didn't we see her in TV yesterday?" That caused a change in the tall kid's expression, and he looked closely at her face again. "Wait, no f--king way - you're that woman running for the New York mayor!"

"Boss, we can't touch her, or the cops will have our guts." The little confrontation was rapidly losing its steam now that her identity was known. She saw fear growing in the leader's face.

"Right - trust me, young man, you don't want to hurt me, for your own sake." Helene tried to maintain her composure and keep up the serious expression.

"You, ehh, you give us your phone and those earrings, and you get the f--k outta here!"

There was now trembling panic in his voice, but they could still hurt her badly if she did not comply. Helene handed her phone over and took down the jewelry, and the gang immediately scattered down the barren street. Helene was grateful that they did not find out she had a car -- not that they could get it anywhere anyway. Now she could forget about the road rescue, she laughed bitterly to herself.

Helene walked back to where she parked her car and found two young men waiting. She lowered her guard because both of them were kind of handsome-looking with newly-trimmed beard and talked softly. Turned out they lived nearby and found it unusual that an unattended nice car like this had not had its windows smashed in this town. Of course they failed to mention to her that they were planning on stealing its wheels but lacked the tool. Now they could just ask the owner nicely to take out the tool from the car's trunk, but the wheels were no longer ranked at the top of their list after seeing this nice-looking woman standing before them in her racy thin heels. No need to drag her somewhere dark and damp when not a single soul was around!

Ms. Winemaker was feeling lucky - just as she thought there was no way out, some kind-hearted pillars of the community had come to her rescue! She went to the back of her car, but just as she was about to open the trunk and find the emergency tool box someone grabbed her hair from behind and slammed her head heavily against the car! It came unexpected so it hurt like hell, but the blow was not meant to kill, just to incapacitate her. One of her nostrils started bleeding immediately -- dark wine-red drops on her white car paint. Helene's mind went blank for a few seconds and then she immediately realized what was happening. She was about to be raped by her handsome new friends.

She cursed and tried to kick away her captors but they had overpowered her and there was no escape. She sobbed and begged for mercy as they pulled the pantyhose down her white thighs and tore her thong apart with a loud snapping sound. The air was cold against her bare tender skin. Just as one of the men was untying his belt, there was the noise of a car approaching; it was loud and almost sounded like a tractor.

"F-- it, forget about this stupid broad, let's get out of here!"

The other said to the man behind Helene's back, and they ran away and disappeared around the corner, not forgetting to give her bare hindquarter a sound slap.

Helene was too stricken to move a muscle in her body, her head still ringing from the attack. She was now clinging on the back of her car, her legs wide apart, her skirt pulled above her waist. From the corner of her eyes she saw a cheap sports car approaching, piled with modifications that were probably illegal and its windows all smoked black. It stopped right beside her, but no door was opened; whoever inside were silently contemplating her indecent exhibition. Helene could hardly breathe, all her body's muscles tensed up to an extreme. After a minute, the car started up again and drove out of the street, leaving the confused blonde to freeze alone on her own car's trunk.

As soon as the last bit of the engine noise died away Helene Winemaker pulled her skirt down, grabbed everything important from the car and started running. Anywhere would be better than this dangerous nowhere place. Soon her heels were hurting her feet and she remembered, took them down and slung them in her hand.

Should've called the f--king cops the moment I landed in this cursed town, she thought. This country is sure having a moral crisis when women are assaulted in broad daylight! The pavement felt icy cold against her thinly stockinged feet, and she had to make sure not to step on anything sharp, like a rusty nail, or the tetanus shot awaited her. She hated needles. As she got deeper into the town, she passed many homeless encampments, their blue and white tents haphazardly occupied unwanted corners of the town. Signs of break-ins and general vandalism along the houses were almost universal. There were people still living in this town, but they would not venture outside unless necessary. Helene felt like she was being watched whenever she went by those behind the curtains. The sky was getting dimmer. Before five it would get pitch dark. In the distance the chimneys of a closed-down factory stood like giant phantoms.

Helene was right about being watched. In this place someone like her was too exposed and vulnerable, and after her short incidents earlier the news about a lost rich-looking woman had begun to spread. Groups of nondescript degenerates waited quietly in their turfs for her to walk into their mousetrap. One more wrong turn around the corner, not far down the street, she found herself in a long and narrow alley, at the end of its graffitied walls laid nothing but bags of old trash and other foul-odored piles of waste. She tried to turn around and escape, but it was too late. The shadows had caught up to her and dragged her down with their darkness.

By the time Ms. Winemaker was led go she was in a state of spiritual and physical ecstasy. The temperature had dropped but she felt little of it, for her whole body had gone numb from all the over-stimulation. She knew that the night must had fallen long ago, as the full moon was now hanging right above her dizzy head. By a lone street light she stood in daze, her clothings all vanished save for the pantyhose that was ripped open at various places. She was dirty and bruised all over, her once-beautiful blonde hair now smelt of piss and vomit. Warm semen was still slowly leaking out from between her thighs, and her anus burned from excessive use.

Too big, it's too big -- she remembered herself repeating this line over and over back in the basement. She remembered being sandwiched between different men who penetrated her in ways unimaginable before, while others watched, recorded, and cheered them on. She was forced to drink down their cheap-beer-turned piss and her own piss-turned-piss. Once she had to stop their intercourse and relieve herself. They watched gleefully as she squatted there all naked and tried to push it out -- it was hard to perform even the most basic function while being watched -- and then they just picked her up and went back to fucking her, until she cummed right beside her newly-excreted hot pile. She thought she was ruthless and cold in politics, but in all her 43 years of living she had never been experienced so much contempt and debauchery. And what was more, she found herself attracted to this kind of mind-numbing sexual humiliation, like moth to a flame.

Under the moonlight the naked Helene kept walking down the bleak town street and touching herself in an induced hysteria until she was rescued by a truck driver, who happened to pass by and took the naked woman home. She was physically awake the whole time but only thawed out of her mental paralysis slowly. She remembered being taken to his home. She had no idea how long she had slept, but when she woke up it was starting to get bright outside. A few birds had started to sing their early-morning routine songs.

After a long hot shower she saw a set of clean clothing on the nightstand. A simple dress and a pair of knitted stockings, all grey. She put them on and they were just the right size. Helene looked around her savior's cozy bedroom; she still couldn't believe someone saved her from all the nightmare. She'd rather not think about any detail now. Downstairs there was the sound of cooking. She followed the scent of scrambled eggs to find her hero in the kitchen, busy making some breakfast comfort food for them. He heard her and turned around.

"Hey you, you're finally awake." His smile was gentle like that of a loving father. She wondered where his kids were. Might have been divorced; happened a lot these days.

"By the way, would you kindly do me a favor and bring me some wine from the cellar?"

Helene knew he must have thought her not quite right in the head by the way he spoke to her, so slow and clear, almost as if she was a little child. She could explain everything later, but the important thing was that she was safe. Newton felt like a nightmare, and even she herself questioned whether any of it really happened.

Helene left her hero to himself and explored the house. It was no Beverly Hills, but everything here was organized and neat. A cozy home with a hard-working and responsible male in it -- only in a woman's wet dream! Helene found a door that led to the cellar and headed down. She had never been interested in any wine but it wouldn't hurt to sip just a little. It did not bother her much why a truck driver needed to drink wine on a Monday morning.

As she walked down the wooden stairs a terrible sense of dread started to creep up her spine. This was no normal cellar. Something smelt really bad and her shallowly buried trauma was resurfacing. Something alive were kept down here; she could hear their soft breathings, along with many other strange objects that she couldn't quite make out in the dark. She searched for the light switch in the dimness and finally found it. The return of vision almost sent an electric shock all over Helene's body.

Around her were cages in which several people were kept, all white blonde women like her; they were naked, unkempt, and still asleep. Judging by the smell they had routinely relieved themselves while in those cages. Throughout the cellar laid various types of torture instruments, ones that could bind and fix a person in all sorts of helpless and humiliating positions; none of the weapons on the wall was lethal in design but they could cause enough pain to make one faint. This place was no wine cellar but dungeon for her savior's sex slaves. The women were awaken by the light and started to groan and protest in some incomprehensible bubbling in the throat; Helene found that they were all wearing a tight dog collar around their necks.

On the other side of the room was a big board covered with printed photos. Helene knew she should flee now, but somehow she just wanted to see what was there. In every single one of these photo was herself, some of them her photos from the web while the rest were weird and grotesque overlays of her face onto some random porn stars' arousing poses. A picture of her during the show was collaged onto a naked woman pulling at her thick pubic hair. Helene felt the whole world was starting to swirl around her. She never really escaped; this was just another episode of her nightmare.

She heard the sound of stairs creaking and knew her "hero" was coming down. The truck driver had taken down his family-guy baseball cap and changed into a sinister long white robe with a pointed cone hat; two holes were cut out for his eyes, and another opening down in the crotch, where the grand master's penis stood erect like a proud knight. He came towards her and made her kneel before him. She was weak and could not resist.

"Lord have mercy! How you have sent her doppelgänger at my door!" He spoke in an imposed lofty voice, "look at this miracle woman, how amazing the resemblance was between her and Leni!"

Leni - was that how he called her? Helene felt a dog collar being placed around her neck and a short leash attached on it. With the leash he pulled her head towards his penis and it was jerking up and down at her nose in excitement.

"Put it in your mouth, my Leni! Learn how to serve your master right!" Helene felt her mouth being forced open by his hands.

"Wait, wait you've made a mistake, I'm Helene Winemaker! I'm the real Hel--

She couldn't finish it before his thick cock stuffed her mouth full and started working its way deeper.

"Of course, you are Helene Winemaker; of course you are."

"Woonhoolowholoohwholo..."

"Get ready, my love, here I come--oh God, your tongue feels so good--"

"......"

Ms. Winemaker knelt still in front of the man in robe, her head pressed tightly against his groins while his hot white cum flew steadily down her throat. Thus commenced their initiation. The other six slaves watched with eagerness, one of their hand holding the bars while the other busy rubbing their clits, begging to have a share of their master's manly essence. He stood relaxed and looked at each of his torture stations, wondering which one would be a good start for his newest pet. He smiled at imagining the this old girl's well-shaped body adjusting to all those tight and bizarre poses.

"Now, count to three and you will sleep like a baby again. Trust daddy - it looks sharp but won't hurt a bit..."

Around 9:50 am, Helene's car on the outer street of Newton was towed away for unlawful overnight parking. Its windows were all smashed and the wheels missing. In the truck driver's neatly cut front lawn were seven flags saying "Winemaker 2024;" one was recently added. He did not like odd numbers, so soon he would need to hunt again.