The Long Road Home
by Peter Loaf
Missy Hall was still fifteen miles from town when the sun came up. She was now glad her captor had slathered her nude body in sun-block, though at the time he’d been doing it she’d objected as strongly as possible, under the circumstances. She was not really helpless, her hands were bound together in front so that she could use them a little. She could choose to either cover her nearly hairless pubes or her perky little breasts, should anyone come along. The thin Nylon straps that held her wrists crossed in front of her looked innocent enough but she’d long ago discovered how unbreakably strong they were. She simply could not escape their grip on her crossed wrists.
The dirt road she was walking was long, dusty and bereft of humanity. There were no houses, barns, or people for miles around. At least she hoped that was the case. She would not want anyone to see her out here all alone and so very helpless.
The hot summer sun made her wish she had some water to drink but as yet that was the least of her worries. What worried her most was that her kidnapper might come back and take advantage of her. He was, after all, a man.
Last night he had kidnapped her from her dorm room at the small Christian college where she was studying to become a missionary. She’d awoken in terror to find him, masked in a nylon stocking, bending over her with a stinking wet rag held over her mouth and nose. She’d tried to scream and fight but her ninety pounds and bedding encumbered body had had little chance against his 220 pounds of male bulk. When she tried to scream she took in a huge lungful of the knockout drug and very soon after that she’d seemed to be falling down into the deep, black, spinning hole of unconsciousness.
When she’d come back to awareness she’d been lying in a copse of cottonwood trees out on the prairie somewhere. She had been stripped totally naked and bound, but otherwise unmolested, near as she could tell.
When she’d tried to get to her feet, he’d turned on his car’s head and roof mounted driving lights to spotlight her plight. In panic, she’d turned and blindly run away, only to have him drive after her, keeping her in the bright lights where he could see her helpless, naked, fleeing body. Retching in reaction to the chloroform and blinded by the lights, she’d stumbled through the nettles and scratchy underbrush until she’d gained the openness of a freshly harvested wheat field. When the car emerged into the moonlight she saw it was an SUV but still could not see its shadowed driver.
He followed her for nearly a half hour, his bright lights keeping her centered in their relentless glare. When she ran, he sped up, when she slowed so did he. No matter how she dodged and sprinted he had no trouble keeping her in front of his dash-mounted video camera.
Finally exhausted, she’d stopped, head down, panting in defeat, her feet already sore from the sharp wheat stubble.
He’d stopped the car a few feet away and stepped out, a stiff coil of lasso rope in his hand, the nylon stocking still distorting his features.
Before she could react, he’d tossed the lasso over her head and cinched the noose around her windpipe. Dragging her over to the SUV, he’d tied the noose up to the car’s roof rack, forcing her to stand on her tiptoes bent over the front of the hood. Turning her so that her back was against the car he’d passed the loose end of the rope between her wrists and hauled her hands up over her head and tied them there as well. She’d fought him as best she could, but before long her kicking right foot had been caught and hoisted up to be tied next to the car’s right hand headlight.
Then, while she danced and choked her objections, he’d begun greasing her body in what smelled like sun-block. He was very thorough, leaving no area uncoated, even those areas not normally in danger of sunburn. Especially those areas not in danger of sunburn. He spent a long time on her little boobies, caressing them in both hands until her nipples began to feel like overripe berries, near to bursting. Then his greasy fingers trailed down her front and reached up inside her. He chuckled to find her intact maidenhead and then withdrew to massage her diamond hard clitoris. She’d blushed and struggled in her helplessness, finding sudden desire where she had never thought she would.
When she was panting in unwanted sexual need, he untied her ankle and used the rope to force her to turn around so he could retie it to the other headlight then started on her back, coating her from hairline to feet, then, using two fingers he spread the grease high up where the sun almost never shines, hurting her a little but at the same time making her aware of something strange happening inside her helpless body.
When he was done he opened his fly and pressed his organ between her skinny bottom cheeks, probing the hole he’d just greased so thoroughly. Through the buzzing in her ears she heard him say, “The closer the bone, the sweeter the meat.”
Then, when she was sure she was about to be ass raped, she’d been let down and, without a word, released to stumble out into the wheat field, coated in grease and in shock at her own body’s reaction to what had been done to her. She’d heard the car’s motor start and turned to see him bumping his way across the field, deserting her there in the moonlight, naked, bound and completely alone.
She had no idea where she might be but could just make out the glow of what might be some town lights off to the south.
So now here she was, two hours after sunrise, still a virgin, footsore and stumbling down a deserted dirt road toward that little town in the distance, hoping that whoever first spotted her would be kind.
She climbed a long hill, hoping once again to spot her destination from its crest but when she got there she found him sitting there waiting for her instead.
He was parked in the shade of a live oak, sitting in the back of his SUV, his legs crossed in the lotus position, naked except for his shoes, the stocking mask and a big spiked red condom on his huge hard cock. “Hello Missy, are you ready to become a woman yet?” he asked, getting to his feet.
She wanted to flee. She wanted to scream. She wanted . . . Something?
What she did is sit down on the sandy gravel road and quickly scoop as much dirt as possible into her grease coated vagina, hopefully rendering it safe from rape. She’d heard that was how the Squaws thwarted unwanted coitus and she thought she’d try it out.
He climbed out of the car and stood over her, the stocking mask hiding his features but not his anger. In his hand was a coil of strong looking prickly hemp rope. “Ya think you’re smart Missy?” he asked, tying a loop around her slim throat, then drawing her hands up and over so that he could lash her crossed wrists to the back of her neck. “It ain’t gonna save ya, ya know. It just means we’re going to be together for a longer time.” he said, reaching around to pinch a nipple. “Now stand up and stretch over the Hummer’s hood again. I’m gonna teach you one hell of a lesson.” he continued, again noosing her throat to the front of the car’s roof rack
This time he tied both of her knees out to the car’s grill, one next to each headlight so that her toes were well off the ground. The rope on her windpipe was tight and it grew tighter when he began applying lard to her anus.
She could do nothing, except feel the man’s brutal fingers in her butt, first one, than two, then three. The pain was indescribable, unendurable, inescapable. She was positioned perfectly, her anus presented, her helpless body his to do with as he pleased.
He carefully placed two hurtful little clips on her nipples, and, reaching in under her, a third on her dirt covered clitoris. There came a red fog and when she could again think she realized the spike covered condom was up inside her, plowing furrows in her rectum.
She raised her eyes to look into the windshield. There, mounted to the rear view mirror, was the professional video camera recording her reactions.
She was a hood ornament, a toy, a tight hot hole to fuck.
She screamed and screamed, kicked and bucked, unable to escape the ass reaming, the pain, the horror, the mounting passion.
His bellows of mounting rut provided the base note to their coital duet, his bull’s roar was the perfect counterpoint to her high pitched pig squeals.
Her clit, held in the teeth of the little metal clamp began to swell, stretching the clamp’s spring and hurting her in a very special way.
His hard hands came up and gripped her tiny, supper-sensitive breasts, squeezing them in time to his thrusting, spike covered cock, making her clamp-bitten nipples feel like they were being ripped from her body.
She came, not understanding what was happening to her. She came again and again, the stormy seas of her pain becoming the crashing surf of sexual fulfillment.
As he was fucking her he was aware that her dripping fuck me froth was carrying the sand away, cleaning her vagina for him.
She was hanging limp, barely aware when he finally took her cherry, splitting her hymen in a bloody gush and driving his spike covered cock into her virgin vulva. Too exhausted to protest, Missy felt her body accommodate him, then begin to grip down on his spike covered member, finding pleasure in her pain, passion in her pleasure.
That night, she staggered into the dorm common room, still naked and bound, her bottom covered in cane welts, her blood stained, dripping, well used vulva hanging open like the empty sleeve of a pea-coat.
Her rapist was the sexton of the college chapel, a man of pious humility and deeply repressed appetite. He was finally captured three years later, out on the prairie, butt fucking a senator’s only daughter.
Missy would never be the same. But who of us ever is?