Art by Farrell 
Colourization liberties by Sickman



(Another entry in the diary of SiCkMaN

God, it was beautiful here.

As she swam farther out into the lake, Liane wondered how she could have wanted to miss this. She would have to thank Sharon and Roxy for making her come; it was worth the hassle of buying all the food and scrounging up the camping gear. Not to mention all the extra stuff needed to take a one-year-old into the woods.

But her friends had left her to make the three-hour expedition back into town for groceries and beer, and they had been sweet enough to take Justin with them, so she had the entire little lake to herself. Well, except for the solitary loon that kept to itself on the other side. What a wonderful, haunting call!

She had been sunbathing and in a daring moment, slipped out of her bra "to even up her tan". Not that it was really either very daring, nor going to even her tan. The one kilometer path to the desolate back-road was on the other side of the small lake and the only way across was ten minutes by canoe, so she could easily get decent if anyone came. And she'd so carefully covered her ghostly white breasts with super-delux-water-proof-sun-block-fifty-buzillion that as far they were concerned it was midnight in a cave.

Still, it had felt nice to be naked. To feel the warm sun on them.

And now to feel them float free in the cool water of the lake. They were so huge, now that she was nursing, that it felt odd not to have these mountainous weights of flesh and milk either hanging from her chest or confined in the supposed comfort of modern brassier technology.

She looked at them, floating on the surface, the little waves giving them lives of their own. God they were huge! And the nipples had become these ridiculously long spikes! Hard to believe they had been a shapely C-cup before Justin. At twice the size they were still very firm, swollen with milk, but she wondered if they could possibly ever return to anything even remotely...

"Hey! Check this out guys, we found ourselves a fuckin' mermaid!"

She whirled about to find two canoes coming around the point that they were camped on! All men!

Swim back to her clothes? No, her ass would show and they would know she was naked. Better to just stay put and let them go their way. Dammit!, why had she taken her shorts off? And not put her bra back on? They would have dried. She could have changed.

The lead canoe turned and headed straight toward her. The situation was like a bad dream. Say something? Ask them to leave? Swim to her clothes?

"SOMEBODY LEAVE HIS BITCH OUT HERE IN THE LAKE?" the guy at the front of the lead canoe hollered, watching the shore for any life.

"Well, hey mermaid. Whatcha doing out here all by your lonesome?"

She was tongue-tied. Should she lie and say that her friends were on shore? His manner made her uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable.

"I'd much rather catch a mermaid then a stupid old bass. What do you guys think?"

She dove. Down about three feet and swam in a yellowy gurgling world toward her clothes, watching the shadow of the canoe as she swam under it.

Oh God, they were going to rape her. She knew it; she just knew that if they caught her, they were going to hold her down and gang rape her. Please, she prayed, Please let me get away from them. Please let me make it to the shore.

But her brain was screaming for air and she could not even see the bottom.

Oh dear God, this couldn't be happening!

It was too far. She had to surface. She gulped a few of breaths, checked her course, and dove again. They'd been laughing and yelling. The other canoe was headed across her path. She swam frantically, the fear and the oxygen deprivation mixing like a horrid drug exploding in her skull.

The water started getting shallow and she thought perhaps she could stand up and slog to her clothes, as if just being clothed would armour her against all danger.

She started to stand and a hand grabbed a fist full of blonde hair, painfully pulling her to her feet.

She tried to complain, to beg them to let her go, but her lungs would do nothing but gulp back air. In her fear, frustration and humiliation, she started to cry, making talking even more impossible and deepening her humiliation. She fought to get free of the grip in her hair, to run towards shore.

They were yelling back and forth, eagerly, as if playing a team sport. Something about a hook. And her clothes.

Her head was yanked back so that she fell backwards landing with her spine across the gunwales staring up into a scarred face with savage glee in the dark eyes. She tried to yell for help, and a hand was stuffed into her mouth. Then there was a horrid sharp pain in her cheek and he was pushing her off the boat.

She lunged for the shore, realizing as she did that there was something in her mouth and a string coming out. A fishing lure! They had put a fishing lure in her mouth!

The line went taught and she screamed, as the hooks set deeper into her cheek.

They're crazy, she thought, clutching at the line to relieve the tension. She turned toward the source of the line, and saw the man in the first boat fifty feet away, playing her like a fish as his boat mate paddled away from her. She could not hold the line in her wet hands and so moved toward them trying to get some slack as she crammed her hand into her mouth trying to unseat the vicious hook. Her captor pulled back on the rod and reeled it in, so she had to move still deeper. But again the slack was taken up, and then she lost her footing and was swimming toward the boat, still trying to overcome the pain to tear the cruel barb from her flesh. But the line stayed taught, pulling her by her face, so that the only way for her to relieve the agony was to swim after the boat. She clutched at the line, but it only made him pull harder. One hook had completely pierced her cheek and she was frantic to keep it from tearing her face any worse. Then she thought to wrap the line around her fist for better grip.

At that, he started hauling on the rod, fighting as if he had a marlin on the line.

With both arms she tried to hold her fist to her face, while they towed her across the lake.

And they laughed! She could hear them cackling and hooting as if it was all a wonderful joke: great sport! They were animals! She almost drowned a couple of times, inhaling water in her mindless panic, and they found this uproarious. And the more they laughed, the more terrified she became, realizing their inhuman cruelty. Some small part of her knew she should be completely humiliated at being treated like a fish, but her horror so filled her adrenaline-amped skull that there was scarcely room for anything else.

And he was reeling her in!

His canoe landed at a portage she had not known about across a small bay from the camp. He waded to shore standing in the shallows like Red Fisher, landing her the last twenty feet. He taunted her, calling her a "stupid cuntfish" and a "fuckable Mermaid". Then her elbows hit bottom and he ordered her to kneel. She did as she was told; what else could she do? She was too exhausted to run, she had a fishhook imbedded in her face. She got to her knees with both hands still firmly clutching the line to her face. She was bawling like child, looking up at her slightly geeky looking captor smirking at her, while she tried to catch her breath.

Then he ordered her to put her arms behind her back. When she hesitated, he quietly added that if she did as she was told, he would cut the hook out in two pieces, if not, he would gladly rip half her face away. Scared to the point that she could hardly keep her balance, she unwound her hands and hesitantly lowered them. Could she trust him? Did she have a choice?

Finding her voice, she blubbered out pathetically, "Please! Please don't hurt me! God, I beg you, please! Please let me go! I... I..." and she broke down again falling into the water at his feet.

"What do ya think, guys? Should we let her go? Or would you rather have a camp-slut to take along with us?"

The other three all agreed that a camp-slut sounded like more fun, and they spent a number of minutes discussing what to do. It was decided that they would carry her over the portages to avoid leaving her scent and go back to their camp. They would get the others, and then move camp up to a creek that one of them promised was remote and un-traveled. One of them kept referring to her as "the hole", and the others picked it up.

Their prisoner managed to compose herself during this enough to start begging again, but was quickly silenced with threats of violence and she just knelt there, blubbering to herself.

Then one of them was tying her wrists behind her with fishing line. She just let him. She was naked, kneeling, and surrounded by four grown men, with a fishhook piercing her cheek. They had won. They were going to kidnap her, rape her, and quite likely kill her, and she knew there was nothing she could so about it.

So she just let them tie her and put her into one of the canoes. Ferrari, the guy who had been trolling her came wading over to her with a pair of needle nose pliers cut the barb that was exposed and removed the lure as gently as possible, but it still hurt a hell of a lot. They poured tequila in her mouth and splashed it on her face for disinfectant. Bill, a monkeyish looking guy, had her clothes and makeup bag, which had been with them on the shore, and they told him to stuff her bra in her mouth. They tied her wrists to the cross strut so she was lying face down then two of them picked the thing up by its ends and started up the path. Ten minutes later they were in the water again. A few minutes of paddling, a quick three minute portage, a longer paddle, and then a portage so long that they kept putting her down and switching.

Throughout the trip they joked and laughed about how hard, often, long, deep and painfully they were going to fuck her various holes, and discussed various plans. They told her that if she did everything she was told, didn't complain, never tried to escape, and was the "perfect little eager camp slut", they would let her live. That was the deal. And she made her mind up right then that she would believe them, and try her best. The guy had kept his word on about the hook, after all. She wanted to live! Even being raped and made to suck their cocks was seemed better than never seeing her son again! They said they were going to fuck her ass, and that really scared her. She had never done that, but she knew it would hurt.

For an hour she lay there, her arms painfully numb, listening to her fate while she slowly roasted in the hot sun. Though still deathly afraid (she felt like she wanted to vomit), she calmed substantially; to the point that she could see the absurdity of worrying about not having any sun screen on her ass, while being transported to her gang rape. She wondered how long they would keep her and prayed that none of them had AIDS. God, she was thirsty! She hoped Justin would be O.K. How long ago was her period? She thought she shouldn't be ovulating for another four or five days.

Then they started shouting to someone about the fish they'd landed, and some new guys joined them. Two? Three? She could not tell.

The new guys thought capturing a woman to rape was "fuckin' rockin'! Right fuckin' on!" And somebody grabbed her ass. They begged to see her, but Ferrari, who seemed like a bit of a leader, told them to wait until they got back to camp. This took all of a minute before she was lifted out and stood on a small boulder, surrounded by seven lust-eyed men who pawed and discussed her body in the most disgusting, demeaning terms, as if she were not there.

She closed her eyes, and gritted her teeth, helpless to stop them. But neither could she stop herself from crying in her utter humiliation, her tears flowing freely from her screwed-shut eyes.

Every woman knows that men objectify them, but never, never had Liane felt so thoroughly like a piece of meat. Not a person. Not even an animal. Just a thing. A thing that was made to be ogled, played with, and fucked. She thought, as she would often during her coming ordeal, that her entire life had been a lie. She had always thought herself the equal of men, and before that, boys. Now, standing on a rock surrounded by men who were free of society's constraint, she realized that in truth, they only thought of her as "fuck-meat". That's what one of them called her, and it stuck in her brain. Fuck-meat. Honours in high school, a BA in history, and for what? So she could be well-educated fuck-meat. Smart, stupid, happy, sad, horny, fearful, dead, alive, or tearfully humiliated, they really did not care, so long as she had large breasts and three holes.

And they made it clear both that her holes were acceptable and her breasts were of more than satisfactory size. "Holy fuck, look at the size of those fuckin' jugs", as one put it.

They had a ball when they found out she was lactating. They had milk fights, tugging and mauling her elongated teats with no more regard for her then a water pistol. Her sobbing tears mixed with the milk.

"I've always wanted to be a mother fucker", said one.

"Then lets do it!," another urged, but another said they should wait until they got to someplace private.

"Fuck that!" stark spat; grabbing her around the waist and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Or maybe a side of beef.

"Hey, wait! On a sleeping bag. No scent!"

One was quickly spread and she was dumped onto it, cracking her elbow in the fall. But she was given no time to nurse her pain. Stark fell on her, his fatigues around his ankles. He rubbed his soft cock against her while he brutally mashed two handfuls of tender breast, leering down at her with cruel smugness. And in no time he was throbbing hard and ready for rape.

Unlike Liane who had never been less prepared to take a cock inside her. Clenched. Dry as a desert. Oh god, this was going to hurt! She started crying in fear.

He grinned at that, aimed his weapon, and attacked. Determined to take her in a single lunge. Not a chance. The head of his cock jammed at the very entrance to her dry little clam, stopping him dead. Oh, he had thought about slathering a bit of spit on his dick to ease the assault, but this was his first rape and he wanted to do it right. And "right" seemed to be mounting her dry and forcing his way in, causing her the greatest possible amount of pain. Wouldn’t want her to enjoy it; that would defeat the purpose. But he had had no idea about how stubborn an unprepared pussy could be. He shoved, he lunged, he pounded his way into her dry fuck-hole a quarter inch at a time, never yielding a bit though it could only have helped. Hurt? It felt like course sand paper on his dick! But watching his victim writhe on his skewer, screaming from pain, begging for mercy, crying from the humiliation, well, that made it worthwhile. The more he hurt, the more she hurt. And that seemed like a good trade.

Once he had managed to cram a couple of inches in, the battle was as good as won. No worry of his cock bending in half rather than shoving in a little more, he could start fucking her properly, every thrust forcing a little further into her body. She complained at every thrust, music to his ears. She reminded him of a spider pinned to a table, squirming and flailing, desperate to get away. Hopelessly impaled.

Once he was in to the hilt, he started humping her. Her pussy managed to lubricate a little and the pain was not so unbearable. But this only meant she could lie back and thoroughly "enjoy" the emotional hell of her rape. No fear now. In fact a lifetime of fear, of being wary of "bad men" as a child, of avoiding shadows and skirting the ends of dark allies, of crossing streets to avoid dubious characters, of wondering if each new date was actually psychopathic freak, all gone. It was happening, it was all too real, and it was even more horrible than she had ever imagined.

The utter degradation of being taken, used, mounted like an animal had her bawling like a small child.

And she bawled at her absolute, paralyzing helplessness; she wanted to fight back, to beat him off of her, to claw his eyes out, but her hands refused to do anything but clench handfuls of sleeping bag as if to anchor her to sanity. Yes, claw his laughing eyes out. She could do it so easily. By the time he knew, she would have her thumbs buried in his sockets. But she couldn’t. Cowardice that she knew she would never, ever forgive herself. Even as she looked up with revulsion into Stark’s sneering, scar-marked face grunting his satisfaction at his conquest, she knew that if she lived to be a hundred, she would never be able to forget that she had allowed this horrible man to rape her without even a token resistance. She would never stop hating herself for it. "Gutless" kept echoing in her mind.

She bawled because they were laughing at her. Because they were calling her stupid, and a slut, and a cry-baby, and a cunt, and horny and ugly and pathetic. Pathetic. She sure felt pathetic. They cheered Stark on to "give it to her. Harder. She’s lovin’ it!" One even said she must really want it, because she had not even tried to stop him.

She bawled because her mother had warned her about "bad men" and some long-forgotten feeling that Mommy would be disappointed that Liane had allowed herself to get into this situation.

And she bawled because she was bawling. Because she desperately wanted to not cry. To not show them how much anguish they were succeeding in causing her. Not to give them the satisfaction. Not to let them see that they were causing every bit of heart-rending sorrow, self-loathing and humiliation that they could have hoped for. But she wailed it out, a song of victory to her rapists’ ears, too weak of character to stop herself.

Weakness. Too weak to make herself fight back. Too weak to stop crying. Too pathetically weak to do anything but lay there crying, praying for him to finish.

But then the sun on her closed lids was gone and something brushed her lips, and someone was barking "Open up, bitch" and she opened her eyes to find a man on his hands and knees over her head, cock dangling at her mouth. Too cowed to resist, and hating herself for it, she parted her blubbering lips and let him plunge into her face. He shoved it in until she was gagging and then started brutally fucking her head making her violently gag and retch, banishing all her other miseries with a simple, horrible struggle for oxygen.

Stark was just as impressed as she was, but in his case it induced orgasm rather than gagging. And then the guy in her mouth started cumming too so she had guys unloading sperm into her at both ends. She could not swallow properly on her back and got sperm in her trachea so she was coughing and drowning in sperm while her assailants took their pleasure. But she convulsed so violently that her cough reflex did what her brain had not been able to do: get the bastards’ leaking dicks out of her. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and tried to hack the sticky slime from her airway. The initial coughing on her back had blown a goodly amount of the foul stuff up into her sinuses and since sperm is made to stick to moist passages, she was one miserable lady for a number of minutes.

Her captors? They thought it a wonderful joke, suggesting that "Maybe she doesn’t like the taste", and telling her she better get used to it, she would be drinking gallons of it. But they did allow her to basically recover before one of them came to stand in front of her. All she could see was his sneakers astride the little puddle of sperm, snot and saliva that she had managed to expel.

A zipper was lowered

"Get to work, hole!"

She straightened some and looked up. A meaty cock dangled before her.

"Wipe your face", she was ordered. Someone handed her her own shorts. She cleaned herself, had another small coughing fit, and then looked up again at the waiting cock. She’d never been fond of giving blow-jobs - putting a guy’s cock in your mouth was kind of gross - and with only a few exceptions had managed to successfully avoid the practice. But there would be no begging out of this one.

The pendulous cock twitched in anticipation.

The humiliation was rising again. Being forced was bad enough, but now they wanted her to whore herself of her own volition. She should refuse. She should make them beat her senseless rather than give into their demands. But even as she stared at that expectant cock, she knew she would not have the courage. She opened her mouth obediently and moved up to engulf it.

Smack! He slapped her face.

"Hey stupid, did I tell you could suck that? Ask me nice."

God, couldn't she just do it? Wasn't it enough that she would service them? She couldn't beg for it!

Smack! He slapped her again. And Again.

She burst into gasping tears, but with eyes shut she managed to blubber out,

"May I suck your cock?"

Smack! "What's the magic word, slut?" With her eyes closed, every slap was a shocking surprise.

She swallowed hard, as if literally swallowing her pride, and muttered, "Please."

He swung his shoe into her crotch, yelling, "'Please' what, Cunt? And say it fuckin' loud."

"Please...please, may I suck your cock?" she forced out, and broke down crying.

"Do you really want to?"

"Yes", she said with resignation.

"Why?", and he slapped her.

Why? So he would stop hitting her. Why. What did he want to hear?

"Why, you stupid cunt?" and he buffeted her face over and over.

"Because...", he wanted something degrading, " because I am a ... I am f..fuck-meat."

"Very good!", her choice of words had impressed him. He stopped his assault and almost purred to her, "Beg me once more, real nice..."

Mixed in with her long, racking sob/breathes, she managed to get out

"Please, ..I...I really want suck your big.. cock, because I am... I'm your camp... your stupid camp-slut fuck-meat. Please?". The 'please' was quite heart-felt, though she meant it as 'please stop hitting me'.

"No. Lick my balls, hole."

Yes, anything so long as he stopped hitting her and yelling at her. She could never stand people yelling at her. Her father used to...

"That's good. That's a good little bitch. Oh yeah."

Someone guided her hand to a another hard cock. Then her other hand. Someone was reaching around to finger her pussy. Hands pawed her breasts. Mr. Balls was pushed out of the way and replaced by a cock. She sucked this until Mr. Right Hand shoved this guy away, and stepped up.

Smack! "Open your fuckin' eyes, bitch, and look at me". Her last refuge gone, she looked up through bleary eyes at a laughing, mocking face.

Then another cock, and another. New ones? Repeats? Just an endless procession of cocks which she sucked as best she could, which was never good enough.

Smack! "Watch your fuckin' teeth". Smack! "Deeper". Smack! "Harder" Smack! "Not so hard." Smack! Smack! "Stop crying". Smack! "Your too ugly". Smack! "Open your God (Smack!) damned (Smack!) eyes! (Smack!)"

They made her kneel so they could fuck her while she sucked. Stark’s sperm greased her pussy, and without having to look at her rapist’s taunting face made it less humiliating. It was more like just another bad fuck; she'd had had a few of those before this! One sawed away in her womb, while another fucked her face. She was just expected to kneel with her head back and let them use her. Being used like this was still horrible, but it was better than when they were hitting her and yelling at her.

Two holed fuck-meat, she thought.

The one in her mouth shoved into her throat and came, holding her by the back of the skull. She choked a little, but she swallowed. Then another was probing her lips. Another in her pussy. Another in her mouth. He pulled out and squirted her face with scum.

When one started poking at her asshole, she whined her protest around the cock she was sucking, but she did nothing to stop him. Until he shoved the head in in none too gentle a manner, ripping her sphincter. She shrieked and lurched away from the violating prod, ripping her face off a cock to beg them to spare her. Hands descended on her, holding shoulders, waist, hips and thus immobilized like a sacrificial beast, her anus was summarily slaughtered, shoved full of thick cock while she screamed, begged and blubbered. After a while the muscles adapted and the intense tearing pain ebbed to raw scraping at every thrust. And she was grabbed by the hair and cock again skewered her face.

They made her sit on a guy's cock, so another could fuck her asshole. She couldn't believe how much cock she had in her. The one in her ass came and the next guy, to the delight of his fellow rapists, worked his cock into her pussy along side the one she was sitting on. That really rubbed her raw, but they both came almost immediately.

The one in her mouth tasted like dirt, which seemed odd, but she kept sucking.

"You like that, slut? You like sucking your own shit off my stick?"

Oh God, he hadn't! She tried to back away but he held her head like a basketball, bouncing it on his filthy dick. She could not imagine anything more disgusting!

And another in her ass. God, when would they stop? Her pussy and asshole were fucked raw, her jaw was totally cramped, she had a headache (from having her head tipped back? From the sun? From the emotional stress?, From being slapped so much? Probably all of the above.), her knees were killing her, and yet the cocks just kept coming. And cumming.

But eventually they did slow. First she had one unused orifice, then, a couple of cocks later, two. Finally she swallowed a measly little squirt and there were no more cocks coming at her.

She collapsed, and they left her alone; they were packing up camp. She was so hot!

"excuse me," she said timidly, sitting up, "excuse me, but could I have something to drink?"

The few that had heard looked at each other in indecision.

She wouldn't be much good to them if she got dehydrated, she thought.

"Yeah, I got something for ya." The scary bald one cackled. He cackled every time he spoke, like some demented hillbilly.

But he came to the blanket empty handed. Unzipping his fatigues, he fished out his cock, laughing maniacally.

No. He couldn't mean...but, God, he couldn't...

She started backing away from him, but a hand grabbed her hair and a low, threatening voice murmured,

"Listen, cunt, your going to wrap your lips around that cock and drink every fuckin' drop. If I see even one drip on your chin, I'm going to whip your titties so hard they'll fuckin' bleed. Understand, cunt? Good. Hey Greg, let her come to you, man. Make her beg you."

How could they always make it worse? It wasn't enough that they were going to make her drink urine, but she had to ask for it. Well, she knew what they wanted, and as humiliating as it was to beg him the way they wanted, it was not nearly so repulsive as actually making herself perform the required act. So she crawled over to Greg and looking up at him, took a deep breath and recited,

"Please, may I drink your...your piss? Please let me, 'cause I’m... I’m just a stupid cunt."

"Sure", and he cackled as if this was a terribly humorous response.

She looked at the proffered thick worm, trying to summon her courage. How could she actually put that thing in her mouth and let him...oh God, it was too disgusting to even think about, but as if a puppet on a string, she inched forward and with a shudder of determination, she put her lips around the wrinkled sausage. And waited.

"Look at him." The voice instructed. "From now on, I want you to look into the eyes of whoever is using you. Understand? If I catch with your eyes closed again, You WILL wish you were dead."

She looked up at the crazy just as the hot bitter fluid jetted into her mouth. Then she was gulping it back to stop from drowning, and except for the foul taste, it didn't much matter how disgusting it was.

And then he was finished.

"Thank him..."

"Thank you for letting me drink your piss"

"Did you like that?"

She said emphatically "no".

"Do you think that if you did that often enough you might get used to it?"

Definitely not.

"Good. Guys, nobody pisses except in her mouth, and she doesn't drink anything except piss"

"Right on," They really liked that. She wanted to throw up.

"Find out if any one else will let you drink."

She got three more servings, so that she had swallowed quarts of piss by the time they were done.

Then they left her alone while they finished breaking camp. How long were they going to keep her? She couldn't stand this for too long. Maybe it would be better if they just killed her.

She was tied again in the canoe and within minutes they were headed off across a lake. Then they landed on rock and started climbing up a fairly steep hill. After the hill, they walked mostly in shade. Mosquitoes and flies took full advantage of the defenseless flesh in the canoe, while Liane listened to the men batting the things away.

Eventually one of them asked if they could let her walk now, and they agreed it would probably be OK. So they let her up, untied her hands. They slathered themselves with bug repellent not offering her any. One wanted to piss so she squatted before him, his human toilet, taking the opportunity to release her own urine.

"Ah, I think she should ask permission before going pee-pee." said one, so it was decided she should.

They redistributed their loads and put the empty canoe on her bare shoulders. She had never carried a canoe before, but managed it, at first. But after five minutes, her shoulders and arms were on fire, she was sweating like a roasting chicken, and she had half a dozen mosquitoes drinking their fill from her. She managed to free a hand to swat at one, only to be freaked on by Stark, the scarred, crazy looking one, for hurting a poor mosquito.

"Mosquitoes are your friends, hole. Understand? You ever hurt another one of your friends and I'll break your fuckin' arm, hole."

She trudged on in misery, her bare feet picking their way along the cool muddy path.

They left the trail and hiked up a long rocky ridge, then through some blueberry bushes that hurt her feet even more and scraped her legs, and then down into a fairly deep little ravine through a snarl of some kind of prickly bramble.

They had stopped and took the canoe off of her. They where in a humid valley in deep hardwood forest. A creek a few feet across burbled near them. She was quickly enveloped in a light cloud of mosquitoes.

But now what? They had all set about setting up camp, so she just stood, waiting for her next instruction. The mosquitoes were fierce. And they were everywhere. And unable to brush them off, she could only stand, her entire body clenched, trying to find the willpower to just watch them drink their fill. At any one time she might have a dozen of them on her! Even on her face! For a while she counted five on her right breast alone! She danced a little, trying to shake them off, but they were determined to suck her dry. God, this was utter torture. Her tears started again, this time in frustration.

One of men came over to her, the good-looking one, took her by the hand and led her fifty feet into the woods.

He turned to her and she watched as he slowly formed a tight fist, drew it back, and then pounded it into her stomach! She fell to the ground winded and he pushed her over with his boot and then held her head to the ground with his foot.

"Why? Why are you such a useless cunt?"

"I don't...", no, that's not what he wanted to hear. "Because.... because I am a ... stupid fuck-meat?"

"No. Good fuck-meat makes itself useful. Good fuck-meat would be going to every one of these hard working guys and asking if there was anything she could do to please him, begging him to let her suck his cock, asking if she could drink his piss for him. Good fuck-meat is only happy when it has a cock stuck in it, or when it is helping make a man's camping experience a bit more enjoyable. Now, get on your knees...", and he let her up.

"Now we're going to practice. Open your mouth, no: wide. Good, now look me in the eye and stick out your tongue. No not like a point, like you're a wanton whore who's just dying to lick the pre-cum off my dick.... Better, now give me some bedroom eyes."

As he quietly coached her, she recognized his voice as the one that had talked her through drinking Greg's piss. This guy was different from the others. He never yelled at her. His voice moved between a quite, icy threatening when she was not satisfactory, and a kind, encouragement when she was performing as desired. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted from a sex slave, and how to make her perform his tricks like a circus poodle.

"No, you still don't have the tongue right, darling. Beg me with it, show me how much your tongue wants my cock... Oh, you need it, baby... that's it, make me want you. Show me you're a prideless slut. Yeah, excellent! See, you can be a dirty whore, when you put your mind to it"

He's too good. He must have done this before. He actually had her feeling a little happy pride in being able to totally debase herself to his satisfaction.

"Oh, baby, that's brilliant. You finally look like a real camp-slut. Now, say 'please'...No, even more desperate. As if you need it really, really bad."

"Good", he declared, standing back. "Now, why don't you just crawl over to each of these campers, ask to suck their cock or drink their piss, and then show them how much you want to until they say 'yes' or 'no'. I bet you'll find some takers, if you ask real nice.

"After you've asked every one and serviced the takers, you should keep crawling around and asking if you can help with anything. (You should always crawl when you are begging for work). Sluts never sleep, darling. If you're not doing anything for a man, then you should be working hard to find something to do. You get to stop working when ALL of us are asleep, understand? OK, way you go"

She started to crawl to the others, but he came up beside her, squatted down and put an arm on her shoulder, and said quietly to her,

"Darling, if you want to survive this, you have to make these guys happy. And if you want to make these guys happy you have to lose ALL of your pride except the pride of being a complete and utter slut. I can tell that you are trying really hard to be a good little slut, but your going to have to become a total wanton pig if you hope to live through this. Now, go ask to service each one of them and then come back to me and I'll let you wash up and put on some bug repellent." And he was gone.

Lose her pride. That was it, if only she could. She felt pathetic, crawling naked through the woods, to go beg them to use her like a whore. God, the things he made her do. She FELT like a slut. Before She was just meat, they used her like a toy. But now she had to instigate it, beg for it. She didn't know if she could make herself do it, but she kept crawling towards camp, as if to her fate.

Could she run away? No, she was only thirty feet from them, she had no shoes. And anyway, the guy, her coach, she didn't have a name for him, was standing with Ferrari watching her approach. She could just feel his smug satisfaction; he just knew she was not going anywhere except to suck cock.

She made her rounds. It wasn't so hard, really. She just did her little performance, just as she had rehearsed it. She didn't have to mean it; she just had to over-act as if she did.

She sucked one cock, drank two loads of piss, and helped peg down a tent.

Then, as promised, her coach "ordered" her, loudly enough that the others could hear, to wash herself in the stream, and to put on bug repellent and make-up. Her toiletry bag was found, and she took a metal cup from the fire to wash her hair. It felt so wonderful to get clean, to wash away the sweat, cum, and filth, as if she could wash away her violation. To get away from the mosquitoes, to soak her raw pussy and knees, and all her bug bites in the cold stream. Just to be able to spend a few minutes babying herself. She even dared lay back and relax for a minute, on the pretext of washing her hair. Just one sacred minute that she didn't have to suck cock!

Would they really let her live if she did what they want? So far they had kept all their promises. Well then, if they wanted a slut, then she would try to be the filthiest slut ever. She just had to start thinking like the slut they wanted.

She tanked up on water when she was brushing her teeth, not sure when she would next be able to drink something other than piss.

He, her coach, came over with a towel and bottles of insect repellent and suntan oil. He even helped her spray her back and hair in bug juice before leaving her with instructions to 'make herself pretty' and to grease herself with sun oil.

She didn't dawdle, but she took her time. She was in no rush to drink more piss after just brushing her teeth, and anyway, 'making herself pretty' takes time, and it WAS for their benefit.

The fuck-meat must look appetizing.

She oiled her legs, thinking as she did, that they would probably think that it was sexy.

She stopped.

Should she? If they would like to watch, maybe she should go let them. Why was this was so hard? Because for the first time, no one was telling her what to do.

Be a slut, she told herself. Make them want you. Just be the slut they want, and maybe it will be easier.

She walked over to the fire they had started, and laying down on the sleeping bag that had been thoughtfully spread out, started lasciviously smearing oil on her full breasts.

Well, that got their attention! They all gathered round and started yelling rude remarks. Which she answered in kind, stirring their fires:

"Yeah, baby, I AM your fucking slut.... Ooo, like that? You want me to squeeze them like that? ... Does that look good? ... Yeah, they're so full of milk they're ready to burst.... Yeah, I AM a fucking cow. I'm YOUR cow. Your stupid fucking cow. You want to milk me?.... OK, then cream me, baby. You know its all yours, anything you want"

Unfortunately, it looked like it was working. They were eating this up with a spoon, and they looked like they were ready to start mounting her tender pussy again. So she quickly grabbed the oil again and started smearing it into her abused hole, trying to prepare it for the threatening assault. She masked the ploy with her act:

"Ooo, does that look good? Do you like my .. cunt? (she hated that word!) YOUR cunt? It IS your cunt. Your ...big ...wet... cunt. You can fuck it whenever you want. Use it. Use ME. I'm just your stupid camp-slut...Too hairy? oh. Do you want me to shave it off? ... OK, all of it. I'll shave... PULL IT OUT?... " (That was Stark, she was starting to really hate him. And he scared her. He's the one that kept talking about torturing her)

"Um...ah...", what could she say? She was supposed to do what ever they wanted, but pull out her pubic hair, nah, they couldn't be serious. Just distract them.

"OK, I'll pull it out. But you look like you want to use me, first?" she stuck both middle fingers into her pink slit and pulled them apart so the guys in front could see deep inside. "Don't you want to stick you cocks into there." Even getting fucked again was better than the alternative, not to mention inevitable.

"Uh, well I will," said the funny looking bald one, who didn't sound too bright.

But Ferrari held up his hand for the guy to stop.

"You heard him, hole, pull it out. Pull it out strand by god damned strand. Stark's a crazy fucker, so I wouldn't say that you have to do everything he says, but he made a perfectly reasonable request, so I think you better do what he wants."

He squatted down, took her by the hair and raised her head to within inches of his face, slapped her hard and viciously spat,

"You're just a fucking whore. If someone tells you to do something, you fucking do it, there and then. It's not for you to decide if or when you do what your told. If something hurts, you do it anyway. Let us know it hurts, though; tell us how much pain you are in. Cry for us. Beg for mercy. But don't! DO NOT! even THINK about stopping. Got it, hole?"

He dropped her to the blanket told her, "now get to work."

In tears once again, she sat up and tentatively pinched a blonde pubic hair and yanked. Didn't get it. Tried again. Got it, and it only hurt a bit. She got a few next time, then found she was getting four or five at a time. But it stung every time, so it was hard to make herself inflict each painful yank. And even after a minute of this, she could see no discernible difference.

The guys soon ignored her, lounging around the fire, sucking beer, and shooting the shit. Some absently watched their big-breasted fuck-toy torture herself, but none seemed really interested. If they didn't care if she did it, why couldn't she just shave it?

After a while she could see that she was making a dent, as if nibbling away at the edge of a vast field of curly golden wheat. It was going to take her hours!

Occasionally one of them would come and stand before her, and whip out his dick. Disgusted with her own submission, she would obediently get to her knees and ask, no, beg him to let her drink his piss. They always agreed, but some started making her sit on her heels with her mouth open while they pissed into it from above. Inevitably they missed, deliberately spraying her face and chest with foul piss.

And the more they drank, the more they pissed, so she was drinking gallons of the stuff. And in no time had to go herself.

"No. Not until your done."

But that could be hours, and they kept making her drink more. She tried to speed up her depilation, but it hurt more when she went fast. Still as the minutes went by, she realized that the pain she was causing would be nothing to the pain in her bladder.

The good-looking one came over to relieve himself, and then handed her a pair of pliers. They helped. She could get more at a time with them, but it hurt a lot more too. And as she had tons to go.

She was miserable. Frustrated, humiliated, and in pain. It took almost two hours for her to completely denude her sex so far down that she could not see what she was doing. Her bladder was agony. Finally she said,

"I can't see the rest. Please, would one of you please rip the rest my pussy is nice and bald the way you like it?"

"Stark.", they all agreed, and the sadist came over, and had her lie with her ankles at her ears while he viciously ripped out the growth from around her hole. She wailed in pain.

When he put the pliers down, she pleaded to be allowed to pee. No. He wanted to fuck her.

"Hey Stark, we said she could piss when she was finished."

"Yeah, well fuck you, I'm going to fuck the piss right out of her."

"Fine, as long as you let her piss. Deal's a deal"

"Hey, but not on MY sleeping bag"

So Stark dragged her off and threw her down in a mound of wild ginger, put her legs back up over her shoulders, and held them there while he rammed his way into her dry but oily womb. Oh Christ, she could not believe the pain when he started poking into her bladder. Did he really want her to piss while he fucked her? She hoped so, because it was killing her to hold it. So she let go. And found that it is really hard to piss when someone is fucking you. It came out in little spurts and squirts as he moved in and out. It felt better just to relax her control, but it still hurt to have him poking her rock hard bladder.

" I can't pee. I can't pee when you're fucking me. Please, it hurts, ..Ow, oh God, stop." She cried and pleaded with him, but he wasn't going anywhere until he was done with her. And having cum numerous times that day already, he was in no hurry. The more she pleaded, the more he seemed to like it, so she gave up begging for mercy, assured that she'd receive none. Then on consideration, she started begging even more pathetically, crying and gasping from the horrible pain, which wasn't nearly as bad as she made out, so that he got all riled up, fucked the snot out of her and spewed his scum into her womb. God, she hoped she was right about not ovulating yet.

He pulled out and a fountain of piss sprayed up from her gaping cunt, soaking his pants. He climbed off, and told her raise her ass higher. Then he stood back laughing as her piss gushed out of her now bald pussy to arc back and splatter on her stomach and tits. He took aim and added his own piss, straight into her upturned hole. So much for her bath.

She crawled back to the group. With resignation, she asked cordially if she could drink anyone's piss for them, or whether she could go clean herself up, so she looked good enough to fuck.

That was it, she thought as she gulped back a couple more servings of urine. She could just picture herself taking umpteen baths a day, and carefully putting on makeup, so that she looked appealing enough for them to rape her or piss on her.

She returned to the stream.

It felt funny to wash her bald pussy. It reminded her of when she was a little girl.

She re-applied the repellent and makeup (more difficult now, as it was starting to get darker) and tied her hair back this time. She had left it down the first time, thinking they would prefer that, but if they were going to piss on her, she should try to keep it out of the way.

Returning, she again tried to be the perfect little camp-slut. She tended the fire and every few minutes she would crawl around the circle asking like a good hostess,

"Can I get you another beer? Can I suck your cock for you? Just let me know when I can drink your piss."

Their balls seemed pretty well emptied, but she inevitably found someone who either needed a beer, or needed to get rid of one. She dutifully thanked them for the latter.

Some one decided that they shouldn't piss on her for a while, so she could stay and serve them.

Bill had her suck his dick and then made her kneel in front of the fire while he butt-fucked her slow and easy. He didn't even cum, but after maybe half an hour of working her asshole, he pulled out and told her to 'clean him up'. She didn't have to ask what that meant, but it took her twenty seconds of contemplating the thing in the firelight before she could make herself lick it. It didn't taste bad, just sort of like dirt, not the way she had thought it would, not like it smelled. But still, the idea of licking shit off someone's cock WAS TOTALLY DISGUSTING.

They let her cook dinner: Steak and corn. Someone mounted her as she was kneeling turning the corn. So she had to finish cooking with some guy humping her like a dog.

She was not offered any food.

She asked if they had coffee, would they like some, and made a caldron of it to Abe's (the not too bright bald guy) to Abe's instructions. But instead of the powdered milk they had, one of them demanded "fresh squeezed". Then they all wanted fresh squeezed, so she crawled around and let them milk her like a cow into their mugs. They passed the miner's lantern around so they could watch. How degrading!

As they drank, she tried to make herself useful. She removed the last unwanted cob of corn from the fire to the edge of the grill, half-hoping that they might let her have it. Then she collected the dishes, stacking them neatly, with the collected mound of scraps on top.

"That's your supper, cunt." Greg cackled, terribly amused by his own great wit.

Well, she was too hungry to refuse it, so she knelt on the cool mud (her ass had indeed gotten sunburnt) and gnawed her scraps. She timidly asked if she might have the last cob of corn. Ferrari made her butter it and told her to fuck herself with it. It was still quite hot, but remembering her lesson from earlier, she at least touched it to her pussy. No, too hot. She let out a yelp, and told them it was too hot.

"Fuck it anyways", Stark ordered.

"Hey man, what good is her pussy if it has third degree burns?" her coach argued. "Hey cunt, bring it here."

Thank god there was one sane on here. He held it in his fist for a number of seconds before taking his hand away, flailing it to cool it down, declaring,

"Shit! Its fuckin' hot. But… I don’t think it would do any serious damage; at least nothing will make her unuseable. Hold the wimpy bitch down!"

She was grabbed from behind, pulled backwards, and they held her in what was now a familiar position of her ankles spread on either side of her ears, pussy splayed to the world. Then Stark shoved, screwed and finally pounded the hot cob into her until it was buried. It might have been bearably hot in his hand, but in her pussy it felt like it was steaming. She started screaming from the first assault, and continued to wail of the pain and beg for mercy for a quarter hour. By then she had tired out, and the corn had cooled down sufficiently to ruin the show.

'Music to their ears' they agreed about her screams.

Bill approached from where he had been lounging, watching her struggles, and took the horrid thing out. Then he put it to her ass and started shoving. It was by far the biggest thing that had ever gone in or out through that tight hoop, and she fought and screamed and groveled and cried for mercy.

Mercy? Hah. Not a chance. She didn't know that two of them had actually taken their dicks out and were masturbating, they were so delighted with her anguish.

They left it in until her anus was so stretched that most of the pain was gone and she was too tired to complain any more. They let her go. She lay there sobbing, corn still buried in her ass, not daring to remove it.

"You're forgetting your manners, cunt. I see some pretty hard cocks over here."

"Sorry," she sputtered, and she got to her hands and knees to make her rounds. She gave two blowjobs and lay down to get fucked by another. During the first blowjob, someone tied her hands behind her back, so she had to finish them with out "that favourite cocksucker trick, the slippery hand jerk off." As Ted shoved her on her back and mounted her, she realized with horror what the hot corn had done to her vagina. While the damage might not have been medically dangerous, her tender sheath had most definitely been scalded. Even the smallest movement of his cock sent needles of pain through her loins. But few of his thrusts were small. The pain she had felt at being violated with no preparation was nothing compared to this; they had managed to make the simple act of fucking into a living hell. At least for her. Bill seemed to quite enjoy sawing in and out of her to the sound of her breathy aria of "ohgodnopleasenostopowgodnopleasenoowowowow" which finally degraded to a simple "ow ow ow ow" in counterpoint to his thrusts.

When he was done, and she had drunk the contents of some bladders, Bill told her to finish her dinner, pointing to the forgotten corncob. It lay in the dirt where it had fallen from her asshole during a blowjob.

He meant it. This guy had a thing for making her eat her own shit. She moved on her knees and put her face to it. It smelled of shit, corn, pussy, and butter. She moved to it, bared her teeth, as if to avoid touching her lips to the foul thing, and took a tentative nibble. Repulsive.

 Then there was a swoosh and her ass exploded in pain. She shrieked at that!

"He said eat it." Seems her coach had made a nasty long flail from a bunch of prickly bramble canes. She didn't know what is was, but she knew it hurt like hell!

The gang loved this turn!

"Now be a good little piggy and eat your dinner. You wanted it, now get that cob clean. And I am going to play with my toy until your done."

Another blow landed. And a few seconds later, another. Someone stood astride her, his legs tight to her sides so she couldn't move. She dove at the corn, her only salvation. The blows kept falling on her sunburnt ass rhythmically every four or five seconds, urging her to wolf down the fetid corn. She would never have believed that she could so voraciously gnaw at a cob of shit-covered corn in the mud. She ate like a rabid animal, tearing and scraping the flesh from a carcass.

But its not easy eating corn with no hands, in the dark, on your knees, with the horrid distraction of being whipped. Someone moved the lantern close to her head so they could watch

Someone asked to try his hand, and the blows started falling even harder. The coach's voice came close by her head.

"Good piggy. Good little piggy. Eat up all that nice shitty corn. Maybe tomorrow you'll eat what you're given and we won't have to hurt you." And he brushed back her hair to watch her clean the shaggy bits off the muddy cob.

"I think she's done", he said, and the whipping stopped.

After that, things calmed down a lot. She made her rounds, drank their piss and was occasionally dragged off to the sleeping bag to be painfully fucked, but they were getting both drained and drunk so even if they could get it up, they often just stuck it in and sawed away for a while.

Much later the alcohol also brought more badgering. Poking her with sticks. Spitting beer on her. At one point, fairly late, Stark wanted to make her walk on hot coals or roast her tits on the grill, and they all said "sure". But after ten minutes of discussion during which she almost pissed herself with fear, he actually stood her up as if to do it, and they all told him to fuck off, and three of them were on their feet ready to stop him. She made note of which ones: the coach, the quiet one, and Greg. He settled for burning her with a glowing stick, and even here they made him keep it to her legs, and only a few. The pain was hideous, but she found that the thing that made it worse was the horror of their glee. Red coals thrust against her calves and inner thighs, and her tormentors giggled and crowed at her shrieks of agony. If they could laugh at this, she was truly beyond hope.

The party started dwindling. She wondered if she might not be able to run away if they all fell asleep.

In the gray of dawn, only Greg, Ferrari and Stark were left to put a Saturday Night Fever tape on their little shitbox and make her dance. John Travolta imitations, wiggling her tits, and flinging bottle caps at her amused them for half an hour. Then coach appeared and asked to use her for a while, and dragged her into his tent. He climbed on top of her as if to fuck her muttering, "Fuck, won't they ever shut up?", but all he did was fall asleep using her breasts as pillows. Stark kept coming up to the tent for awhile and yelling the tortures he was going to inflict when she came out, but eventually all of them fell asleep.

But not Liane; she just cried. Her mind still reeled at her situation, it was terribly uncomfortable having someone sleep on her, but worst of all, she was covered in bug bites, and he had snarled in his sleep for her to stop scratching. The frustration and physical distress of itching so viciously and yet not allowed to scratch was a torture of hell. She lay for hours, wide eyed, fists clenched, praying for strength.


"Bitch! Where's that fuckin' bitch?!"

Oh God, it was starting again.

"She's coming." Her human prison rolled off of her so she could get back to work. "Bring me some coffee when you're finished".

"Bitch! Get in here and lick my asshole. NOW!"

He watched her enter the other tent, following her with "and keep your eye on her!"

The coach made sure that every man was greeted that morning with a forced-cheery "May I drink your piss for you? Can I get you a cup of coffee? I would love to suck your cock for you? And your pussy is all wet and ready for you, whenever you want it." And to a man, when asked so sweetly, they took her up on at least two if not more of her offers. Coffee and a blowjob in bed, and the piss sucked from your stick where you lie? Pure camping heaven.

She was also expected to do all the dishes, clean up the campsite, 'make herself pretty', and cook anyone whatever they wanted for breakfast. Those who wanted cereal or porridge had her go on her hands and knees over their bowls while they milked her like a cow. Greg even made her 'moo' while he did it.

Then the collected table scraps were tossed in a mucky little depression and the little piggy was told to root for her slop. This seemed terribly amusing, especially making her snuffle and snort while she wallowed. It also wrung the day's first tears, but she did it; without a complaint or hesitation, and until the muck was spotless. She was a quick study of the lash.

Five of them left to go into town "the long way" for more "piss and supplies". She thought she heard them making a list, but could not concentrate as she had a cock humping her throat like it was a pussy.

The coach and the quite one, Ted, stayed to guard her.

With just two of them, they decided they should bind her ankles with a foot and a half of nylon rope between them. Then they fused the knots with a lighter.

In no time, Ted was buried in a book, a textbook from the look of it. This left the coach to entertain her, which meant what? She couldn't figure this guy. He humiliated her more then the others, hurt her at least as much, and yet he was the only one to show her the least kindness, as well.

"I told you to stop scratching", he snapped, lingering over his coffee, "It isn't sexy."

Not sexy?! She had been eaten alive yesterday! She would go mad if she didn't scratch.

He had her go and bathe. He used the top half of a plastic bottle as a funnel and filled first her pussy, then her ass full of cold water. The contents of her pussy she emptied into a large cooking pot which he informed her would be her lunch. He bathed as she applied makeup, then she warmed some water and he lay with his head in her lap as she shaved him. It's hard shaving a man's face.

During this, she screwed up her courage, and asked if she could ask him something. He assented.

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Not like this, but yes. I have played dominance games with lovers and whores, but never had a real slave, one that could not say 'no'".

"Don't you care how I feel?"

"Of course I do. How you feel is the MOST important thing. Without your fear, pain, and humiliation, this wouldn't be any fun at all. If you are not unhappy, then its time to make things worse."

She thought on this awhile, while struggling with his jaw line. "But why?"

"Because it makes my dick hard to see you cry, you fool. Power is a turn-on. Don't ask such silly questions."

How could men enjoy being so cruel? And did it really turn him on so much? Though the day before was a blur of hundreds of cocks laying siege to her body, she did not remember him using her, at least not after that first rape. She was pretty sure they had all used her then. She offered herself to him often, as she had to all of them, but, thinking about it, she was quite certain he had always declined.

She finished shaving him in quiet, but snuck in at the end,

"What's your name?"

"To you?: 'Sir'", with finality. But he did not get up.

"I'm finished." she informed him, but he did not answer except with an expectant look. She didn't know what he wanted. "uh...I'm finished, Sir?"

"Yes...?", he said, with a strongly implicated 'and?...' in his voice.

What? It was like she was missing something. But he agreed that she was done.

"Would...would you like to piss in my mouth?"

He smiled. She had past some stupid little test. "No thank-you." but still he stared into her eyes, upside down from her lap.

"Your cunt is...I could have your cunt nice and wet and ready for you in no time, Sir, if you wanted. Would you like to fuck it?"

He got to his feet, and stood over her staring down so that she had to tip her head way back to look at him. And again he waited. This WAS a test. And Liane didn't know why but she wanted to pass. Just because she thought she might be punished? Or did she actually not want to disappoint him? She could not say.

"Would you like me to...", and she caught herself. He had not answered. He had slapped her this morning for not continuing to beg one service until she was answered. Like a sicko's game of "Simon Says".

"Please, I'll...ah, please Sir, I'll ... I'll make your cunt extra juicy for you." He smirked. Right answer.

"Nice and juicy, just... just the way you like it. The way a cunt should be". He tipped his head to the side to look at her pussy, as if to see if it lived up to her claims. He furled his brow.

She thrust a hand between her legs assuring him "I'll... your cunt will be ready for you in just one minute, Sir." She spit on her fingers to help get started. "See? See, Sir, I'm getting all ready for you...for your cock." She had never masturbated in front of anyone before, but modesty never crossed her mind. They were winning; she WAS becoming their total slut.

He smiled, pursing his lips with mocking satisfaction. But he said nothing. And it was getting hard to find words. What else to say?

Beg him. "Please, Sir, please fuck me. Your...your fuck-meat...needs to be fucked. Your stupid slut needs to be fucked. Please? I'm getting it so wet for you. It is still sore from all the cocks that fucked me, yesterday, and the hot corn burned it. So you'll hurt me if you fuck me. I know you like to hurt me."

What else? What else could he want to hear? At the risk of failing his test by becoming redundant, she continued mixing and matching everything she had said so far, while she slowly eased back into what she was starting to think of as 'her position'; 'her fuck-meat position', spreading her knees farther apart than her roped ankles with her elbows, while she diddled herself with one hand and finger-fucked herself with the other.

"Please, Sir, Please hurt me with your cock. I'm such a stupid cunt, but I'm getting wet for you"

Which was true. While her brain was still disgusted with the things she was begging, her slick fingers had managed get her slightly wet. Or could she actually be starting to get into her slut roll? Her audience may have thought so, because with bedroom eyes, as if enamoured by her vulgarly enticing performance, he went to one knee beside her, and slowly lowered himself toward her for a passionate kiss. She stopped her monologue and sensuously parted her lips to receive him.

And he spat in her face. An enormous hork splattered across her cheek, some clinging to her nose, some landing in her waiting mouth, some arced across her eye. "Fuck, you're pathetic." he snarled in disgust, "You are so fucking useless" and he slapped her dry cheek.

Her tears were immediate. She had thought she was doing well, humiliating herself for his pleasure. She thought...she had hoped she was pleasing him.

He stood over her again, sneering. Waiting. He wanted her to continue.

"I'm so pathetic", she sniffled, knowing it was true. "I AM fucking useless", and she paused to snork her sinuses clear, "and... and I hate begging you so much, and, and, it makes me feel so awful...and I'm just a useless cunt". And at this she broke out sobbing, so that it took quite a while for her to blubber out, "and I hate myself, and...and, I just want you to fuck me, I want you to fuck my... my useless cunt. I...I want to make you happy." This made her cry harder, probably because at some level it was the truth. Her distress seemed to wash away all her creativity and she was reduced to whimpering,

"Please? Please fuck me...Please...please?"

She did want it. Not that she was at all horny; she was just desperate to stop begging him. To stop groveling. Somehow, being raped was less humiliating than calling herself a slut and begging to be fucked.

He spit on her splayed pussy, saying with disgust,

"Me, fuck THAT hole? Hell, no"

Her hands fell away from her rejected pussy, and she sobbed a little harder. And he waited.

Did he want her to keep going? He had said 'no'. She was lost, confused.

He unzipped his fly and pulled out his semi-hard cock and left it dangling above her.

"Would...would you like me to suck your cock, then?" She almost sounded hopeful, and yet she just knew he was just going to make her beg some more, only to say 'no'. But she did her best to beg convincingly. He looked her body up and down, disgusted, and she realized she was supposed to be on her knees. She did the thing with her mouth where she shows him how much she wants it, this stuff was becoming second nature to her, now. As if rewarding her, he lowered his balls onto her tongue for just two licks, their eyes locked. Then he stepped back, a few strands of her hair in his hand, and she was again licking air. A tug on her hair and a curt glance towards his cock told her she was to crawl forward. He let go the strand and took another step back. And she went on all fours to crawl after him. And then at a terribly slow pace they proceeded; him walking backward one pace at a time, and her crawling after his cock, begging to suck it, licking the air lasciviously, insulting herself, and generally feeling totally pathetic.

They moved through the woods like that for some time. She tried to be creative, but repeated herself a lot. The first time she called herself a cocksucker, he nobly allowed her to lick the pre-cum off his dick and she actually felt a vague gratification from it.

She told him how she had never liked sucking cock. How her first boyfriend used to make her blow him. How she had not swallowed since she was fifteen, but always spit the disgusting stuff out. How her ex and her used to fight because he wanted blowjobs but she wouldn't demean herself. She tried to express her absolute revulsion at begging him like this. He asked for more details, especially about her first experiences. He had her beg for just one taste, and then "allowed" her to mouth his entire length just once, before they continued, his cock glistening with her spit.

She crawled in mud, on sharp rocks, through brambles that scraped and scratched her from her breasts to her toes, and on the solid, course granite of the ridge they had crossed yesterday.

A small stack, a blanket, a pot, his whip, and some rope lay on the ridge, waiting for them.

There he stopped, and asked her, still in the spirit of this strange rapport, if, honestly, she wanted to suck his cock. Honestly? So, honestly she told him, no, but it was less degrading then begging, and she didn't want him to hurt her.

"Good," he replied, "Blow me, slut."

It was actually a relief to finally start servicing him; she'd been groveling for most of an hour. She did her best, and even begged him not to cum in her mouth, thinking it would make him want to. But it was not until he laid her on the hot rock and brutally fucked her throat, making her gag and wretch, that he finally withdrew to spew in a puddle between her breasts.

Then he sat back and had a smoke while instructing her to pick the goo up and make love to it as if it were the most delicious, sexy nectar in the world. This was a hard act and she performed it with no real enthusiasm. She knew it, too. And yet after what she knew had been a splendid performance while crawling, she thought it might be overlooked. She did manage to stretch out the repulsive act of eating cold sperm off her tits for about a quarter hour making all the right motions, but with no conviction.

She waited a moment when finished, for any new instructions, and was about to revert back to 'did he want to piss', when he declared,

"Well. That was pathetic. You will be punished for that this evening, so you better do better next time."

 He had her stand, close her eyes and place her hands behind her head. At any moment she expected the whip to fall, probably on her thrust breasts. But instead, he sensuously started smearing sun oil all over her, except carefully avoiding her breasts, ass and pussy, the palest, most vulnerable parts of her body.

"But I'll be roasted" she complained.

He just smiled, though she could not see it.

He sent her to go pick blue berries. For over two hours she sweated in the hot sun, her already burnt ass getting more sun, as she filled the pot with tiny berries. She stopped only once, to run down and get him a cold beer, him watching her like a hawk the whole time. He nursed his drink in the shade of a tree while she worked. He enjoyed feeling like a man of leisure watching his slave-girl toil in the field.

She envied him his beer. It was thirsty work being out in the sun, and she was sweating away her liquids. But she would rather go thirsty then drink urine, and he would make her do that soon enough anyway.

But he didn't. When the pot was full, she went and pulled the last beer out of the stream for him. On returning, she thought she had better offer to drink his piss.

"No thanks, I went while you were gone.

"Unless you 're thirsty." He added, "I might find some more."

She was, but not that thirsty. She'd wait.

He told her to jump rope. Jump rope in the hot sun, in bare feet on rock, her swollen breasts flopping wildly, painfully, as he lounged with his beer in the shade. She had to recite al those stupid skipping poems while she did it.

"Hey, we should get you to sing some campfire songs for us, tonight." he mused.

Then after a quarter hour, he ordered "peppers". Three minutes of that and she could not decide if she was going to faint before or after her breasts fell off. She looked over to him in pleading desperation, only to find he was ignoring her, while emptying his bladder into his beer can. When he was finished, he let her stop.

He wanted her to ask for a drink. Not because he had to go, not because he was forcing her, but because she was so thirsty she was willing to drink piss. They both knew it. She could wait. She was completely parched, and would have done just about anything for a glass of water, but to actually ask to drink piss? But then she rationalized that eventually she would have to, either because she broke down, or because the others returned and made her. And she really was very thirsty.

"Please, may I drink your piss?"

"No thanks, I just went".

He was going to make this difficult.

"Please, I am very thirsty, and I would like...I would love a drink of your piss"

"Oh, sure. Help yourself." and he handed her the can.

Hot piss in a hot can on a hot day. Not refreshing. God this stuff tasted awful. Where shit didn't taste as bad as she thought, this was even worse. And she never got used to it. Last night had been better; it was almost all beer. But this morning had been gut wrenching; the acrid liquor of the night's collected toxins. A few sips now was enough to remind her how pleasant being thirsty was, but a harsh look from him at her can, and she knew she was to finish it. Mouthful by mouthful she choked the foul stuff back, crying just one more time at her deplorable situation.

After that, he tied her hands together behind her head and told her she could sleep (she looked like shit, and felt worse). Even lying bare on a coarse rock it the hot sun she was asleep in no time. She knew she was going to burn, that he wanted her to burn, and was helpless to prevent it. She could only try to make it evenly bad, and so tried to wake up often to change positions. But her ass was already a little burnt and protecting that, she entered deep sleep flat on her back, the puddings of her ghostly white breasts on broil. He smiled at that.

When she awoke, sweat dripping off her back, she knew she'd been too long on her back. He bid her good morning and asked her if she was ready for lunch or whether she wanted to catch more rays. She didn't have a choice, and that was the way he wanted it.

Her "lunch" had partially separated into stringy clots of day-old sperm clinging to the pot, covered by a slightly milky broth. It smelled rotten. The protein had already begun breaking down and the yeasty pussy juice made it worse. She thought she was going to heave.

She sat cross-legged near the smoldering fire, studying the pot of offal in her lap. He had said, "use your fingers, and show me you love it. Maybe you can reduce your punishment." and then leaned back to enjoy the sandwiches she had made. The more she looked at the slop the harder it became to make herself even touch it.

"Your hesitation now is going to cause you a great deal of pain this evening. How much is up to you. One?... two...?"

He made it to five before she summoned her courage and tentatively dipped her hand into the pot.

What theatre! The drawn-out contemplation. The reluctant distaste as she dipped her hand into the cold slop. That priceless shudder when she confronted that first pinch of ropy slime. The hesitation. The gathering of determination, The look of pure revulsion as she inched it closer to her face. The look of nausea when she put it to her lips. Actually seeing her stomach heave, her throat gag. The torture she put herself through with every subsequent little taste. Pure art!

He kept his amusement to himself, not wanting to break her concentration.

Of course she would have to be punished later for not enjoying it, but why remind her when this was a win/win situation.

He let her finish the slime in her own good time, first picking all floating bits, then scraping strands that clung to the sides and bottom, and finally, when it passed his inspection, she was allowed to raise the pot to her lips and drain the milky broth.

"And the next time you see sperm outside of your body, even if its running out of your ass, you will make love to it. Do you understand?"

He had her bring him a small bowl of blueberries and milked her until they were floating. Then he dawdled over these while she licked his asshole for most of an hour.

"Six o'clock. It's punishment time, little whore"

She was lead to a large tree twenty feet from camp.

He made two holes in a black garbage bag, one in either bottom corner. Her wrists were passed through these and then bound in front of her with the nylon bowline. He passed the dangling cord through a small hole he made in the bottom of a second bag. Leading her to a large maple tree, with the rope in his teeth he jumped up to hang from a large branch. Swinging his feet up he managed to clamber on top of the branch and out some distance where he tied the rope so taut that she was forced to her toes.

Fetching a roll of duct tape from the tackle box he pulled the lower bag over her head and tucked and taped it tight around her neck.

"I'll give you some air in a minute", he said, gathering and taping the excess bag at the back of her head.

Somehow, she knew he was not going to suffocate her, but as she started re-breathing the same stale air the panic started to rise. As she took a breath, the bag sucked to her face then puffed away as she exhaled, the warm stale air enveloping her head.

"Keep still or it will take longer" he commanded.

"Now I'm going to make a hole at your mouth with a knife. Keep your tongue back."

Fresh air flowed into her mouth. Not a lot, but enough. She sucked at it greedily. She could still see fairly well through the black film, but she was discovering a claustrophobia that she never knew she had.

He had her stick her curled tongue out of the hole, enlarging it as she did. Then he told her she may suck air through her curled tongue, but that she was to exhale through her nose. And her punishment would be doubled for every word she spoke.

As she adapted to this new state, he continued working, gathering the excess bag in a roll down her spine, drawing the plastic into a second skin. Holes much smaller than her breasts were cut with the scissors of a Swiss army knife. These were tugged and stretched until the plastic was snug to her chest, her breasts protruding obscenely, only slightly constricted at their bases.

Her fear grew. Why? She could breathe. Her arms hurt and her hands were going numb, but this fear had no explanation, it just was.

The rim of the bag was gathered and over-lapped between her legs, but no tape was used. Instead, he carefully buried a length of fishing line into the crack of her pussy, drawing it between her legs and up the crack of her ass. It was tied very tightly at her shoulder. A second line was tied to the first between her breasts and followed the first except that it was drawn over the other shoulder. The bag that hung on the rope was pulled down over her arms and behind her head and gathered. A third bag was pulled up over her legs.

So she was totally encased in plastic. So what? She was surviving tolerably well on her meager allotment of air. But there was something totally nightmarish about the feeling. The world looked surreal through the black bag. She was terrifyingly aware of every breath she took. About her vulnerability, sucking her life through a tiny slit.

A loop of fishing line was passed over her thumbs and pulled tight. It was wrapped around her hands, binding her palms together. Then he started passing the spool around and around her tightly spiraling the thin cord down her arms, over her face and down her body. The rounds were uniformly spaced at about two inches except where they missed her breasts entirely. Everywhere they dug deep into her soft flesh. Numerous rounds encompassing her insteps and arches held her feet tight. Then the procedure was repeated in the opposite direction so that when completed, she was decorated front and back with a row perfectly centered 'X's.

He called Ted over and had him lift her feet behind her so and hold them on his shoulder, pushing her away from the branch so that she arched back like a diver. He then threaded the fishing line under the lowest crossed thread on her heels and up to a loop in the loose end of the bowline. Then back to the second lowest cross on her ankle and back to the bowline. Over and over again, tying one length off on the nylon loop, only to start a new one, until he had reached her wrists.

The rope around her wrists which had long since stopped taking her weight was carefully cut through the bag and removed and there she hung in a bow, frozen in a dive: a black worm with full firm breasts thrusting proudly in front of her, glowing pink with sunburn in the dying light.

A mosquito landed to take advantage of the exposed and defenseless tender flesh.

"What I would like is a piece of flexible tubing for her to breathe through", Sir told Ted. They brainstormed a bit and then left her to build it out of sections of toilet paper tube cut into a ribcage form, encased in a condom. The tip was cut off and the rim was taped over her mouth. So that it hung down towards her breasts.

"She looks like a worm". Ted declared.

"Exactly. She IS a worm, so she should look like one. But that is only for effect. She is being punished." She could hear Sir walking away from her as he talked, calling back to Ted from the fire pit.

"Do you recall me specifically telling our worm not to scratch herself like the flea-bitten bitch that she is?"


"Well she kept doing it all day, today. Only when she thought I was not looking, but I saw her do it, and could see the red scratches".

He was back now, and he stopped talking while he lit the miner's lantern and tied it with fishing line to the rope which had, until recently, bound her arms. She could now see nothing except its light swinging a few inches in front of her breasts.

"Did you noticed how thick the mosquitoes got last night at dusk", he asked, off-handedly.

Ted chuckled. "Yeah. Swarms of them. We would have been eaten alive if we didn't have DEET."

"Yeah, well tonight, dinners ready."

She groaned her protest.

"Did you know that what attracts mosquitoes is the smell of sweat, and CO2? Look, four early diners already. Guess even mosquitoes want to nurse on jugs like those.

Hey, you want a coffee?", and they left her.

Alone with her hell.

It is hard to say if her torture was worse for her not being able to see. In her mind she pictured her breasts covered with the feeding demons. Every breath she exhaled she pictured a little cloud of CO2 summoning a dozen more, and certainly for every real vampire she created five more. At first.

But as the dusk grew, her tender mounds became veritable hells of horrid itching, so that she could scarcely feel if a particular tingle was caused by a fresh feeder or a previous bite. If, at that point, she had been able to see, she would have been absolutely horrified to realize that her worst imaginings were now, in fact, true. As dark enveloped the woods, her fleshy mounds were continuously completely covered in the sucking fiends. Fifteen, twenty, thirty at a time.

Early on, the two men had returned with their coffee. Sir went to carefully wash any bug repellent from his hands before milking her into their mugs. Then they stood back, watching her writhe in the air. She tried to keep her breasts moving, attempting to shoo the things off. The men did not tell her that this had no effect at all. It may have made it more difficult to land, but once one of the fiends had gotten a grip, it rode the wobbling flesh like a bucking bronco, drinking its leisurely fill.

She heard a zipper. Her writhing, her torture had one of them so excited that he was masturbating. Her tears of frustration redoubled at the realization that they were enjoying her torment.

Eventually they left, bored with their sport. Again, they did not tell her that whether due to the deepening night, the lack of unbitten flesh, or that she had fed every mosquito in the valley, the swarm had dwindled. Also, she had tired out, and now just hung limply, sobbing as she accepted her lot.

It was over an hour later that voices could be heard in the woods. Someone was at her side, blowing out the lantern. A knife was unfolded and placed to her neck.

"Understand?" the coach whispered. She grunted assent, not knowing if she was allowed to speak yet.

In a few minutes, Greg could be heard cackling "I bet some pre-verts kidnapped that cunt and are raping her. We better call the police."

The lantern was re-lit.

They had gone into M. a little holiday town forty minutes down the road. Then they decided to go into R. a small city half an hour beyond that to go to an army surplus store. Then they decided to have dinner (and they brought wings for the two that stayed), and then they went to watch strippers. They ran into some high school friends of Ferrari's and Greg's and brought them along, Larry, Race and Flea. And holy shit, what happened to her tits?

Sir explained, describing the bugs at their worst, which they all found amusing.

"Well lets take her down, I want some snatch." someone crowed.

"Not yet," Sir demanded. "The slut hesitated before eating her sperm and smegma soup for lunch, so we have to punish her."

The lines to her feet were cut, and her calves and knees, continuing until her legs hung down.

"She hesitated for five, so she is to get five of the best from each of us. Too bad about Ferrari's friends, her punishment just went from thirty five to fifty."

Oh God! How they beat her! They started with full swings of the canoe paddle, each man stepping up to take one swing. The blade hummed through the air, announcing each assault. She spasmed and writhed after every blow, shrieks filling the dark woods, but the next did not come until she swung calmly. How she managed not to beg for mercy, let alone not break the fishing lines that supported her, she had no idea. Her bladder let go and piss filled the bottom of the bag around her legs

During the second round, they started improvising. Thus she never knew until it landed whether to expect the paddle, a crop-like stick, or the coach's bramble flail on her ass, her thighs or her breasts.

During the third round someone turned the paddle around and found whole new levels of pain by clubbing her ass with that. They liked that, so the fourth round was each trying to out swing the others, causing her to blackout. They agreed to finish that round and then save the last for later, when she could appreciate it.

She groaned on awaking, signaling them to resume her torture though they stopped Stark from clubbing her tits.

She had not recovered from the last stroke before she was cut down and carried before the cold fire pit and summarily raped. The two lines in her vulva were cut, she was folded in half on her back and brutally impaled. Another instant and the condom was ripped from her mouth and the hole filled with a cock. She couldn't breathe and started to panic.

Someone pointed out her predicament.

"Fuck 'er. She doesn't need to fuckin' breathe."

But hands ripped the plastic at her nose.

Then, for hours and hours, they raped and re-raped her. Her pussy, her ass, her mouth. The plastic was cut from her legs so they could spread her, and ripped from her eyes so they could see her cry, torn from her mouth so they could feel her lips, and from between her tits so they too could be fucked. Someone stubbed a cigarette out on the back of her thigh. She almost drowned when someone pissed in her mouth while she was lying on her back. And even when they were all sated, one after another they forced themselves hard just so as to continue her abuse. She was forced to suck her own blood, shit, and pussy juice off too many cocks to count, to steel them to further rape her. They pounded her holes viciously, trying to wring one last orgasm from their drained balls.

When none could get it up any longer, they splayed her legs apart and each took his turn completing the last round of whipping, using the bramble flail on her most delicate skin. The barbed withes turned her pink oyster into a bloody hash.

She never felt the last of these, but became aware that she was kneeling, sitting on a metal cup, her arms held over her head. Someone was cutting the last of the plastic from her. On finding her awake, they had her squat over the cup. Chain was dragged over, wrapped around her neck, and, with firm click that sounded very final to her, locked to itself with a huge padlock. The chain was of huge thick links, and long.

They told her to hold her cunt open. One by one they came to her and she licked their cocks clean. She felt herself draining into the cup, and knew they would want her to eat it.

And she would. Immediately, she vowed, anything rather then another round of...

"Look at this, Bitch. We have some more cock for you" They were leading in two rottweilers!

"Sit", they were ordered, and did.

"Suck", she was ordered, and did. No hesitation. While her mind reeled at the thought, she did not give herself time to stop, but just did as she was told, too scared but to comply. It was only while she was doing it that she had a chance to fully grasp what she did.

Sucking dog's cocks. When everything they made her do seemed to be the worst, how could they continue finding things ever more disgusting. The taste was repulsive, the feel disgusting, the idea beyond words.

And they ridiculed her for it. Tears rolled down her face as they told her to work on the other one. She returned to the first to find it covered with a condom.

"Dog whores aren't good enough to suck Bronte's scum direct from his balls."

She gave up and just sucked the thing like it was any other cock. God, it wasn't like she hadn't sucked enough cocks in the last two days. It came, and she went dutifully to service the other. Someone held the cup against her pussy the whole time.

"Dinner time, bitch." Ferrari said, holding up the limp scumbags, "Why don't you go wash up while it gets cold".

Sir led her to the river.

On crawling back from a chilling wash, she found the other end of the chain had been locked about a large tree in the middle of the camp. No escape.

A plate sat in front of the fire pit, the lantern beside it. Though she could not make out what it was on the plate, she could see that it had been artistically arranged, and knew it would be repulsive to eat.

The men sat around sucking beer. Waiting.

"Dinner tonight, madam, is one of your favourites: headcheese salad, with a blood and sperm rape puree, served with fresh doggie scumbags, and garnished with a lump of shit. How does that sound?"

A question. Oh God. Was she supposed to answer? What answer did they want? The truth? Eager?

"Answer him", the coach said, informing her she was allowed to speak more than ordering her to respond.

" sounds very...repulsive. I think I may throw up if I eat it. May I start right away?"

"Of course," he glowed. Right answer.

She crawled forward to behold the horrid slop, a slab of jellied brain on a sheet of lettuce, absolutely covered with congealed sperm, pink with her own blood. Condoms on the side.

But she did not hesitate. She dove face first into the slop and started hoovering it up, gnawing at the lettuce, swallowing the small lump of turd whole. Their groans of disgust told her they thought it was as vile as she did.

Not knowing what she was to do with the condoms, she left them until last, finally asking in a meek voice.

"Should I... May I swallow the uh...fresh doggie scumbags?"

No, she was told she could use her hands for those. So she picked one of the things up and holding it by the tip, drained it on her tongue and swallowed. Her stomach heaved, but she did it and managed to suck the thing clean inside and out. And its mate.

Nothing. She thought she was done, but they seemed to be waiting. She went down to lick the last traces of slime of the enameled plate. Then she was done. They even gave her a beer, which she drank greedily until she realized that she would be back to work as soon as it was done.

Then she was back to making coffee on a camp stove they had bought and being milked, getting beers, licking balls, singing stupid camp songs and drinking piss. Flea, who seemed to know about such things, said that if her tits were not sucked, they would dry up. So not finding any volunteers, they had her suck her own tits, a timed fifteen minutes a side.

By dawn only Stark and Bill were still awake to torment her. Stark fucked her ass for over an hour, all the time assuring her that they were going to kill her when they were done, and describing in gruesome detail the many slow tortures he would inflict. Throughout this, Bill carefully clipped a full eleven of his twenty packages of clothespins onto her, five hundred and fifty wooden pincers covering her body. Four packages alone had been used to so cover her breasts that it was quite impossible to put any more on. Another package was used entirely on her face and even her tongue and lips, so she looked like a bizarre voodoo mask.

She never did get to sleep, because by the time they were done with her, Ted was up and wanted a cup of coffee and a blowjob. All day she made her rounds, sucking cock and making blueberry pancakes and coffee to order.

They put up a huge camouflage tarp over the fire pit so they could have a fire without it showing.

A poker game started but there was always someone willing to sit out a couple of hands for a blowjob or a fuck. If one was too drained to keep it up, she would have to hold one of the dirty magazines they had bought over her face and slowly turn the pages for them while they fucked one of her wounds.

It all started drifting. She stopped caring. Endless cocks, endless pain, endless humiliation and revulsion. She tried to keep acting the whore that they wanted, but the act became shallow. They made her fuck the dogs. She didn't care. After you've sucked dog cock what does it matter if you fuck them.

She could not say when she knew they were going to kill her. It slowly surfaced in her mind that they really could not let her live. She knew their names, some of them their last names. She knew that Ferrari's friends were from R.; how many people named Flea or Race could there be in R.?

She almost didn't even care that they would kill her. Half of them had taken to butting their cigarettes out on her legs and her poor breasts had become the focus of their sadistic sport. They had made her 'decorate' herself with the clothespins, and then fucked her while making her sing the camp songs. They disinfected a plastic box full of sewing pins, the kind with the round plastic heads, and had her jab hundreds of them deep into her breasts until they looked like twin porcupines. They had hung her by her ankles and taken turns punching her inverted breasts like she was a boxer's punching bag. Then they roped her breasts excruciatingly tightly and actually hung her by them! God, did that make her howl! She quite literally thought her breasts were going to rip from her chest; the pain could not have been worse if they had. Her tormentors made no secret of how amusing that would be. She had barely slept in four days, her knees were raw from crawling, her breasts were swollen from mosquito bites, beatings, pins and sunburn. Her ass was black and blue from the beatings, but they whipped it none the less. Her pussy was a gaping wound that they continued to worry with endless fucking. Her asshole was in tatters; she actually had to push her colon back inside after taking a dump!

The next morning, a holiday Monday, while Ferrari was milking her into his coffee, feeling she had nothing to lose she asked,

"When are you going to kill me?"

He hesitated a moment, then answered, "Don't know. After next weekend, maybe."

He actually apologized for having to break his word, explaining needlessly, that they could not let her live. But he swore to her that if she served them well, he would do it personally as quickly and painlessly as possible. Otherwise, Stark was itching to do it one limb per day, making her roast and eat her own flesh.

The men then fell into a discussion of planning "next weekend". Most of them had to go back to work the next day, but they planned to return the next weekend with as many friends as they could trust. Race alone promised to bring an entire motorcycle club. When they counted up their friends, they guessed she would be servicing over sixty men! They roared at this prospect!

The coach argued that by the next weekend she would be good for shit. Her pussy and face would be scabbed, her tits would be peeling, and her ass would still be one enormous bruise. He convinced them to wait an extra week. It was decided that he, Ferrari and Bill would stay with her, as none had jobs to return to.

By mid afternoon most of the others were preparing to leave. The coach had her crawl to each one and thank them for brutally raping her, and invite them back with all their friends. The three local guys stayed until evening and again she was made to perform with Sasha and Bronte, the dogs.

Life seemed easy after that. With only three of them to service, and none of them using either her pussy or her ass, it almost seemed like a vacation. The novelty had worn off for them, and they seemed to move into a more relaxed two-weeks-to-kill-no-hurry mode. She still barely slept for the first couple of nights because her breasts itched so ferociously and they bound her hands behind her before they slept so she could not scratch. But she did sleep some and more each night.

She would find herself eating her dinner, sucking table scraps out of the mud, and realize that she didn't mind. It became second nature for her to grovel and beg to suck cock; they came so much quicker when she humiliated herself. After the worst of the mosquito bite itching had passed, Bill caused her only tears in days by successfully using every one of his thousand clothespins on her. She found she could not even cry for missing her son anymore, though in her idle time, which she had a fair amount of, she tried to think of nothing else.

The coach had all but stopped instructing her. She was being tested, they said. Every time she failed to satisfy, did not grovel and debase herself enough, or did not seem eager enough to please, they would make a note of it with the punishment she would receive next weekend. She never saw the list. They kept her infractions secret so that she never knew if a blowjob or even a request to suck cock had been whorish enough to please. So she worked very hard at being the slut they wanted.

She had no pride left. When they decided that she should turn over rocks and eat what ever she found there for breakfast, she thanked them and did it. And not mechanically. She had been so long playing the wanton whore, acting as if every humiliation, every violating cock turned her on more than the last, that she found herself naturally purring and grunting as she leaned her head back to lick slugs off her fingers or crunched down on grubs and beetles.

Not that she did not mind. Her stomach roiled at the thought and she vomited into her mouth before re-swallowing when they started making her swallow the things alive. But the act, the whore act, was so second nature that she just did it without thinking.

Almost over. Just a few days of hell to go and they would mercifully kill her. She wished she could see her son just one more time, but she had accepted her fate and would be glad when it was over.

Then, a couple of days before the appointed weekend, Ferrari and Bill decided they were going fishing at dawn. No sooner had they crossed the ridge then the Sir told her to eat her fill of anything she wanted. He started rummaging around in his tent. Then in the other tents. He came to her with a fully loaded rucksack.

And he unlocked the chain!

"Lets go", and they were off, him with a canoe on his shoulders. They hiked what seemed like miles further up the path not speaking a word. During a rest, she offered to try caring the pack but he declined; she was still barefoot and they had to make speed so she carried nothing but paddles. It never occurred to her that she should try and get away from him. This was a rescue, she had no doubts.

They came to a lake and as they paddled in and out of its bays she realized he did not know where he was going. He told her to get some clothes from the pack.

They found a portage. And a lake and a portage. And a hunter's cabin and a lake. All day under a blistering sun they trudged, until about four, when they found a road, a narrow gravel track. They followed it only to the first cottage they came to then he broke in, and brought the canoe in after him.

Flopping on a double bed, they slept.

Later, as it grew dark, he explained his dilemma. If he left her there, the others might find her. If he saw her back to safety, she could turn him in. She asked why he was doing this, and after he thought, he said simply, "Because its right".

"I won't turn you in." she vowed.

Could he believe her? He thought a long time before he declared,

"I'll trust you."

"What about the others?", she asked.

"Do what you want. I only just met them when they picked me up hitchhiking. What a bunch of assholes." (Ah, that explained a lot.) "Do you want to spend the next three years in court?"

Good question.

In the dark they walked for miles down the twisting road as other roads joined it and it widened finally joining a highway. He left her in a roadside diner and went out to beg a ride from a trucker.

She refused to talk to the police, aborted the baby they had left in her, and she never, ever had sex again.

[SiCkMaN '97]