Copyright© 2016 by Meatbot
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Teen girl is imprisoned by one of her perverted neighbors.
Stormi Sincere didn’t really like her name. A lot of the other kids at school made fun of it. She finally just learned to put her head down and deal with it. She was just glad that her mom had started her out in school with just her middle initial, instead of her actual name. Nobody knew her middle name, and nobody would, if she had her way. She just told people she didn’t have a name, just an initial. An “F”. Most people accepted that. Some of her friends called her by her initials, kind of, they called her “STFU Sincere”, at least in notes and such, which amused her. She liked that more than her name.
Anyway. She was a fairly normal fourteen year old girl, living in a fairly normal small town, in a fairly normal state. There wasn’t really anything about her that wasn’t fairly normal. She’s so normal, I’m not even going to really describe her, except to say that she’s a brunette, long, waist-length hair, dark and dusky, and really exceptionally beautiful, when you stopped and looked. At first glance most folks passed her over, but she often got second glances. And third, and fourth. She had that special something, that charisma, or whatever you want to call it. She was special, in spite of being normal.
Everybody noticed it, eventually. Some people quicker than others, like Mr. Grody, who lived down on the corner from her. He was the neighborhood weirdo. Every neighborhood has one, it seems. He was an older gentleman, probably in his mid fifties, and I say gentleman loosely. He was not very gentle. He bitched at the kids for walking in his yard. He bitched at the garbage men if any trash fell on the ground and they didn’t pick it up. He bitched at the manager of the local Walt-Mart if they didn’t have exactly what he wanted, which was pretty much every time he visited. He was one of those people that most folks avoided. But, just because he was a gripy whiny old man doesn’t mean he was evil or anything. But most folks that had been in town a long time knew the real truth behind him. He was evil. Or rather, he had been evil, in the past. He had done time, back in the seventies, for beating a woman, and trying to kidnap another one. Shit like that. That had been a long time ago. You had to give people a break, at some point. Now, most people just treated him like a whiny old bitchpot and avoided him.
Anyway, Mr. Grody seemed to have a soft spot for Stormi. Well, and any other cute girl, but her in particular. Nobody knew it except her. He always bought Girl Scout cookies from her, and stuff like that. Lots of it, usually, and he liked to stand at his door and talk to her as he did. He would always say “howdy” to her when she walked by on the way to and from school, if he was out. And, he was usually out, to make sure the kids didn’t walk in his yard. Maybe he liked her because she never walked in his yard. Then again, maybe he liked her because she was cute, and ... dare I say it ... sexy. Who knows.
Stormi knew. She could tell he was undressing her with his eyes. She felt it. She avoided him, as best she could, which wasn’t hard, since she hardly every saw him. She knew, though, at least subconsciously, that he perved over her. She could just feel it. She knew he was a dirty old man. On those rare occasions that he ran into her, though, he treated her like a long lost friend, and would want to stop and talk. She always did, just to be polite, but she avoided him if she could see him coming. And those damn breath mints. He always offered her a breath mint. He was always sucking on one. He probably needed to, she thought. But it made her paranoid about her own breath. I mean, she thought, why is he always offering me one? Am I that bad? Mr. Grody, more than her dentist, was responsible more than anything for her excellent dental hygiene.
She often saw him walking down the alley, shuffling, really, his head down, as he returned from Walley World, carrying those damn white sacks. He kind of made her laugh, then. She often sat out in her back yard, in the porch swing, sometimes until well after dark. One clear beautiful summer evening after she finished her chores up she went outside. She called her friend Bethany on her phone, but Bethany and her family were going to her Grandma’s house. Foot, she thought. Nothing to do. She wandered out into the back yard and sat in the swing like she often did.
The funniest thing was there, in the swing. A stupid breath mint. Oh god, she thought, did he leave this for me? He sees me sitting here when he walks down the alley. Did he leave this, for whatever reason he’s always trying to give me one? What a weirdo. She flicked it onto the ground, and sat.
It was a calm evening. It slowly turned into night. She opened her eyes with a start. What the hell was that? She’d been asleep, or close. A possum ran across her field of vision, and she laughed. She looked at the house. All the windows were dark, except for Filbert’s. Filbert wasn’t really his name, Phillip was his name, but she called her little brother Filbert, just to annoy him. It was Tuesday night, her mom would be across the street at the Devlin’s, playing poker. She relaxed, checked her phone for messages, and leaned back in the swing. She felt restless, and bored. She wished something would happen.
Something did happen. Somebody behind her clamped their hand over her mouth, and pressed something into her neck. She tried to scream, but she couldn’t even breathe at the moment, much less scream.
“Don’t make a peep,” a voice whispered, “I got a taser on your neck. You don’t wanna get tased, trust me.”
She didn’t really know what a taser was or what it did, but it was beside the point, she couldn’t even breathe. The person finally stopped pinching her nostrils, and she drew a shuddering gasping snuffle through her nose. She tried to struggle then, but the guy pressed the taser harder into her neck, and clicked the switch for a brief second. Searing pain, centered around her neck, ran through her body. She just froze, and stopped all resistance.
Now the guy had a problem. She was in the swing, and he was behind it. He finally just roughly dragged her over the back and let her feet fall to the ground. She didn’t even have the strength to stand. She realized by now that she was in deep trouble, and she knew that trouble’s name. Mr. Grody. She could almost recognize his scent. You bastard, she thought, you’d better not touch me or I’ll ... I’ll...
She didn’t know where to go from there. She didn’t have a dad, to stick up for her. She was mad enough at that moment to do her own sticking up for. If he’d just let her go. And that damn taser thing, that had really sucked.
“Stand up!” he hissed at her, and pulled her up a little. She stood, and tried to kick him in the nuts, behind her. She didn’t even get close.
“Uh uh!” he said, and pressed the taser to her neck again. She froze, out of fear, and was glad that he didn’t fire it again. He dragged her towards the alley. There wasn’t even a gate, just an opening to walk through. In seconds they were in the alley, headed towards his house.
Oh shit, oh shit, she thought. I cannot let him take me into his house. I just cannot. Her mind raced for things to do, for ways to get away from him. God, she thought, he’s strong for an old fart. Stormi wasn’t a big girl, but she wasn’t small, either. She was, like I said, average. But she was powerless in his grasp, she felt like a little kid again. He just dragged her along, through the darkness, headed for his house, now barely a few hundred feet away.
It was Mr. Grody, she now knew for certain. They were right at his house. Shit! she thought, how can he do this, how can he think he’ll get away with this, everybody knows he’s a perv ... and she knew about the stuff he’d done before, she’d heard people talking. He’ll be the first suspect, she thought. He’ll be number one on the list.
They were in his yard, now. She didn’t feel much satisfaction at being right, though. She was more scared than satisfied. He dragged her around back, to where two cellar doors lay opened.
“Step up,” he said, roughly, and she stepped over the concrete threshold, and down into the cellar. She did fight him then, taser or no taser, but it was too late. The two of them stumbled down the stairs, and at the bottom he zapped her again with the taser. Good, this time. She collapsed to the ground, quivering, unable to speak or scream or anything. He dropped her, and went back up the stairs to close the doors. By the time he returned she had recovered a little, but she still couldn’t stand. He went to a large water tank in the corner, and put his back into it, shoving it aside. He fiddled with the wall behind it, and then came back to her and roughly pulled her to her feet. He took her to where the water tank had been. A small doorway was now exposed, and it was dark inside. She fought him again, and she finally was able to scream. For just a second, though, and his hand clamped again over her mouth. She tried to bite him, and he pressed to taser to her neck.
“Don’t make me,” he said, and she stopped struggling. He pushed her head down, and shoved her through the hole. She stumbled and fell, and tried to get up in the darkness. He had followed her through, and he stepped on her as he tried to get situated. He finally found a switch and flipped on the light, and as she got to her feet she could hear the water tank scraping the ground as he pulled it back over the small doorway.
She turned to him, opening her mouth to scream, her hands out like claws. She was ready to gouge his eyes out, if she had to. He was a guy, and bigger and stronger than her, but not that much bigger and stronger. He body was vibrating with adrenalin. She knew that his was her only chance. She was in his basement, in his secret room. She just didn’t know it was a secret room, yet.
He held the taser in one hand, and now he had a small pistol in the other. Shit, she thought.
“Scream if you wish. No one can hear you in here. No one. This whole room, and the door, is soundproofed,” he said, waiting for her to attack. He could see the panic in her eyes, and the trembling of her hands. He knew he had to break her spirit, and quick.
“Don’t make me tase you again. And don’t make me shoot you. Look. Look behind you.”
She didn’t trust him enough to look. He motioned again, somewhere behind her. She finally turned, and glanced for a second behind her, and then back to him. She’d seen what looked like a large hole, dug in the earthen floor that was still in that corner.
“That’s your grave, if you don’t behave yourself,” he said. “I’ll put you in that hole and no one will ever find you. Nobody even knows this room exists. I dug it myself. It’s not on the plans of this house, even if they exist somewhere.”
“You bastard!” she screamed at him, feeling powerless. She was breathing so hard right now she was almost hyperventilating. She felt like she could kill him with her bare hands, if he hadn’t been armed.
“Get used to it. Turn around,” he said. She just stood there, staring at him, trying to burn him up with her hatred.
“Turn around!” he said, coming towards her with the taser. She flipped him off, and turned, turning her back to him like she didn’t care, like she wasn’t scared shitless.
He must have put the gun back in his pocket, because he grabbed her again, his arm around her neck. She didn’t struggle. Now is not the time, she told herself. Let it go. You will have your moment.
She looked up, as he dragged her forward. There, right in front of her, was a cage. Her mouth almost dropped open. Seriously, a cage? This almost seemed like something out of a bad movie by now. She almost stopped and shook her head.
The front of the cage was made out of some kind of thick clear plastic, an inch thick, at least. Metal strips ran up and down where the sheets were fitted together. A door with piano-case hinges stood open, and he shoved her in it, and shut the door. There were two clasps, one at the top, and one at the bottom, and he slid padlocks through each one. She ignored him for a moment, and turned and looked. The main body of the cage was made of steel beams with separated metal welded to them. The floor was some kind of hard plastic. There was a cot in one corner, with a single pillow and blanket. A small toilet chair was in the other corner. A table and a single chair was at the front, on the side where the door was not. In the middle, close to where she was standing now, was a slot, covered over at the moment, but hinged to allow it to swing down. At several places on the front of the cage dozens of holes were drilled in the plastic, assumably to allow airflow or conversation. She turned to stare at him.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she finally said. He just stared at her.
“A cage? I mean, really? A fucking cage?” she said, almost laughing. She felt hysteria just a moment away. Get a grip, she told herself.
“Stormi,” he finally said, still just staring at her, “this is your new home, until you learn to appreciate me. Get used to it. Accept it, and things will get better. Fight me, and you eventually will not exist.”
“Shit,” she just shook her head, and looked at him.
“And watch your language. Young ladies do not cuss,” he said. Again she felt hysteria bubbling just beneath her surface. Here she was, in a cage in a crazy old man’s basement, and he was lecturing her on her language.
“You better look around your new home in a hurry,” he said. “Until you prove you deserve it, I’m not leaving the lights on when I leave.”
Oh shit. The reality set in, and that. She did not want to be down her alone, in the dark. She plastered herself against the front of the cage, fighting down tears.
“Mr. Grody ... please,” she hated herself for begging. “Please don’t turn out the lights ... I’ll be good...”
“It won’t be totally dark. There is a red LED for my cameras in there. But, like I said, you need to earn it. We will start right now. Just be good and do what I say, and everything will be okay. Okay?”
She nodded, hating herself again. She made a vow, that instant, that she would have her vengeance on this motherfucker. On this crepuscular old fart who dared to put her in a cage. She would live, for no other reason, from here on out, to see his sorry ass in prison, or dead. So help me god, she told herself. So help me god.
He double-checked the locks, and turned to leave.
“I’ll be bring you breakfast in the morning. Just stay calm and quiet,” he said, and flipped off the lights. It was instantly, absolutely dark. She heard the scrape of the water tank. She heard the inner door shut, and the tank scraped again. Then there was silence.
In the upper front left corner of the prison cell, she saw a red LED shining. Another shone from the left rear corner. So, she realized, that was where the cameras were. Right before he had left, she had hurriedly looked around the basement, just to try and familiarize herself with her surroundings. In the far corner stood a regular toilet, looking funny all out in the open by itself. A sink was nearby. A table and a few shelves were pretty much it. In the other corner was some kind of weightlifting machine. And that was it.
Ha ha, you stupid old bastard, she thought, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She pushed the button, and it lit up, illuminating her face and a few feet around her.
Shit! No signal! She shook it, feeling hysteria mount again. Her hands trembled and she fumbled with the screen, going to messages. She sent a misspelled text to Phillip, saying simply “Mr Grody house”, but it didn’t send. No signal. She felt tears running down her face. She finally went to the cot, and slumped down, her back against the smooth wall of the cage. She did cry then, she cried her eyes out. For an hour or two, at least. She felt helpless, and alone, so alone. I cannot understand this, she told herself, I cannot understand why he is doing this. He could have raped her in the back yard, if he had wished that. He could have just raped her and left her. That would have been better than this. She had seen the hole in the floor. He’d called it her grave. She wondered if she’d go into that hole, eventually, no matter what. He wouldn’t dare turn her loose, after this.
She realized that as dark as it was, the two red LED lights in the corners of the cage provided a minimum of illumination. Now that an hour or so had passed, and her eyes had adjusted, she could see pretty good, in fact. She could make out the cot, and the toilet chair, and the other chair and table. There was something on the table. She rose and went to it, walking carefully, since it was still plenty dark. One the table was what looked like a stack of books, and several bottles of water. She opened one, and sniffed it experimentally. Just smells like water, she thought.
She jumped as some kind of buzzer went off. A few seconds later it buzzed again. She had no idea what it meant. She returned to the cot. She looked at her phone for a second, to see what time it was. A bit past nine. Her mother wouldn’t be home for another hour, she realized. She wouldn’t be missed, until then.
She realized about that time, in all the confusion and craziness of the abduction, that she had wet herself. Not a whole lot, but enough to be uncomfortable. It was slowly drying, but it would take a day or two for that to happen, if he didn’t give her more clothes.
Hours later, she was depressed. Really depressed. She realized that she wasn’t going to be found immediately. Don’t those idiots know? She thought. Can’t they figure this out? Who the hell else would do it? Who else but this guy?
She drank some water, and finally lay on the cot, and curled up under the blanket. It seemed hopeless to her, it they weren’t going to find her right away. She was in his hands, now.
She had no idea how long she’d slept. She looked at her phone, but it was just a number. She didn’t remember when she’d lain down. She finally heard the water tank being moved, and she got up and waited until he flipped on the light. She watched him enter the basement. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t want to start the conversation.
He had brought some food. He opened the feeding slot, and placed the plate on it. She smelled scrambled eggs and saw toast. Her stomach betrayed her by growling. She just stared at him, willing him to feel sorry for her and let her go.
He didn’t. He finally spoke, and it seemed like to her that he gloated. “I can’t stay long. I’m helping look for you.”
“You pathetic bastard,” was all she managed.
“Lot of excitement around her early this morning. Cops even showed up. I took them all through the house, even down into the cellar. Lots of excitement, over a little runaway girl.”
She just shook her head. She believed him, actually. She knew her mother would never believe she ran away. Where would she run to? There wasn’t anybody. She had no money. She had no street-smarts. She knew her mom wouldn’t believe that, for an instant. She wished she’d told her mom about Mr. Grody, before this. But, then, she wished lots of things. Wish in one hand, and shit in the other, as her uncle used to say.
“I guess you figured out your phone doesn’t work, down here,” he continued, “you are in a Faraday cage. No signal can get in, or out. Otherwise I would have taken it off of you. I’ve tried five different phones down here, including one just like yours. None of them even came close.”
He finally left. Just for the hell of it, she tried her phone again. Nothing. She looked at the time. It was hard for her, without sunlight or nighttime to help her judge the passage of time. It was day, her phone said it was daytime outside, and the day passed slowly. She badly wanted to play games on her phone, but she didn’t want to run the battery down. She still tried to text every now and then, hoping that at least one message would make it out. None ever did.
Mr. Grody made a few brief appearances, to give her a meal in-between lunch and dinner, and brief her on the search party progress. He seemed to find that amusing, and it pissed her off even more. She didn’t want to give him any satisfaction, so she tried her hardest to show no reactions to the things he said.
When her phone finally said it was midnight, she crawled onto the cot, covered up, cried a while, and finally she slept.
Day two was much like day one. Boring. She finally opened one of the books he’d placed on the table, and dropped it in disgust. It looked like school shit. Old school shit, at that. She figured these were the books that Mr. Grody had had in school, they looked that old. The second one down was math and shit. She hated math.
Day three was more of the same. Boredom overtook fright. She thought she was going to go absolutely crazy, and she thought it would serve him right. When he came to feed her she begged shamelessly for a TV to pass the time.
Day four was so bad she began to go through the books on the table. They were all old school books basically, and she read the ones with stories in them, as old and silly as they were. She told Mr. Grody when he brought lunch and dinner, that he needed to get some new textbooks. He just smiled and left.
By the fifth day, Mr. Grody was spending more time with her. Night time. He was upstairs during the day, helping with the search for her. At night, part of the night, anyway, he was downstairs in the basement, with her. That night, the fifth night, was one she would remember for a long time. Well, it goes without saying all this shit she’d remember, but this one stood out. It was the beginning of her humiliation.
He stood in front of the cage, and spoke to her. He had already had her to pass her blanket through the food slot, so he could wash it.
“Stormi. I am going to leave for a moment. Undress, and pass your clothes through the slot, so I can wash them.”
She regarded him coldly. “So you can perv over me? Hardly. Give me my blanket back.”
“The blanket is in the dryer. It is still wet. Stormi, you must cooperate, or you know the consequences. Darkness, and no food.”
“I know you watch me on those cameras. You just want to see me naked.”
“No. Just throw your clothes out, all of them. You have five minutes, and then your punishments will begin if you do not.”
Shit. She just stood and stared at him. You know, she thought, I really don’t care. It will only increase my chances to escape if he comes in here or I go out there. Especially that. If he sees me, so what? Maybe something will happen, then. Maybe some chance will come up.
He left the basement, like he said. She stripped down, quickly, taking everything off, only stopping for a moment to shoot the bird at the cameras. She stuffed the clothes out the food slot, and then went over to the cot. She turned it on it’s side, and squatted behind it, hiding her body from him, at least.
She halfway thought maybe he was actually going to wash her clothes, and she thought, they need it. Her panties especially, where she’d peed on herself. Damn, she’d worn them like five days now.
He returned, and regarded her with amusement. “You can’t live like that, my dear,” he said, gathering up her clothes.
He turned. “I’m sorry to deceive you. I now have your clothes. You’ll get them back when you earn them. One piece at a time. Thank you for understanding.”
Shit. She just stared at him. The bastard. The goddam bastard. Now what? He was right, she couldn’t hide behind the cot forever. She slowly stood, staring at him, and turned the cot back upright. She flipped him off, slowly, shaking her hand at him, and then lay down on the cot. At least it was warm enough in here that she wouldn’t freeze.
The next day he pulled up a chair, and sat on the other side of the glass, and basically watched her. She was beautiful, to him. Well, she would have been beautiful to anyone, but she especially was to him, in his obsessiveness. She had long smooth legs, and a thin muscular waist. Her breasts were about average size, for a girl her age, and topped with two pink fleshy nipples. Her arms were muscular, and even her neck was sexy to him. He could just imagine nibbling on it. Her hair was long and beautiful. It was so long, in fact, that she had now sat in the chair, and crossed her legs, and covered her breasts with her hair. He didn’t care, he had her on camera.
He had two cameras in opposite corners of the cage, and everything they took was motion-triggered, and going to an encrypted drive, in the background. The cops had even examined his computer. The idiots. They were so dumb, he thought, they hadn’t checked the processes running in the background. Of course, he’d changed the names of anything suspicious, anyway. And, the cameras were wireless, and encrypted. No cables to trace. He’d planned this shit for twenty years, probably. For way longer than this girl was old. He didn’t plan on screwing up, this time. This one was for keeps, either way you looked at it.
She just sat there and stared at him, and he stared back. Even if he couldn’t see her body, he was happy to stare her in the face. She was the most beautiful thing in the world to him. He loved her desperately, and insanely. He loved her more than anything, although he was hurting her. In his mind he was doing the right thing. He was going to make her love him. She deserved it, as much as he did.
“Mr. Grody,” she finally said, stirring him from his revere. “What exactly do you want from me? Help me understand.”
He was silent for a long time. Just when she thought he wasn’t ever going to answer, he spoke.
“Just your love, and obedience. Your mind, heart, body and soul.” He finally said.
Shit. That didn’t help her much. She wasn’t sure what she’d hoped he would say, anyway. He’d said everything, and nothing.
“Okay,” she said, “you’ve got it. Just let me out of here.”
He smiled, and shook his head. “Stormi. I’m not an idiot. We both know it’s not that easy. It will take time. It will take time to just see if you are coming over to me.”
Well, she thought, it was worth a try. She just sat there and stared at him. He finally had enough of looking at her, and stood. He waved, and left the basement. She crawled back onto the cot.
The potty chair was hard for her to get used to. Not peeing, peeing wasn’t a problem. Pooping was the problem, for her. The first time she did it, she was embarrassed at the smell it made. When he finally came, he smelled it, and told her to pass the bowl through the food slot, so he could dispose of it. She finally did, she just wanted to get it out of there. He just stood there, and examined it like it was some great special something, she thought. That was really embarrassing to her, for some reason. That he paid that much attention to her shit. She halfway expected him to start digging around in it or something. Finally he took it and flushed it down the toilet in the corner. She shuddered. The creep. The fucking creep.
She didn’t know it, but she’d been in the basement a week. She had lost all track of time. Even looking at the date on her phone, on those rare moments when she turned it back on, meant nothing to her. She couldn’t even remember when he’d taken her. Her mind was numb, with the reality of her captivity, and the overwhelming boredom of it.
On the seventh day, her training began.
It was night, but she didn’t know it. He appeared, and fed her a small sandwich. She gobbled it up, and drank some bottled water, and then sat, just staring at him. She was so bored that even he was starting to seem interesting. Don’t let that happen, she told herself. She had had a teacher once that read them a story about the Stockholm Syndrome, where prisoners began to sympathize with their captors. She was determined not to allow that to happen. She tried to keep that foremost in her mind.
She no longer minded that he saw her naked. That quick, it didn’t seem to bother her. She no longer tried to hide anything. He got an eyeful every time he came in. It just didn’t bother her anymore. Well, she knew she was always kind of an exhibitionist. But not for dirty old men. She mooned the boys at school enough times that a teacher had finally gave her a talking-to about it. She’d been the first to strip and dive in the swimming hole, when she went skinny-dipping with the other girls. And she’d thought, if the boys were here, I’d do the same. It wouldn’t bother me.
She had plenty of time now to practice not being bothered. He seemed to be spending more and more time down with her, probably because of that. He loved to sit and just watch her, like a collector gets out his favorite coin or butterfly and pores over it. She satisfied some deep something inside of him. She made him feel good.
The next part of her training excited him. He had looked forwards to this for a long time. Way before he knew she was the one. He brought a small TV set, a small flat screen and remote into the room. He set it where she could see it. She did, immediately, and eagerly asked if it was for her. He nodded.
“Yes, but you’ll have to allow me in the cage to hook it up,” He said. She nodded. She didn’t care if he came in, she just wanted a TV. He went to the far wall, and picked up the end of a rope. When he stretched it out, it almost reached to the front wall of her cage. It was hooked to a ring in the wall. On the other end, the cage end, was a large hook with a snap to close it. He motioned to her.
“Stick your hands through the slot,” he said, and she did, somewhat hesitantly. He pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket, and had one snapped around her wrist before she reacted, and pulled her other hand back.
“Stormi. You must let me do this if I am to open the door,” he patiently waited for her to argue it out with herself, and she finally stuck her other hand through the slot. He snapped the handcuff around it, and then reached down and got the end of the rope. He snapped the hook around the handcuff chain, and now she was bound, her hands through the slot, her body fairly immobilized. She realized that now he’d be able to do anything he wanted to her. Well, that was the point they’d been at for a week now. Just now, though, she couldn’t fight back. She was tied.
He took a roll of cable, and screwed it into a wall jack, and then screwed it into the back of the TV and tested it, after plugging the TV into a light socket plug. It seemed to be fine. He unscrewed it, and fished around in his pocket for the keys to the padlocks on her door. He opened them, and brought the TV and set it on the table. He went back outside and threaded the cable and power cord through two air holes in the cage wall, and then re-entered the cage and plugged up the TV. He tested it again, and it seemed to work fine. He changed the channel, turned it off, and then put the remote in his pocket.
He exited the cage again, and stood where she could see him.
“Stormi,” he spoke, “This next thing is for your own good. I know that you are a strong girl, and we have to break that, somehow. This will be the first time, and maybe the last, if you are obedient. If you respond well to the treatment. Okay?”
She didn’t reply. She was steeling herself for whatever he was going to do. She realized now that she’d made a mistake letting him tie her down the way he had. She realized by now that it was probably going to be bad. She was right.
He went to a box of stuff beside the door, and returned with a small riding crop, the kind that horse racers use to whip their horses. It had a small fold of leather, on the end. A tassel, kind of.
She watched him with fearful eyes. He came right into the cage, and positioned himself behind her. She didn’t try to see him. She finally closed her eyes, and put her head down on her arms. She tightened every muscle in her body, waiting for the pain to begin.
He stood beside her, staring at her beautiful ass. He hated to do this, well, not really, but he hated to mess up the beauty of her firm young butt. He knew it would heal up, though. All he was going to do was make some red marks, anyway.
When the first slap came, it wasn’t that bad, she thought. Maybe I’ll make it through this, she mused. Maybe it won’t be that bad. The next hit stung pretty bad, though. And the third, even more. The fourth hit where she’d been hit before, and that one really burned. She bit her tongue. By the tenth one, she tasted blood in her mouth. By the twentieth, she screamed. She lost count, and howled. She fought against the rope, the handcuffs cutting into her wrists. She gyrated and danced, trying to move her bottom around and make him miss. She succeeded sometimes, but it didn’t slow him down. At some point he stopped, but she didn’t really notice it for a while. She was awash in a sea of pain, her poor ass sending her overloaded signals of hurt, piping it right into her brain.
Stormi hadn’t actually been hurt in years. Well, minor scrapes and bruises, but she’d never broken a bone, and rarely even broken skin. She didn’t handle pain well, she knew that about herself. But this. This was something she’d never imagined. When she regained her senses, she was almost hanging by her arms, her legs had turned to rubber. Her ass still smarted, enough to almost drive her crazy. She finally got to her feet and got the pressure off her arms from the food slot. She felt tears still streaking down her cheeks. More than anything, she wanted to hurt him just as bad as he had hurt her. She just felt so powerless, though.
He left the cage for a moment. She stood, resting her head on her arms again, and breathed deeply for a while. Her ass still hurt like hellfire. It burned, she thought.
He returned, with a jar of something. He dropped the lid on the floor, and suddenly cool relief began to spread across her ass. For a while, it didn’t even bother her that he was touching her ass, it felt so good. It just felt so damn good. The pain didn’t totally go away, but the chill of the creme or salve or whatever it was felt great.
She snorted, finally, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
His voice was confident, “not as much now as I’m going to.”
Oh shit, she thought, what does he mean by that? Here I am, my hands tied, and my ass sticking out? What the hell is he going to do next? Shit, shit.
He finished swabbing salve on her ass, and put the lid back on, and put the stuff up.
“Stormi,” he said. She just glared at him. She was pissed off about the whipping. The pain was pretty much gone, now, but she figured it would hurt to sit down. She didn’t ever remember, in her whole life, experiencing pain like that. She realized, to her disgust, that she would probably do whatever she had to, to keep that from happening again. She felt like he had had a point, and proved it. He had definitely won this round.
“I’m going to take advantage of your ... situation to bathe you. It’s been a week, and I’m sure you’ll feel better afterwards. Just don’t fight me or I’ll stop and leave, and you can be filthy a while longer.”
“You bastard,” she said, gritting her teeth, “unlock me and I can do that. You just want to paw on me. I know what you want.”
“Stormi. That is unkind. Let me do this, this one time, and show you how. Then, if you are able to keep yourself clean, I will allow you to do it. Understand?”
Shit. What choice did she have. She just shut up, feeling like arguing was pointless with him. He was obviously crazy. Just what he’d done so far showed that.
He left for a while, and returned with a basin of soapy water, and a rag. She was getting pretty tired of her position, her back hurt, and her legs felt like they were almost cramping. But what the hell could she do?
He soaked the rag, and she felt him run it down her back. Then he stopped. That was it? she thought.
Suddenly she felt his hands upon her buttocks. She instinctively knew what had happened. He had cracked. He couldn’t stand it anymore. What was going to happen next, only god knew.
She squirmed and wiggled, and he clamped his hands firmly on her butt. And it hurt, where he had whipped her. It hurt when his hands touched there. She thought about trying to kick backwards, but she didn’t figure she’d be able to kick hard enough to matter. He’d already shown himself to be surprisingly stronger than he’d looked. She figured he was guarding his nuts, also.
She felt something touch her, in-between her ass cheeks. In her crack. Oh, shit, she thought. Sure enough, she could tell it was his face. She jerked as something touched her right on her anus. Shit. It was warm and wet. It was his tongue. She squirmed, pain or no pain. He dug his fingers into her, painfully, and she stopped. He licked her asshole, and up and down her crack. He licked her sweet little perineum. He fell in love with her all over again, licking her, tasting her. And, oh, did she have taste, back there. She hadn’t had a bath in a week. All she’d had to clean herself with was toilet paper. But to him, she tasted sweeter than the sweetest wine. He almost felt high, licking her. Basically, all he could taste was shit. But, it was the most fabulous, sweetest shit he’d ever tasted. She was just too much, he thought.
He had dreamed about this for years. It wasn’t working out exactly like his dreams, in his dreams the girl was a little more willing, and maybe a bit younger, but you take what you can get. He curled his tongue up into a spike, and drove it into her soft young asshole. The taste got even stronger, then. He drank her in, he gulped her, he consumed her. He was high, he thought. He felt like he was drinking moonshine, like he was a kid again. His heart was pounding. Something was buzzing in his ears. He was in heaven. She was absolutely divine.
Something was buzzing? Shit! He leapt up, and ran out of the cell. In a second he was through the hidden door, closing it, and she heard the water tank being scooted back. Well, shit, she thought. She could feel his saliva drying on her anus. This is a fine mess, she thought. God, she wished she could sit down.
He was gone forever. She finally figured that she would just die, and turn into a skeleton, hunched over the slot in the wall. Shit. When she finally heard him scooting the tank back, she was pissed.
“Mr. Grody!” she started right in on him, as soon as he entered the room. “My legs are killing me! I’ve been like this for hours! For god’s sake, turn me loose, I’ve gotta move around some. You are so mean to me! First the whipping, and then this?”
She moaned and whined, and he stood before her, seeming kind of apologetic. He finally closed the cell door, and locked the padlocks. He fished around in his pockets, and came out with a small key that he used to unlock the handcuffs. With a sigh of relief she stood, and placed both her hands on her back, working out the kinks. He watched her unabashedly, still in love, still tasting her juicy asshole on his lips.
She finally collapsed into the chair, and stretched. She could feel her tits bouncing up and down, but she didn’t care. Let him peep. She just wanted to rest, and get those kinks out of her back and legs.
He still watched her, and thought about how she tasted. His mind raced for a way to do it all again. He didn’t figure she’d willingly stick her hands through the slot to be handcuffed again. Not for a while, at least. He had a new plan, though. Tonight. He’d start on it, tonight. But first, he had some things to tell her.
“That was the cops again,” he told her, “that buzzer is the front door. The cops were there. They said they thought that they had left a radio in the cellar, and wanted to look for it. Yeah, right. Anyway, they spent about twenty minutes looking for the ‘radio.’ They didn’t find it, or you. Ha ha.”
That was depressing. Cops had been right there, on the other side of the door? She wished she’d known, she would have screamed her lungs out. If it would have done any good. Well, it gave her a little hope, at least. They were still looking for her. And it seemed like they suspected Mr. Grody, at least a little bit. She just hoped they didn’t give up.