Chapter 14

Lisa Chapman went out for her usual run, her mind racing with a startling realization—she had uncovered the truth about her daughter Lola’s disappearance and knew who had kidnapped her. Fueled by urgency, Lisa rushed home, ready to call the police. But before she could act, she was ambushed, tasered, and plunged into unconsciousness.

When Lisa awoke, sheer terror consumed her. She couldn’t see, hear, or speak. A suffocating mask covered her face, and a gag, some kind of thick metal cylinder, was forced between her jaws and into her throat, stopping her from speaking or making any sound. She was confined in a small, claustrophobic crate or box. Her body was contorted—knees pressed tightly against her breasts, ankles bound together and wrists tied to the same binding, her hands trapped awkwardly between her feet. Her neck was painfully bent forward as the ceiling of the crate pressed down on her head.

She was naked except for what felt like a thong still in place between her legs. Escape was impossible. Each movement sent her body bumping against the wooden walls of her prison. The air was stifling, and combined with the gag, each breath was difficult. At times, she feared the air had run out and that her heart would explode from the crushing sense of suffocation and panic.

The crate moved—knocked, lifted, or transported—for what felt like hours. Sounds were muffled, distant, barely perceptible through the mask and the thick wooden confines.

Suddenly, after a series of extra painful jolts, she felt the cylinder slide further down her throat, and for a moment, she thought she would choke to death. She bobbed her head desperately and managed to force it up a few millimeters, allowing just enough air for her to breathe. Her crate then came to a sudden, unsettling stillness.

A faint shift in the atmosphere signaled a change—the crate was being opened. A sliver of faint light seeped in.

A human touch gripped her. Hands reached in, grabbing her wrists and securing them with another binding, further connecting them together. Fingers moved towards her mask, probing through the material openings and pressing into her ears. The invasive sensation of fingers prodding her eardrums sent waves of discomfort and panic through her. Something was forced inside her ears—like headphones.

Her wrists and ankles were then untied, but her wrists remained bound together and connected to what felt like a rope attached somewhere high above. She rejoiced briefly in the small freedom of being able to lift her head, straighten her back, and rest her hands on her knees. But she was still blind, deaf, gagged, and struggling to breathe.

Her thoughts were abruptly shattered by a piercing noise activating in her ears, which then settled into a low, repetitive white noise. It was relentless, burrowing into her mind and drowning out all other sensations.

The rope attached to her wrists began pulling. She tried to hold onto it, but it grew taut, pulling her arms upward until they were fully extended above her head. Her back scraped against the crate wall as she was lifted, her thighs squeezed uncomfortably within the narrow confines, and her bottom scraped painfully against the wood. She tried to scream, but the gag silenced her.

Eventually, she was pulled upright, standing on unsteady feet. But the rope didn’t stop. It continued to pull, lifting her onto her toes, then finally off the ground entirely ... Her arms, wrists, elbows, armpits, and ribcage burned with pain as her body swung, occasionally hitting the crate walls.

Lisa felt as though she was spinning, floating in empty space, blind, deaf, and unable to make a sound. The white noise filled her mind as her body hung suspended in pain and fear.

Standing in front of her in the basement was Pembroke, still dressed in his fake workman clothes, and Lola, in her real school uniform—a white blouse, blue tie, with a blue skirt, white frilly ankle socks, and blue shoes. Her blonde hair was tied back into two ponytails at either side of her head. Pembroke stood behind Lola, his hands resting heavily on her shoulders, fingers kneading into her back. They almost looked like a plausibly normal father/grandfather and daughter, were it not for the background of a sex dungeon, and the fact hey were both standing before a almost fully naked woman suspended from the air, her head covered by a mask, her legs kicking fruitlessly in the air.

“Do you recognize your mother’s body, Lola?” Pembroke asked her.

“If you say it is her, sir, then I believe it,” Lola said softly. She wanted to reach out and comfort her mother. She could see the way her mother’s now unnaturally pneumatic breasts rose and fell with each labored breath, the skin stretched taut over her ribcage, her legs trembling and growing weak, and her arms pulled unbearably tight above her head. The mask obscured her mother’s head entirely. Lola was certain it was her mother, and all she wanted was for her to be let down, to breathe, and to be held in her arms.

“She can’t hear you, don’t worry,” said Pembroke, stroking her hair. “Can’t see, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Hahaha! I wish she had been like that in my office. I have a feeling she’ll be causing a lot of trouble down here once I let her run that mouth again.”

He squeezed Lola’s neck slightly. “That’s why she needs to get the message from the very start. Understand?”

Lola quietly said, “Yes, sir. What would you like me to do?”

“Just stick to what we rehearsed, and don’t let your mother’s complaining or anger get to you. Remember, she has no power down here—and neither do you. But I can see how much you care for her, so I’ll let her down, ease that strain on her arms.”

He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, his voice low and dripping with menace. “I expect to see all that love expressed in some very, very naughty ways soon. Eh?”

Lola was just relieved to see Pembroke adjust the pulley, lowering her mother’s dangling legs closer to the ground. He carefully positioned it so that only the tips of her toes touched the floor. She could support herself, but still not fully relax or bend her arms. Forced to remain on tiptoes, her torso stayed taut, her chest stretched upward, causing her breasts to tilt slightly skyward, her nipples following suit.

“Now, Lola, this is your chance to have a proper feel of a woman’s body! You’ve never had it before, never had the chance. Your mother will never know it was you and not me.”

He laughed, his breath hot as he chuckled into her ear, then he patted her bottom and sent her forward.

“Go on, explore!” came the voice from behind her.

Lola cautiously approached the quivering body. Her mother’s masked head shifted slightly, and the soft layers of fat on her tummy, breasts, and hips trembled with each subtle movement. Yet, despite the slight softness, her mother was in tremendous shape. The painful pose accentuated her figure, making it appear almost statuesque.

Lola cautiously reached out and touched her mother’s stomach. The scent of her skin was warm and milky, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat that clung to her. She had been sweating—running, locked in a crate for hours, tasered, and now suspended painfully by her arms.

The sweat was familiar, the scent familiar, the skin familiar—like her own. Soft, warm, welcoming. Not hateful, not cruel ... not like him.

She raised her eyes to her breasts, at the pert mounds of flesh before her—so full, so unlike her own. Veins traced faint patterns beneath the skin, and the weight of them pushed outward with her mother’s stretched chest. They shook slightly with each shallow breath from their owner. Soft. Warm. Not sexual, not vulgar—just strange. Strange, yet somehow gentle and familiar.

“Suck on the nipple, Lola, you know you want to” said Pembroke excitedly.

Lola thought of the disgusting things all over Pembroke’s body. This body was refuge, as were these breasts. She opened her mouth and suckled on her mother’s nipple, hugging her as she did so.

Inside the mask, Lisa was in turmoil. The relentless sound pulsing in her ears was driving her mad, her body felt like it was on fire. She had no idea what was happening, but she was acutely aware of being naked and felt the mouth on her breasts. She braced herself, preparing for the worst.

“You have all the time in the world,” Pembroke said gently to Lola, his voice the calmest and kindest it had ever been. He seemed genuinely pleased that she had taken to this.

Lola closed her eyes as she moved to the other breast, her lips grazing the soft skin. She began kissing up and down her mother’s neck beneath the mask, inhaling the milky, sweat-soaked aroma. Her arms tightened firmly around her mother’s waist, holding her close.

Meanwhile, Pembroke stripped down to his shiny black thong. Everything was going according to plan, but Lisa still had to be unmasked and introduced. A surge of anger bubbled within him at the thought of Lisa corrupting the obedient slave he had trained so meticulously.

He joined Lola, letting his hands roam over Lisa’s body. His fingers traced the tension in her athletic legs—slim yet toned, thicker than Lola’s, and much longer. He savored the smooth curve of her buttocks, framed by her black thong, and let his touch glide upward along the graceful arch of her back. His hands lingered on her tensed shoulder blades before sliding down to appreciate her hourglass figure.

“I think your mother has pissed herself,” he said, his voice laced with mock concern as his hand slid between his legs, feeling the soaked fabric of the thong. “You Chapman girls seem to do that a lot. You’re lucky I’m so tolerant of a bit of piss play.”

He smiled at Lola, who wanted to say, “Of course my mother pissed herself.” After all, she’d been kidnapped, beaten, electro-shocked, and trapped in a box. She would be even more terrified if she knew what this animal had in store for her. But she kept quiet, and meekly smiled at her master.

“Before I take the mask off, Lola, put your finger inside your mother and have yourself a feel—and a taste. Go on, get yourself accustomed to her pussy now.”

Lola put her hand between her mother’s legs and was disgusted by the hot, wet feel of her thong. It felt strange, after getting used to what Pembroke had between his legs, but it was like her own—nothing there, but ... well...

“Taste it, taste the piss first,” Pembroke coaxed her.

Lola raised her finger to her nose. It tasted strong and acidic and stale. She was used to it, like her own, like Pembroke’s. She licked her fingers, then moved her hand under her the thong, watching her mother’s stomach ripple at the strongest invasion yet.

Her hand moved cautiously over stubble covered skin before encountering soft, loose folds beneath the fabric—warm, damp, and slick. She traced a finger along the delicate seam, following the moist valley that parted the flesh. The texture felt unfamiliar—more yielding, wetter, and softer than her own. As her fingers explored deeper, she was struck by the unsettling looseness warmth.

She pulled her hand out, her fingers coated in sticky fluid. Thin strands clung between them, glistening and wet. She put them in her mouth, sucking them clean.

“Good girl Lola, now I think it’s time to introduce herself to your mother.” said Pembroke moving to take the earphones off.

Lisa had bit down hard on her gag as the fingers worked their way into her vagina—a violation she had braced herself for. Yet, the sudden silence after the white noise was cut off was an even bigger shock.

Lola watched, transfixed, as Pembroke loomed over her mother. His broad shoulders, thick chest, and rounded belly—covered in coarse hair—dominated the helpless naked female. The black thong he wore matched Lisa’s, an eerie symmetry that made the scene even more unsettling.

Pembroke began to remove Lisa’s mask, carefully undoing each strap and fastening. Lisa could barely move; her restricted body allowed only slight wriggles of her fingers and a faint sway of her hips.

Lola’s gaze remained locked on the mask, her breath hitching in anticipation. She waited for the moment her mother’s eyes would be revealed—for their gazes to finally meet.

Lisa squinted as a burst of light hit her eyes, blinking and shaking her head to adjust. The mask was gone, but the thick black gag remained, strapped tightly around her face, the cylindrical piece still forcing her mouth open and buckled behind her head.

Her blonde hair, damp with sweat, clung to her flushed face and stuck to her eyes. She shook her head again, trying to clear her vision, sweat dripping down her reddened skin.

As her sight began to focus, she took in her surroundings—some kind of subterranean dungeon. In front of her stood two blurred figures: a large middle aged man and a young girl, both watching her intently.

The man stood before her—naked, or nearly so, wearing an obscenely skimpy thong. He was massive, towering with a broad frame, his flabby yet muscular body covered in patches of hair. As her eyes traveled upward to the bald head perched atop that hulking frame she recognized the cruel grin spreading across the face of Edward Pembroke.

It took her a few seconds longer to shift her stunned gaze to the girl standing beside him. Unlike him, she was fully dressed in a familiar school uniform—navy blue with a crisp white blouse. Then Lisa noticed the blonde hair, the neatly tied pigtails, and finally, the familiar face staring back at her of her daughter.

“What the fuck is going on?” she screamed inside her head.

Pembroke stood with one arm draped possessively over her daughter’s shoulder. The girl’s face was blank, her wide eyes locked onto Lisa’s. Despite the hulking, nearly naked figure towering beside her, she remained unflinching.

For minutes, the basement was filled with nothing but the muffled, rasping wheeze of Lisa’s breath through the cylindrical gag. Pembroke and Lola stood still, their eyes fixed on Lisa’s trembling body and her wide, frightened, and confused gaze.

“Lola, I think you should welcome your mother to her new home,” Pembroke said, as he waited for Lola to play her part.

Lola smoothed down her dress and adjusted her blouse, as if preparing to give a presentation at school. She walked slowly toward her mother, her eyes mournfully focused on Lisa. Her tone remained neutral, almost detached.

“Hi, Mommy. Welcome to your new home,” she said softly. “You and I are going to be Mr. Pembroke’s slaves, and he will be our master. You have to call him ‘Sir’ or ‘Master.’ I’ll help you, and I’ll teach you how to be a good slave. It’s not so bad.”

She stepped closer, curious at how her mother seemed afraid of her. “Today marks your capture day,” Lola said calmly. “As a gift to our master, I’m going to remove your underwear and present them to him—a trophy to commemorate your capture.”

Lola placed her hands on Lisa’s hips, hooking her thumbs under the thin waistband of the thong. Slowly, she pulled it downward, letting the fabric slide over Lisa’s hips and down her legs until it gathered around her ankles. With Lisa still balancing on her tiptoes, Lola carefully tugged the thong free from beneath her feet.

Lola turned and carried the soiled black thong to Pembroke.

“Sniff it and lick it, my darling,” Pembroke said with a cruel smile. “Enjoy it—it’s your mother’s scent.”

Lisa heard all this and retched as she watched her daughter bring the thong to her face and saw her stick dart out and over the gusset of the material, then present it to Pembroke like a token.

“I now have in my possession four pairs of your used panties, Lisa,” he said to her with a wild look in his eye. “I took the first one when I took Lola from your apartment. I took the second when you were here, above ground, in my house, selling yourself. I took the third when I had you drugged and used by those men, and now I have the fourth. I will treasure them; their scent will linger and forever remind me of the taking of you.”

Lisa took in the crazed stare of Pembroke. His greying hair shot out in wild tufts from his bald, grotesque head, making him resemble a mad professor—if mad professors usually had huge, hairy bodies and wandered around wearing nothing but a thong! His mouth salivated as he fumbled with the dirty underwear in his hand.

Lisa knew the malevolent, evil Pembroke—or at least she thought she did. But this ... This was something different. Something far more unsettling. Something genuinely frightening. He was mad.