BOUND IN MATRIMONY
He stared at her. Beautiful eyes stared back with a delicious blend of anger, fear, and sleepiness as she struggled to shake the drug. She looked so fine in that strapless floral print dress! She was the sort of girl on whom any clothes looked great. Whatever she wore seemed stylish. Even the ropes and the cleave gag, as much as she was trying to free herself from them, looked like fashion accessories.
After nearly ten years, she was his!
She didn’t know it, but it all started when they were both in high school. She at the Catholic girls’ school across the street and down a block, and he at the only public school in the rural county. Every guy in his school was a little bit in love with her. They used to wait in front of the campus for her to walk by after school was out. She lived only a short distance from her school, and always walked. She was so naïve, she had no idea what affect she had on the public school boys.
Of course, she paid him no attention. Girls rarely did. But neither did she pay attention to the other guys, even those who beat girls off with a stick. Everyone figured she was spoken for. None had the courage to ask.
Some years later, after they’d graduated and moved on, she married a fellow from their school, surprising everybody*
In fact, she wasn’t spoken for in high school. She’d never even had a date. If anyone, anyone at all, at the nearby public school had asked her out, she’d’ve probably said yes out of gratitude. The first boy who ever did ask her out turned out to be from her home town. A sophomore at the University where she was just starting as a freshman. Both scholarship kids, she academic, he football. He shyly told her how he, and every guy in his school, had all loved her from afar. She was flabbergasted. He asked her out. She accepted.
Time passed. He was injured, ending hopes of earning a degree, let alone having a pro career. She graduated with honors, a BA, and a teacher’s credential. They’d fallen in love, and despite the education gap, married, at the same church in their hometown where she was baptized and received her first communion.
He made a decent living as a salesman, despite his lack of a degree. She brought in a few extra dollars substitute teaching. Before long they had a baby girl.
One night, coming home from a sales meeting in another town, he was killed in a car accident. She was left alone, a widowed mother.
Her folks moved in to help with the baby while she earned a living. Full-time teaching posts were rare in their sparsely populated state, so she had to hustle for long-term sub positions, some of which were far out of town, forcing her to get temporary lodgings and leave her daughter alone with her parents.
The accident that killed her husband was no accident. It was murder made to look like accidental. Murder that her captor had committed.
He’d kept tabs on her after dropping out of school. He’d joined the Cannibals, a biker gang spread over several Midwestern states. Becoming fully patched in a very short period of time, assuming the presidency in a phenomenally short period of time, he never lost his obsession. Determined to have her, being head of a powerful criminal organization gave him the means to do so.
Step one: getting rid of her husband.
Which he did by running him off the road in his chopper, then making sure he was dead. A simple crash, as far as anyone knew.
Some big-shot cop from the state capital (another alumni of his old school, coincidentally) had come around investigating, but the biker’s tracks were covered.
He’d wait. Wouldn’t do for her to disappear so soon after her husband’s death. He’d give her the traditional year to mourn.
Then he’d strike.
Now she’d a teaching assignment far from home. The time was right. On her first day he followed her into the school, found a hiding place (there are always plenty in old buildings), and waited ‘til school was out and everyone left. He knew she always stayed behind on her first day, reviewing her predecessor’s work. Soon they were the only two left in the building.
He’d donned coveralls he’d brought along, counting on her not yet knowing the custodial staff. They also had the effect of transforming his scraggly, bearded, “outlaw biker” look into a blue-collar “working guy” look.
He knocked on the door, opened it, and said, “Hi. You must be the new sub.”
She smiled and nodded. She looked great. Modestly dressed, but still hot. A white angora pullover sweater over a floral print skirt that extended well below her legs.
He continued, “I’m the kinda new assistant janitor. Just got myself a pop.” He indicated the paper cups he was holding in each hand. “When I noticed the light on, I got you one, too. Coke okay?”
She smiled, thanked him, and told him she wouldn’t be here much longer.
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll probably be here ‘til past eight, anyway.”
He took a long pull on his Coke. She took several ladylike sips. It wouldn’t take more than that.
Her eyes didn’t exactly close, but it wasn’t exactly an anesthetic. More a muscle relaxer. More accurately, a muscle paralyzer. She’d be awake enough to understand what was going on, but unable to do anything about it.
The angora sweater, while quite attractive on her, was a bit baggy, hiding her figure. He removed it, and was pleasantly surprised to find that, underneath, she wasn’t wearing a conservative skirt, but a strapless dress.
“Kinda fancy, darlin’,” he said. “Have a date tonight? Well, it’s been over a year since your husband died. Guess that’s a reasonable mourning period. But now that you and I are engaged, you really shouldn’t be seeing other guys.”
Discarding the sweater, he gagged her, a tight cleave gag that not only silenced her, but gathered her lovely hair attractively around her shoulders. Then he tied her wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees. She wasn’t wearing hose. Her skin was so creamy and smooth, she didn’t need to. He shoes were strappy, high-heeled sandals, another indication she’d festive plans for the evening. Lastly, he secured her arms to her body, encircling ropes tightly around her upper torso, above and below her bosom. Then he hoisted her over his shoulder, took her to a storage room near the back entrance, and locked her in.
He thought they were engaged? As far as she knew, they’d never met.
She was meeting someone tonight. The special investigator who’d been called in after her husband’s crash. He insisted it was murder, and had proof. But no leads to who’d done it.
Was it her kidnapper?
And was the detective, who’d seemed a bit smitten with her (it was mutual, which was why she’d dressed up a bit), smart enough to know she wouldn’t’ve stood him up? Was escape possible?
He returned. The sight of her trying to loosen her bonds set his heart racing. Again he hoisted her over his shoulder and took her to his ride, parked by the back entrance. The trunk was already open. He placed her inside. Before closing the lid, he pulled down the top of her dress, exposing her bosom, and began kneading them roughly. Then stopped abruptly.
“Can’t get distracted,” he said. “Plenty of time when we get home, but it’s a long drive.”
“Home” was a spacious, attractive wood farmhouse, on what appeared to be a huge piece of acreage, though she had time for little more than an impression before being hoisted over his shoulder again.
Once he had the front door open, he switched from an over-the shoulder carry to a cradle carry and stepped inside.
“Proper way to carry a bride over the threshold,” he said.
Minutes later, he’d stripped her, leaving her in nothing but her white cotton briefs, and added another rope, which came down over one shoulder, was threaded underneath the rope crossing below her breasts, then came up over the other shoulder to be tied at her back to both chest ropes. Then he took her below to a room prepared in the basement, tossed her on a bed, and climbed in with her.
For the next three hours, she lay on her side with him behind her. One of his hands snaked under her head. reaching across her chest to find one of her breasts and begin mercilessly squeezing. The other reached over from above to slide under her panties and begin exploring her most intimate parts.
Meanwhile, he grinded against her bottom, barely pausing, climaxing over and over, drenching her panties in his cum. She moaned in fear and misery. It made him even more excited.
Not quite rape. But just as humiliating. Just as violating.
Just before twelve, he stopped, threw a blanket over her, and left, locking the door behind him.
“Can’t see the bride on our wedding day until the service,” he said. “And our wedding day starts at midnight.”
She was awakened by a coarse-looking woman in tight jeans and a leather vest.
“I’m your bridesmaid,” she said. “Though I stopped bein’ a maid long ago. Congratulations. You’re slidin’ right by ‘sheep,’ ‘mama,’ and even ‘old lady,’ going right to ‘citizen wife.’ Married to a biker, but not part of biker life. Course, you won’t really be part of any life. Just his personal, legally married fucktoy.”
“This is a common law state.”
“What kind of clergyman would participate in this . . . travesty.”
“A Cannibal got himself ordained on the ‘Net. And if you want your folks and little girl to stay safe, you’ll cooperate.”
For the next hour, the biker woman prepared her. She was bathed, shampooed, and dressed. Her “gown” was a strapless pearl-white corset, with a frilly fringe along the bottom suggesting a skirt, though it didn’t extend beyond her waist, and the pearl, satin thong panties were plainly visible.
Lastly, she tied her wrists, elbows, and knees together, the ankles left unbound so she could hobble. Another cleave gag over her mouth. A veil placed atop her head.
The Cannibal conducting the ceremony was brief and to the point.
“Do you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” her kidnapper said.
“Do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?”
Thinking of her family, she nodded.
“Then by the authority vested in me by the Church of Light Universal and by Common Law as adopted by this state, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride, and physically welcome her to our community in the traditional manner.”
With that, he kissed her brutally, then dragged her to the nearest chair, turned her over his lap, and paddled her bottom for ten full minutes. Then, once more over the shoulder, and to the bedchamber.
He consummated their marriage.
Indeed, he took her every way she could be taken. He never seemed to grow tired. His erection never grew flaccid. For nearly 20 hours he used her just as the biker mama said he would. As a fucktoy.
When he finally went to sleep, she knew that all she was getting was a temporary respite. For the rest of her life, her function would be to satisfy the voracious sexual appetite of a sadistic criminal predator.
She’d never see her parents or her daughter again.
Is there no hope for her?
There’s a cop searching for her. A very good cop. And, like almost every other guy in his high school, he’s already a little in love with her.
Time will tell.