super reflection anna 4 merry xmas copyPROM NIGHT Part 4 {Continued From Here}

They stopped long enough for the woman driver to attach weights to the boys' ankles and drop them over the side of a lake. Bridget was sitting on the rear bumper—arms still bound, ankles crossed and bound—head down and sobbing into the tight gag.

"Oh come on," the woman driver grunted, dragging Spikey like a scarecrow. "At least you proved an old adage: 'the dead don't come.'" After letting the boys sink under the surface, the woman came back and gripped Bridget's chin with fingers of iron. "And I got more news for you, prom queen. If getting fucked by dead men is the worst that happens to you on this trip, count your lucky stars."

Bridget searched for any pity in the woman’s steel gray eyes, then started crying anew.

"Oh, geez," the woman complained, then hit the girl on the side of her head, grabbed her hair, jumped into the van, and dragged a dazed Bridget to the space between the van's seats. She cinched a black belt around the young girl's tight waist, pushed a nine-inch lubricated, studded dildo into her raw vagina, and tightened it on the other side of the belt.

She expertly pinched Bridget's nipples, then clipped them to wires emerging from the cigarette lighter. Bridget stared, bug-eyed, shaking her head frantically, until the woman jumped into the driver's seat and turned the key.

That's when all the invaders came on.

Bridget flopped around like a fish out of water. Every time her head came close enough, the driver clocked her scalp with the bottom of her fist. Bridget would drop heavily, her breasts heaving. Then her fingers would start jiggling, and soon off she'd go again. Finally, her muscles grew too weary and she lay, like a beaten dog, between the van seats, twitching.

The driver looked down with a wide, appreciative smile. What a prize, she thought. One of the greatest natural beauties she had ever seen. And now, here she was, ample breasts attached to electrified clips by their nipples; a vibrating, surging, studded dildo deep inside her sugar walls; elegant arms welded together by cords, and her sexy legs crossed, perfect feet encased in high heels, ankles and knees bound tightly.

What a great shape, the driver thought. The way her chest swooped down to her curved torso and flat stomach; the way her hip bones emptied out to a wonderful pelvis, all attached to extraordinary legs and a firm, hard, round tushy. And she was theirs, all theirs...!

The driver reached down and gave Bridget's tit a reassuring squeeze. "Almost there, honey," she whispered with pleasure. "Almost home...."

* * *

The Taker was waiting when his Tester pulled the van into her condo garage. She filled him in on the delicious irony as he sat Bridget up in the side door, carefully pulled the drooling vibrator from her cunt, and finally pulled the nipple clamps from her aching breasts.

"So, you see, everybody'll think she went with the teenagers!" the ex-nun "tester" reported. "And none of 'em will ever be found. Great, huh?"

As the awful woman collected salves, lotions, and medications,     Bridget tried to focus through smoky, drooping lids. Her aching, exhausted, shell-shocked eyes widened at the sight of her abductor’s workshop: walls, cabinets, tables, and benches full of the things he had stuffed and sealed her mouth with, as well as the things he had affixed her limbs with.

But then he was in front of her, blocking her view. He merely held her head up with a hand under the back of her hair, happily feeling its sheen and heft. "Yeah," he agreed, only having eyes for Bridget. "Great, huh, baby?"

Then he sunk his lips onto her neck, kneading one swollen, red tit as she wept. He fucked her right there in the van doorway, her legs on either side of him, her high-heeled feet on the garage floor, her wonderful torso lying on the padded van floor.

He came into her yet another time, reveling in it as much as he had the first time—despite the fact that she was so far gone that she probably wasn't even aware of it. Her vaginal muscles sure were, however.

He looked smilingly down at the incredible beauty, his cock still plugging her soft blond cunt. "How long before she's sold?" he asked.

"This one?" the Tester replied. "Natural blonde teenager, real tits, a body this succulent, a face this sweet?" She harrumphed. "Whenever we put her on the market." She joined him in staring at the abducted, multiply raped, captive treasure. "We've hit the jackpot on this one, for sure. We're talking millions here."

"How long?" he asked again, his voice hoarse.

She smiled wickedly. "I'll give you twenty-four hours," she said. "Forty-eight if you impress me. Go for it, mister."

He practically came in her again just at the thought of it. Bedroom, living room, kitchen, dining room, playroom, study, attic, cellar.... Lace, lycra spandex, latex, leather, rubber.... Steel, straps, ropes, tape, pull-ties, cloth, balls, prods, and rings.... The hours would go quickly.

He sat Bridget up by her breasts, then gathered her lovely body in his arms, reveling with the feeling of her hair and skin—the heady smell of sex filling his nostrils.

"Get the smelling salts ready," he instructed. "I want her full attention."

"You'll get it," she promised him with a knowing, experienced smile.

Then they were inside the condo, the garage door closed behind them.

As much as they subsequently did, no one called the authorities. No complaints were registered. No one else above, below, behind, or around the Tester’s condo heard Bridget Thomas trying to scream through the mouth-cramming, jaw-distending gags, or saw her beautiful body thrashing in stringent bondage. He started and ended in his room … the one that had the walls and ceiling covered with pictures that he had started taking of her when she was thirteen.

He filled the full forty-eight hours...among other things. When Audrey finally put Bridget up for sale, despite her ordeal, she sold in six seconds, and for an industry record.

The Taker sedated her personally just before her shipment, using the drug-soaked cloth he had stitched for her over her nose and mouth. He held her to him, forcing her head up so he could stare down into her tormented, dread-filled blue eyes.

He held himself tight against her body, her arms behind her back, tied at the wrists, her lovely fingers scrabbling to get away from his crotch.

She teetered on six-inch, high-heeled knee-boots, which set off her luscious legs, nearly totally revealed by the cunning black latex micromini dress that also exposed her entire back while bulging three-quarters of her creamy balls forward. His cock was all the way up her from behind. He came just before she went out.

“Bye-bye, Jet,” he whispered. “Have a nice life.”

He jerked his last drop of jiz into her unconscious form, then dumped her into the back of the van for the long trip to her new owner.

The Taker watched the van drive out of sight … then turned and went up to his room to take her pictures down … and start taping some new ones up ….


Bridget Thomas never arrived at the planned destination, of course. How do you think we have all these details of her experience?

Her shipment was waylaid, and what arrived at her buyer’s residence was something else entirely. Something terminal.

The Taker and his Tester, however, eluded capture and execution.

For now….

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *