THE LIBRARY: Swimsuit Issue Part Five

wrap002SWIMSUIT ISSUE Part Five
A “Lost” Tyler File Recently Recovered - CONTINUED FROM HERE

Tara felt her arms swinging up, and then she were actually embracing her wizened rapist. She fought to let go, but the women's grips were as much wrought iron as the bed.

And then her legs too embraced him, and she had to lie there, clutching the man who was harshly, brutally fucking her.

But I'm a good girl! her mind screamed in hysterical agony. How could this be happening to me!?!?

It made no difference. The elder surged in her unwilling, forced embrace as her cunt clung and sucked and massaged his hated log against her will...until it blasted forth what felt like years' worth of pent-up semen.

And felt it she did. Tara writhed, screaming, the women's lotions making her feel every drop as it sprayed and soaked her very sex.

The man grunted and groaned as the goddess undulated beneath him. But then he drooled on her chest, croaking: "Mouth...mouth...."

The old women were there, holding Tara's head and chin, untying the cloth, retying her wrists to her thighs, binding her ankles, and rubbing a lotion across her chin...a lotion that began to warm up, spreading a heat unlike Tara had ever felt through the muscles of her jaw....

There was a knock on the dwelling's front door. The village elder's wife answered it. Standing on the entrance was the old, squat wife of the village senior.

"How is it?" she asked quietly, holding her head-kerchief under her chin to keep the wind from blowing it away.

"Soon," was all the oldest woman said.

She went to close the door, but the senior's wife suddenly leaned forward. "He grows impatient," she breathed ashamedly. "It must be tonight!"

The elder woman frowned angrily at this rudeness. "If I were the control, the goddess whore would now be staked out in the village square, her mouth and sex forced open for all, to be left for the carrion...."

She looked bitterly, but also with relief, at the bedchamber's closed curtains. "But I am not the control...." She turned back toward the senior's wife with a blank expression. "The decision has been made. Control will decide. Tell your husband that almighty fate hath ruled it thus."

Tara vacantly heard the door closed. It made no impression on her. Nothing mattered but what was happening to her now.

When the old man had said "mouth," of course the old women knew he didn't want to tongue-kiss Tara. She may have been eminently fuckable, but no village man would soil his lips on the harlot goddess.

No, it was the elder's cock which was all the way down Tara's throat. Her head was being held up by her hair, which was knotted in one of the cruel woman's fists. In the woman's other hand was the wicked knife, held knowingly at Tara's neck.

The other women were also there. They massaged each breast with one hand while expertly holding the point of a blade against her nipple with the other. And one was between her pried-open knees, in front of her still-bound ankles as if praying, holding yet another knife perfectly still deep inside her vagina.

Tara didn't move. She froze the muscles from her neck down with all her strength. With the muscles above her throat, she licked and slobbered and sucked with the desperation of a drowning girl....

Gobs of lotion were forced into her throbbing cunt. Handfuls were creamed onto her abused breasts. Then her bikini was tied back onto her form, making it even tighter than before—bulging her boobs out all sides.

Her mouth was replugged with the now semen-soaked scarf ("something for her to remember me by," the elder had said) and resealed with the tight, adhering cloth. Her wrists were tied behind her and tied again to her waist. Her knees were rope-hobbled this time. Then the burnoose went back over her.

The elder woman blocked the front door. "The senior wants her tonight," she hissed.

The translator looked doubtful, starting: "She must remain strong enough to service the entire...!", but then the cruel woman suddenly lashed back, hitting Tara in the tit through the covering cloth. They all heard her gagged squeal.

"She's strong enough," the cruel woman judged wickedly. And the others slowly, solemnly nodded.

 

I believe I was born to give something back to society as a whole....

—Tara Barnes

Making of the Bathing Suit Issue

 

The senior's house was three winding blocks away and of the same type as the elders, but that was all that was similar. The senior, despite his title, was a rough, tough, coarse, middle-aged man with white skin, facial stubble, a constantly hostile expression, and a little cigarette stub always lit between two fingers.

He didn't wait in the bedchamber. As soon as the old women had entered, he pushed through them, slammed the heavy door shut, and tore off Tara's hood.

She blinked in the new gloom, then her dark eyes focused on the wiry, mean man before her. A moment before he roughly grabbed a handful of her hair, Tara's expression told the others that she knew she was now in even greater danger.

But then her expression was screwed up in pain as he dragged her by her hair toward his bedchamber curtains while tearing at her burnoose. The tall, leggy supermodel struggled to keep up, gasping. Her knee hobbles twanged with the effort.

TO BE CONTINUED