{This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by SteveWe thank them for letting us share it with you here}

Tara Kapinski kept doing well enough that she kept paying them. She first delivered the cash to their basement where Mia kneeled, getting fucked from behind by one who laid on her back, kneading her tits, and giving the other a forced blow job around the ring gag behind her wrenched open teeth as he gripped her hair.

Her ankles were roped to her thighs and her arms lashed in the small of her back. She wore only a ripped t-shirt a size too small, so it adhered to her like sweat. "Well, this won't do," sneered Tara, so every once in a while she dropped off a sack of lycra lingerie and spandex clubwear ­ all sans thongs, panties, or crotches of course.  Her buying alerted no one, although some sort of supersleuth might have noticed they were always a size too small for Tara's, holding Mia as if they were painted on her.  Then there were the killer high heels ­most often 4 or 5 inch ankle boots they could strap or lace up on her.  The guys took care of the straps, tape, cuffs, and rope as well as the balls, prods, bridles, rings and pads that went in and/or over her mouth, until weeks later, Tara noticed something missing.  Then came the sex toys...

The police investigation into Mia's disappearance was thorough while the media coverage was pitched at the hysteria level.  Come on, a sweet, sexy Asian American athlete ("one of the few with actual boobs," Tara pointed out) missing on the eve of the finals?

They watched it together: Mia resplendent in a low-cut microminidress, thigh highs, heels, muzzle, and cuffs, tears pouring out of her eyes, sweat pouring down her body, cum drooling down her face and spasming thighs, as Tara tended to her clit and the guys tended to her tits

But the finals did transpire, and the Olympics after. Only the guys watched it with Ms. Chung, as Tara was busy elsewhere.  They watched it in the living room: Mia stretched out on, or kneeling in front of, the sofa, a cock in her cunt, in her mouth, or both, as her wrists and ankles twisted in their bonds.

They watched it in their bedrooms; the guys taking turns with her on their haunches or beneath them or over the backboard.

They even watched it in the workroom; Mia's head encased in her hood, her body in a matching corset, her arms in long gloves, her legs in thigh high boots, her wrists and ankles cinched to a chair as a dildo twisted, poked, and spun inside her.

Tara won bronze and came over to celebrate with, and on, her absent teammate.  They had dressed her in a vicious satire of championship skating wear, only the parts that were usually flesh colored were here simply the girl's flesh, and all the protection to keep her private parts from sensitive viewer¹s eyes were as missing as she was. And, of course, the skates were replaced by wicked high heel granny ankle boots.

Mia lay on the living room floor, her wrists tied tightly behind her, her ankles hobbled by a thin, silent, silver chain, and her mouth sealed with clear industrial tape designed to withstand any weather condition. Which was helpful considering she was practically doused in jism.  It was in her lustrous hair, coating her face, gluing one eye shut (as the other fluttered), smearing her tits, and practically oozing between her thighs.

Her teammate considered her comatose stretched out form. "Looking a bit ragged," she decided.

The guys considered her estimation. "Are you kidding?" one replied. "Considering her diet of the last few weeks, I think she looks damn good."

"Sure," said the other studiously. "A bit thinner perhaps, the expression tending toward the haunted, but I think with just a touch of makeup, she¹d look as good as new. Better.

"Besides," said the first, kneeling down to grip her hips, turn her onto her back, flip her nearly nothing dress hem up, and position himself for reentry. "It's what's inside that counts. And considering what we've done to her so far..." He started to push his cock inside her. "She still feels in...cre...di...ble!"

"Mia started writhing in place, her head scraping back as she tried to scream.

"Yeah, well," said Tara, dropping down to grab the captive girl. "When you put it like that, who am I to disagree?"

Tara needed more money to prepare for the next meet, so they decided to sell Mia. Normally, Asians didn't gain huge amounts on the open slave market, but a famous name like Chung's made it easy and hugely profitable.

The last time her kidnappers saw her, she was in a skintight, deep v-necked black microminidress, her mouth filled and sealed by a black prod gag, her wrists tied behind her with pull-ties, and a Japanese businessman mauling her tits and slobbering on the side of her face.

Her eyes were wide in disbelief and deepening despair as they dragged her back into the man's limo.

The last thing they saw of her was an ankle-strap high heel clicking desperately on the garage's floor before a hand gripped her creamy thigh and jerked her foot up into the vehicle.

The door shut firmly and the car slowly left the enclosure.

"Well, I have to admit you were right," Tara commented to the men. "She did pretty up real easy."

"Yeah," said the second man. " what do we do?"

The answer came just a few days later. Tara and the coaches were back at the Nationals' rink, watching the new teenage phenom, Sarah Conway ­ a 5'4" tall, 34C-23-33, green-eyed redhead ­ make an incredible practice showing.

Tara looked at the trainers. The trainers looked at Tara. They said nothing, but all were thinking the same thing. How they could work this without raising a dangerous alarm would be difficult indeed. But they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

They would make the decision how to proceed once her arms were tied, her mouth gagged, her legs were wide, and her orifices filled....


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