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It all happened so fast, it might as well have happened at once. Nineteen year old Monica Richards, still wearing her leotards and tights from dance class, had just opened her car door when when it happened.
“Zap.” One hundred and twenty five volts from a police taser hit her squarely between the shoulder blades. And that was it. There was no struggle. She dropped like a sack of potatoes. She would have it the asphalt too if it wasn’t for the strong arms of the two men who were now her abductors.
They were the Bartz brothers: Deter and Fritz, each was well over six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds, two of the biggest sociopaths that one would never want to meet. Formerly fitness champions, they had found a new stock and trade: girls. Pretty girls too, the younger, the more desirable, the better.
Monica had passed out cold. Seconds later her car door was closed. She was laid onto the floor in the back of their plain white cargo van. A few more seconds later, Deter drove off while Fritz went to work on the unlucky girl. Nylon zip ties did the job: wrists first behind the back, then the ankles, then the knees, then the elbows. The Bartz brothers were very good. Monica was not their first, nor would she be their last.
Monica moaned as she began to come around, but Fritz knew exactly what to do. He zapped her again. Next was the gag. First it was a ring gag. Then a very large piece of foam rubber was crammed deep inside her mouth. It was the same sort of foam that one would use to upholster a chair. It compressed down well and then expanded to fill every corner of her widely opened mouth. Still not content, Fritz strapped on a leather panel gag over the lower half of her face. A small rubber cock had been riveted on the inside of the panel. It pushed the foam rubber even further back into her mouth as he tightened the strap behind her neck.
Monica did not know it, but her only chance to get free was to scream loud enough to be heard. But Fritz was a professional. He knew that even these precautions were not enough, that a scream still could be heard, that the sound travels through the nose too.
But they would see to that. Fritz continued on with the zip ties, fastening her ankles to her thighs and her wrists to her ankles and then, using a very large zip tie. He fastened her arms to her waist as she began to stir again.
The poor girl began to moan and the she began to scream. She squirmed and twisted her torso, at first testing her bonds, then fighting them for all she was worth, trying to sit up and maybe roll out of the arms of her captor. Panic now began to set in deep, but what could she do? Her muted cries would never be heard beyond the confines of the van as Deter drove along through the evening traffic.
The struggles of the helpless girl raised a distant sort of a smile on the otherwise expressionless face of Fritz. She was all his now and he knew it. His strong hand reached down inside her low cut leotard top and then down inside. He squeezed her breast and pinched her nipple as she continued to scream, now even more emphatically. But the pinch grew painful as he squeezed her nipple tighter and tighter.
“Not bad, he observed,” he observed. Monica suddenly realized that he wanted her to scream, that he was testing his work. He slapped her hard across her cheek. She screamed at him again in protest. He smiled again, this time with pride.
Monica relented, knowing full well she had no choice but let this man’s hands explore her. The hand moved on to grab the other breast. It squeezed hard again, but this time she refused to give him the pleasure. She did not make a sound. Another hand reached down to feel her thighs. Monica began to cry.
“Oh man, she is really fit,” announced Fritz, his accent distantly Germanic.
The Bartz brothers had actually known that. They had been watching her every move for the last two weeks. Monica worked during the day as a part time waitress at a number of joints in Las Vegas, but her real aspiration was dance. So she used her hard earned money on gym membership classes and dance classes. “Fit” was actually an understatement. “Chiseled” would have been a better word.
Fritz continued to explore. His hand found it’s way to her crotch. He pressed his fingers against her still dressed sex even pushed them inside as far as the fabric would allow.
“I’ll bet she is tight,” he said.
“We have orders,” Deter shouted back at his brother. “We are not to fuck her!”
Monica was granted a temporary reprieve, but she really did not understand why. She had been singled out by her abductors weeks before. Yusef had discovered her. He was their boss, a middle aged man, of wealth and means. He was the first to stalk her weeks before. The three of them had been staked out in the parking lot of the restaurant where she worked.
“There she is,” Yusef said as he pointed through the windshield of his tinted Lincoln sedan.
Monica was just getting out of work. She was a rare vision of loveliness: a tallish 5 foot seven. Her waitress uniform was downright revealing. It was a modern variant of the classic French Maid’s uniform: a low cut scoop neck satin mini dress with revealed her more than ample D cup breasts. The top was long sleeved with white cuffs, appointed with a frilly little white apron that tied in a big bow in the back. The bottom of the dress was so short as to reveal her black satin panties.
All of her features were exceptionally beautiful, even striking, but the real piece de resistance, was her long, lean, and highly muscular legs which stood out so well, which almost shined from inside her black panty hose. She also walked in a pair of stiletto heels which made her appear to be even taller than she already was.
“I want to fuck her,” Yusef said. “Get her as soon as possible and bring her to me.”
Fritz and Deter may have been sociopaths, but they understood that Yusef had great power. So they did as told. They went to work, watched Monica’s every move, and waited patiently to take their move. These men may have been big and strong, but they were not stupid.
Fritz continued to secure his new captive. The inside of the van may have looked innocent enough, a simple trade van outfitted for contractors, filled with a number of tool boxes and many sheets of pink rigid foam building insulation. The insulation was all part of their plan. Fritz lifted up the entire stack of foam, leaving one full sheet still on the floor. Each sheet in the stack had been glued to the next. A body sized hollow had been carved out on the inside of the stack.
Fritz slid the hogtied girl onto the single remaining sheet and secured her torso, face up, to a series of protruding eye bolts which had been bolted through the frame of the van. Monica may have been tightly bound, but now she was also pinioned in place, her entire body, even her head, had become effectively laced up until she was unable to move in any direction. Fritz grabbed the hollowed out foam stack. Knowing what was to come. Monica began to scream again, this time even louder than before.
“Lights out,” said Fritz to the terrified girl as he fastened the stack back down over the terrified girl.
That was all. Monica was encapsulated. She could scream and struggle for all she was worth, but no one, not even the Bartz brothers would ever know. The van drove for what must have been hours. It started and stopped a few times, no doubt for gas. She was terribly uncomfortable. Every bump in the road telegraphed itself directly into her helpless flesh. Worst of all, she was wide awake in the darkness: wondering where she was, terrified at the thought about what was to become of her.
Some time Monica did hear a police siren and a minute later she felt the van stop. Hope! She fought her bonds as hard as she could. She bucked and twisted and jerked, frictioned her ankles and knees, her wrists and her elbows. Try as hard as she might, her confinement was total. She just could not move.
“License and registration,” said the patrolman.
“Can I help you, officer,” Deter asked in a calm voice.
“Your tail light is out. Get it checked.”
“Thank you sir. We will do that.”
“Wait a minute,” said the patrolman. “Mind if I take a look in there?”
“By all means,” Deter replied.
The patrolman pulled out his flashlight and scanned the back of the truck. Monica screamed and wriggled with all of her might, but the patrolman saw nothing out of the ordinary, only a few tool boxes and a stack of foam insulation. Monica may have been just six feet away, but she well have been on another planet.
“We make a policy of looking for drug dealers,” said the patrolman, “Have a good night.”
The van drove on for another hour before coming to a stop inside an enclosed garage. Deter and Fritz partially untied her and walked her into an odd sort of receiving area. It was a brightly lit white tiled room, much like a locker room.
Two very oddly dressed women were waiting. They were dressed in all latex: stockings, panties, opera length gloves and hoods, with nothing else. They were collared and hobbled with chrome chains and cuffs. Their wrists were similarly bound in front of them. Their cuff sets provided them with a good degree of movement with just enough to remind them of their lot in life. A quizzical look had come over Monica’s still gagged face.
“Toilet slaves,” mentioned Deter with a wry smile on his face. He knew that Monica would still not understand. The men removed the remainder of her bondage. They even removed her gags.
“Go ahead. Scream,” Fritz told her. “We hear a lot of that here. In fact we like it.”
“Please,” was all the only word which she could get in reply, before Fritz slapped her across her face.
“Rule number one: never speak unless spoken to.”
“Time to strip,” he added as he held her arms behind her back.
The toilet slaves went directly to their work, removing every bit of her clothes with surgical scissors. Monica was mortified. She had never been seen naked before. Now she stood before four other people without a stitch on. Instinctively she tipped her head and lowered her eyes. She drew her chiseled legs together, vainly hoping to shield her sex from view. Deter cuffed her this time with a pair of chrome plated hand cuffs and leg cuffs. Fritz could not help but to fondle her breasts again.
“Not now,” Deter ordered his brother.
They left the toilet slaves to do their jobs. The two girls ushered her over to the toilet. It was a typical porcelain stool, but it was situated in the open. There were no surrounding walls. There would be no privacy. Besides, she did not have the use of her hands. The toilet slaves would have to help. The men just stood by and laughed. Monica had never been so humiliated in her life.
Next came the shower. Deter and Fritz escorted her over to another open area and repositioned her arms in front of her, cuffed them again and raised them up over her head where they hooked them to a chain, forcing Monica to stand on tip toes. The toilet slaves turned on the water and pointed two showed wands at her as they wet her down from head to foot. The slaves shampooed and soaped her, rinsed her, and dried her. It was an odd ordeal. Monica had become an object. She might have well been a car in a car wash. There was never a time in which she was even allowed to touch herself. Little did she suspect that she never would be afforded that privilege again.
The toilet slaves applied makeup and lip gloss to the still suspended girl. Finally they shaved off the pubic hair on her Venus mound. Monica protested at first, but another slap by Fritz reminded her of “rule number one.”
One of them held up a mirror so that she could see herself. She looked pathetic just hanging there. Her hair was coiffed differently, and, no matter what she saw she could not stop looking at her bare pubis. It was as if she was no longer a young woman with a promising career. Now she was just a cunt. Tears welled up in her eyes. Never before had she felt so lost.
But the toilet slaves had not finished. They proceeded to dress her in a white lace corset which compressed her waist but stopped just above her hips. Her sex was still bare. The top of the corset stopped below her ample bare breasts, pushing them ever so slightly up and out, exaggerating them, making them somehow more fleshy, more ample than before. They put her in white lace mid thigh stockings and held them in place with white garter belts. White heels and a white velvet choker necklace tied in a bow finished off her new ensemble. She looked sensational, almost like a bride in her honeymoon suite, an innocent porn princess, ready and primed, waiting for her groom.
Minutes later the men escorted their freshly adorned “porn princess” to another room. This time it was an office, a spacious and lavishly appointed, complete with a desk, credenza and so forth. Everything inside the room appeared to be typical and even predictable for a CEO, everything that is, except for the a steel sawhorse bolted to the floor. Yusef sat at the desk smoking a cigar and reading something on his laptop.
“Here she is,” One of the men announced, proud as a peacock. “Your new bride.”
Monica cringed at the words, Now she knew why the two men had not forced themselves on her. Now she knew why the toilet slaves had carefully groomed her and even dressed her so obscenely. And now she knew that somehow or another her destiny would have something to do with that sawhorse.
Deter and Fritz wasted no time. They fastened her ankles spread wide to the two legs on one side of the horse so that her legs formed an inverted v. Then they bent her at the waste until her entire torso lay horizontally along the length of the center trestle. One strap around her waist held her firmly in place. She could move her head, but that was just about all. Yusef surveyed the girl as he stepped around to look her directly in the eyes. Monica could tell that he had an erection.
“Normally we number our slaves in the order that we receive them.”
“Slaves?” The word hit her like a Mack truck. She had never heard the word spoken, but now she knew. She turned beet red. Her skin began to crawl. “Slaves!”
“But we sold Slave Five off early,” He continued. “You will take her place.”
“Sold?” Another word: Monica cringed and closed her eyes hoping against hope to shut this new reality out of her mind. Her body began to tremble.
“First I’m going to fuck you,” He said.
Portly, balding, and swarthy, Yusef was no woman’s dream. To make matters worse, he could have been three times Monica’s age. He stepped around behind her, unzipped his pants, and entered her unceremoniously from behind. Monica’s sex was unprepared for the invasion. She let out a yelp as he worked himself inside her. He leaned over her as he did and grabbed her by the breasts, kneading them like bread dough. Fucked was bad enough, but groped was just as bad. Her entire predicament repulsed her.
Yusef was not the best at sex. He came to a climax in just a matter of minutes and was done. Next he stepped around and slapped Monica hard on the face.
“Clean me off,” he ordered as he shoved his half hard still dripping cock into her face. Reluctantly, slowly she opened her mouth and took him in. She gagged. The taste, even the whole idea of oral sex was just too much, but she knew she had to comply.
The “cleaning” did not take long. Yusef zipped himself up when he was finished and pushed an intercom button. The Bartz brothers returned, untied Monica, and escorted her this time to a third room with a center area surrounded by mirrors. They stripped her bare a second time. Then they cuffed and chained her in the center. It was an awful place. She could see her reflection where ever she looked.
Deter and Fritz left the room as a diminutive raven haired woman entered with a riding crop in her hand.
“Welcome to the Red Room, Slave Five,” said the woman with a sly smile. “You can call me Mistress X.”
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