Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
*****
I perched peacefully on the top of a picnic table, my sneakered feet resting on the fixed seat. It was a bright and quiet morning in our camp ground, the morning sun not long up, with no movement and a fleeting soft breeze.
Across the way, my tent mate made her appearance and came my way. She plopped a cold bottle in my hand: "Sorry, no hot coffee for us. But are you still a happy camper?"
I smiled at her lame joke. Taffy and I had met very recently and had hit it off. We were compatible souls. She was a little shorter, and a bit heavier than me, sporting wonderfully feminine curves. A blonde, she had taken time this morning with her makeup. I had risen earlier but still felt grimy with sleep.
We were dressed similarly this morning: trainers, bare legs, shorts (hers in denim, mine khaki). We wore flannel type shirts over T-shirts, hers more tightly fitting. I sipped my drink and began to think about getting more properly attired for the day.
"Good morning!" A male voice, and we swiveled to see a man in the doorway of a huge RV camper about 30 meters away. "Good morning, ladies. It looks like a beautiful day."
We agreed, gave a vague wave, and went back to our drinks and private conversation. Taffy lamented again how lonely she had been since her recent break-up. We were camping this weekend in part as a restart for her, a recharge for returning to our citified lives and starting the dating scene again.
A few moments later, our camper friend reappeared. "Do you gals know the area?" he asked. We talked back and forth about some sights worth taking in. He did step out of the RV but kept a respectful distance.
"Hey, would you ladies know what to do with a couple of eggs?" he asked. "I'm all thumbs in the kitchen."
"I think it's called a galley, like on a ship or a plane, right?" Taffy teased him. "You have all that technology and you can't cook?"
"I can, but I'll likely muck it up. Big mess, bad taste, that's me," he laughed. "But if you are a fair hand with a skillet, there's plenty here. I think I've got 2 dozen eggs? Why not come in for breakfast?"
I immediately was guarded but Taffy sailed right on: "Oh I'm a terrific cook, and omelets are one of my specialties." I hissed at her, but she was dismissive. She told me, "I'll go over and see what it's about, then you can come over for a hot meal." She sashayed across the little road and extended her hand. He introduced himself as Rob. Or was it Ron?
She disappeared up the little steps of the big camper, followed by her new host. I sat at the table listening carefully from my distance. I soon became involved in my cold drink and working games on my phone. Poor cellular coverage out here, but who was I going to call on a Saturday morning?
After a time, R. made another overture: "Your friend has the eggs under control and there are plenty for all of us. She asked if you can come across and drop the toast for her?"
Truth to tell, I was hungry. And that hard tabletop wasn't doing much for my backside.
What the hell, live a little, I thought. I sauntered across the lane and followed him up into the big white camper.
Afterwards, in reconstructing it, I must have heard the noises. But I recall my eyes searching around the trim miniaturized cabin: the windows, a little couch, narrow doors, the kitchen cabinets, then dropping to the little dining booth:
Taffy sat across the table, her eyes as large as saucers. And across her mouth, a huge red ball gag.
Then I was pushed face first toward her, across the face of the table, and bent over at the waist. There were 2 sets of hands on me: one trapping my wrists and applying wind after wind of plastic tape around them. The other violater was at my head, roughly shoving a rubber ball between my teeth and hauling leather straps tightly across my cheeks and the back of my head. I pulled and resisted as best I could, but I was a victim to the element of surprise.
They dropped me on the couch across the narrow aisleway, then stood over us both, catching their breath. I struggled for relief, frustrated. I was thoroughly tied and gagged.
"No problem," one said. "Blondie was a tougher catch."
Taffy glared at him. Now I could see her wrists behind her, wrapped in black tape, and her ankles and knees under the table taped as tightly as my wrists were.
"I'll check their tent. Finish with the princess, ya?" And now Ron/Rob was gone.
The dark-haired man snatched up my legs and held them tight as he made quick work taping my ankles. He used the same black plastic electrical tape and secured my knees.
"You can pull on this all-day sweetheart, you aren't going anywhere. This isn't our first time." Taffy and I were both squealing loudly behind our gags, hoping some camper would hear us. "Just shut up, you two. You think we didn't scout this out beforehand? We've got you good, and you've got no chance. Don't give me a headache."
He stood menacingly over us. He explained that we were some 8 hours away from a remote mining colony. The men there worked hard, but the area was so inaccessible that it was difficult for the miners to keep a wife. These men were anxious for female companionship, and they were willing to pay for it. As if to punctuate his point, he squeezed Taffy's breast roughly; she pulled away in horror.
The blond man returned, our purses in one hand and an overnight bag in the other. Clothes were hanging out, as if hurriedly packed. They found our wallets and snickered at our names: Taffy and Candy. I pulled helplessly at my plastic bonds, wondering what kind of horror I had awakened to?
