Darkwoods Prize

Lacey has needed something real, something intense for years, and now Darkwood is ready to provide it to her and at the same time, reap some long-deserved revenge. (M/F, abduct, BDSM, tort, inter).

The story you are about to read is a work of total and pure fiction. The names do not refer to any actual persons, living or deceased. As a work of fiction,

the content is not intended to be considered, viewed or understood as an actual plan or attempt to commit the deeds described, nor is it to be construed, interpreted or understood to be a confession of commission of any unlawful act.

It had been too easy. Darkwood was amazed how easy it had been. She had come out of the club, stiletto heels clicking against the dull grey concrete.

The parking ramp he followed her to was deserted. No security cameras were in evidence, and he surprised her as she prepared to unlock her car. A quick blow to the base of the blonde's skull dropped her to her knees. The gagged bondage hood and handcuffs were applied within seconds, filament tape wrapped around her elegant ankles

He scooped up the keys from the floor and unlocked the trunk, unceremoniously dumping the semi-conscious woman inside. Darkwood smoothed his thinning hair, grinning broadly as he slammed the trunk and climbed into the vehicle, pausing only to retrieve his victim's purse and discarded jacket before closing the door.

He had always wanted to drive a Mercedes 385; his own tastes and desire to keep a low profile put him into a late model mid-sized Toyota.

. The car was luxurious and handled well, riding smoothly past the airport and into the darkened countryside. He knew that the woman, although terrified in her confinement and abduction was nonetheless enjoying a smooth ride on the thick carpet which lined the sedan's trunk.

Darkwood pulled the car into an unpaved lane. Although he had made the drive numerous times in preparation for this trip, he nearly missed the driveway, which was screened by mature spruce and birch trees.

The lodge was a relic from the 1830's, when it had served as a fortified trading post for the fur traders, loggers and merchants who made their fortunes in the north country. The two-story structure was made of thick fieldstone and exposed timbers, the steeply-pitched roof was braced by a high stone chimney to the north and a stone and wooden turret facing the river to the south. The building was large, it's windows defensibly narrow and set high in the fortified walls.

He pulled her struggling from the trunk. "Settle down woman!" he snarled, shoving her roughly to the ground. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. I don't wanna kill you, but I'll do what I have to do. Now, you're gonna be very still while I carry you in, and you'll be very cooperative when you're inside, and we'll have a very good time indeed.'

She lay very still as he approached, the cool earth against her bare left shoulder. The strapless gown had been torn downward during her struggles, and her left breast was now teased and caressed by the cool night air. The slave hood not only gagged her mouth but also blindfolded her. She knew no sensation save the night air against her bare skin, the sounds of the man's voice and of her rapid heartbeat in her ears and the scent of spruce needles. She felt him grasp her and lift her to his shoulders as if weightless.

Darkwood carried the woman into the cavernous main room of the lodge and dumped her gently onto the cold wooden floor. He closed the door quietly, shutting out the pale moonlight that had followed him into the outpost. He lit a gas lantern hanging near the door and regarded his prize.

She stirred on the cold floor, the rough wood clawing at the tender flesh of her exposed breasts. The dress was ruined now, filthy and torn. The handcuffs encircling her slender wrists were now biting painfully into her strained flesh, the hood now giving her a panicked feeling of claustrophobia and suffocation. She was terrified and had in fact peed in the trunk of her expensive car. As she wore no panties under the gown, it had itself absorbed the urine which her nylons could not. She was ashamed of the odors she was producing, her piss and the stink of her fear-sweat. She felt a toe of a hard boot dig into her side and roughly roll her onto her back.

Darkwood took his time lighting the fire. The woman now had goosebumps on her bare arms and breasts, and her pink nipples stood hard in the silvery light of the Coleman lantern. He grinned again as he kindled the cozy fire in the big stone fireplace. When the fire had warmed the room, Darkwood walked to a nearby room adjoining the space where the girl now lay sprawled topless on her back. Soon a generator hummed to life and the white glare of the lantern was replaced by the amber light of several well-placed halogen spotlights. The big man extinguished the lantern, it's mantle going first orange and then gray as the lamp hissed into silence. "All the comforts of home," he smirked as he approached. "And all the pain."

She trembled as he lifted her onto a rough wooden table. Darkwood straddled her just below her rib cage. He unfastened the cuffs and pulled her hands roughly above her head, quickly encircling her bruised wrists with heavy silk cord and fastening them to a ring bolt at one end of the table. "The original frontiersmen called this a squaw table. They would take native women, usually captured women traded by members of warring bands for whiskey, cotton cloth and knives. The native woman would be sacrificed, in a sense to the sexual frustrations of her white captors. Darkwood knew the legends to be true; the configuration of the table could have served no other purpose.

He used his razor-sharp Spyderco knife to cut the filament tape away from his captive's ankles He forcefully spread her long, athletic legs and secured each ankle to a cuff which slid forward or back on a guiderail made of hand-worked iron. He used his knife to cut the rest of her clothing from his new toy's body, exposing her shaven cunt and flat, trim belly. Her beautiful breasts were full and perfectly round, her nipples rosy in the flattering light.

Darkwood let his eyes flick to a TV monitor to the side of the antique rape table. The video display now showed changing exterior views from all sides of the lodge. The night vision enhancements he had made to the system were working perfectly, and he saw no approaching dangers. Later, the same monitor would be used to view the video tape from the interior cameras, one of which was directly above the captive woman. Darkwood smiled at the thigh-high black stockings that sheathed the elegant legs spread wide on his slave-table. For the moment he left them in place; the stockings gave a certain aesthetic elegance to the scene before him.

Darkwood had purchased the lodge with cash some ten years before, knowing that this night would come. Although still vigorous and handsome, Darkwood was now 55. He had fallen for this woman ten years before, when she was only 20. He had watched from a discreet distance her marriage to a wealthy Arab oil pasha; he had watched the little accident he had arranged take the man to Paradise. He had watched her spend her widow's inheritance with abandon, seeing few men and apparently loving none of them.

Now she was his. She had asked for this directly; her request was plain and clearly stated, "Make me feel something, Darkwood. Anything." Tonight, he knew she would feel everything.

The big man used a complicated remote control, keying a long sequence of numbers. Instantly, the interior video cameras were on the display, each of the four cameras occupying a quadrant of the 32-inch high definition screen. He made another seven keypresses, noting the four digital recorders as each began to capture the view.

Darkwood frowned. The woman's hooded face was in a sharp edged pool of shadow. He stepped to the side of the antique table, switching on a bright gooseneck lamp. He then removed the hood and gag, quickly stepping aside as the woman blinked furiously, her eyes tearing in the harsh light. He deftly cued the remote control again, extinguishing all lights save the one in his prisoner's eyes.

The woman's lips were dry, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth, and her attempt to speak yielded only a small croak.

Darkwood unscrewed the cap from a silver flask and tipped it against her parched lips, a trickle of 12 year-old bourbon cascaded gently into her lush mouth. She sputtered and gagged on the liquor, bbitter saliva quickly flooding her lower jaw. She swallowed furiously, fighting the rolling nausea, the harsh incandescent light burning against tightly closed eyelids.

"Don't speak," Darkwood commanded. "Here is what is going to happen tonight, Lacy. I am of course going to rape you. Repeatedly. In your worthless cunt, in your ass, in your hot mouth. I am going to whip your tits repeatedly, clamp your clitoris, brand your cunt with a white-hot iron."

She tried to look at Darkwood through the glare of the lamp above her face, and Darkwood grinned at the crystalline sheen of her terrified tears as she whimpered, "Why, Darkwood?"

Darkwood was quick to react, his open palm slapping quickly across both cheeks, the buffeting gentle but firm and quick. "I told you not to speak, Lacy." He pulled the gag from the shelf beneath the table.

Like the table, the gag was a relic of the days of the genocide. It was the penis of a buffalo, perfectly preserved erect, massive veins bulging from the tanned skin. Darkwood imagined the Ojibwa woman tied on the squaw table, her mouth stuffed with the mummified dick of a bison. He slapped his palm hard against Lacy's splayed sex, taking advantage of her scream to stuff the huge gag into her beautiful mouth.

The blonde's full coral lips stretched tight around the shaft, an obscene necrobestial blowjob. The spectacular face was a beautiful grimace of humiliation and horror.

Darkwood laughed. "Why, Lacy? Why am I going to take you, use and torture you this way? I think you'll figure out why as we go along. Tonight you're going to pay a very old debt. You will of course amuse me along the way. Kitten, I've tried to be a friend. You've been empty since before Rashid, and you know what I'm talking about. Sweet Lacy, since you moved back from Seattle I have waited for this moment.

I am going to remove your gag so that you may answer one question. Only one. You told me earlier tonight that you wanted me to make you feel everything. Anything. Do you still want that, knowing that you will be owned by me, my meat, my receptacle, my cunt puppet?" When he removed the gag, Lacy gasped, and suddenly began laughing. "Cunt puppet? Jesus, Darkwood..."

The big man began to laugh with her kissing her tenderly on her open mouth, delicately touching his tongue against hers. She continued to laugh, each exhalation punctuated by small gasps of delight. Darkwood eased a manicured finger gently into the opening of her sex, his thumb softly grazing the back of the blonde's hardening clitoris. "Un-h...Darkwood, please, uh....please don't...hurt me....please." He laughed, abruptly ending his tender manipulation of her quim. "Open wide," he commanded, and she gazed at him for a long moment, trust and courage in her young eyes, and opened her mouth to accept the buffalo cock.

Lacy's breasts were almost two large for her frame, ripe Texas grapefruit on a compact, athletic body. She wore her hair in long ringlets to her shoulders, the strands gold and brown under the softer lights that Darkwood now activated. Mercifully, he turned off the blinding desk lamp and moved it aside, then adjusted the cameras and reached for the next relic found in the outpost.

The two hoops were beautifully hand forged from heavy gauge steel, joined together with a hinge. Each ring had a large tightening bolt on the side which could be easily worked by one hand. Darkwood slipped the rings over Lacy's full breasts and gently tightened the rings until each tit gently ballooned into a taut orb, the soft skin pulled tightly against nipples which pulsed with sequestered blood. Lacy moaned into the obscene gag, the tits becoming hypersensitized in their tight confinement.

Darkwood gently leaned his face against a pulsing tit, his lips and tongue finding a hard nipple. He gently licked and suckled on the flesh, savoring his beloved victim's moans of delight, his manicured finger again finding useful purpose against her slit.

Lacy strained against her bonds, her back arching with pleasure, her taut belly rippling as she vainly attempted to roll her nubile hips. Darkwood gleefully tightened the rings causing the orbs to take on a pale bluish tint, and reached beneath the table for yet another relic.

The leather cat o' nine tails was beautifully preserved, it's tails shiny and pliant, well-oiled and intimidating. Darkwood felt the steel spring inside the plaited leather handle; the whip's action could drive the tails into skin with agonizing ferocity.

Oh, how Darkwood had longed to give her her first titty-flogging!. He had been mesmerized by her perfect tits from the day when he first met her. She had been clad in a clinging bikini top, emerging from his pool, the guest of a lady friend whose name Darkwood couldn't remember. Now those perfect tits were bare and compressed by cold steel rings. Darkwood snapped the whip quickly, all nine tails finding Lacy's left breast, the half-inch wide tongues of the leather hydra biting venomously into the sensitive meat. Lacy screamed a lovely octave scale into the buffalo cock, and Darkwood quickly snapped the whip, it's evil nine serpents again striking, this time finding the throbbing right tit. One tongue bit directly into the nipple, causing Lacy to scream again into the dead bovine penis stuffing her throat.

Darkwood then removed a small cylindrical object from his pocket and gently eased it into his captive's cunt. He flipped the switch at its base, and the cylinder vibrated to life, sending electric pulses directly into the walls of Lacy's clenching pussy. Uncomfortable and frightening at first, the electrical pulses soon turned to pleasure, her cunt spasming rhythmically, the cylinder pressing against her pleasure spots. Darkwood returned to whipping, but the flogging was now soft and sensual, the tails licking rather than biting, nibbling against her compressed breast-flesh. "Native American women had a reputation for not having erotic feelings in their tits. So these little hoops were invented as sort of a training exercise in sensitivity. Works, don't you think?"

He reached beneath the table and found the crank mechanism, a portion of the table rising to lift his captive's hips. He then slid the ankle shackles backward until Lacy's legs were bent to a frog-like angle. Using stout silken ropes, he tightly bound her thighs to two wooden pegs set into the table, parallel to her waist. Thus, Lacy's cunt was splayed as widely as possible.

Darkwood smiled, pulling the hood of her clitoris back, then with sudden fury flexed the spring loaded handle and flailed the tails of the flogger hard into Lacy's pouting vulva, the seventh tail landed on her perinaeum, the third stung her exposed clitoris. Lacy continued to scream in agony and buck against her bondage, her pale body glowing with sweat, the soft lighting making the skin glow. Again he snapped the flogger against the struggling woman's cunt, eliciting more agonized wails into the bull dick.

How Darkwood enjoyed flogging Lacy's beautiful breasts and sweet, shaven sex! He continued his stroking of her compressed tits and splayed open cunt for another half hour, but he reluctantly stopped himself when her wailing became desperate, terrified sobs, slowly opening each hoop's circumference, the rings relaxing their grip at the base of Lacy's perfect tits. Darkwood wouldn't harm her tonight. They were after all, lovers, he the Native American self-made multimillionaire, and she the great granddaughter of the Army colonel who had tortured, raped, branded and finally killed Darkwood's great grandmother.

But he damn well would make her feel anything. Everything.