A Slave to Lust

After hours on the highway, Sheila was glad when the truck turned onto a wide dirt road. Still uncertain of where she was headed, she was anxious to get out and stretch her legs. The hypnotic effect of miles of unchanging landscape had dulled the fear that had first gripped her when she realized that she was his captive now. She had not been as concerned as she thought she should be; her biggest concern, oddly, was that she keep moving out West. Since that had been where they were going, her fear remained mostly under the surface. Now that their Westward momentum was at an end, the thought that she might not be able to continue in that direction made her nauseous.

The truck quickly came to a tall, chain link fence topped with razor wire. Howie stopped about five feet from the gate and leaned out the window, looking up at a camera mounted high on a pole just inside the gated perimeter. He gave a wave and the gate rolled back automatically. The truck moved slowly inside and soon arrived at a large clearing dominated by a sizable warehouse. Stopping near the building, close to a sturdy looking, metal door, Howie shut off the motor and climbed out. Walking some distance from both the truck and the building, with his back turned to her, he whipped out his dick and released a heavy stream of urine on the ground in front of him.

Sheila stepped out of the truck and stretched. The air was crisp and clear, the landscape scraggley, with a sparse collection of brush and small trees around. "Hey," She yelled to him, too exhausted to care what her immediate fate might be, "I need to go to the bathroom, too. Where can I go?"

He looked back over his shoulder, stream of urine unabated, and laughed. "You see anyone else around, Darlin'? Go where ever you like."

She looked at him for a second, trying to judge the seriousness of his response, and realized he wasn't about to show her to the powder room any time soon. Momentarily embarrassed to pee out in the open like this, she reluctantly decided to shed one more shred of her dignity. "At least," she thought, trying to console herself, "it's my aching bladder this time and not me on my knees begging for cock." Dropping her jeans down to her ankles, she squatted down near the rear wheel of the truck and released her own stream of hot pee.

Much to her chagrin, she looked up after she had finished to see that two men had emerged from the warehouse and were pointing at her, obviously enjoying the show. She was too tired work up that much emotion over it, however, and pulled her pants right back up and looked around for Howie. Seeing him walk over the men, she followed, realizing that she was now inside the high, razor-wired gate and she wasn't going anywhere without the say-so of these men.

The two who had come out of the front door of the warehouse were both larger than Howie, standing about 2-3 inches taller, but also much wider, broad in the chest and shoulders. They appeared, for the most part, like the truckers that she had been around for the past few weeks. Stained cotton tee shirts and blue jeans, work boots and sweaty, brimmed hats. These two were distinctive for the fact that they weren't flabby from hours driving; while they did not possess bulging and rippling muscles, they were solid, like linebackers. And they were armed. Each had some sort of rifle slung from a strap over their shoulder and handgun in holsters at their thighs.

"... is all there, but this truck needs to get lost. Plates changed, maybe even some paint. Oh, and this here is my other surprise." Howie, who had been pointing at the truck while he was talking to the two men, now swept his arm expansively upon Sheila's arrival, as if introducing a circus act. The two men looked at her, eyes roaming over her leecherously. "This fine lookin' young woman is Sheila. Say hi to the boys here, Darlin'."

Sheila looked up at them, uncertain. She could almost see the depraved acts they were imagining doing to her, as they stared hungrily at her. She both feared and desired these things, and was helpless to stop imagining them herself, feeling the stirrings of unwanted arousal. "Pleased to meet you." she said meekly, hands held together in front of her.

They showed no sign that they even heard her. Howie gave directions to the men. "Mike, help me unload the truck. Joe, show this little missy to the cage." He turned to walk to the truck with the man who must have been Mike, as Sheila just stared in shock at the word 'cage'. To stunned to immediately speak, the other man grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her into the warehouse.

"Hey, wait a minute! Where are you taking me?" Sheila tried to protest and free herself from his grip, but the strength difference was too great as he dragged her like a tiny dog on a leash.

"Shut up, Bitch." he mumbled.

The interior had been crudely partitioned into several rooms, some of them unusually large. She could make out piles of crates and a few doors along one wall that might be offices. The only illumination came from sporadically placed incandescent bulbs that hung from the cavernous ceiling and provided dingy, yellow circles of light. Through the shadows, she soon saw the direction to which she was being dragged and the cage that Howie referred to.

Someone had erected a roughly 10 foot by 10 foot enclosure of heavy chain link fencing. A door, also of chain link, stood open, a sturdy padlock hanging from it. The only furniture in the enclosure were a stout wooden table that was bolted to the floor and a hard, wooden chair. The table has a metal U-blot fixed to the top of it with a pair of manacles attached. The only other features of the space were a drain in the middle of the floor and a metal bucket in one corner. As she was forcibly hauled into the makeshift prison, Sheila felt a weight of dread sink into the pit of her stomach.

Joe threw her to the floor unceremoniously and stepped out, locking the padlock as he left. She thought about pleading to him, to ask about what they had planned for her eventual fate, but given the wordless accomplishment of her imprisonment, she decided that he wouldn't be giving her any answers. She sat down in the chair and stared out into the shadows that surrounded her, already missing the man's strong grip and the way that he threw her around. She put a hand between her legs and softly caressed her swelling clit, just to comfort herself.

Sometime later, she could hear voices approaching and soon could make out Howie and an older man approach her cage. "This is her, Mr. Coleman. The 'Darlin' of the Highway'." Howie seemed subdued and respectful in the presence of this man. The older man did possess a commanding aspect and Sheila blushed when she realized that he was holding the tablet device she had looked at in the truck. The one with the videos of her on it. He was looking at her and then at the tablet and then back at her again, interest and amusement sparkling in his eyes. Remembering those videos, she knew he must be watching her take on man after man, sometimes several at a time and knowing how much of a slut she was. She looked away from his stare, the humiliation being too much for her in her situation.

"Howie tells me that your name is Sheila." He spoke directly to her, a strong, authoritative voice, with gravel at the edges of it. "Is this true?"

"Yes, sir." she said. She didn't know why she added the 'sir', but it seemed right somehow.

"You seem to like the company of men, but you do not ask for money. You're not a Prostitute?"

"No, sir. I, I ..." her voice trailed off as she didn't really know what to say. No one had questioned her sexual appetite, at least none of the men she had been with seemed that concerned to know more about her than the simple fact that she was spreading her legs for them. Her compulsion to fuck, to submit to this unceasing desire to be filled, had been so complete that she hadn't even stopped to think about it herself. A sudden flash of insight gripped her and she met his eyes, both shame and lust burning in her face, but, most of all, a brutal honesty. "I have a need to be fucked, sir. I, I, can't help myself much of the time and, ...well, you've seen the videos."

He nodded at her and she saw the conflict in his eyes, as well. The disdain he felt for one who would spread her legs as readily as she did, but a grudging respect for the honesty which seemed to be a rarity in this man's world. He turned to Howie and said, "Okay. Call the boys. They deserve a bit of fun and she seems willing, but no videos. She seems to have acquired a bit of fame as it is and after your encounter with the police, we can't afford any more exposure. Get her some food and water; she's going to need her strength for tonight. And get her a fucking shower. I can smell the cum on her from here."

With that, he turned without a second glance and walked away. Howie followed like a well trained dog. Sheila just felt a familiar longing, To touch and be touched. To be used and filled with cum. Being surrounded by chain link, being restrained, and talked about like a common whore, these things excited her for reasons that she couldn't fathom and had long since ceased to question. She only knew survival and need. She had felt, however, something new. One might call it pride. The feeling of accepting what one is and being recognized for it, Even if it was for being a complete and utter whore.

The silent Joe returned shortly after this with a tray containing two bottles of water and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He stood quietly inside the cage while she ate and drank, staring at her with a hungry look she was getting all too used to. She eyed the bulge in the front of his jeans and got wet, realizing that she had no way out, no where to go. He was going to take her and there was no way to stop him. The inevitability of him using her, shoving himself into her, made her so, so hot and she hated herself for it. Oh, how she longed to fight, to resist, but just the thought of being used for his sexual pleasure was driving her into a frenzy and she realized she was staring back at him hungrily, as well.

No sooner had she finished her meal than he said to her, "Take your clothes off." She had been expecting something like this, so she stood up, looking him slyly with a suggestive smile and slowly lifted her tee shirt to reveal her toned abdomen. He abruptly stepped closer to her and slapped her hard across the face.

"This isn't a date. Get your fucking clothes off and bend over the table." His face was emotionless, cold, his voice flat and not inviting discussion.

Her submission was automatic. He clearly did not want any of her feminine wiles. She was a piece of meat, a hole to stick his dick into. She found herself growing even wetter, knowing that her only place was to bend over and get fucked. Wordlessly, she stripped and bent over the hard wooden table, presenting her ass to the big man. She heard his zipper open and felt the hot bulb of his cock head nudge against her swollen vaginal lips, she still had the presence to feel ashamed as she smelled just how aroused she was and heard herself whisper, "Please fuck me. Please."

She barely got the words out, before he thrust into her. His was not the most impressive prick to fill her, but never the less, she felt it stretch her completely. She moaned loudly as he shoved inside of her, and just stayed there for a moment, getting used to the enveloping warmth of her cunt, before starting a rhythmic pumping into her. The sensations that a dick inside her sent throughout her body were beyond anything she had ever felt in her life. They consumed her entirely, her gasping and mewling echoing throughout the cavernous space of the warehouse. The only part of her not lost in the simple sensation of fucking was the shame and humiliation of being used, of being little more than a sex toy to the men that deposited their cum in her and left her in a weakened and jelly-like state.

Joe was no more talkative in coitus than he was in any other of his activities and simply grabbed her hips as he pushed himself into her again and again. His weight leaned against her as she laid on the table, crushed under his larger body, the feel of his cock entering her repeatedly. She had been so worked up already that she would have assumed her orgasm was guaranteed, but with one violent thrust, he came inside her, hot sperm flooding her and coating her walls of her pussy. As he pulled out, it was the feeling of emptiness, of his cum leaking out of her pussy, that triggered her orgasm, the feeling of being completely used and discarded, of being nothing to this person. Then there was the shame of her own arousal, the intense pleasure she felt from humiliation, from being treated like a worthless cunt. And this made her cum again.

On weak legs, naked and leaking cum, she was led to the room that held a shower and she took her time under the spray of water to cleanse herself. She reveled in the glorious feeling of hot water against her skin. When it was over, she discovered her clothes had been taken and she was led, naked, back to her cage and left there with a few more bottles of water. There she sat, awaiting whatever fate they had planned for her.

Time passed, but with out windows to see the sky or clocks, she was unable to keep a sense of how much had passed. Soon she heard others arriving. She heard the rumble of motorcycles and monster trucks. It seemed that many people were converging upon this location and she couldn't help but thinking that she was the main attraction. It didn't take too long before they came for her.

Two large men dragged her out of her cell. One was Joe, but she didn't recognize the other one, being equally large and taciturn, but younger, barely shaving from the look of it. They took her to a large, communal area. At an open space, a number of worn chairs and couches has been set up in a U-shape. In the center was a large saw horse, with a padded top. There were restraints at each of the legs of the sawhorse. There was also a large screen television that was playing a video. It was one of Sheila, and the many depraved acts that she had committed over the last few weeks. There was a camera set up on a tripod nearby, in defiance of the older man's orders, presumably to capture the events of tonight.

There must have been at least twenty men there, milling around. It was difficult to make an accurate head count. A few were seated on the couches, looking at the large screen and then at her, pointing and laughing. Most were still walking around, in and out of the little circles of illumination of the large open area. When they saw Sheila brought out, they began to converge on the central area. One fiddled with the camera and a green light on the side winked on. She saw neither Howie nor the older man who had spoke with her.

Standing in the midst of these men, being the center of attention was having an effect on Sheila. Her breathing increased, and her nipples hardened, longing to be touched, squeezed, tugged upon. She felt herself grow moist as she could hear lewd phrases through the low din of voices that echoed through the building.

"Look at those tits.", "... all the way up her shitter and ...", "... burping sperm for a week after we ...", "... stretched out after tonight, I bet that ..."

The mix of emotions was too much for her. The fear that all these men were going to have a run with her. All these men! But there was excitement in that thought, as well. ALL these men! She imagined their cocks, hard, throbbing, all to be milked by her cunt, her mouth, her ass. There was a power in that, that she would make them all cum, and a powerlessness, too, that she was absolutely helpless to stop these men (all these men!) from using her in any way they pleased. Her heart pounded within her chest and her pussy swelled in anticipation.

Finally a man approached her directly. He was of average build and barrel chested, with an unkempt goatee and head of hair that had some grey edging into it. He had a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy, muscular arms, one wrist with a wide, studded leather band. His black jeans seemed well worn and were held up by a black leather belt with a large silver and turquoise buckle. Scuffed black boots seemed to complete his outfit. He held a metal studded black collar with a leash attached to it.

He stopped a little less than an arms length away, just inside her personal space. She looked up to meet the steely gaze of his stare. "Do you know why you are here?" he asked, his voice deep and smoother than she would've thought.

"You're, you're going to ... use me, aren't you? All of these men. I'm going to get fucked, aren't I?" Her voice barely came out as a whisper, barely daring to give words to the thoughts that were clouding her head.

"I'd say you've got a real talent for the understatement right there. Now, a few ground rules." This casual sentence was followed quickly, surprisingly, with a slap that landed hard across her cheek, sending more shock than pain through, along with a blossoming of excitement. She gave a little squeal when it landed and the room fell silent, sensing that the show was about to start.

"Don't look at me, Bitch! Eyes down, now." She complied immediately, submissively standing there, face downcast. Her pelvic floor began to clench and unclench in desire, in need. Being treated like this, debased publicly, she knew was only the beginning. The two men who had escorted her out had left. It was only her and this man with countless eyes upon them. She knew she should be terrified at what was about to happen, outraged to be treated like this, but mostly she felt lust and the juices collecting between her legs.

"You are going to be our slut for the night." As he said this, he reached out to fasten the collar around her neck. She felt another shiver of pleasure go through her. "You exist for our pleasure. We will use all your holes and we will care nothing for your pleasure." He slowly walked behind her and gripped her firmly by the shoulders, turning her slowly, presenting her to the crowd. The men jeered at her, the very image of submission, eyes downcast, collared and her leash hanging down between her breasts, past the small swell of her abdomen and resting at the level of her smooth, hairless mons.

Breath came hot on the nape of her neck, causing her to tremble in anticipation. The man then took one of her hands back, snapping a metal restraint around one of her thumbs, then repeated the process, the thumb cuffs keeping her hands behind her back. The added restraint send a new wave of arousal deep in her pelvis, wetness slickening her labia and her breathing coming quick. The man slowly circled her, stopping just in front. The others were still content to watch and murmur, but to Sheila they no longer existed. Her vision had narrowed to the man standing before her, so close. She stood obediently, trying to will him to touch her. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears drowned out all other sound.

"You are the horniest slut I've ever met." He brought one of his hands between her legs and inserted a thick digit into her soaking pussy. A low moan escaped her lips at the intrusion.

"Here you are, bound, surrounded by a group of men who are going to use you all night long." Another finger went inside her and another moan came out. She began to whimper, teetering on the brink of orgasm.

"And yet you are soaking wet. You can't wait to take their cocks. I just might have to keep you when this is all done." He withdrew his fingers and shoved them roughly into her mouth. "Clean my fingers, Bitch! Clean yourself off them."

He slapped her ass, hard, the sound silencing the rest of the men, and then grabbed hold of her leash, yanking her forward. "Follow." was his only command and he began parading her around the men like a prize cow. He would lead her close to them, pausing to allow them to grab hold of her ass and tits. All of them commented on how wet she was and she basked in the humiliation, soon to be lost in a fog of sensation.