Of course this is a work of fiction and anyone that would enslave a person against their will needs to be institutionalized. Enjoy it for the fiction it is.
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It started as just a desire to have regular pussy, then became an obsession. Though I had prepared for it, when it actually happened it came quite by accident and as such a pleasant surprise.
I guess the old adage, prepare for opportunity and it just might come knocking at you door, has some validity to it.
When I built my place in the country I had a storm cellar built, too. Though it had use as a place to go during tornadoes and such, and I used it to store fruits and vegetables at harvest time until I could get around to canning or freezing them, its main purpose was to serve as a dungeon. I had had a girl friend earlier in my life that liked BDSM games and I had grown fond of playing Master to submissive women.
The only problem was the games were more like D/s than BDSM as the role-play partners could express boundaries, and none were willing to go as far as I wanted to take it. I needed a real sex slave to 'use and abuse' as I saw fit. The dungeon was outfitted in such a way so as to preclude curiosity if someone came down into its dark recesses for a reason other than sex play.
The subterranean room was divided in two. After the contractor who built it left, I erected a wall that divided the room into two rooms. With thick concrete walls on the surface, you really couldn't tell how big it was inside, so abbreviating the space would raise no suspicion, should the wrong people become curious. The door to the hidden chamber was a shelf for storing jars of vegetables and fruits after canning. It rolled away from the wall on casters. Every spring I would repaint the floor battleship gray so the caster trail wasn't apparent. I had had electricity run to the underground enclave, but not so much for the legitimate use area, as for the 'play area'. In the event of using it for storm safety, electricity would likely fail anyway, and the contractor who built it gave me a strange look when I asked for electricity to be run to it. He remained dubious when I explained it would see more use as a large pantry than it would ever see as a storm safe room. But money talks and he brought an electrician in to do the wiring. I started laying in building materials during the last few days the construction crew was on site. This raised some curiosity and I just explained I was going to add on to my chicken coop. Then the day came they finally finished and left my small farm.
I hauled the lumber down into the space I was 'remodeling' and built the dividing wall in a matter of hours. Then I constructed several shelves to go along the walls of the 'legitimate' space. The shelf with the casters was next and I had my concealed door to the interior space. Fortunately I have a good understanding of electricity, and though not an electrician, I managed to split the circuit running to the room and separate the power to the two sides. Now I cleaned up the workspace that would serve as my storm cellar and canning storage area, and started on the dungeon part. This was considerably easier to begin with, and I started putting eyehooks in the walls and ceiling of the area. These would serve as places to hang rope and chains from. I built a 'rack' and a couple of 'stocks'. A bunk was built into one wall, and a small shower was added. It had crossed my mind if I couldn't find a willing sex slave the traditional way, I had seen ads where foreigners would 'lease' a woman for an extended period (most of the ads listed a years lease) and I would go that route. I was 55 and so the window of opportunity for me to experience these activities was drawing to a close, rapidly.
The last thing I built was a rebar cage. I had taken a welding course and I laid in a supply of construction rebar they use to reinforce concrete pillars and such and welded the cage in one corner of the room. I didn't know if I would need it, but you know what they say, 'better to have and not need than to need and not have'.
I moved all my BDSM accoutrements to the room, which wasn't much. An assortment of whips, dildos, chains, gags, retraining harnesses, a cattle prod and a tazer, and similar items. I would surely need to add more, later. The 'Dungeon' was ready. Now I just needed to find a willing playmate.
Time went by and no takers were forthcoming. I spent a lot of time in the room creating new 'accessories' and tinkering with what was already there. Like I said this became a bit of an obsession for a time. I finally got control of the obsession, and stopped tinkering with the room. I think actually I had done everything that could be done so losing the obsession wasn't that hard. I continued to look for a subject for the room, but found most of the web sites that were like personals sites for alternative lifestyles were as big a rip-off as regular personals sites were.
Then one day fate intervened.
I was driving down a country road on the backside of my place, checking the fences for places that needed repair. This was a pasture designated for the few head of cattle I would graze to provide beef. I was going to the sale barn on the weekend and I needed to be sure I had the pasture in good shape before I brought stock home. The fact I chose to drive that day was fortuitous. As I crept slowly up the dirt and gravel road, I saw a young girl walking. I wondered what she was doing along here, because there weren't any houses for at least two miles in any direction except for my house that was a half mile through the pasture and woods. It was just getting dark when I saw her walking up the road. I had just topped a rise in the lane and she was a hundred yards or so in front of me. I picked up the binoculars in the seat beside me and focused on her walking up the road in front of me.
She was dressed western, with Jeans and a plaid style western shirt it appeared from the yoke, and boots. Her jeans were a brand called 'Rockies' and were designed for women, without hip pockets and cut to accentuate the ass. Hers was certainly a nice ass, and it swayed naturally left to right, then right to left as she walked, though she was walking rather slowly. She had long blonde hair the hung half way down her back. I drove rather quickly up to overtake her.
With a white beard and moustache, I look more like a benevolent grandfather rather than a person to fear. As I pulled up beside her, I spoke, startling her from the reverie of thought she was in. I inquired if she was in trouble and did she need a ride.
Understand out in the country like this, folks aren't as suspicious as they are in the city. A natural wariness is still taught the children of country folk, though mostly the same lessons mothers have been teaching their daughters since time immemorial.
She grew a huge infectious smile as it occurred to her what I was asking and after my appearance had had time to register in her mind.
"Yes." She said.
"Get in." I replied gesturing toward the door.
She walked around the front of my pickup truck and climbed inside. I reminded her to fasten her seat belt, more as a way to have something adult and authoritarian to say than anything else.
I asked "Where to?"
She introduced herself as Mildred, but said her friends just called her Millie. I told her I was Frank. She said her house was about 5 miles up the road. I asked why she was out here, alone, so far from home. She started to cry and said her boyfriend had brought her out here, when they were supposedly going to get some dinner and go dancing, and then he tried to get her to have sex with him. When she refused he told her to get out of his truck, called her a tease and insisted she give him his ring back (they were going steady). She showed me where he had torn her blouse when he got rather aggressive.
I was reminded of the old joke saying "If you aren't out here after, what I'm out here after, you're going to be out here after I'm gone."
I was driving slow pondering whether to take advantage of the situation, telling her I was checking my fences, which was true, though I never turned and looked at the fence again. I guess my grandfatherly appearance and the fact I was 'in her court' on every position she postulated in the conversation, helped her to relax, for she opened up to me about herself and what had occurred with her boyfriend that evening.
She told me she was a recent graduate of the local high school and starting the county community college in the fall. She said she had just turned 19.
She went on to say she had offered to suck her boyfriend's cock, in lieu of sex, as she wanted to remain a virgin until her wedding night. She said sucking his cock wasn't really sex anyway, so there wouldn't be anything wrong with it. You got to love the merging of country values (wanting to remain a virgin) and modern ideas about sex the younger generation has (giving head isn't considered sex. Thank you Mr. Clinton).
She said that she had been blowing him for months to ward off sex and to prevent him getting 'blue balls' (another fine urban myth) but that tonight he had insisted on fucking. She blushed and apologized when she said the 'F-word'. I told her not to worry about it I had heard it before. She said he had shot down her worries of pregnancy, by being prepared with several condoms.
She said he had no respect for her position on wanting to save herself for marriage and in giving her cherry to her husband. She was really starting to get emotional and was crying rather profusely as she explained. Her getting her blouse torn, apparently a favorite was really upsetting to her, and the fact her head cheerleader/football player boyfriend relationship had ended was hard, as she had thought they would get married. She finally said since she planned on marrying him and truly loved him, perhaps she should have given into him. She even said maybe she was a tease as he had alleged.
I tried to console her.
"You were right to save your virtues for the honeymoon. He should have respected that position. If you had given yourself to him he likely wouldn't have married you. Once he had gotten into your panties that would have been the end of the two of you."
She appeared totally comfortable with me, and said nothing when I turned off the road to her house and headed back toward my place. I had decided this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Here was a little hottie, a former cheerleader no less. A beautiful blond and her boyfriend would be the principal suspect in her disappearance. It wasn't until I crossed the cattle guard at my front gate she asked where we were going. I had a story ready by then.
"I am preparing chicken and dumplings for my supper and I have a chicken boiling on the stove. I need to turn it off real quick then I will take you home."
