Seen at a Mall: an Allegory of Love

Usual disclaimer: Story depicts scenes of STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT, NUDITY, BONDAGE, NON-CONSENSUAL SEX, HUMILIATION, ABDUCTION, SHAVING, and other things I may have forgotten.

Don't like these things? Exercise your rights to NOT READ THEM!

For the rest of you, enjoy.

*

May 1995

It was nearly mall closing time, and I had my "victim du jour" in sight. A luscious wench she was, too; the requisite long, plush, red locks of course, in this case bound loosely by a cloth fillet, but also a rounded fullness of body, not angular like so many of the others. (Why ARE so many redheads waaaaay too skinny? Choice or heredity? But, I digress...)

She was older than many of the others, too, a woman of "that certain age", somewhere between 30 and 50, but could be anywhere along that spectrum. Old enough to know what she wants, and confident enough to be sure she can get it. Ripe. Yes, that's the word...she was fully ripened. This one might provide more than an evening's amusement, despite the dangers of keeping the trophy longer than necessary before "throwing them back."

The light was catching the flaming highlights of her hair, bouncing freely just above her buttocks, dazzling me where I stood--well back from her sight, but not far enough to escape being bewitched. I was like a moth caught by the light of the candle, entranced by that fiery mane.

She appeared to be almost finished shopping, so my time for contemplative admiration was growing short. Soon, I must make THE decision, as I had so many times before. But tonight, there was really no decision to make; this one must be mine, no matter the risk, no matter the cost.

She was wearing an LBD (Little Black Dress) and spike heels, so she would be easier prey than many, but I mustn't grow overconfident, just the same; complications could always arise at the last moment, no matter how ripe for plucking the fruit might appear.

Now was the moment. She was headed for her car, in the nearly deserted lot. Why do women insist on fumbling with their keys on the way, not seeing their surroundings, not seeing the DANGER waiting in the shadows?

As she stopped, next to her car, still fumbling, still searching for something she would now no longer need, I dashed from my sanctuary into the semi-darkness between our vehicles--she never even heard me.

I slapped her purse straight up into the air, much higher than her head, en route to bending down towards her knees. As she instinctively raised her arms up to catch the fleeing bag, I followed her arms with my own--with a handful of dress and slip hems clutched tightly in my grasp!

Her arms and head were now entangled in her own clothing, and while she struggled, still not realizing fully what was happening, I yanked her panties and hose around her ankles, entangling her feet as well. Predictably, she began to scream at this point, but it was much too late for her, even though her noise was only mildly muffled by the dress in front of her face. I caught her as she began to tumble forward, still squirming inside her tight garments, opened the van door, and redirected her final fall to the inside of my vehicle, parked right next to hers, awaiting her return. I quickly shackled her wrists and ankles with the waiting restraints attached inside the door frames, slammed the door on her frenzied shouting, and casually strolled around to the driver's side door, scooping her purse and most of her belongings as I went. Looking around, I saw no witness to my act. Standing next to the van, outside the driver's door, I could barely hear her screaming. Further away, there would be no sound at all. She was mine.

I was, as usual, shaking from the adrenaline rush of another successful capture, but not so badly that I couldn't finish the job after opening the door and sliding quickly into the front seat between screams. I quickly flicked open my butterfly knife for the coup de grace--slicing open the front of her bra and the portion of her dress still encumbering her breasts to bare her entire torso to my gaze, turgid nipples and fluffy, copper bush. I then turned the car key already in the slot to begin our escape. Total time elapsed: 47 seconds.

Keeping my voice low, so she would have to stop screaming to hear me, I explained the situation to my latest toy while leaving the parking lot, and then the city. She began crying, then threatening, then pleading, in between gasps and fits of struggling, but in the end, she continued to listen as I explained her fate.

I assured her, above all, that she would live, and in time, be released, but that she was mine for at least a short time, and there was really nothing she could do about it. In a city of 1.3 million, people disappeared every day, and police were much too busy to enjoin a serious manhunt.

How bearable she made the time spent with me was totally up to her...I was a strict master, but not cruel, and she would be punished only as necessary. She would undoubtedly remember her time with me for the remainder of her days, and unfortunately, she would almost certainly be emotionally marked by this violation. But no permanent physical damage would come to her because of my ownership.

She was mine to do with as I saw fit, and no amount of screaming or struggling would change that simple fact. Did she understand? I reached over the seat and trailed a finger down her midline, from under her chin to the top of her bush, to emphasize her position. She understood, as I knew she would; she was intelligent as well as beautiful. And so the rest of the trip was spent in silence.

When we arrived at the cabin, I checked to make sure all was in readiness as I had left it, that nothing had been disturbed. I came back for her in the van, and attached the running lines to the restraints on her wrists before releasing the restraints from the interior walls and floor. I kept the guide lines taut to keep her from falling out of the van onto the ground, and bruising that alabaster flesh.

She shuddered and tried to shrink from my touch as I continued to slide her out of the back, but there was really nowhere for her to go, with half her body still on the van floor, and the rope continuing to pull her out the door like a baby being birthed. When I had guided her fully out and into a standing position with her arms now secured to two tree branches overhead, I tied off the guide line around the tree, well out of her reach, and stepped back to really survey my prize for the first time since her capture.

Her breasts were much fuller than the restrictive clothing had originally let on, and they were held almost taut by the position she was bound in, with her arms overhead. In the glare from the harsh spotlights, her skin seemed almost luminescently pale, especially in her untanned areas. Her hair was long enough that even though her face and arms were still covered by the remains of her dress, some still fell from that upper opening, between her bound arms, to cascade over the hem of the slip and frock still binding her. The fluffy curls at her nether opening were delightfully thick, with golden highlights amidst the flame. And they were my first order of business, once I finished binding her...

I attached two more ropes to my victim, one to each leg, and tightened them in place before cutting away her pantyhose, and removing her heels. After tossing those useless remnants aside, I further widened her stance and tied those guide ropes off at the bases of the trees. She was now almost free of clothing, but I needed to blindfold her before freeing her from that last tattered bit of restriction.

I stepped behind her, reached under the opening I had earlier cut to free her bra, and split the dress and slip the rest of the way up her arms, allowing it, and her hair, to fall around body. The fillet was almost useless now, having nearly come off in her struggles, and I removed it the rest of the way, to leave her hair totally unbound. She began struggling anew, and twisting to see me behind her. I quickly smacked both her asscheeks, hard, and yanked her hair back enough to cause her to look straight upwards, though she couldn't have turned far enough to see any part of me, in any case.

"You don't want to see who I am. I promise you. If you see me, I can't let you leave. Think about that whenever you get that urge again." And so saying, I slipped the blindfold over her head, and settled it into place on her eyes. The reddening prints of my hand stood out in stark contrast to her lily cheeks, and I continued circling her now-completely-nude form, to finish my appraisal of my catch.

She spoke, in a quavering voice, just this side of panic, "What do you want? What are you going to do to me? What..." Any further questions were postponed by my introducing a bit gag into her mouth, reducing her to unintelligibility. As I walked over to the video camera on a nearby tripod, pre-focused on my victim, I spoke to her again while zooming in for a brief close-up of her bush.

"You'll be with me for some time, so I'll answer a few questions, up front, but understand that in the future, such unwelcome and inappropriate blathering may get you punished. That bit is not to keep you from screaming--I assure you, when I eventually remove it, you may scream all you wish, and no one is around to hear for many miles.

"First, what I wanted, I now have--you, bound naked before me, gagged and blindfolded, vulnerable to anything I desire from you. What am I going to do to you? Well, again, I'm in a position to do anything I want at the moment, but what I want to do right now is remove that patch of fur perched so prettily above your slit. Have you ever had your pussy shaved bald before? Shake or nod your head to respond."

She shook her head vehemently no, tossing her hair about wildly, and I wasn't sure how much was negative response, and how much was reaction to my disclosure of intent. I was very glad I was capturing all of this on film--she was incredibly photogenic at moments like that one. After checking the final focus to be sure I was again viewing all of her, I walked again to where she stood.

"Good, a virgin to the blade. But first, I feel I owe you something. I see a wedding ring on your finger, so I assume you have a husband, and further, that if he's not a complete idiot, he eats you regularly. But I would guess that the last time he did so, neither of you suspected that it would be the last time he would be doing so for a while with this bush covering you here.

"So, to allow you to cum one final time with fur--knowing that to be the case--I'm going to dine between your thighs first." And so saying, I sat down on the ground between her widespread legs and prepared to feast on her fuzzy treasure, trying to avoid blocking the shot as much as was possible.

The width of her stance already had her lips parted slightly, so it was hardly necessary to spread them further with my fingers to allow my tongue entrance, but I did so anyway, delighting in the feel of her, even covered with hair as she was.

She was one of those women who allowed her bush to run rampant, a wild, furry creature that extended up her belly and--slightly--down her thighs, in florid profusion, never trimming it or giving it check. No butt-floss bikinis for this gal; no punk-Mohawk-pubic-stripe! It was obvious to me from the first glimpse in the parking lot, that this abundant crop had never been harvested before, and that she was probably quite proud of her lavish pelt. A pity. Soon she would have nothing remaining to be proud of.

I plunged my nose into the thicket, as I plunged my tongue into her moist crevice, setting off a new paroxysm of head shaking and struggling, but to no avail. She had obviously delicately perfumed her bush, and I drank in the aroma, snuffling my nose through her pubes to garner every bit of scent I could release. Her natural scent combined deliciously with this fragrance (Was it Chanel?) and I spent a few moments inhaling all of it I could, while she struggled to avoid my touch. Then, I shifted my grip to her asscheeks, tilting her pelvis forward to make her more easily accessible to my lingual predations.

This first taste of my capture always sets me afire, and I ravenously plundered her folds with lips and tongue, licking and nibbling, slurping and swallowing, burrowing my entire being into that small space between her tender lips. After the frenzy of the moment passed, I slowly converted to a more methodical approach to her fulfillment, suckling her clit between my lips and laving it gently with my tongue, with occasional forays back between her love lips to scoop out the dew forming from my efforts.

And make no mistake, my ministrations were producing the desired results. While her brain may have been rebelling at the "atrocity" awaiting her, her pussy was responding as pussies do to petting and attention--with arched back and eager availability to further caresses. Only this pussy GAVE cream with tongue-lapping, instead of getting it! She was delicious, and her juices flowed copiously long before the finale. Toward the last I could barely keep up with the gushing, and when the dam burst I was awash in the taste of her, my face and beard drenched with her spending.

Pausing only a moment for her to catch her breath, I took full advantage of her predicament by continuing to tongue her oversensitive clit, which only intensified the frenzy of her struggles. After a few minutes of wild thrashing, as I continued to push her button, her ass began to buck again, within the confines allowed by the ropes, and shortly she was cumming again. Then, a third time...and a fourth, and fifth, after which, she hung limply in the ropes. A portion of her escaped tresses partially curtaining her lush body, a sheen of sweat covering her brow and breasts despite the coolness of the night.

She was totally exhausted from her struggles and multiple orgasms, much more pliable, and still tremendously sensitive. Now the slightest touch of my tongue or fingers produced more unconstrained activity, but with much less vigor to be dredged up for the response.

"You'll be glad I did that later, so you won't be as tempted to continue your struggles, and accidentally cause me to cut you with the razor I'm about to use on you. Now, to the matter at hand, or more accurately, at the juncture of your thighs."

I went over to the worktable next to the trees, where I kept the tools of my trade. Over a Coleman stove, I had a small pot of water warming, next to it some battery-powered clippers and a mug containing some shaving soap and a shaving brush. And, of course, next to them all lay the apple of my eye, my companion, the extension of my will--my razor-closed, sleeping for the moment, but soon to wake, to eat of his favorite meal.

I opened him now, light glinting off the shining length of him, waking him to join me in the feast. We sang our song together, the gliding, rollicking song of sharpness, as I stroked him briskly along the strop, the prelude to our meal. We shared our joyous communion of preparation until he seemed to cut the very air with his movement. Enough!

He and I were ready, and I set him down as I bent to my menial tasks, mixing the soap and water, whipping up the creamy foam which is the only condiment we crave on our food. Then, grabbing a fresh towel from the overhead branch, I brought the low tray with everything I needed, and sat once again before the altar at which we would worship.

I spoke to my capture as you would to calm a nervous filly. "Before I begin in earnest, there is always a minor preparation, to allow the blade free access to the flesh. Though it certainly doesn't require it, I admit I take a certain satisfaction in the act, and of course, I prize the trophy that is the result."

I attached the pube-catcher between her knees, and without further delay, flipped the switch on the electric clippers, and ran them slowly down the center of her pubic thatch, top to bottom, leaving a swath of barely-visible stubble in the wake. The cellophane centerpiece of my simple invention, suspended like a hammock beneath her pussy, caught each precious bit of fur as it cascaded from her mound, quickly accumulating a sizable sprinkling of flaming red tufts with each passing stripe of the clippers.

At the first sound of the instrument buzzing into life, her head had jerked up, and her hips, still weary from her earlier frantic bucking, tried futilely for a few moments to avoid the clippers' caress. But patience, preparation and her utter fatigue won out, and her pubes soon became the latest addition to my collection. With the last trip across her mons complete, I stepped back and over to my video camera.

I zoomed in until the only thing visible in the viewer was the few, barren square-inches of skin, previously invisible, and the slippery slit beneath. I stepped back to her, careful not to block the shot at any time, and finished the exploration. Her lush forest had been reduced to a putting green, and I stroked the fuzzy remnant, tickling my fingertips with the sad remains of her pussy's former glory.

My own close-cropped beard was now a profuse growth in comparison, and I knelt to rub my facial fur across her nearly-denuded pudenda for a few moments, savoring the contrast of textures, setting off another round of anguished, but pointless, rebellion. The warm comfort of her pussy rubbing against my bearded face was worth the extra effort it took while she thrashed futilely, unable to prevent it.

When I was through, I detached the catcher, and after carefully sealing the cellophane to avoid losing a single strand of my prize, gave a final kiss to her stubbled mound, and sat back down to my task. When I looked back up again from the tasks at hand, I saw her head hung down to her chest in utter dejection. She knew, now, that I had acquired the first of my prizes, and that even should she somehow escape, part of her would always remain with me.

The very warm towels (not hot! I had no wish to burn those sensitive areas, now so delightfully vulnerable!) were still a shock to her, and caused an involuntary start, but after the initial contact, no further response. The lathering that followed shortly was anti-climactic, in every sense of the word, and accomplished in utter silence, even when the bristles from the brush played over her turgid clit, and poked between her swollen lips.

I got up to widen the shot of the camera to again include all of her, then returned to sit once more between her knees. The fluffy mockery of shaving lather, masquerading as her pubes in their absence, brought a rueful smile to my face. She appeared almost as she had before, but where there had been a fiery mane of copper glory, now existed a white snowscape. Where there had been tangled curls now rolled flowing waves of foam. If she lived long enough, her mound might one day be similar to this color again, in extreme old age. I'd like to see her re-grown crop of fleece then, but I would always have this more precious memory, foreshadowing that change.

And if by some quirk of fate, I did see her pubes attached to her again, I'd only be compelled to remove them, as I just had. And I had hers to remember her by, regardless.

I addressed her again, but her attitude still remained apathetic. Her head barely raised to acknowledge that she heard my speaking. It was usually this way with the very proud ones--much of their spunk disappears with their pubes. Again, a pity. But maybe this one would surprise me yet. In any case, my friend and I were ready to get to the real work of the evening.

"Now we begin the final steps. I must caution you again, to remain still to avoid injury. I have very steady hands, but even so, I may not be able to anticipate your every gyration. The blade I am about to use is more than sharp; it is a razor, used in olden times for surgery as well as shaving. One ill-advised move and your clit may very well follow your pubes into my permanent possession. Remain still, and you will feel no discomfort whatsoever, just a silken caress, and the fresh, clean sensation of newborn flesh."