The Beast in Control

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. This work is designed for the reading pleasure of consenting adults and should not be read if the idea of non-consensual sexual contacts offends.

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As I climbed back into my van, I clicked the first button on the remote and the lights outside extinguished themselves. I then clicked the second button and the doors to the shed slid quietly back in their tracks and I backed out into the darkness. Once the doors had been remotely closed, I drove onto the roadway and clicked the other button to re-illuminate the billboard. There she was, some fifteen feet above me. That gorgeous blonde in the black dress still pointed at the entrance to my soon-to-be-occupied dungeon and the world had no idea the treasure that lay beneath her extended finger.

I drove off, confident in my next move, but sorely in need of sleep. Even the animal lust that I felt inside was not enough to fuel my body for long. I headed for my own apartment and after ensuring that I was organized for the next day, fell into bed in pure exhaustion.

Upon waking late the next morning, I felt totally rested and filled with an anxious anticipation for the remaining steps of my plan to fall into place.

First, I needed to scout the area around the old roadhouse restaurant for any hidden difficulties. I was fairly familiar with the locale, but one more check would not hurt. Lady luck must have been shining her face toward me, because upon driving into the restaurant lot, I noted that there was an old Volkswagen camper parked behind the restaurant that had not been there before. I took up an observation point in the corner of the parking lot and learned that there was a rather unsavory-looking teenage (?) girl living in it. Dressed like some refugee from the late 1960's with tie-dyed shirts and torn jeans, she slumped around the parking lot, looking into cars that were parked there. She was not the cleanest thing on earth, but appeared to be rather attractive (at least from a distance) and the crowning glory was that she was a redhead. A quirk in my plan began to form. If she would be home about 6:00 this evening, I had a dead-set way to ensure the two cheerleader targets would come right to me.

The day wore on, with nothing unusual happening around the restaurant and I abandoned my post. I drove home, changed into civilized clothing, stuffed my black outfit into a gym bag of the same color and began the trip back to the roadhouse. I arrived there just after 5:00 and managed to hide my van in the trees on the other side of the highway where an old fire trail ran into the woods for more than two miles.

I took the long way around in loping back to the restaurant, and wound up in the trees behind the VW at approximately 5:40. I spent some quality time listening, still as a wolf in hunting mode, and ascertained that my little redheaded hippie was alone in the camper. I could also (with some heightened sense of smell) distinctly separate the odor of decent marijuana from the other smells that surrounded the camper. So, my little retro-redhead was inside getting stoned!

I opened my satchel, took out a small notebook and carefully printed a note: "Please drive your car around to the camper in the back. I am dying to meet you, but I didn't want to show up here where somebody might know me….Janie." I carefully folded the message, tucking it into one of those triangular-shaped notes that high school kids constantly pass back and forth in study hall.

Slipping around the edge of the camper and leaving my bag behind, I knocked on the door. The pseudo-hippie answered the door with a roach in her hand and a beautifully glazed look on her face – already halfway there – and immediately frowned, "Oh, shit! I thought it was Max." She just stood there, swaying slightly to the beat of some ancient Jethro Tull coming from inside.

I spoke up, "I don't mean to disturb you, but I need a favor; and there's twenty bucks in it for you."

"I'm not fucking any hairy son of a bitch like you for 20 bucks!" she snarled at me. "It'll cost you at least 40!" I almost laughed at her attitude, and after looking her over, decided I wouldn't fuck her even if she paid me forty bucks!

I explained that this was not the favor I needed. I told her that there were two young ladies coming to meet me here at 6:00 and I didn't want them to see me in the restaurant before I got a good look at them. I described them to her and asked if she would go inside and give this note to the hostess or manager, whoever was at the door, and tell him there were two attractive girls coming and to give them the note. But she was to pretend the note came from her, not from me. Would she do it?

"Ya mean that's all I have to do? Give that bitch hostess the note?"

I replied in the affirmative and showed her the twenty-dollar bill I had promised. I told her I would wait right at the end of the parking lot to be sure she really went in. I would have to trust that she delivered the note, but if the girls didn't do what was in the note, I'd be back to "talk to" her again, and that she might not find me as agreeable the second time around. She grumped a bit, grabbed the note out of my hand, took one long last sucking drag on the roach and stomped it on the floor of the camper before she stepped out and headed directly for the door of the restaurant.

I watched her go in, spend perhaps 1 minute, then walk back out and head for the camper. I scurried back to the door and got there just as she arrived.

"Been there; done that; gimme the fucking twenty!" she blurted.

I reminded her that if the girls didn't follow the instructions she could be in deep shit. She looked at me and said, "I think I know when I see a hard case, mister; and you are definitely one. I was wrong when I said I wouldn't fuck you for twenty. As a matter of fact, I think I'd like to see if your cock is as furry as the rest of you. I'd do you for nothing. Wanna come in the back for a quick one?"

Declining her most generous offer, I slipped back into the woods and moved to the edge of the lot. I changd into my black outfit in the cover of the trees, lifted my next tool from the bag and took up a position where I could see the lot completely.

At one minute to six, the girls' Mustang slipped into a parking spot at the end of a row and they got out. They looked at each other, giggled a bit and pranced toward the door of the restaurant. I got a decent look at them. They had actually dressed alike. I remember them talking in their e-mails about feeling like sisters, but this was going a bit too far, I thought. Then again, perhaps this was a new tease for me. Twins! I was going to be fucking a set of twins! I almost laughed out loud.

They were dressed in short, pleated, school-uniform-type plaid skirts -- yellow and green, green knee socks, old-fashioned penny loafers, and gray Notre Dame t-shirts. What outfits! They had apparently tried to "dress younger" so that their own internet quarry would feel more comfortable.

The girls were not in the restaurant for more than three minutes when they came out, note in Sarah's hand, and looked around. They could not see me from my observation post, and got into the Mustang to drive 'round the back. I slipped through the trees and pressed myself up against the side of the VW where they could not see me.

As they drove closer and parked I moved to a spot behind their car. I slipped up to the driver's window and pointed a spray canister of a chemical that butterfly collectors use to immobilize those beautiful insects while they pin them to their collection boards. The chemical is chloroform-based, quick-acting, and does not require the collector to actually touch the butterfly and damage the beauty of the wing patterns if it should struggle in an attempt to escape.

Sarah was driving and the spray caught her directly in the face. I hit the button twice in succession, perhaps a second apart. Her initial reaction was to gasp for air, which only served to pull in a lungful of the chemical on the second inhalation. She slumped sideways, head resting on the sill of the driver's side door.

Beth looked at Sarah to see what had caused her to gasp and saw me standing there. She opened her mouth to scream, but my arm shoved the canister directly in her face and I hit the button long and hard. She yelped a bit, but immediately lost focus in here eyes and as her face turned to rubber, she, too slipped into unconsciousness.

I knew what I had to do: get in the car and get the hell out of here quickly. But there was a problem. The Mustang had bucket seats and there was no way to push Sarah out of the driver's seat onto Beth's side. I lost precious seconds lifting and shoving her into the space at Beth's feet, and my heart began to pound in the fear that someone would drive along the side of the restaurant and see what was happening; or, perhaps, our little redhead hippie slut would look out the van window and see me. No, I figured, she's most likely zonked out by now... stoned to the gills. At least, I hoped that was the picture.

I slid behind the wheel and moved the car smoothly and quietly out of the lot and onto the highway. Within fifteen minutes I was entering the remote-controlled doors of the shed above my den and they closed behind me in silence.

I sat and listened. Nothing. I stepped out of the car and moved to the passenger side. I took the pulse of both girls and understood they were rather deep asleep. Not wishing to take any real chances, however, I gave Sarah a hefty blast of the canister as I picked up Beth and slung her over my shoulders to carry into the depths.

Down the hidden ladder; into the darkness below; to a long, padded table at the far end, I carried Beth McVickar, and laid her, face-up on it. I immediately strapped her to the table, arms and legs fastened to swiveling shelves at either side, and a larger set of straps over hips and chest just under her breasts. I applied a gag to her mouth and left the room.

Sarah was still deep asleep, snoring slightly in her slumber, and I lifted her clear of the car and carried her to join her friend. I placed her in a hanging leather sling, sort of like a sitting hammock, with her hands attached to chains and cuffs hanging from the ceiling. I applied a gag to her mouth, too, and stood back to admire my handiwork.

I could hear Mrs. Van Heusen on the other side of the room asking, "Who's there? Help me! Get me out of here!" She could not see who it was in the dark, but she knew there was someone here.

I slipped over to her, standing directly in front of her and reached out to squeeze her breasts hard and quick, removing my hands immediately. She screamed again. I whispered into her face, "My dear Mrs. Van H, did you miss me? Did you want to feel my thumb in your cunt again? I can oblige you, if you'd like." And I slipped my hand between her thighs.

"No! No! Don't touch me, you freak!"

"Ahhhh, you should have learned to be nicer by now. That sort of talk will only get you a piece of punishment. Is that what you are looking for?"

I turned on the lights and walked to the table along the far wall. I noted that both of my new conquests were stirring and moaning a bit. I picked up a small, leather riding crop from the table and went back to stand in front of Mrs. Van Heusen, slapping it into my palm. "Is this what you were hoping for, Mrs. Van H? I didn't know you were into pain. Are you a pain junkie, Mrs. Van H? Do you get off on pain? Let's see." And I lifted her right breast with my left hand, holding it out from her body and watching as it puddled a bit on the flat of my palm. I lifted the crop and with a measured swish, brought it down on the very tip of her nipple. She yelped and screamed and tried to move away, but she could not. I slapped her again, this time on the upper swell of her breast. And again, on each side swell. And several more times in rapid succession, back on her aureole and nipple. I looked at her breast and it was marked with red stripes on all sides. But what I really took notice of was the nipple. It was amazingly hard and huge. She did get off on pain! Well, the little bitch! I had no idea. How had I missed that?

I pinched that swollen nipple with the fingers of my left hand and pulled it out and up from her body. Her breast stretched and her nipple trembled as I tugged at it. I twisted and rolled it in my fingers, pinching and hurting her some with each turn. She cried, she begged me to stop, but her breath was coming faster and faster.

With a small idea forming in my mind, I laid the crop aside and plunged my hand between her legs. Just as I thought! Wet. Sopping, slickly wet. She is a pain junkie.

So, I teased her cunt lips with my fingers. I slapped upwards with my palm, feeling her lips swell and heat up. I mashed them and crushed them with my hand. And I picked up the crop again and switched up between her legs, whipping her pussy lips until they were a deep vermilion and she could hardly catch her breath.

And I stopped.

"No! No! Don't stop! You son of a bitch! Don't stop! I'm so close!" she screamed at me, spittle flying from her lips.

I gave both her nipples one last hard pinch and moved away from her, leaving her to scream and curse me and my mother and everyone who ever had been connected with my sorry-ass life.

Both of my new conquests were now wide awake. Their eyes were huge in their faces. They had no idea where they were or how they had arrived here. They could only see: (1) that they were bound and gagged; (2) that there was another woman – who I'm certain they must have recognized – across from them; and (3) me. I know they recognized me, because when I turned to face them, they both reacted with a jerk and screamed into their gags. I simply smiled and walked to stand between them, Sarah in the hammock/sling, and Beth flat on her back on the table.

"Hello, lovelies," I crooned to them, running my hands up along Beth's knees and uncovered thighs, so soft and silky. "Isn't it nice that we're together again? I certainly think so. Why, I'll just bet you are dying to know what is in store for you here, aren't you? Well, let's just say that you could have had anything and everything from me when I was sixteen or seventeen, but all you wanted was a target for your crude humor. Whoooops! Now who is the target? Oh, my, oh, my….I think it's you."

And I moved to the table along the wall and removed a wicked-looking bar knife from the drawer. If the reader has ever seen any of the Rambo movies, the knife was an exact duplicate of the one he uses in his personal-revenge combat. As I walked back to the girls, holding the knife in front of my face and testing the blade with the flat of my thumb, they screamed and twisted and turned and tried everything imaginable to escape from their bonds. Of course, they couldn't. I knew what they were thinking. But I am not that sort of a person. Revenge, yes. Murder, no.

I slipped up to Beth on the table and removed her penny loafers and then her knee socks. I then moved to Sarah and did the same. Moving back to Beth, I slipped the point of the knife under the center of her Notre Dame T-shirt and slit it from bottom to top, allowing the two halves to fall to the sides, exposing two absolutely gorgeous breasts. I quickly cut through the arms and pulled the tattered pieces from her body. Repeating this movement with Sarah took but a few seconds. Both girls were apparently so relieved that I had not cut them or stabbed them immediately, that they didn't resist a bit.

There they lay; two lovely, lovely female bodies; breasts poking upward (in Sarah's case) or puddling on her chest (in Beth's case). Nipples and aureoles were taut and stiff from the rush of cold air in the den. Small goose-bumps paraded across the milky-white swells of flesh in front of me. I was in for a delightful feast, truly I was.

Now, as I stood there looking down at Beth's body, I teased myself into seeing her pussy before I uncovered it. I flipped up the hem of her little pleated skirt and noticed that she was wearing a tiny pair of white bikini panties. The crotch was slightly stained as if she had wet herself – perhaps in fear in just the last few minutes? I cut through the fabric of the skirt and the waistband and pulled it roughly from her body. Now there was nothing between her private garden and my eyes but a thin layer of white rayon.

I quickly stepped to Sarah's apparatus and wrestled her around so that I could remove her skirt in the same fashion. No surprises here. Bikini panties, but pink. I decided the panties would serve a purpose for me.

It took me but ten minutes to coax a discharge of slick fluid from Beth's shaved pussy into the crotch of her panties. Nipple twisting, aureole stroking, pussy manipulating and finally, a finger insertion were all that was needed to bring about some self-lubrication. I rubbed her panty crotch around and around, twisting her rubbery lips and coating the crotch until the liquid seeped through. Though she was breathing heavily, she did not show any other signs of enjoying this. Perhaps because I was a man? Or perhaps just because she was so totally angry that her body had already betrayed her?

The time for an identical reaction in Sarah's body did not take even two minutes. I swear that she was already moist when I touched her the first time – just from watching my manipulate Beth's body?

When both pairs of panties were soaked through at the crotch and I could tell that small rivulets of liquid were trickling down their cracks, I cut the panties off in two short swipes each. I flicked off the gags and stuffed the panties into the girls' mouths in one fluid motion….Sarah's panties into Beth's mouth and vice-versa. This action choked off a scream from both of them when the gags were removed.

I leaned toward them and said, "Well, I've never seen you actually suck each other's pussies, but I know you probably have. Enjoy the taste. It may be your last for awhile."

I flicked off the lights and left the den in the dark as I slipped out the door and up the ladder to the shed. I got into Sarah's Mustang and used the remote as before to exit silently and in the dark.

Taking all back roads, dirt and gravel, I arrived at the spot deep in the woods where I had hidden my own van. I pulled it out of the hidden spot and inserted the Mustang into the sheltering bushes. I covered it as best I could with dead branches – not freshly-cut ones – and got back into my van and drove away.

It was only 8:15. I still had 45 minutes before I needed to be in hiding near the picnic table in the State forestland behind my billboard. I thought about Mrs. Whitman and was surprised when my salivary glands leaped into overdrive. I licked my lips and smiled.

The wolf was getting hungry again.