The Beast In Control Ch 8

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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After stopping at a local Dairy Queen and wolfing down (please pardon the pun) two large Pork Bar-B-Que sandwiches and a huge Mountain Dew (caffeine withdrawal was setting in) I drove out to the spot where Mrs. Whitman was set to meet me. There was plenty of time and I drove leisurely, to avoid any stray policeman's eyes from spotting something out of the ordinary on this road.

I reached the picnic table I had specified and took stock. Not as dirty as usual. I quickly policed the litter and made the area look a bit more inviting. The sun was just beginning to disappear behind the hills when I moved my van off the road into the entrance to an old logging trail, hidden by three huge hemlock trees.

I got out of the van, moved to the far side of the clearing where the table was and hunkered down behind some laurel to wait.

Again, right on time. (I've heard for most of my life that women are forever late; now, three women in a row have been exactly on time for an appointment I set for them. Exceptions to the rule?) She drove onto the lane from the highway, approximately 200 yards away with some hesitation. I could understand that. It was dark and she was most likely unfamiliar with the area. I can't imagine her and her husband ever coming out here. From my position, I could see down into the small valley where the highway lay. No one had followed her. No other lights were in any proximity to her car. As a matter of fact, hers was the only car that had been moving along that stretch of road. I was just being careful. I didn't need to step into a trap or some other type of set-up at this point.

Her car's lights crept closer to the meeting place. She was traveling at a snail's pace, partly because of her unfamiliarity with the spot, and also because the lane is pitted and pocked with washouts and potholes.

When she reached the edge of the picnic area, she slipped past it and backed in. Smart woman, I thought; covering her escape if it was necessary. She sat there in her car without turning off the ignition or extinguishing the lights. I waited. 9:05. 9:10. She had still not turned off the engine and I was not about to stand up from my hiding place so that she could see me in the glare of her lights.

Just as I was about to call it quits and try to plan something else, she hit the power button for the driver's side window and called out, "Hello? Is anyone there? I'm here like I promised. I've brought money. I've brought jewelry. Hello?"

With the window open, I knew she could hear me, so I used a stage whisper to call back, "Extinguish your headlights and turn off the engine. Don't move from where you are." I was fully prepared to plunge back into the brush and trees if she was accompanied by someone else in the car. She clicked off the ignition and the lights followed in a few seconds. I whispered again, "Take the keys from the ignition and drop them outside the car." She complied, looking all around for the source of my voice. "Now, crack your door just a bit so the interior light turns on. Don't move; don't look around." She complied, again without protest. I could sense, almost smell, her nervousness, but she did not turn around. I crept up to the passenger's side of the car and stood on the picnic table bench to look into the car. Nothing or nobody inside the car, either in front or back. "Pop the trunk and don't move," I called out.

She hit the button on the dash that released the trunk lock and I moved away from the table and up on a low branch of a large spruce to peer into the trunk. There was a light in the trunk lid and it showed nothing inside. I was a bit relieved myself. She had followed all of my instructions.

I moved forward, pushed the lid down until it clicked and told her to slowly step outside of the car, turn to face it and to put her hands on the roof. She paused a few seconds, but followed my instructions. I crept up behind her, as silently as a wild animal creeps up on its prey, and put my hands on her shoulders. "Don't move," I whispered, "don't turn around. Close your eyes. I am only going to check you for wires – recording devices."

She started to say that she was not wearing anything, but when I pressed my hard fingertip into the small of her back, she shut up – probably assuming, as I had hoped, that it was a weapon. I stooped and started at her ankles and slid my hands up along her legs, under her skirt and up to her hips where I grabbed the material and yanked it down to her ankles, immediately wrapping it around them. She gasped and cried out, but I told her to shut up, I was just making sure she was not going to run. She couldn't move with her ankles wrapped in her skirt like that.

In the dim light afforded by the stars, I could see that she was wearing white briefs. Plain, white, conservative briefs. Not bikinis. Not thigh-high cut. Not a thong. Plain, white briefs. (Well, what else had I expected?) I allowed my hands to travel the length of her legs again and to cover her cheeks and then around to the front of her panties where they flattened themselves against her lower stomach. "Nothing here," I whispered.

I stood and slid my hands upward along her sides, feeling the coarse denim material of her man's-style shirt. I knew she had several of these in her closet and wore them almost all the time when at home alone. I touched the bottom swell of her breasts with my cupped hands and she shuddered, "Is this absolutely necessary? I tried to tell you that I'm not wearing a wire – is that what they call it?" "Just making very sure," I whispered, and grasped the front edges of the tails of the shirt and gave a humongous rip, tearing the buttons completely off the shirt and pulling it apart in the front. I reached up quickly and grabbed the collar and yanked it down, pulling her arms from off the top of the car and pinning them to her sides with the sleeves. I grabbed at the wide back strap of her white bra and unclasped it in a microsecond. Her breasts, not all that large, surged free and I took note that she was probably wearing a too-small, too-tight bra. While her breasts were probably only a "B" cup, I could swear that the cups of this bra were no more than an "A"…I wondered why.

I slipped the shirt from off her arms and allowed it to fall to the ground, then flipped her arms up into the air where I stripped the bra from her chest. I rapidly stretched my hands wide and caressed every inch of her breasts, cuddling them, massaging them, pinching them, as she now came awake and tried to turn to slap me. I slammed her against the side of the car and pressed myself hard against her. She could, no doubt, feel my erection pressing against her. I told her to hold perfectly still and this would be over in a matter of minutes. Otherwise, I could be "quite an animal" (there I go again) if I wanted to be.

She calmed down, except for her breathing, and allowed me to continue my finger search of her chest, waist and breasts, including the cleavage between. "Well, nothing here; I suppose you were telling the truth. There's really only one more place to check." And I grabbed her panties and tore them from her in one huge jerk. I know the waistband and the leg bands dug into her flesh, because she almost screamed out loud, but another slam against the car ended that.

I traced the lines of her pubic hair and fingered it with both hands wrapped around her, sliding lower and lower into her valley. "No, not there; there's nothing there; you don't have to check there; please don't touch me there; I'll give you money," she cried.

Of course, I paid no mind to her protests and moved one hand to her ass as the other explored her pussy. I spread her feet as far apart as they could go within the confines of the skirt wrapped around her ankles, and slipped a thumb into her pussy. Yes, you probably guessed it: she was soaked. Aroused. Excited. In anticipation of something.

"Ahhhhh, you like that, don't you?" I whispered into her ear.

"Damn you! This is not fair. I thought we were here on a business deal, not to fuck around. If you want a quick fuck, we can make that part of the payment; but let's get on with it. I don't have all night."

"Oh, yes, my dear woman; we do have all night." And with that I slammed my other thumb into her ass and lifted her up off the ground with the two inserted thumbs. Now, she did scream, and she screamed again. I didn't worry. The closest humans were the women inside my den, and they couldn't hear her. And they could not have done anything about it if they could. I lifted and dropped her, again and again, until there was no doubt she was letting down her lubes as her body reacted to the intrusions.

I held her against the car and finger-fucked her ass and her cunt with thoroughly complete thrusts of my thumbs. Her screeches turned to whimpers, mews, groans, and finally to, "Oh, Jesus! Fuck my ass, you son of a bitch! You really know what you're doing! Give me more than your thumb! Shove your hand up my cunt…your whole hand! C'mon, I'm on the edge. I'm gonna cum!"

But I stopped. Stopped cold. She turned to look at me and since her eyes had now adjusted to the darkness, she could make out my facial features. "Oh, my God! How did you? Where did you?" she started, but the spray hit her directly in the mouth and nose and she collapsed into my arms in seconds.

I opened the rear door of the sedan and dumped her on the back seat. I gathered up all her clothing and slipped it into my ever-present black bag. I then drove with the lights out to the spot where my van was hidden. I transferred her and my bag of tricks to the van and closed the door. I got back into her car and carefully drove off the trail into a deep gully behind a stand of hemlocks. The gully was totally undetectable from the trail or from the other side. One would have to climb up the banks under the hemlocks and look down to find it. I had already noted a large, fallen hemlock about 10 yards farther up the gully and now retrieved it, and after wiping any fingerprints I may have left on the car, pulled the hemlock up and over the car, almost completely obscuring it.

Returning to the van, I checked on my cargo and noted she was fast asleep, deeply asleep, and decided it was unnecessary to clamp her in as I had the others. I carefully pulled from my hiding place, checked the ground around the table as I passed and drove out of the forest and onto the road with no other car in sight.

Within minutes I was back at my shed, carrying the final trophy in my collection to her new residence. I placed her over a padded barrel in the center of the room, face down, ass in the air, and shackled her hands on one side of the barrel and her feet on the other. Another bitch at the mercy of someone for whom she had made life miserable.

When I came in this time, I had switched on the lights so the others could see who I was bringing in. I heard cries and muffled words of recognition and then they settled down into the usual beggings to be released, etc. My newest captive began to wake up and spent the usual amount of time stressing herself to try to escape; but soon, she, too, gave up the struggle and just listened.

I went to the bar at the end of the room and poured myself a delicious-looking Bailey's over ice and went to the huge, overstuffed chair, which sat on a raised platform in the center of my ring of captives. I sat down and began to speak. "There are four of you now. There is but one more to add and then my collection will be complete. I do not wish to hear from you at all between now and that time. If you should speak without having permission to do so, I shall be forced to punish you…. I will punish all of you for the transgressions of just one; so be very careful. Now, one of you may speak to me; which one will it be?"

The girls said nothing, but Jennifer Van Heusen grunted for me to remove the gag and allow her to speak. I moved to her side and did so. She began with the usual stream of curses and invective, so I simply slipped the gag back onto her face and she shut up. She begged with her eyes and whines to be given another chance and I allowed it.

"We have to go to the bathroom. We have to … pee. And maybe something else. How long are you going to keep us here? What are you going to do with us?"

"A few too many questions for one time, my love," I said and shoved the gag back in place. "But I'll try to help you out. One, you can piss and crap on the floor for all I care. There's a hose on that wall. The floor is slick tile. It declines toward that corner. There is a drain in that corner which should take care of any waste you might produce. You aren't going to eat or drink much while you are here, so you won't have much to release, now will you? Two, I'll keep you here until I am finished with you. I'll keep you here until you have learned the pain you caused me for years. Three, I am going to do everything imaginable to you – and some things that you could never have imagined. Does that answer your questions?"

I could not resist one more touchy-feely round with all of my "pets" and moved toward Mrs. Van Heusen again. I knelt in front of her and slid two fingers deep into her cunt, still wet from her whipping incident earlier, and twisted them around. I added a third finger, then a fourth and moved them about inside her. She was doing her very level best not to move or react in any way, but her pussy walls made a liar out of her. She leaked copious amounts of juices and coated my fingers and the back of my wrist. I pulled the fingers out of her sopping maw, popped the gag from her mouth and wiped my fingers all over her lips and teeth and cheeks. "That's only a 'taste' of what I have planned for you, Mrs. Van H. Now, go ahead and piss on the floor if you have to." And I shoved the gag back into her mouth.

Within five feet of her were the two ex-cheerleaders, eyes as big as saucers, not knowing what I had in store for them. In fact, I was not totally sure myself what I was going to do with/to these young things. I did know, though, that I had this incredible desire for revenge smoldering inside my body and they were two of the most likely targets for the heat of that fire. I stood between them, one lying face-up on a table and the other strapped into a hammock/swing apparatus that kept her arms and legs spread wide apart for easy access to her most vulnerable parts. I allowed my left hand to slide up the thigh of Sarah in the sling and come to rest directly on her smoothly shaved pussy lips. At the same time, I slid my right hand up along the thigh of Beth on the table and cupped her soft lips in my palm. I looked down at the two of them and spoke in soft, soothing tones, "I know you didn't mean to be such platinum-plated bitches when we were in high school. I'm sure you just didn't know any better. I'm really sorry that I have tricked you into being here like this. You probably don't deserve this, do you?"

Both girls made an attempt to speak but the panties allowed only muffled sounds of agreement to leak out of their mouths. I smiled at them, showing my true, loving nature and immediately pinched their clits between thumbs and forefingers until their bodies arched and strained and their voices grew hoarse screaming into the panty gags.

I held on tightly for more than two minutes and rolled as I pinched and pulled at their swollen buttons. And I shouted at them, through their own screams, "The hell you didn't know what you were doing! You knew every fucking time you made me feel like a piece of shit! You did it on purpose! You laughed out loud at my embarrassment! Well, ladies, I am going to show you just how much pain and humiliation you caused me. You are going to share in it over the next few days, weeks, months….who knows how long."

And I released their clits and watched as the color faded back into their faces and their bodies slumped back into their original positions. And I moved to the latest addition to my private club, Mrs. Whitman.

"So, you could change the rules for Valedictorian whenever you fucking well pleased, is that it, Mrs. Whitman, bitch? You could decide that earning the title meant not one fucking thing, right? You could present the title and the fame to some piece of shit twit who had no idea what the hell she was doing just because "being different" might sully the fine image you have created for your school district, right? Well, you are also going to feel the pain that I felt, knowing that I had earned the right to a title which could never be mine because I did not measure up to the standards of your imagined image for the district. You are going to wish you had welcomed me with open arms, Mrs. Whitman."

And I picked up a wide-bladed paddle made of sturdy ash and slapped her ass cheeks three or four times at a medium-heavy strength. She screamed and lurched; her ass cheeks turned bright crimson; her body twitched and jumped in anticipation of each swat I leveled onto her lovely full ass. As I whipped her, I kept telling her she should have played by the rules, because now she was not in a position to make the rules any longer. Now she would have to live by my own warped sense of what was right and wrong.

After a dozen or more swats with the paddle, she had turned into a sobbing, quivering mass of white flesh; her entire body was lax and supple. I turned the paddle in my hand so that the handle was pointing outward. The handle was approximately nine inches long and about two and a half inches in width. I placed it at the entrance to her anus and shoved the entire length inside in one strong stroke. She screamed out in her pain and I reminded her that this was nothing compared to what she had already had allowed to slide into her ass. She tensed at that remark and I told her that I had some interesting video to show her friends here and how sorry I was that the paddle was not black, since that seemed to be her color of choice.

I ripped the handle from her pussy and watched as drops of her un-requested lubrication followed. The handle was wet and slippery and I wiped it clean in her hair, allowing it to fall down beside her face when I was finished.

"For now, ladies, I shall be leaving you. I am off to collect the very last specimen for my special collection. Does any one of you have an idea as to who it might be? I'll tell you what; if you can guess who it will be by the time I return, I will give a very special surprise to the winner. Think carefully, now, ladies. Who else would you think belongs to this special company of bitches?"

With that remark, I left the room, turning off the lights as I did. Now, to exercise my body (it seemed to crave more and more exercise as I grew), then to fill my stomach, and then to get a full night's rest, probably sleeping deep into the day, before I was to meet Ms. Ramada the next evening at the billboard.

After returning to my own humble accommodations and changing into my usual running attire, I thought that perhaps now was the time to succumb to the thoughts and emotions that had been coursing through my veins for the past few months. I almost felt like an animal. I often reacted instinctively, like an animal. And now, I wanted to be free, like most animals. I climbed into my van and sped out of town to the state game lands, which abut the huge forest I've mentioned before. I slipped the chain lock on the gate and drove inside, returning to re-lock the gate after myself. I drove deep into the meadowland, which was reserved for state-sponsored hunting, but not in this season of the year. I slid the van into a slot between two huge holly bushes and climbed out. While I stood there, surveying the scene before me – rolling meadowland for as far as the eye could see, thigh-high straw-colored grasses that waved in the soft wind, and a sun as warm as a mother's hand when she touches the cheek of her newborn – I knew I had made the right decision. I stripped off all my clothes and breathed the breath of freedom. I could be an animal here – free and unfettered. Slowly I began to lope along a lightly-marked trail in the grass. Who knows what animals had passed this way over the years, tramping down the grass with their feet or their hooves. I only knew that the trail was mine now, and would lead me to freedom. I ran, I loped, I sped across the meadowlands in a relaxed, wolf-like gait that ate up the acres. For more than an hour, my pace kept me moving at the speed of the wind, in a huge circle so that I saw the holly bushes and my van as I moved up the long hill from the valley below. I was breathing heavily, but I was not winded. It amazed me that I had run for more than an hour, but yet felt no oxygen starvation, no muscle cramping, and no ill feeling from the exertion. I truly was one with nature here in this meadow. This would now become my special place. I knew it.