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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Waking early, I spent a few moments reviewing the events of the past two days.
Mrs. Jennifer Van Heusen, the principal of the high school where I had attended a few years back and who had treated me like something one would put out with the week’s trash, is now secured to the wall of my den with two separate sets of cuffs and chains. I’ve learned that she is somewhat of a pain freak and have been re-aligning the treatment I had in mind for her with this new discovery.
The almost-twin ex-cheerleaders who had made my life miserable with their comments and rude behaviors while in high school, Beth McVickar and Sarah Chambers, are also hidden below ground in my personal hideaway. Beth is now lying flat on her back on a specially padded table in that little room, secured of course, with her friend’s panties stuffed in her mouth. Sarah is swinging leisurely back and forth in a specially designed hammock/swing apparatus that holds her at whatever level I wish to choose with legs and arms spread wide apart and her most private parts exposed to my whims. Her dear sex-partner friend’s panties are stuffed into her mouth, too.
And, of course, Mrs. Whitman, the president of the School Board who had denied my right to appear as valedictorian for my class because of some imagined “image” the school district sought to uphold. She would soon pay for her casual dismissal of my personal triumphs. She, too, was secreted in my dungeon – spread face-down over a padded barrel with hands and ankles secured, legs spread wide to the vagaries of my fertile mind.
These four were the beginning, but only the beginning. My next quarry was to be captured today and I needed to be prepared for her. Ms. Ramada, the English teacher who spent an inordinate amount of time belittling both me, and everything I attempted to do in her classroom. Black, large, gorgeous, she would pay the price of denigrating my accomplishments. I was to meet her later this very day. I needed to prepare.
My morning run on this day took me far from my home base and circled through the state game lands and forests that surrounded my town. How effortlessly I covered the miles in that long-striding lope that set up a rhythm in both my body and my brain that told me I was one with my surroundings. I felt more animal-like than I did human when I ran like this. I found myself at the rear edge of the property where I had kidnapped the cheerleaders the day before. The old van was still parked there, and I needed to make one short stop. This would not be difficult. And I crept closer as silently as a stalking wolf. There, I said it! I’ve always thought of myself as part wolf, and now I have allowed myself to say it out loud. What a relief! It is out in the open now. I hope whoever reads this document will understand what I feel inside at this moment. It took but a few moments to move to the van and slip inside. And within five minutes I was slipping back into the cover of the deep woods behind.
As I ran, I looped past the billboard where the entrance to my private sanctum lay hidden. There was no sign of anyone except myself having been there recently. There were no signs of anything unusual, out of the ordinary. I was careful to scout the entire area from which the billboard might be seen, as this was the spot where I had directed Ms. Ramada to appear. Ostensibly, she had agreed to meet there in order to retrieve photos of her and a male lover from a supposed blackmailer. I wondered if she might bring him along or if she would come alone, as instructed, with a large amount of cash.
The meeting time had been set for noon, so as not to spook her completely; but also so that I could observe her approach to the site and learn whether she had followed my instructions. I spent most of the time after my run, cleaning myself and deciding what I would wear for the meeting, as this was not to be a forced abduction, but one of reason and deception.
Appearing at the designated meeting spot near the billboard more than an hour ahead of time, I took up a position where I could see the approaching road for at least a half-mile in either direction. From here I would be able to ascertain if anyone was with Ms. Ramada and would take steps to abort the mission if it turned out to be less than a sure thing. I settled in to wait, and allowed my mind to wander while I rested there.
Ms. Ramada had planned to entertain her newly-found friend but had, instead, found herself being drugged along with him and posed in a series of quite pornographic situations. My promise of removing those pictures from any possible distribution was what brought her here.
The two cheerleaders had been lured into my trap by another party who never suspected a thing, and who now was sleeping peacefully in her old van, and would sleep thus forever as a result of an “accidental” overdose of liquid Seconal, injected just this morning. Poor thing. She had actually smiled at me when I appeared in her doorway this morning. She’d been lying down on that filthy mat she called a bed in the van. She’d been nude. Her hair was matted and stringy and I could see globules of someone’s cum congealed on the hair of her pussy. She had had company last night after doing me the favor that placed Sara and Beth under my control. I hoped it had been good for her. I hoped she’d had an orgasm to end all orgasms. It had most certainly been her last.
And, of course, there was my former principal, Mrs. Jennifer Van Heusen. She had made the mistake of having an affair with a married man in a local motel. Tsk! Tsk! Didn’t she know that the wages of sin are often too costly to pay? A bit of trickery and a small amount of chloroform, and she, too, belonged to me.
Now, I had but a short while to wait for Ms. Ramada to appear and my “collection” would be complete. I’d seen the movie “Kiss the Girls” sometime back, and though I would not readily admit it, the idea of this “collection” grew after viewing that film. Of course, the perpetrator in the film was portrayed as a near lunatic and his mistakes were founded in that lunacy. I, on the other hand, considered myself perfectly sane and rational in my choices of targets and their acquisitions.
So, I waited, ruminating in my mind as to what sort of pleasures I would derive from extracting the retribution that I intended to inflict on the five specimens in my collection.
