The Wild, Wicked West
Stolen Brides and Modern Slavery
Foreword:
This is not a nice story. On the scale of reluctance to non-consent, this is way on the non-con side of things. But, this is imaginary. Fantasy born of a twisted imagination. In no way do I condone or support this kind of violence against women. In real life, kink should be explored with mutual consent, always.
Don't let the slow build or lack of explicit sexual content initially fool you. There will be a lot of penetrative sex--oral, vaginal, and anal--and it will be against the will of the female participant. There will be other terrible things that I haven't written yet so I can't warn you about specifically, but they may include other things done in a non-consensual capacity, like mental and physical conditioning, body modifications, fisting, use of machinery, restraints and bondage, psychosis, physical abuse and violence, and more. I know people don't read or trust tags, so this is your fair warning.
If you don't like that kind of thing and you read this anyway, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that has more to do with you than with me.
Part 1
Chapter 2 - Sexual Responsiveness Testing
Shelby's ordeal continues after a brief interlude.
~ Shelby ~
How long had he been gone? She'd stopped trying to keep track of the seconds passing. But with nothing to do, nothing to look at, nothing to hear but that infernal clock, and no way to amuse herself or move at all, Shelby had nothing but the sensations of her own body to pay attention to.
Her wrists were on fire from pulling against whatever was holding them, which had proved to be a wasted effort anyway. She was hungry. She had to poop. Different areas of her body itched like crazy and the knowledge that she couldn't scratch only made it worse. Her toes were freezing. Her jaw was sore from being pried open. She needed to blow her nose. Any sexual excitement had--thankfully--died down, but the drying lubricant still felt wet and cold.
So many small discomforts worked together and amplified into one giant mass of fatiguing despair.
How had she gotten here? She remembered coming off the train, meeting him, feeling like something was wrong... He'd known her name. He'd responded to the name James. He'd known she would be there. Whoever he was, he'd either done something to James, or they were working together.
Shelby didn't want to believe that--it made her feel like a fool. The silly little lonely 20-something who trusted the wrong internet stranger.
She'd listened to true crime podcasts with the kind of detached fascination of someone who assumed they'd never become a victim. She'd believed she was better than those women, that she was smarter, that nothing bad would ever happen to her.
Apparently not.
They'd spoken for weeks and she'd been so charmed by him. He was confident, but not cocky. He was patient and authoritative. In the pictures he'd sent, he'd been handsome and looked almost refined. She thought she knew him; she thought she'd found a kindred spirit. He'd listened to her explain her fantasies of being out of control, of being restrained, of belonging to someone... This wasn't what she'd had in mind.
Maybe James wasn't even real. Maybe this was a catfishing situation where this man lured in women with a made-up character. How many other women had fallen for this fake James, only to find themselves on the wrong end of a pair of stirrups, enduring a fucked up exam so she could be sold to a new "owner" who'd decide to impregnate her or pierce something she didn't want pierced or train her for fisting?
She had to get out of here. Wherever here was. Hopefully Hannah would be worried enough by now. She didn't have many others who would look--her father had never been in the picture, and her mother had fallen hard into booze when Shelby was a teenager. She had a few friends, of which Hannah was the closest, and other than some coworkers who might think idly "where's Shelby been?" that was really it.
God, she really had been the perfect target. She'd practically made it easy for him to steal her away.
Owner. He'd said it with such practiced ease, like it was a word he used to describe one person's relationship with another person often. She wasn't stupid--in spite of all the evidence to the contrary--and knew that modern sexual slavery was rampant, even in first world countries. She'd never thought...
Shelby allowed herself a few moments for a pity party. When she ran out of tears, she took deep, measured breaths to center herself. She was stronger than this. Whatever he did to her... she could survive it. She had to survive it. She had to escape. No other option.
The rules seemed relatively straightforward. If she did what he said, he'd be easier on her--he'd said as much. And even though she didn't want him to put his filthy hands on her, she had limited options and currently no control over any of it. Her pride was not more important than her life.
When she got out, he'd pay. In this life, in prison, or in Hell.
Anger felt better than sadness or fear, so she held onto it. The seconds, minutes, hours ticked by. Time became meaningless, its presence nothing more than a cruel torture. She thought maybe she fell asleep at one point, but had no way to really know other than a vague sense that she'd awakened. She tried to distract herself by humming every song she could think of.
The sound of the door opening stopped her in the middle of the soundtrack to Wicked. Her heart lurched in her chest and her emotions became a jumbled mess that she didn't care to untangle. Fear, relief, anxiety, even a touch of aroused anticipation. She tried to ignore them all.
"Right where I left you, I see," he chuckled to himself at his own joke. "Please, don't let me interrupt you."
She didn't start humming again, sensing he wasn't serious. She could hear a drawer open, some fabric rustling, some metal clanking together and the heavy footfalls of his shoes.
"The sooner we finish this, the sooner you can be out of that chair and get some food and rest. So, shall we resume the exam? Remember, close your right hand once for yes and twice for no."
Shelby inhaled through her nose and closed her right hand once.
"Good. Are you going to be more obedient this time?"
Grudgingly, she closed her hand one more time.
"Good." He stepped near her head, she could sense his presence somewhere close to her face. He confirmed it when he touched the strap that held her forehead in place. With a fumbling movement, he unbuckled it and let the strap fall. "If you do well for the rest of this exam, I will give you back one freedom when we're done."
She refused to feel even a speck of gratitude for that, even as she moaned in pleasure at the feeling of release in her neck muscles. She let her head roll side to side, wincing a little at the stiffness.
There was a small click and he began speaking in that detached tone again, like he was making scientific observations about her body. "Resuming the exam at 1800 hours. Subject has responded better to the stick than to carrots. She exhibits more willingness, after a period left alone without her vision or ability to move."
Shelby's face flamed. In her solitude, she'd forgotten how his words made her feel--like she wasn't even in the room, like she wasn't a human being in his eyes.
"We'll start the tests for sexual responsiveness now." The wheels squeaked and he rolled between her legs. There was a snap of latex gloves, then that squirting noise that she now knew meant he was applying lubricant to something. Something stirred deep within her again as she felt cold, gloved fingers on her pussy. It was just a faint tingle, but she hated it.
His fingers entered her easily, thanks to the lubricant, and she grunted into the ball gag. It felt like more than one finger, but didn't stretch her enough to be three. He drew them out then twisted as he forced them back in, making her whimper. "Oh, wait... this wasn't where we left off, was it?" he said, almost to himself.
She was confused. Where they'd left off... was he going to use the speculum again? Her insides twisted, remembering that almost unbelievable stretching sensation. If her legs could have moved, they would have trembled.
The wheels squeaked again and she'd lost track of him in the room, when suddenly her right nipple was screaming in pain. She shrieked, mostly at the unexpected contact, and whipped her head side to side in an effort to escape the sensation. The dry, gloved hand was relentless, twisting and pulling and rolling it between his fingers. He stopped, repeated the act on her other breast, and stood back.
She was breathing hard, and felt the blood starting to pound between her legs. Her pussy lips took on a heartbeat of their own, swelling in her arousal. Her cunt contracted a few times around nothing, a completely unwitting action on Shelby's part.
"Subject enjoys some light nipple torture. Nipple type is normal, and they become distended and are a pleasing reddened color when stimulated."
