The Wild, Wicked West
Stolen Brides and Modern Slavery
Part 2: The Machinist
Chapter 5 - The Breeding Machine
Sorry for the delay! Since it's been a minute, I'll reiterate my earlier warnings. This chapter is particularly nasty, I'll admit, and it's not going to be everyone's cup of tea or shot of whiskey.
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.
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.
-MP
~ Shelby ~
Shelby blinked, wincing against the brightness as the hood slid off, dragging some hair and sparking with static so close to her ear it made her yelp. The fresh air smelled and tasted sweet after the stuffy moisture from her own breath in that hood, heavy with drool from around the gag, tears and snot. She was covered in sweat, shaking, completely physically spent and simultaneously so tightly strung that she was about to snap. Her holes were raw and the plastic stung against delicate flesh not meant to be rubbed so constantly for so long.
Hours of torture. Days, maybe. It felt like time before being on the saddle was a distant memory and all she knew was the slow grind of her asshole against the saddle, and pleasure dancing just out of reach. It was exhausting, and infuriating, and painful and frustrating. She needed to come so badly, but after so long with so much constant-but-not-quite-enough stimulation, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to again.
And God, was she thirsty.
She had to blink away the bleariness in her vision so she could focus on her new surroundings.
The man was stuffing her hood into his pocket with a disgusted look at how wet it was. He was very tan, and she put him in his mid-to-late 40's. He had a similar build to the doctor, but it was clear from the veins climbing up his arms and the width of his biceps that his role was more hands-on. His jeans had a mix of old and new oil stains, and his hat was soaked through with sweat around where the brim met the cup.
The doctor was all about cleanliness--gloves, enemas, showers, sanitized tools--but this guy had several years' worth of grime under his fingernails and old food in his teeth. But it wouldn't matter to Shelby if he was the dirtiest man alive, if he was going to help her.
"You look like you could use some water."
Her hope spiked. A kind stranger! He helped her down, unwrapping layers of tape from her feet in the stirrups and pulling her torso up and forward so that the gentle POP as the dildos released only made her make a hoarse cry. But he didn't untie her hands. He left her wrists bound by her cuffs and he used a large hand around her neck to guide her to the back of a well-kept barn. She whimpered around the ball gag and tried to fight against him, but she was weaker than a kitten, shaking on her legs and close to falling over.
"None of that," he said, slapping her across the face, then on the very tip of each sensitive breast and finally her ass. She closed her eyes as the brief stinging sensation made a fresh wave of heat shoot through her pussy. How did an ass-slap get her so turned on, even after hours of abuse to her poor holes?
"Come on."
The barn was large, and from the back she could see miles of nothing but rolling grain and green. A brown hose was coiled in the dirt, slightly leaking water into a big puddle that he pointed to.
"Down in the mud, slut, over by that haybale."
Worst fears confirmed, Shelby silently pled with him with her eyes. He was like the doctor--a pervert. He was going to rape and abuse her. He wasn't going to set her free.
She eyed the rolling hills behind him.
He cast a cursory glance over his shoulder and turned back to face her with a nasty smile. "I reckon you won't be trying to run. It's miles and miles 'til civilization. You'll die of exhaustion or heat stroke, or the coyotes'll get you. That is, if I don't bother to come after you. And you wouldn't want me to, 'cause what I'd do is far worse than a coyote gnawing on your bones."
She didn't doubt it. Somewhat awkwardly, because her hands were still tied, she dropped slowly to her knees. The mud was cool against her skin, and oddly soft--a nice sensation after so many terrible ones. Resting ass on heels, she took a second to take stock of her surroundings. From the corner of her eye, she saw a strange, oval contraption sitting on top of a haybale. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was a lot of farming equipment she'd never seen before. Chickens roamed freely between the barn and another building up a short hill that looked like it might be his house. The expanse of blue sky and treeless sightline told her little other than the fact that it was sometime in the late afternoon.
When he came close, she winced, afraid he'd slap her again, but he bent down and undid the ball gag. She groaned in relief as she closed her mouth and stretched her muscles. Her jaw creaked a little.
"Here you go," he said. He grabbed the hose and turned it on. Her first reaction was to reach for it, but her hands were still tied. She became very aware of her nudity again as he let the water fall down her breasts before lifting it to her mouth. She drank greedily from the hose, not caring that getting watered down outside was the least he'd do for his favorite horse.
"New girl..." he remarked, watching her with vague interest. "From what I can tell, you still got some fire in you. You hold your head up nice and high, and we can't have that. This here's my own invention for dealin' with sluts who think they're better'n everyone else." He bent down at grabbed the contraption next to her and, without warning, came behind her and shoved it over her shoulders.
It was odd, and like a giant, misshapen oval, made out of heavy, thick rubber. The topmost part rest behind her head and came around front to hook around over both her shoulders before dipping back to connect to her wrist cuffs behind her. Her hands were untied from each other, only to be reattached to the bottom of the oval. The overall effect was slightly immobilizing. Her hands were firmly behind her back, but if she wanted to move them at all, she had to move her head down. And the part of the contraption behind her neck kept it bent forward at least 45 degrees. It was uncomfortable and humiliating.
But now that she wasn't so fucking thirsty, she felt like she could actually take in a full breath. She wanted to sit with that relief for a second, garner her courage and strength. She didn't have the energy yet to protest, or try to plead with her newest captor.
"Now, let's get you hosed off. Lean over the hay."
She did as she was told, feeling the prickles of each piece of straw that stuck into her stomach and breasts. Her ass and pussy were still on fire and she could feel her juices dripping down her leg to mingle with the mud on her knees. He stood behind her, letting the water hit the ground a few feet away, and she could feel his hot stare on her naked, vulnerable places. She closed her eyes as more humiliated tears leaked from the corners and shifted, trying to draw her legs a little closer together.
