Trappers Bend

Chapter 3: Ana Floats

Ana floated in heat, and darkness, and violent sensation. Floated and waited. There was nothing else Ana could do.

Whatever the terrible men had injected her with had worked quickly, and by the time they finished probing her and discussing her body like she were some fancy new gadget they'd just acquired, she couldn't even hold her head up.

She'd felt a small sliver of relief when the younger one had told her she could "take a rest," while the invaders unloaded their luggage. If there were no escape for her, if she couldn't move or even think, at least she could rest.

When the younger one had carried her off, some small part of Ana had held onto the certainty that he was an impulsive young man without the means to keep her imprisoned. That soon, he'd forget a lock or leave loose a strap and she'd escape. Or else, he'd mistake her submission for acceptance long enough for her to turn the tables and end this.

He'd toyed with her as she'd drifted in and out of consciousness, teasing her body for his own amusement, grinding against her until she almost wished he'd fuck her just to relieve the terrible tension. And every time her mind would slide up from the depths, she'd try to respond to him as a dominant lover, not a captor. She couldn't fight while bound, drugged, and barely able to remember where she was or what was happening to her. But she could submit, and wait for the young man to get bored with his game, when he learned how easily he could win.

The older one, the father, the one with the voice she'd found so bizarrely soothing had been awful. But the worst thing wasn't how he talked about her, or the vile way he squeezed and fingered her like she were produce. It was what he'd told her sincerely.

"For your sake, I hope he keeps you. I know some exclusive clubs that would pay through the nose just for holes like these. Not to mention the tits. You're lucky my boy is so sentimental."

She wasn't a young man's temporary amusement, or even an his obsession. To these people, she was simply one of many things they collected and prepared for sale, and that the young man's apparent infatuation which she'd hoped to wait out might be the one thing protecting her from much, much worse.

And she realized that she'd lied to herself at every stage of her capture. She'd been unable to process that she was even being attacked, until her captors had her completely bound and helpless. She'd comforted herself, imagining they were really taking her home, where she'd be safe again. And she'd convinced herself that they'd taken on a whim, that this couldn't last, that she could beat them by giving in and waiting them out. It was as if her own mind were on the side of her kidnappers, feeding her calming lies to help them lull her into complete submission.

And she really had been enjoying it, hadn't she -- At least alone with the younger one in the hot tub? As soon as the father took her, she'd desperately wanted to be returned to the arms of the son. He was everything she'd normally hate. Arrogant, cruel, presumptuous beyond words. Not even a misogynist, but simply someone who took her because he knew she was desirable, and he could get away with turning her into a commodity. Who might even grow to love her as one might grow to love a rescued mutt: through the process of domestication and obedience training, the effort of turning her into an adoring pet who embraces her place. And it was already working! she'd missed his teasing fingers and the playfulness of his cruelty as soon as he'd submitted her to his father's inspection. Here alone, part of her still did.

Waiting for the son to return would have been a nightmare, but something had broken open in her when the father penetrated her with his fingers. And suddenly, there'd been no pain, no fear as he'd held her up by the ring on the top of the heavy, sweaty helmet. She'd seen clearly that she would be handled as the men saw fit. She would live the pain and pleasure they gave her until she became what they made her. An ecstatic certainty she was too weak and exhausted to fight against flowed out from his fingers in that moment. She had become a thing.

And so she'd daydreamed as she'd waited for the son to come back, imagining she was a figurine mounted on a base that slotted into her: two fingers in her pussy and a thumb up her ass. His other hand was the end of an armature that kept her from toppling over, grasping the ring built into the top of her latex head.

And when he'd chatted to her about how she might be sent to a brothel, she hadn't pictured being raped, but being displayed on a stand in the lobby, where men might admire her as they chatted with the whores. And, limp and sedated, she'd drifted off to his grainy baritone, vaguely pleased that her holes and her tits were so valuable.

"You're a lucky girl," he had said. "Your owner is preparing a special surprise for you. I expect you will show appropriate gratitude."

Her holes had clamped down on his fingers, and she'd moaned the way a thing would moan, the sound made by her flesh body, but shaped by all her new parts: the rubber gag, the tubes up her nose, the fingers in her slots and the voice giving her commands. Drowsily, she'd tried to work out which part owned her. The old man's thumb? The cuffs the adolescent had put on her? The cock he'd used to tease her?

She wasn't even sure she could feel gratitude as a thing. But the thing tried to anyway, moaning for him as he described her future as a sexual appliance, and again when he called her a good girl and bounced her on his hand.

All along, something had been happening in the tub. The two men talked and the younger one came and went, and placed things in the water. But she didn't listen. Her owner was preparing a special surprise for her. She needed to show gratitude.

The pain had returned again when the younger one picked her up, sliding her off the older one's fingers. She'd wanted again. Wanted what he'd done to her, how he'd hurt and humiliated, and teased, and desired her. Wanted the little traces of humanity he seemed to perceive in her. Even wanted to be molested and bound, to be his victim until she could catch him off guard and kill him. Or if not, to be tamed and treasured. Wanted to be a human, even if it meant being defeated as a human.

And then both pairs of hands were working at once and she remembered again, she was a thing whose owner had prepared a surprise for her. Her limp leg brushed a wide, thick piece of metal underneath the water, like the round, weighted base of a microphone stand. And then something else slotting into her, not fingers, but a bulbous, metallic thing, and they'd moved her, and spread her lips, and raised it up inside of her.

The details of the rig had eluded her. She'd dreamed through most of the setup, but had heard scissors and the sound of tape being ripped and applied. The cutting sound had conjured an image in her mind of the pool noodles her parents had bought for some craft project years ago, which had sat in the little storage closet built into the edge of the deck ever since.

Oh. I'm an object in my own house,

she thought for the first time, and wondered why she'd never considered how she went with the decor.

There'd been something a little lumpy and uneven strapped around her waist, and she'd floated upwards, slowly drifting off the prod. They'd tinkered more, extending the shaft up into her, attaching something elastic to her legs, then pulling her up and letting her slide slowly back down it as some kind of test.

At some point, they'd removed the helmet. She couldn't remember it, but did remember the feeling of cold air blowing past the matted hair plastered to her face by sweat and drool and chlorinated water. And a sudden force of daylight through her eyelids. How long that had lasted, she didn't know, because she hadn't opened them. The men had worked plugs into her ears and some sort of harness over her face, then blindfolded her eyes. It was cooler, lighter, and now the men could enjoy her human hair and parts of her pretty face as well.

And then the younger one had deflated the gag, removed it, and poured water slowly into her mouth. The drugs has left even her jaw limp, and he'd held it closed and tilted her head to help her swallow. Then he'd kissed her lips and she'd felt something violent again in her chest, something she might feel one day as a statue, watching the men pick their whores. He'd told her what would happen if she made noise, and gave her a smaller gag that didn't hurt her jaw so much. Then tightened straps to close her jaw into place.

As soon as he'd released her, the violent feeling was gone like a dream. She could feel them watching her turn back into a thing, a sensation that tightened her slot around her mounting rod. She hadn't really been a miniature or a statue at all, she realized, but a part of a machine the two men had been tinkering with. And now they must be around her, watching it move. As she breathed, she realized she was a kind of floating cylinder, buoyed by the foam they'd fastened around her. Her breath was the engine, pulling her gently up and down the fixed piston, the little elastic bands burying the dildo at the proper depth in her cunt, and keeping her stable.

The hot tub was custom made, and unusually deep. Sitting flat on the bottom, she'd almost be underwater. It had seemed like a strange luxury, a little quirk of her parents late-life extravagance. Now it literally defined what she was. It let her captors plug her deeply, turn her into a flesh machine whose sole function was to fuck itself. And so she drifted up and down, filling and emptying with metal cock and breath.

At the top, she'd feel colder, closer to awake. The shivers and the little quakes in her belly and cunt would drift her body around the shaft, churning it inside her, making her remember what a person felt like in the cold.

And then she'd breathe out, and feel heat rise around her as slowly, inevitably she'd be filled, stretched. A cunt whose woman was incidental, whose woman was useful and important to the degree that she got the cunt fucked. The woman, she thought, had done well.

The woman when she was aware wanted, needed to come. The movement that had come to define her whole world, was slow and shallow after all. In her previous life, she had come a few times from penetration alone, but it was rare -- once had been a fluke, and the others had been one particular lover she'd had in college, someone who was attentive and enthusiastic, and had just the right shape. Even in control of her pleasure, she'd usually need quite a bit of clit play to come -- something entirely superfluous for a cylinder.

Shivering at the top of her cycle, feeling swollen and desperate, it occurred to Ana that the way she breathed made a difference. It was the only thing she had control over after all, and she wondered why it hadn't occurred to her before, unless the men had control over that too.

She tried breathing faster, breathing out as forcefully as she could, then quickly breathing in again. It didn't work. Even coated with waterproof lube, she gripped tightly, so that her body would barely move, and the bulbous piston stayed almost in place. The stillness was excruciating. She couldn't seem to consciously control her PC muscles, though it wasn't clear if it were the paralytic or the fact that she was never quite conscious.

But the cunt found a workaround to help the woman. Shivering in a sudden burst of wind, her body remember earlier, when she was trussed up, covered with her own urine and freezing in the cold. She remember how the young man had cut her clothes away and chided her, and filled her with shame. Only now, his steel cock was at her entrance. Then the cunt squeezed tightly around the rod, holding her in place for a moment as she breathed out, so the cock would push in with just a little more force, against a little more resistance, bringing her just the smallest bit closer.

An eternity would pass as she drifted down, warmer, fuller, heavier with drowsiness. And she'd hold her breath out, waiting for the cock to reach its deepest, until the body got tense and dizzy, like when her captors had shut off its breath. Then she'd clench again, holding just for a moment while the lungs filled up. and the cunt would release, the shaft seeming to slide just a little faster for a moment, even while the breath itself seemed to take an eternity.

It was exhausting, and Ana could never maintain it for more than a cycle or two. She'd clench and let off a few whimpers like excess pressure. And hearing her own desperation enhanced the pleasure too, along with its tortures.

At some point, the woman fell asleep entirely, and dreamed the dreams the cunt had chosen for her. Where she was inhaling cock literally. There'd be fragments of beings -- massive lovers who carried her like nothing, fantastic industrial-age machines with gears that could crush her but had been carefully laid out to endlessly fuck her instead. There were faceless men, cougars and coyotes and mythical animals, ancient columns shooting up from the water. She'd breath out cock from one end, feeling it sink into the other, then inhale it again, dick filling her from the top like air. And at the boundary of two worlds, the impossibly aroused machine with its built-in woman filled and emptied, shivered and sweated, rose and sank. All exactly as it had been designed to do.

Dane climbed back into the work van, wiping his brow. The day had gone wonderfully. He'd pulled off his first lead acquisition, almost without a hitch. He'd had a nice soak, getting acquainted with a gorgeous trainee who seemed to be a natural submissive. The house was spacious, and surrounded by woods that provided plenty of isolation, with virtually no chance of discovery. And he had a whole winter to learn what he could about the family trade from his father, while training what he was sure would be the most beautiful slave anyone had ever seen.

So what felt wrong? It wasn't his conscience. They'd never talked about it, but his mother had obviously been one of his father's acquisitions. She had adored the father and the boy with a selfless love, growing up. And Byron had brought Dane into the family trade from the endpoint, so he'd experienced the voluptuous beings the girls became first, and only slowly learned about the unwilling victims they started as. It wasn't even that Dane believed the ends justified the means; he'd never felt the need for justification at all.

He was feeling a bit peeved at Byron's paternal attitude towards what was supposed to be his project, but it wasn't deep. From planning, to contacting and securing the girl, to distracting whatever visitors had almost interrupted the acquisition, he'd helped Dane every step of the way. Even in the hot tub Byron had been quite helpful. Dane had seen in Ana's body language how keenly she'd felt the difference in how the two handled her, enhancing whatever nascent feelings of submission and she had for the young man.

And of course, if Dane had spent the next hour slowly exploring her as he'd wanted to, it would have delayed unpacking, while giving her time to get acclimated -- counterproductive from a training perspective. But Byron's actions with the girl still felt intrusive to Dane, offensive somehow, like ripping open beautiful wrapping paper instead of taking the time to unfold it, to savor its opening.

He supposed he was getting ahead of himself again. As Byron often reminded him, this was a trade. The goal was to create a devoted sex slave and companion -- your enjoyment of the girl in the meantime was incidental.

But chemistry was part of it too, wasn't it? Grandpa had told him that, shortly before he'd been forced to flee to a country with no extradition for reasons, Dane had accepted, he'd be better off not knowing. Suspecting the truth, he'd asked Grandpa how they'd ended up together.

"There are a lot of girls you can take," the wry old man had said, "but only a few girls you just get."

Dane shook his head. This was his first lead job, and he didn't have time to daydream. After unloading their gear and setting up Ana's new accommodations, there were plenty of loose ends to tie up. He still had to get on her social media accounts and make sure everyone knew she'd be unplugged for a while. They'd also have to grill her later for logins and bank account information, and to make sure she wasn't missing any appointments or expecting any visitors they didn't know about.

Not to mention the house. In the right situation, you could take a girl's assets along with the girl, without raising undue suspicion. Marriage was usually the easiest way to do it. Grandma had been from a rich family and, he suspected, had come with a house and a sizable bank account which Grandpa had used to expand the business. But of course, it depended. Were there other people with equity in the property? Outstanding debts? Were there close friends who would find her new relationship and deferential attitude suspicious.

And did Dane even want to marry the girl -- to keep her at all? Dane had thought Ana was one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen since when he'd first stumbled across her pictures on social media, and since acquiring her, his infatuation had only grown. Even covered with piss and drool, she was endlessly enticing.

But then, he'd felt something similar with the first slave he'd helped to train as well, if not quite as strong. And by the time she was completed, he'd been perfectly content to let her go to her new master, preferring the car he'd bought with his share of the profits to the skillful tongue he'd relished so much early in her training.

He sighed as he got in the back of the van. He was getting ahead of himself yet again.

Dane picked up the end of a box, carefully sliding it to the rear of the van. It was part of a device he'd just finished building with his father. Since they'd be staying out here all winter, they planned to bring out a lot of bondage gear eventually. But bringing out a moving truck was too suspicious, and meant leaving too much behind on the off chance they had to make a quick getaway.

Later, they'd have an entire dungeon -- and some decent security if they decided to keep the place. But for now, they'd make due with a few pieces at a time. So the two had built some portable restraint and training equipment, taken some notes on the furnishings and built-ins of the house, and planned out an approach to training that was a little more minimalist, equipment-wise.

When they'd started planning the abduction, their first idea had been to take Ana and drive out of town, using a camping trip as cover while they prepared. One of them would drive her back and get setup, while the other would stay behind for a few days, maintaining their alibi. But with Ana's current living situation, it made a lot more sense to just setup another house. Her parents had died last year, while she was in the middle of a master's program. She'd finished her semester, handled the basic division of property in a civil manner with an estranged half sibling (who wasn't much in the picture as far as the two could tell), and arranged to take a sabbatical at their parents' vacation home.

Ana wasn't a prolific social media poster, but she was a fairly public one. And she'd made it clear that she'd set the winter aside to read, write, and generally enjoy the solitude. There still might be plans they didn't know about, but once they sorted out those details, the next couple months should be a breeze. If she'd planned the next six months of her life purely as cover for her kidnappers, it could not have been more perfect.

Dane heard footsteps behind him, and pulled at the end of the box.