{"loaderData":{"4":{"story":{"id":"3768f005-d52f-4f3e-adbb-d21de51886dc","seriesId":null,"seriesName":null,"currentUserId":"00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000","added":"2023-12-04T16:38:42.6Z","title":"False Closure","slug":"false-closure","shortId":"qfpfTbhY","authorNote":null,"disclaimer":null,"type":"Short","paidUrl":null,"synopsis":"A young college professor is kidnapped and placed into a truly agonizing situation.","partCount":1,"parts":[{"partId":"d4548e83-3de4-4a88-aa7a-e14b5426b14a","title":null,"summary":"Her name isn’t\nimportant. Let’s simply say that she was\na rising star in the university world,","wordCount":5200,"readTime":26,"number":1,"state":"Published"}],"currentPart":1,"contentTitle":"Chapter 1","content":"

Her name isn’t\nimportant. Let’s simply say that she was\na rising star in the university world, a newly-minted tenure-track assistant\nprofessor in an Ivy League English department. \n29 years old, straight out of a Stanford PhD.

\n\n

I heard her speak at the 2013\nModern Language Association convention in Seattle: a panel on ‘false closure in\nmedieval literature’. She was talking\nabout Chaucer’s Nun’s Priest’s Tale - not that I was paying much attention to\nher paper, or to Chaucer. Instead I was\nsitting in the back row admiring her flowing auburn hair, her slim waist, her\nswelling hips, her breasts pressing beneath the jacket of her elegant black\nsuit with white trim. Slender legs in\nthe sheerest beige pantyhose, expensive-looking black-and-white open-toe pumps\nwith metal stiletto heels at least 4 inches high. Skirt tight and well above the knee, so\nrather shorter than what conservative academics would recommend - but why\nshould she care? Even crusty English\ndons can appreciate the finer things, and it never does any harm to be the\ncenter of everyone’s gaze.

\n\n

Or so she thought.

\n\n

The wonderful thing about the\nMLA is that with thousands of people milling around, it takes no more than a\nbadge (in a false name) to make me inconspicuous. The second wonderful thing about the MLA is\nthat if someone were, say, to disappear one evening after giving her paper, it\ncan take a long time for anyone else to notice. \nEven if she had an arrangement to meet someone - and as it turned out\nshe didn’t - the other person would be unlikely to think anything of it. Arrangements are regularly broken without a\nsecond’s thought amid the round of panels, parties, and general opportunities\nfor mingling with the great and good of academia.

\n\n

Thanks to a judicious piece\nof hacking into the hotel’s reservation system prior to the convention, I had\nsecured for us rooms at the far end of a corridor, on a low floor next to the\nservice staircase. It was simply a\nmatter of watching and waiting for her to return to her room, tired but triumphant\nafter her post-paper celebrations. Then\na quick Tazer blast to render her helpless, so that I could pull her into my\nroom. An dose of low-strength etorphine\nturned that to unconsciousness. (The\nTazer made her piss in her panties: I observed with interest the liquid\nslipping down her thigh and soaking her hose.) \nThen a wait in the room, readministering the drug as necessary; and\nfinally a pre-dawn descent to the parking garage and a measured departure in a\nvan suitably equipped with restraints and blacked-out windows. At that time of night my country home is no\nmore than an hour’s drive away from Seattle, a house set far back and out of\nearshot of prying neighbors. She was\nstill barely conscious as I pulled her into the cellar.

\n\n

Now to the main\nbusiness. I removed her jacket but otherwise\nleft her fully clothed; I tied her hands carefully behind her, and attached a\nnice long rope to the wrists (you’ll find out why later); a ring gag kept her\nmouth nicely open. I secured her ankles\nwith shackles attached to two chains in opposite corners of the ceiling. Then I started winching the chains up. I stopped only when her head was hanging\nthree feet from the ground and her legs were pulled agonizingly wide. Then I waited.

\n\n

My cellar has no natural\nlight - why let your guest know what time of day it is? She was suspended upside-down right in the\nmiddle of the room, the only light a bright spotlight shining on her from\nabove. On the opposite wall is a\nfull-length mirror, so she could see herself when she woke up. (I said she liked being the center of\nattention, after all.) The cellar is\notherwise bare and dank. Her long auburn\nhair hung down; her spreading legs rucked her tight skirt over her waist,\nexposing her panties beneath the fine sheer pantyhose - black lace, I saw with\npleasure though without surprise. At one\npoint I noticed that she was drooling through the ring gag, so I considerately\nstuffed a dirty rag into her mouth to stop her from choking on her own saliva. Then I set a video camera running in one\ncorner of the room, and a regular camera on a tripod with a closer focus on her\nface, timed to photograph her every 15 seconds. \nThen I placed my mask over my head and sat in an armchair in a dark\ncorner, waiting for her to wake up.

\n\n

Consciousness returned to her\ngradually, and equally gradually she grew to appreciate her position. Her eyes open and close, as she groaned -\napart from the obvious strain on her legs, I imagine she must have had\nsomething of a headache. Then blinking,\nas she started to pull uncomprehendingly on her arms. And then at last the series of desperate\njerkings of her whole body, combined with repeated and increasingly vocal yelps\nbeneath the gag, which showed me that she had finally come to terms with where\nshe was, and what the image in the mirror before her was showing. Only then did I step forward.

\n\n

She looked terrified at the\nsight of me - no surprise there. The\nmask makes me look pretty scary; the large knife I was carrying more so,\nespecially since she didn’t know I wasn’t planning to use it on her. I hooked it under her blouse, and with a\nsingle rip tore it from her body, revealing her lacy white bra. That was the next thing to go; without it,\nher tits hung down (or up) a bit, though they were firm enough that there\nwasn’t much distortion. Then I cut off\nthe skirt, starting at the waist. \nFinally the panties and hose: for those, I inserted the point of the\nknife right into the part where she least wanted to feel it. I was careful not to cut her skin, though I\ndefinitely wanted her to feel that I was within a millimeter of doing so. The hose gave way first, and sprung away; the\npanties followed soon after, as I split them from the leg to the waist and\nthrew them aside. I then stood back to\nadmire the sight. Her dangling hair, her\ntearful eyes above (or below) her gagged mouth, her flawless breasts, firm\nenough that the nipples were still visible even in her hanging position, her\nflat belly, her hairy (but not too bushy) crotch - and you could see the\nstrain, as her legs spread wide above it.

\n\n

She seemed suitably\ntraumatized, though of course I couldn’t understand a word she was trying to\nsay. For the first time she saw her\nlife, the essence of her being, which she had thought had been bound up with\nher intellect, her achievements - everything was now reduced to the fact that\nshe was a helpless, vulnerable female.

\n\n

Or perhaps she always knew\nthat somewhere at the back of her mind. \nShe knew it every time she crossed her legs politely the way her mother\ntold her, so that men couldn’t see up her skirt. She knew it every time she gritted her teeth\nas she walked past a jeering group of workmen. \nShe knew it every time she avoided a dark alley, or speeded up her step\nas she came near someone who looked suspicious - even though a man would not\nhave given the same person a second thought. \nShe knew it every time she hesitated just that instant before going into\na room alone with a male, however much she thought she could trust him.

\n\n

And she knew it every time\nshe read of a rape in the paper, and unconsciously pressed her thighs together\nand hurried to the next story without allowing herself to think of its\nimplications. But the next time she\navoided that dark alley just that little more nervously, or speeded her step just\nthat little faster, or hesitated just that instant longer before going into the\nroom.

\n\n

Plenty of men will tell you\nthat they detest rape. Some of them even\nbelieve it. And sure, no one except a\nreal psycho wants to think of his own wife or daughter getting it stuck to\nthem. But every male in America profits\nfrom the work of the rapists. Even if\nsome women manage to go through life without being raped (and that’s fewer of\nthem than you might guess), every woman lives in its shadow. And so they hold back just that little more,\nthey hesitate, they don’t speak up as fast as they might. And in a competitive world, that instant of\nhesitation is all it takes to push someone else - a man - to the front. If you’ve ever wondered why, in a society\nthat professes total equality, men still hold 90% of the top jobs, there you\nhave your answer. The rapists do it for\nall of us.

\n\n

Not that I was doing what I\nwas doing out of pure altruism, you understand. \nI get off on doing it - just like you get off on reading about it. I like bringing women to an awareness of\ntheir true position. Not, I fear, that\nthey are grateful to have their illusions (and much else) stripped from\nthem. My young lady here, for example -\nbegging me wordlessly for - what? Not to\nhurt her? Or is it more abstract than\nsimple pain - begging me to allow her to retain a sense that she is more than a\nmere bundle of female flesh?

\n\n

She was still trying to\nspeak, groaning and grunting through the gag. \nI slapped her face. “Shut\nup!” I yelled. She carried on mewling. I slapped her harder. “Shut up!!!” \nThis time she got the message, and the sounds stopped.

\n\n

I now knelt down, so that my\nface was level with hers. “Now, I’m\ngoing to take the gag out, and you’re going to answer some questions. I don’t expect to hear anything else from you\n- not a plea, not a cry. Anything I hear\nexcept an answer to my questions, I put the gag back in and then start working\nover your lovely body. Do you\nunderstand?”

\n\n

No answer.

\n\n

“I’m going to ask you once\nmore, and if you don’t nod, then I start the working-over process\nimmediately. Do you understand?”

\n\n

A nod.

\n\n

“Good.” I took out the rag, then unbuckled the\nring-gag from behind her head and worked it out from between her teeth. She moved her mouth gingerly as she felt the\ntension in her jaws relax, but I was glad to see that she didn’t make a sound.

\n\n

“So, as I said, I have some\nquestions for you. You were giving a\nlecture about ‘False Closure’. What does\nthat actually mean?”

\n\n

She shook her head, as if she\ncouldn’t quite believe what I was asking.

\n\n

“Answer me, cunt!!! What does ‘False Closure’ mean?”

\n\n

“What - you’ve kidnaped me, you’ve\nstripped me, you’ve hung me like this, just to ask that? Why are you doing this?”

\n\n

“I told you, bitch, that your\nonly job here is to answer my questions. \nFor the last time: what does ‘False Closure’ mean?”

\n\n

I could see her gathering her\nthoughts, trying to get her mind back onto her subject. “Well, do you know what ‘Closure’ means? It’s about how you give a satisfactory ending\nto a book or a story or a play, so that the reader feels like everything has\nbeen rounded off in a satisfactory way. \n‘False Closure’ is where things look as if they have reached a\nsatisfactory ending, but where the story isn’t actually finished yet - there’s\nmore to come”.

\n\n

I have to say that there is\nsomething extremely erotic about listening to an academic lecture where the\nlecturer is hanging upside down, with her legs spread, naked and\nterrified. More universities should try\nit: it would certainly do a lot to reverse the decline in English or Classics\nmajors that they keep complaining about.

\n\n

“So, let me get this clear. If I put the gag back into your mouth now,\nit’s certainly closed - so that’s closure?”

\n\n

“No, no, you haven’t\nunderstood, it’s nothing to do with -“

\n\n

I forged on.

\n\n

“But if I just put the\nring-gag in, and leave the rag out, your mouth isn’t really closed, but you\nstill can’t talk, so is that false closure?”

\n\n

“NO, no, no, don’t, this\nisn’t right, you’re mixing everything AEEEEEEE“

\n\n

Her words degenerated into\nshrieks and grunts, as I gave a demonstration of what I meant, and forced the\nring-gag back between her teeth, leaving her crying out noisily, but unable to\nmake a coherent sound.

\n\n

We had now reached the point\nwhere I felt I should make a little more practical use of having a naked woman\nhanging upside down from the ceiling.

\n\n

I have been informed that the\nunderside of the female breast is one of the most sensitive parts of their\nanatomy, and that sticking barbed needles into it is one of the most painful\nthings you can do. Admittedly, the\nperson who informed me of this had an electrode attached to her clitoris at the\ntime, but she assured me that she was telling the truth - indeed, she was quite\ninsistent on the point - and her sister was able to confirm her reliability\nwhen I tried it out on her shortly afterwards. \nCertainly my current associate was not at all happy when I showed her\nthe needles; she was still less happy - screaming out her unhappiness, in fact\n- when I started pushing them into those pretty dangling boobs. And when I started twisting and tugging on\nthe inserted needles, well, you should have heard her as she yelled and wept\nand bucked and turned. The barbs, of\ncourse, faced backwards, so they were not coming out without a lot of tit-flesh\nattached to them, something I imagine she was already starting to be all too\naware of as she felt them sticking and pulling inside her.

\n\n

Finally, I ran out of\nneedles, and stepped back to admire her. \nShe was still whimpering and struggling, but seemed to be fading. Hanging upside down for a long time can do\nthat to a person; your blood pressure starts to rocket, and all sorts of nasty\nthings can result. I had a lot more\nplans for my cute guest, and I didn’t want her passing out on me. So I needed to get her into a more\ncomfortable position for the next stage.

\n\n

Well, “comfortable” is a\nrelative term, of course. Remember that\nlong rope attached to her wrists? I got\nhold of it, and took it over to the ceiling behind her. With my stepladder I climbed up, and threaded\nthe rope through a pulley which was set in there. I then brought the end down to the ground,\nwhere I attached it to a winch; I started to turn the handle.

\n\n

The rope quickly tightened;\nit then started to pull up her arms behind her in a strappado position. It wasn’t full-fledged strappado, since her\nfeet were being supported separately by their chains, but her arms tautened,\nwrenched up by the rope behind her, until her upper body was forced to\nfollow. I carried on turning until her\nhead was approximately level with the rest of her torso; her legs, still spread\nwide, were curled up behind her towards the ceiling, while her arms were\nagonizingly wrenched backwards and upright.

\n\n

Her face was contorted, as\nshe strained against the pain: her shoulders must have felt like they were\nbeing torn from their sockets. But she\nwas no longer in danger of having a stroke or whatever with blood pooling in\nher brain, and she was also in a more useful position for giving me some\nnecessary relief. I adjusted the\ncameras, so they focused on her new position; I then put the stepladder between\nher legs behind her, and climbed up to a suitable height. The strain her body was under prevented her\nfrom turning her head, but she could hear me, even through her own moans.

\n\n

“I wonder if you’ve\nconsidered what pregnancy would do to your promising career?” I remarked.

\n\n

Despite her agonizing\nbondage, she started to buck a little at hearing that - maybe she wasn’t on the\nPill, or maybe she was just inferring (correctly) that the rape was about to\nstart. Of course, I was just playing\nwith her - even if it was true that she wasn’t on the Pill, she was unlikely to\nend up pregnant, given what I had planned for the rest of her stay with\nme. But I liked her trying to move about\n- it made it a lot more pleasant around my cock - and so as to give her some\nextra encouragement, I placed my hands underneath her dangling bosom, and\nsqueezed hard at exactly the same moment as I thrust myself into her dry\ncunt. If the pain from the barbed\nneedles had been bad before, it was ten times worse now. She absolutely howled through the gag, and\nshook every inch of her body to try to get some traction away from me. It didn’t take me long to come, under the\ncircumstances, and I slowly withdrew.

\n\n

“I wonder if sticking my cock\ninto you was real closure or false closure?” \nI mused. “Anyway, I’m going to\nleave now, so you can have a think about it”. \nAnd I started to climb down the stepladder - but then, as I reached the\nbottom, I moved it around and climbed up once again, so that I could look at\nher beautiful face at close hand, staring her straight into the tear-clouded\neyes. I then held up my little toys in\nfront of her - two giant binder clips - and as she realized what I planned, and\nshook her head in desperation, I opened them wide, and clipped them as high as\nI could onto her breasts. They squeezed\nthem as flat as any breasts could ever go, and of course these breasts already\nhad barbed needles inside them ... My guess is that the needles broke, or\nsomething, but at any rate, she gave one scream, louder than any before, and\nthen fainted.

\n\n

I climbed down the ladder and\nleft her hanging there. She’d wake up,\nsooner or later - the pain in her shoulders would more or less guarantee that -\nand I wanted her to have a few hours awake to consider her position. As for me - well, I was tired, and definitely\nneeded a good long sleep before resuming.

\n\n

I returned the following\nday. Sure enough, she was awake. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth (ring-gag and\nall) was dry, but she was definitely awake. \nThe first thing I did, after readjusting the cameras, was release the\nrope from the pulley; her arms collapsed, and her body fell back into its\nposition upside down, suspended by her feet from the ceiling with her legs\nspread wide. I kept a little traction on\nher hands, so that she couldn’t reach her groin with them from behind and\ninterfere with my plans there, but it was probably an unnecessary precaution: with\nthe strain the bondage had placed on her shoulders, I doubted if she would be\nable to move her arms for a week, if she even lasted that long. I pushed the rag back into her mouth - she\nwasn’t drooling now, of course, but I didn’t want too much noise getting in the\nway of the next part of the entertainment.

\n\n

“Now, darling, let’s get\nready for part two.”

\n\n

I took the candle I had\nprepared in advance, and showed it to her. \nThen without preamble I stuffed it into her cunt. It was around two inches in diameter, so\nlarge enough to hold its position and indeed stretch her into some discomfort,\nbut not so large as to rip her apart. I\nhad greased it nicely, so it slipped into her without difficulty, despite her\ndryness. I shoved it down until I felt\nthat the bottom end was resting on her cervix, at which point perhaps two or\nthree inches stood out from her lips. I\nhad made sure that it had a nice thick wick, which ensures a large flame and a\ngood fast burn.

\n\n

“Now, my dear,” I said. “I’m not going to kill you, but this candle\nwill do you a lot of damage. It will\nburn into your outer sex lips, your inner sex lips, and I guess the top of your\nvagina before it finally extinguishes itself from lack of oxygen inside\nyou. The flame won’t be directly on your\nclitoris, but it will be close enough to it to give it some very nasty\nburns. And if it catches on your pubic\nhair, then - well, whoosh. You certainly\nwon’t be enjoying sex in the near future - actually, I’d be surprised if you\never can enjoy sex again.”

\n\n

She REALLY didn’t like the\nsound of this. She whimpered and wailed\ninto her gag; her body shook and jerked more and more violently. I bent down and grabbed her by the hair, and\nlooked her directly in the eyes.

\n\n

“SHUT UP. You’re supposed to be intelligent - well,\nthere’s a way out. Just shut up and\nlisten.”

\n\n

The wailing sounds stopped,\nthough her eyes were still welling with tears.

\n\n

“You can extinguish the\nflame. All you have to do is piss on it\nat the right time. The only question for\nyou is - what is the right time? Try and\ndo it too early, and your piss won’t even reach it - I don’t know how far or\naccurately you can project piss vertically upwards, but I’m guessing not very\nfar, or at least very accurately. Wait\nuntil close to the end, and an awful lot of molten wax is going to be landing on\nyour sensitive parts as the candle melts down - it won’t do as much damage as a\ndirect flame, but it’s not going to do you much good either. And there’s a pretty fair chance it will\neventually clog up your piss-hole as well, so you’re going to have trouble\nwatering the flame. And judging by the\nfact that you emptied your bladder when I first caught you, and that you\nhaven’t had anything to drink since, you’re only going to get at most one\nchance.

\n\n

“So there it is. I’ve heard you’re a genius, the cleverest\nthing in English Lit since Stanley Fish. \nPut that brain of yours to some practical use for once, instead of\nmessing it up with medieval rubbish.

\n\n

I struck a match before her\neyes, and then raised it to light the wick, which instantly caught fire. Molten wax started puddling around the wick:\nbefore long it would begin to drip down the edge of the candle. She watched herself in the mirror, eyes wide\nopen.

\n\n

“Of course,” I said, “we\ndon’t want to make it too easy for you.”

\n\n

I pulled from my pocket a blindfold,\nand as she yelped in protest, I secured it around her eyes. I then made additionally certain by pulling a\nsack over her head, which I tied loosely around her neck. She could breathe, but she couldn’t see how\nfar the candle burned down. She’d have\nto judge the right pissing moment by the pain on her pussy lips.

\n\n

So I stood back and\nwatched. She hung there, upside down,\nher arms trapped behind her, her head in a sack and her tits pointing down, her\nlegs agonizingly spread, still in the remnants of the pantyhose, her feet in\nthose elegant and erotically high shoes. \nAnd a burning candle stuck deep in her cunt, surrounded by its bush of\nauburn hair.

\n\n

In just a few minutes she was\nalready starting to whimper, shudder and shake, as the dripping wax slid down\nthe candle edge and began to hit her. \nThe shaking changed the angle, and the wax dripped even more widely, and\npresumably hotter as well as the flame burned lower. And in the end, she calculated that the flame\nmust be low enough for her piss to extinguish it - or perhaps it was simply\nthat she couldn’t stand it any more. She\nlet her bladder go, and pissed with all her might.

Well, the piss did go up a\nbit of a way - but unfortunately for her, it went nowhere near the flame. She breathed hard after finishing, in the\nhope that the ordeal was over. But then\nthe wax carried on dripping, the heat and pain did not stop, and she realized\nthat she had blown away her final chance.

And at that point she went\nwild. Behind the sack she screamed into\nher gag, wordlessly pleading for help or mercy. \nThe whole of her upper body bucked and heaved, making her breasts bounce\ndelightfully. But bucking and heaving with\nyour upper body doesn’t do you any good when the problem is stuck deep between\nyour legs, and your legs are tied fast to opposite ends of the ceiling. She fought insanely, but the bonds held\nfirm. She shook and rocked back and\nforth in order somehow to dislodge the candle, but it was stuck far too deep.\nAll she succeeded in doing was to spatter the wax widely over her genitals,\nleading her to yelp and wail, fight and shake even more. And all the while the flame burned ever\ncloser to her cunt lips - the pain must have been frightful - until the moment\ncame when the biggest shriek of all came from behind the sack and behind the\ngag - I would hardly have guessed it possible. \nThe flame had touched her outer lips. \nAnd then it caught onto the hairs on the edge of her outer lips, and the\nwhole thing went up like a Roman candle. \nWhile I prefer women with their natural hair - why would one want a sexy\ngirl to look like a baby? - she was probably regretting with all her might that\nshe hadn’t kept herself nicely shaved.

The sack and blindfold had\nserved their purpose, and I quickly removed them: I wanted to get some pictures\nof her face as the culminating moments came. \nHer eyes were desperate, as were the incoherent sounds emerging from her\nmouth.

I also wanted a closer look\nat what the candle was doing: I’ve always had a keen interest in the ins and\nouts (especially the ins) of the female anatomy. But I thought that I might as well make the\nmost of all my opportunities, so I pulled the rag from her mouth, and inserted\nmy cock through the ring-gag and into her throat.

“Get me off quickly, and I\nmight put the candle out for you.”

It was hard to believe that\nshe could even focus on what I was saying at this point, but she started to\nmake a vague effort to move her head back and forward over my cock and to swirl\nher tongue around it. I stayed as still\nas I could; I was in much less of a hurry than she was, and I wanted to savour\nevery single instant of this. The\nexcitement of watching her cunt roasting was almost enough to bring me off all\nby itself, and I didn’t want to finish before\neverything had reached its conclusion.

As my pleasure in my groin\ngrew, I watched what was happening to hers. \nThe flames had died down, leaving an angry red burn right across every\nplace where the hairs had been. The\ncandle itself was still burning down, of course; molten wax was pooling\neverywhere within her outer labia, and dripping down to her clitoris and beyond\n- the clitoris was in fact already hidden by \nthe molten wax, and I imagined was toasting away nicely under\nthere. But best of all, best of all,\nbest of all ...

My thoughts were interrupted\nby a familiar swelling and spurting from my dick: my clever little friend,\ndespite her pain, had managed to bring me to a most wonderful climax.

I spurted again and again\ninto her mouth, and felt her stop moving over my cock in despairing\nrelief. I smiled down at her.

“I only said ‘might’”, I\nremarked. And as she began to shriek and\nscream with the final realization, I held her firmly still, and picked up my\ntrain of thought.

As I was saying, the best\nthing of all was watching how, as the candle gradually burned its way down, the\ncunt, despite the stretching of her legs, gradually closed itself over it. I’d always known that the female anatomy was\nelastic, and it was a great pleasure to see its very elasticity working against\nit. As the candle went below the level\nof the outer labia, the lips moved in over the top of the flame, and you could\nsee their inside parts roasting into a sort of charred brownness. But her legs were stretching her outer labia\nfar enough apart that they couldn’t close completely, so there was enough\noxygen to feed the flame as it went down into the inner lips, to repeat the\ncycle there: the candle burning closer to them, the wax smothering them, but\nthen melting away as the candle went down even further into the vagina. Then the inner lips, too, started to grow\nblack, as they drew together even as the flame of the candle disappeared\nbeneath them. It went down a further\ncouple of inches into the vagina, and its light enabled me to see the vagina\nwalls, too, turning red and then charring around it.

At last the vagina managed to\nclose over the flame far enough that it ran out of air, and died. The remaining molten wax slowly congealed.

All this had taken a good 45\nminutes or more; my companion had long ago fainted and ceased to scream and\nstruggle. I’m not sure at exactly what\npoint this happened, but I do have the video camera and the photographs, and\nthey will be able to pinpoint the moment for me, I’m sure.

Now all I had to do was\ndispose of her. I don’t actually like\nthe idea of killing women myself (all too messy and final), but I didn’t see\nany particular way of getting her back to a hospital or anywhere else without\nputting myself at risk. I unhooked her\nfrom the ceiling, and dragged her, still unconscious, to my van. I drove two or three hours into the\nWashington forests, miles up dirt tracks where people only come at most once a\nyear. By the time we reached our\ndestination, she was conscious again, moaning and struggling faintly.

I pushed her out of the van,\nthen pulled her upright, and looped a noose around her neck - not to hang her\nwith (though she didn’t know that), but simply to make it easier to take her\nalong. She tottered after me, though\nshe seemed to have a lot of difficulty walking. \nShe was still wearing those cute high-heels, which had remained on her\nfeet throughout her ordeal - they did have ankle-straps, after all - but which\nwere definitely not made for forest hiking. \nWhat is more, she seemed for some reason to have trouble keeping her\nlegs close together, so was walking bow-legged, which was quite funny to\nwatch. She tripped rather a lot, but\nevery time I hauled her back up and dragged her on.

It was slow progress, given the\nterrain and her inefficient walking, but after around 20 minutes we came to\nwhat seemed a convenient stopping point, half a mile or so deep in the forest\naway from where I had left the van. It\nseemed a pity to let her go without a proper farewell, so I bent her over a\nfallen tree, eliciting a sharp cry as her still-clamped tits were pressed\nagainst the bark. Her cunt was useless,\nof course, but there was still one hole that was untouched, even if rather raw\noutside from the flames. I had brought\nsome lubricant to make things easier for me, and I smeared it over my dick and\nthen thrust in without any preamble. She\nstill had enough energy to struggle and shriek out through the ring-gag, but\nnot enough to even come close to pushing me away. I kept a nice steady pace, making sure that\nshe felt it right up inside, and eventually came to a very satisfying climax as\nshe grunted and moaned underneath me.

And there I left her, exactly\nas she was, naked (apart from the shoes), her cunt burned up, her ass leaking\nsemen, her tits clamped and filled with barbed needles, her arms tied behind\nher with her shoulders all but dislocated, her mouth distended with a\nring-gag. She managed to get to her feet\nand tried to follow me back to the vehicle, but it was a useless endeavor in\nthose shoes. The last I saw of her, she\nhad tripped and fallen flat on her face; I then disappeared from her sight into\nthe bushes, made my way back to the van, and drove off home to review the films\nand pictures that I had taken as a pleasant record of my pretty little guest’s\nstay.

I did have a couple of\nanxious days, in case the one in a million chance should happen and she should\nbe rescued, but I heard nothing, so I assume she wasn’t. I don’t know exactly how she died - there are\nso many options, whether exposure, starvation, wild beasts, you name it - but\nI’m sure she must have done. I haven’t\neven heard a report of the finding of her body. \nI can’t decide whether that counts as closure, true or false.

Oh, and I forgot to say. When her department came to replace her, they\nhired a man for the position. It’s nice\nto know that I contributed to a happy ending.

","authorName":"Sanderson","authorUserId":"267e20a4-fd48-4a5e-8076-13bfb617a2a6","rating":5,"ratingCount":2,"reviewCount":2,"quoteCount":0,"storyCodes":["Extreme","Heavy","Real Life","Bondage","Pain","Rape","Sadism","Non-Consensual"],"language":"English","readTime":26,"recommendations":[{"id":"60a08238-7c3c-4e68-b478-1bb3fcc24720","title":"She Said, He Said","slug":"she-said-he-said","shortId":"FYr06Dk4","synopsis":"This is a brutal tale of torture as Crowley tries to break a slut who made the mistake of teasing him.","rating":5},{"id":"dcfb1433-903d-4907-b4a6-80ec3e39c9b7","title":"Barbarian Princess","slug":"barbarian-princess","shortId":"eR5PvfOh","synopsis":"Princess Sophie has been captured and then rescued from marauding barbarians, but she may never be the same.","rating":5},{"id":"d05cb258-c998-4494-94a4-a76fb2c85015","title":"Glamour Bondage Production v1.1","slug":"glamour-bondage-production-v11","shortId":"fTvywTme","synopsis":"Rachel is about to embark on her first amateur filming session with \"Glamour Bondage Production\": a short, controlled bondage session. Everything appears to go as planned, until Dan, the producer, decides to improvise and extend the scenario far beyond what was agreed upon.","rating":5}]}}},"actionData":null,"errors":null}