Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Holiday in the Mountains (Mg, pedo, tort, implied snuff, foot fetish) by
Basher

   (note: it goes without saying the author does not condone or endorse any
of the contents of this story.  It is a fantasy and nothing more)

   It was on the last day of my trip in the Pyrenees.  I had been doing a
lot of walking and thinking in the lonely pine forests.  Trying to clear my
head.  Occasionally I would come across vacant log cabins; tiny shelters
for travellers lost during snow or just escape hatches for city dwellers
once a year to get back to the simple life.  Isolated places where a guy
could really be alone and in touch with his natural side and be natural
with his desires and feelings.

   So it was on this last day when, despite my apparent clear-headedness
and new resolve to put my dark thoughts into my past that I had this
suddenly brilliant and rare moment of opportunity.

   Coming up the mountain road in my car I had passed the girl on her
bicycle.  I drove on another mile not thinking.  Just blank as the angel
and devil on my shoulders fought among themselves.  And then, suddenly the
image of a particular old, abandoned woodshed I had seen around these parts
suddenly popped back into my head and with it the old devil crawled right
into my ear and grabbed a hold of me.

   I pulled the car to a halt and stepped out onto the tarmac road.  Map in
hand.  I was trembling.  With fear and anticipation.  Part-willing the girl
wasn't going to come along this road and I could just drive away from here
a new, free, re-born man.  But slowly from a small speck the image of the
girl on the bicycle slowly enlarged as she pedalled along the road towards
me.  I tried to hide the bulge in my pants as she slowed to pass me,
smiling shyly and panting.

   She was a very cute sandy blonde: her hair fixed into two plaits which
ran down past her shoulders.  Her skin was sun-kissed and unblemished but
for a scatter of freckles.  She was dressed lightly for cycling in a pale,
yellow tennis shirt that just suggested the budding young breasts beneath;
her buttocks were squeezed into short, cut-off denims that accentuated the
smooth, delicious long legs.  On her feet, black plimsolls and white sports
socks.

   "Excusez- moi.." I began in French, playing the part of the lost tourist
puzzling over my map.  I had spread the paper out on the roof of my car. 
The metal surface baking to the touch so you could fry an egg on it.

   She happily tried to point me in the right direction..  but I feigned
bemusement and studied the map, scratching my head.  Then she climbed of
the bike and came over to show me more directly.  She barely came up to my
shoulder as she leaned forward in front of me to study the map.  I stood
directly behind her, sniffing her and checking both ways that the road was
deserted...

   I worked quickly and methodically for the next bit.  Almost in a dream.
After subduing her and tying her up I put her in the boot of the car.  The
bicycle I was able to lose in the rocky ravine that fell away on one side
of this part of the mountain road.  Then I drove and drove through lonely
woodland roads and muddy tracks I had explored on my rambles.  It took a
good hour to reach the furthest I could get into the forest with the car.

   It took another 40 minutes with the tied, struggling girl over my
shoulder until we reached the hut.  She fought and struggled and tired me
but I wasn't going to let her escape.  The old beast always put a
superhuman strength in me.  I kicked open the door and dropped her onto the
dusty floor of the dim cabin.  She was gagged and tied at the ankles and
her wrists were cuffed behind her back.  Her bright eyes were wet with
tears, and her soft, tanned sensuous skin was beaded with sweat.

   Slipping to my knees in front of her.  I grabbed her plimsolls, and
pulled them up in my lap.  She tried to roll away from me but she was tired
and confused and almost paralysed with fear.

   I started pulling the left shoe off of her foot.  She wore white socks
with little frills around the edges.  The sock clung slightly to her foot,
and was damp with sweat.  I removed her other shoe as well.  I took off her
socks.  Starting again with the left, I pulled the soft material down over
her heel, then all the way down her foot, to the tips of her yummy toes,
and removed the sock.  Then the same with her other sock.

   I decided to be cool for a little while.  I just sat there stroking her
soft, white soles, and running my fingers between her toes.  Indeed I had
found myself a really cute pair.

   Continuing in my bad French I told her that I liked her pretty feet and
she had better not try to kick me or pull away but just lay there nice and
still.  And with that I kissed the warm tips of her toes.  She tasted of
honey and almonds.  She looked at me with fearful curiosity.  She's begging
me through her gag.  I can't understand a muffled word but I love the way
she sobs and cries so pitifully as I caress one slender ankle.  My cock
stiffening satisfyingly as I admire the wrinkles on her milky-white soles;
her juicy, round heel and plump, squirming toes with their pink, glittery
nail-polish.

   I fondled her foot, lovingly and press my nose and tongue against her
sole.  Between licks and wet kisses I speak to her gently, though my words
were full of my devious intentions.  How old is she?  Nine?  Ten?...  The
same age as my own daughter.  I picture my little Emma now, alone in our
lounge of the old apartment, back when me and her mum were trying to make
things work.  There she is absorbed by the TV, flat on her stomach, propped
up on her elbows; knees bent and her bare feet kicking innocently in the
air behind her.  I imprinted that image into my memory and it has become a
favourite masturbation tool for a long time.  Not that I would ever do
these things to my daughter...  that's what these anonymous little
jailbaits are for.

   I unscrewed my hip-flask of whisky and gulped down a shot, before
splashing some more over her tootsies.  Sort-of to baptise them, I guess. I
lapped up the warming liquid from her toes, beginning with the littlest up
to the biggest.  Each one hungrily taking into my mouth and fondling with
my tongue like jelly beans.

   I shuffled around to the side of her so that my hands could feel beneath
her t-shirts the little, pink, budding nipples that stood vulnerably upon
her flat, white chest.  Her heart was pounding.

   "What a good little girl you are being for me", I breathed hotly as I
pulled up her t-shirt the more easily to look at her flat, snow-white
chest. The kind of skinny torso with delicately delineated ribs, taut and
sweating.  The sight of this totally delicious, helpless creature
completely under my control makes my own heart swell with a kind of
fatherly-protective embrace.  I force myself to swallow down such feelings
of mercy and to obey my cock.

   I returned to the furnace of my lusts: those naked, tender, unblemished
and adorable feet with their slender, pretty arches and soft soles where I
now stroked the swelling head of my cock.  I can't really explain why I
have always been excited by such peculiar things.  In winter and the fall
one can almost forget such curious delicacies exist..  but in spring and
summer, walking through the crowded streets, to the park or in the most
mundane situations the flash of a pair of girls feet: maybe encased in
strappy sandals, or the currently fashionable ballet pumps with their
revealing toe-cleavage..  suddenly I am filled with this LUST.

   I just wanted to lose myself in a meaty, quivering mouthful of squirming
girls toes; to squirt my hot cum over a writhing pile of soft, wrinkled
soles.  Even as I reminisced I am holding her feet firmly in my hands and
beginning to slide and squeeze my cock between her arches; my eyes wandered
greedily over her knees, her belly and her blonde plaits, the cute freckles
on her nose; all the time reducing her to a piece of meat to be used for my
depravity.  My cock was stiffening more and more angrily as I began to pump
her little feet.

   I spunked a good, gooey white load over her toes.  My head was dizzy but
light, hollowed out.  It always happens after I come the first time.  It
loosens me up to get down with more serious business.  I chuckled to myself
as I went outside the cabin for a cigarette.  I am not naturally a bad
person.  It's not a crime to like girls feet?  Why do these little girls
have to tease me with their oh-so-sexy little peds?  They are basically
asking for what I give them...  These are the kind of thoughts that go
round in my head at these times.  I'm psyching myself up basically. 
Because these girls can never be allowed to go home again.  I have to hurt
them and kill them.  I don't feel comfortable about this.  Maybe I haven't
done it enough times to get hardened yet.  It comes more naturally each
time, but still, I have to work myself up into a kind of anger to go
through with it.

   I thought about all the tools in the cabin.  There was an axe outside by
the door as well.  I thought about all the possibilities at my disposal.  I
thought about the fear in her baby-blue eyes, I thought how she would look
naked and suspended with her arms above her head and the nude perfection of
her tender pre-teen pussy; the pink ripeness of her young bottom.  I didn't
really need the gag for her out here...  the more remote I realised this
cabin was the more I thought it would be good to let her scream her little
lungs out as I slowly abused her and cut her up.  My cock was stiffening
again at these thoughts.  I took one last look at the beautiful blue sky
and the innocent nature of the forest before I went back into the cabin and
let the darkness enter me.