Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 LAND OF RAPE AND HONEY

   Another entry in the diary of SiCkMaN Visit my website at
http://diaryofsickman.com

   sickman668@hotmail.com



   God, it was beautiful here.  As she swam farther out into the lake,
Liane wondered how she could have wanted to miss this.  She would have to
thank Sharon and Roxy for making her come; it was worth the hassle of
buying all the food and scrounging up the camping gear.  Not to mention all
the extra stuff needed to take a one-year-old into the woods.  But her
friends had left her to make the three-hour expedition back into town for
groceries and beer, and they had been sweet enough to take Justin with
them, so she had the entire little lake to herself.  Well, except for the
solitary loon that kept to itself on the other side.  What a wonderful,
haunting call!  She had been sunbathing and in a daring moment, slipped out
of her bra "to even up her tan".  Not that it was really either very
daring, nor going to even her tan.  The one kilometer path to the desolate
back-road was on the other side of the small lake and the only way across
was ten minutes by canoe, so she could easily get decent if anyone came. 
And she'd so carefully covered her ghostly white breasts with
super-delux-water-proof-sun-block-fifty-buzillion that as far they were
concerned it was midnight in a cave.  Still, it had felt nice to be naked.
To feel the warm sun on them.  And now to feel them float free in the cool
water of the lake.  They were so huge, now that she was nursing, that it
felt odd not to have these mountainous weights of flesh and milk either
hanging from her chest or confined in the supposed comfort of modern
brassier technology.  She looked at them, floating on the surface, the
little waves giving them lives of their own.  God they were huge!  And the
nipples had become these ridiculously long spikes!  Hard to believe they
had been a shapely C-cup before Justin.  At twice the size they were still
very firm, swollen with milk, but she wondered if they could possibly ever
return to anything even remotely...  "Hey!  Check this out guys, we found
ourselves a fuckin' mermaid!" She whirled about to find two canoes coming
around the point that they were camped on!  All men!  Swim back to her
clothes?  No, her ass would show and they would know she was naked.  Better
to just stay put and let them go their way.  Dammit!, why had she taken her
shorts off?  And not put her bra back on?  They would have dried.  She
could have changed.  The lead canoe turned and headed straight toward her.
The situation was like a bad dream.  Say something?  Ask them to leave? 
Swim to her clothes?  "SOMEBODY LEAVE HIS BITCH OUT HERE IN THE LAKE?" the
guy at the front of the lead canoe hollered, watching the shore for any
life.  "Well, hey mermaid.  Whatcha doing out here all by your lonesome?"
She was tongue-tied.  Should she lie and say that her friends were on
shore? His manner made her uncomfortable.  Really uncomfortable.  "I'd much
rather catch a mermaid then a stupid old bass.  What do you guys think?"
She dove.  Down about three feet and swam in a yellowy gurgling world
toward her clothes, watching the shadow of the canoe as she swam under it.
Oh God, they were going to rape her.  She knew it; she just knew that if
they caught her, they were going to hold her down and gang rape her. 
Please, she prayed, Please let me get away from them.  Please let me make
it to the shore.  But her brain was screaming for air and she could not
even see the bottom.  Oh dear God, this couldn't be happening!  It was too
far.  She had to surface.  She gulped a few of breaths, checked her course,
and dove again.  They'd been laughing and yelling.  The other canoe was
headed across her path.  She swam frantically, the fear and the oxygen
deprivation mixing like a horrid drug exploding in her skull.  The water
started getting shallow and she thought perhaps she could stand up and slog
to her clothes, as if just being clothed would armour her against all
danger.  She started to stand and a hand grabbed a fist full of blonde
hair, painfully pulling her to her feet.  She tried to complain, to beg
them to let her go, but her lungs would do nothing but gulp back air.  In
her fear, frustration and humiliation, she started to cry, making talking
even more impossible and deepening her humiliation.  She fought to get free
of the grip in her hair, to run towards shore.  They were yelling back and
forth, eagerly, as if playing a team sport.  Something about a hook.  And
her clothes.  Her head was yanked back so that she fell backwards landing
with her spine across the gunwales staring up into a scarred face with
savage glee in the dark eyes.  She tried to yell for help, and a hand was
stuffed into her mouth.  Then there was a horrid sharp pain in her cheek
and he was pushing her off the boat.  She lunged for the shore, realizing
as she did that there was something in her mouth and a string coming out. A
fishing lure!  They had put a fishing lure in her mouth!  The line went
taught and she screamed, as the hooks set deeper into her cheek.  They're
crazy, she thought, clutching at the line to relieve the tension.  She
turned toward the source of the line, and saw the man in the first boat
fifty feet away, playing her like a fish as his boat mate paddled away from
her.  She could not hold the line in her wet hands and so moved toward them
trying to get some slack as she crammed her hand into her mouth trying to
unseat the vicious hook.  Her captor pulled back on the rod and reeled it
in, so she had to move still deeper.  But again the slack was taken up, and
then she lost her footing and was swimming toward the boat, still trying to
overcome the pain to tear the cruel barb from her flesh.  But the line
stayed taught, pulling her by her face, so that the only way for her to
relieve the agony was to swim after the boat.  She clutched at the line,
but it only made him pull harder.  One hook had completely pierced her
cheek and she was frantic to keep it from tearing her face any worse.  Then
she thought to wrap the line around her fist for better grip.  At that, he
started hauling on the rod, fighting as if he had a marlin on the line. 
With both arms she tried to hold her fist to her face, while they towed her
across the lake.  And they laughed!  She could hear them cackling and
hooting as if it was all a wonderful joke: great sport!  They were animals!
She almost drowned a couple of times, inhaling water in her mindless panic,
and they found this uproarious.  And the more they laughed, the more
terrified she became, realizing their inhuman cruelty.  Some small part of
her knew she should be completely humiliated at being treated like a fish,
but her horror so filled her adrenaline-amped skull that there was scarcely
room for anything else.  And he was reeling her in!  His canoe landed at a
portage she had not known about across a small bay from the camp.  He waded
to shore standing in the shallows like Red Fisher, landing her the last
twenty feet.  He taunted her, calling her a "stupid cuntfish" and a
"fuckable Mermaid".  Then her elbows hit bottom and he ordered her to
kneel. She did as she was told; what else could she do?  She was too
exhausted to run, she had a fishhook imbedded in her face.  She got to her
knees with both hands still firmly clutching the line to her face.  She was
bawling like child, looking up at her slightly geeky looking captor
smirking at her, while she tried to catch her breath.  Then he ordered her
to put her arms behind her back.  When she hesitated, he quietly added that
if she did as she was told, he would cut the hook out in two pieces, if
not, he would gladly rip half her face away.  Scared to the point that she
could hardly keep her balance, she unwound her hands and hesitantly lowered
them.  Could she trust him?  Did she have a choice?  Finding her voice, she
blubbered out pathetically, "Please!  Please don't hurt me!  God, I beg
you, please!  Please let me go!  I...  I..." and she broke down again
falling into the water at his feet.  "What do ya think, guys?  Should we
let her go?  Or would you rather have a camp-slut to take along with us?"
The other three all agreed that a camp-slut sounded like more fun, and they
spent a number of minutes discussing what to do.  It was decided that they
would carry her over the portages to avoid leaving her scent and go back to
their camp.  They would get the others, and then move camp up to a creek
that one of them promised was remote and un-traveled.  One of them kept
referring to her as "the hole", and the others picked it up.  Their
prisoner managed to compose herself during this enough to start begging
again, but was quickly silenced with threats of violence and she just knelt
there, blubbering to herself.  Then one of them was tying her wrists behind
her with fishing line.  She just let him.  She was naked, kneeling, and
surrounded by four grown men, with a fishhook piercing her cheek.  They had
won.  They were going to kidnap her, rape her, and quite likely kill her,
and she knew there was nothing she could so about it.  So she just let them
tie her and put her into one of the canoes.  Ferrari, the guy who had been
trolling her came wading over to her with a pair of needle nose pliers cut
the barb that was exposed and removed the lure as gently as possible, but
it still hurt a hell of a lot.  They poured tequila in her mouth and
splashed it on her face for disinfectant.  Bill, a monkeyish looking guy,
had her clothes and makeup bag, which had been with them on the shore, and
they told him to stuff her bra in her mouth.  They tied her wrists to the
cross strut so she was lying face down then two of them picked the thing up
by its ends and started up the path.  Ten minutes later they were in the
water again.  A few minutes of paddling, a quick three minute portage, a
longer paddle, and then a portage so long that they kept putting her down
and switching.  Throughout the trip they joked and laughed about how hard,
often, long, deep and painfully they were going to fuck her various holes,
and discussed various plans.  They told her that if she did everything she
was told, didn't complain, never tried to escape, and was the "perfect
little eager camp slut", they would let her live.  That was the deal.  And
she made her mind up right then that she would believe them, and try her
best.  The guy had kept his word on about the hook, after all.  She wanted
to live!  Even being raped and made to suck their cocks was seemed better
than never seeing her son again!  They said they were going to fuck her
ass, and that really scared her.  She had never done that, but she knew it
would hurt.  For an hour she lay there, her arms painfully numb, listening
to her fate while she slowly roasted in the hot sun.  Though still deathly
afraid (she felt like she wanted to vomit), she calmed substantially; to
the point that she could see the absurdity of worrying about not having any
sun screen on her ass, while being transported to her gang rape.  She
wondered how long they would keep her and prayed that none of them had
AIDS. God, she was thirsty!  She hoped Justin would be O.K.  How long ago
was her period?  She thought she shouldn't be ovulating for another four or
five days.  Then they started shouting to someone about the fish they'd
landed, and some new guys joined them.  Two?  Three?  She could not tell.
The new guys thought capturing a woman to rape was "fuckin' rockin'!  Right
fuckin' on!" And somebody grabbed her ass.  They begged to see her, but
Ferrari, who seemed like a bit of a leader, told them to wait until they
got back to camp.  This took all of a minute before she was lifted out and
stood on a small boulder, surrounded by seven lust-eyed men who pawed and
discussed her body in the most disgusting, demeaning terms, as if she were
not there.  She closed her eyes, and gritted her teeth, helpless to stop
them.  But neither could she stop herself from crying in her utter
humiliation, her tears flowing freely from her screwed-shut eyes.  Every
woman knows that men objectify them, but never, never had Liane felt so
thoroughly like a piece of meat.  Not a person.  Not even an animal.  Just
a thing.  A thing that was made to be ogled, played with, and fucked.  She
thought, as she would often during her coming ordeal, that her entire life
had been a lie.  She had always thought herself the equal of men, and
before that, boys.  Now, standing on a rock surrounded by men who were free
of society's constraint, she realized that in truth, they only thought of
her as "fuck-meat".  That's what one of them called her, and it stuck in
her brain.  Fuck-meat.  Honours in high school, a BA in history, and for
what?  So she could be well-educated fuck-meat.  Smart, stupid, happy, sad,
horny, fearful, dead, alive, or tearfully humiliated, they really did not
care, so long as she had large breasts and three holes.  And they made it
clear both that her holes were acceptable and her breasts were of more than
satisfactory size.  "Holy fuck, look at the size of those fuckin' jugs", as
one put it.  They had a ball when they found out she was lactating.  They
had milk fights, tugging and mauling her elongated teats with no more
regard for her then a water pistol.  Her sobbing tears mixed with the milk.
"I've always wanted to be a mother fucker", said one.  "Then lets do it!,"
another urged, but another said they should wait until they got to
someplace private.  "Fuck that!" stark spat; grabbing her around the waist
and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  Or maybe a
side of beef.  "Hey, wait!  On a sleeping bag.  No scent!" One was quickly
spread and she was dumped onto it, cracking her elbow in the fall.  But she
was given no time to nurse her pain.  Stark fell on her, his fatigues
around his ankles.  He rubbed his soft cock against her while he brutally
mashed two handfuls of tender breast, leering down at her with cruel
smugness.  And in no time he was throbbing hard and ready for rape.  Unlike
Liane who had never been less prepared to take a cock inside her. 
Clenched. Dry as a desert.  Oh god, this was going to hurt!  She started
crying in fear.  He grinned at that, aimed his weapon, and attacked. 
Determined to take her in a single lunge.  Not a chance.  The head of his
cock jammed at the very entrance to her dry little clam, stopping him dead.
Oh, he had thought about slathering a bit of spit on his dick to ease the
assault, but this was his first rape and he wanted to do it right.  And
"right" seemed to be mounting her dry and forcing his way in, causing her
the greatest possible amount of pain.  Wouldn't want her to enjoy it; that
would defeat the purpose.  But he had had no idea about how stubborn an
unprepared pussy could be.  He shoved, he lunged, he pounded his way into
her dry fuck-hole a quarter inch at a time, never yielding a bit though it
could only have helped.  Hurt?  It felt like course sand paper on his dick!
But watching his victim writhe on his skewer, screaming from pain, begging
for mercy, crying from the humiliation, well, that made it worthwhile.  The
more he hurt, the more she hurt.  And that seemed like a good trade.  Once
he had managed to cram a couple of inches in, the battle was as good as
won. No worry of his cock bending in half rather than shoving in a little
more, he could start fucking her properly, every thrust forcing a little
further into her body.  She complained at every thrust, music to his ears.
She reminded him of a spider pinned to a table, squirming and flailing,
desperate to get away.  Hopelessly impaled.  Once he was in to the hilt, he
started humping her.  Her pussy managed to lubricate a little and the pain
was not so unbearable.  But this only meant she could lie back and
thoroughly "enjoy" the emotional hell of her rape.  No fear now.  In fact a
lifetime of fear, of being wary of "bad men" as a child, of avoiding
shadows and skirting the ends of dark allies, of crossing streets to avoid
dubious characters, of wondering if each new date was actually psychopathic
freak, all gone.  It was happening, it was all too real, and it was even
more horrible than she had ever imagined.  The utter degradation of being
taken, used, mounted like an animal had her bawling like a small child. 
And she bawled at her absolute, paralyzing helplessness; she wanted to
fight back, to beat him off of her, to claw his eyes out, but her hands
refused to do anything but clench handfuls of sleeping bag as if to anchor
her to sanity.  Yes, claw his laughing eyes out.  She could do it so
easily. By the time he knew, she would have her thumbs buried in his
sockets.  But she couldn't.  Cowardice that she knew she would never, ever
forgive herself.  Even as she looked up with revulsion into Stark's
sneering, scar-marked face grunting his satisfaction at his conquest, she
knew that if she lived to be a hundred, she would never be able to forget
that she had allowed this horrible man to rape her without even a token
resistance.  She would never stop hating herself for it.  "Gutless" kept
echoing in her mind.  She bawled because they were laughing at her. 
Because they were calling her stupid, and a slut, and a cry-baby, and a
cunt, and horny and ugly and pathetic.  Pathetic.  She sure felt pathetic.
They cheered Stark on to "give it to her.  Harder.  She's lovin' it!" One
even said she must really want it, because she had not even tried to stop
him.  She bawled because her mother had warned her about "bad men" and some
long-forgotten feeling that Mommy would be disappointed that Liane had
allowed herself to get into this situation.  And she bawled because she was
bawling.  Because she desperately wanted to not cry.  To not show them how
much anguish they were succeeding in causing her.  Not to give them the
satisfaction.  Not to let them see that they were causing every bit of
heart-rending sorrow, self-loathing and humiliation that they could have
hoped for.  But she wailed it out, a song of victory to her rapists' ears,
too weak of character to stop herself.  Weakness.  Too weak to make herself
fight back.  Too weak to stop crying.  Too pathetically weak to do anything
but lay there crying, praying for him to finish.  But then the sun on her
closed lids was gone and something brushed her lips, and someone was
barking "Open up, bitch" and she opened her eyes to find a man on his hands
and knees over her head, cock dangling at her mouth.  Too cowed to resist,
and hating herself for it, she parted her blubbering lips and let him
plunge into her face.  He shoved it in until she was gagging and then
started brutally fucking her head making her violently gag and retch,
banishing all her other miseries with a simple, horrible struggle for
oxygen.  Stark was just as impressed as she was, but in his case it induced
orgasm rather than gagging.  And then the guy in her mouth started cumming
too so she had guys unloading sperm into her at both ends.  She could not
swallow properly on her back and got sperm in her trachea so she was
coughing and drowning in sperm while her assailants took their pleasure. 
But she convulsed so violently that her cough reflex did what her brain had
not been able to do: get the bastards' leaking dicks out of her.  She
rolled over onto her hands and knees and tried to hack the sticky slime
from her airway.  The initial coughing on her back had blown a goodly
amount of the foul stuff up into her sinuses and since sperm is made to
stick to moist passages, she was one miserable lady for a number of
minutes. Her captors?  They thought it a wonderful joke, suggesting that
"Maybe she doesn't like the taste", and telling her she better get used to
it, she would be drinking gallons of it.  But they did allow her to
basically recover before one of them came to stand in front of her.  All
she could see was his sneakers astride the little puddle of sperm, snot and
saliva that she had managed to expel.  A zipper was lowered "Get to work,
hole!" She straightened some and looked up.  A meaty cock dangled before
her.  "Wipe your face", she was ordered.  Someone handed her her own
shorts. She cleaned herself, had another small coughing fit, and then
looked up again at the waiting cock.  She'd never been fond of giving
blow-jobs - putting a guy's cock in your mouth was kind of gross - and with
only a few exceptions had managed to successfully avoid the practice.  But
there would be no begging out of this one.  The pendulous cock twitched in
anticipation.  The humiliation was rising again.  Being forced was bad
enough, but now they wanted her to whore herself of her own volition.  She
should refuse.  She should make them beat her senseless rather than give
into their demands.  But even as she stared at that expectant cock, she
knew she would not have the courage.  She opened her mouth obediently and
moved up to engulf it.  Smack!  He slapped her face.  "Hey stupid, did I
tell you could suck that?  Ask me nice." God, couldn't she just do it? 
Wasn't it enough that she would service them?  She couldn't beg for it! 
Smack!  He slapped her again.  And Again.  She burst into gasping tears,
but with eyes shut she managed to blubber out, "May I suck your cock?"
Smack!  "What's the magic word, slut?" With her eyes closed, every slap was
a shocking surprise.  She swallowed hard, as if literally swallowing her
pride, and muttered, "Please." He swung his shoe into her crotch, yelling,
"'Please' what, Cunt?  And say it fuckin' loud." "Please...please, may I
suck your cock?" she forced out, and broke down crying.  "Do you really
want to?" "Yes", she said with resignation.  "Why?", and he slapped her. 
Why?  So he would stop hitting her.  Why.  What did he want to hear?  "Why,
you stupid cunt?" and he buffeted her face over and over.  "Because...", he
wanted something degrading, " because I am a ...  I am f..fuck-meat." "Very
good!", her choice of words had impressed him.  He stopped his assault and
almost purred to her, "Beg me once more, real nice..." Mixed in with her
long, racking sob/breathes, she managed to get out "Please, ..I...I really
want ..to suck your big..  cock, because I am...  I'm your camp...  your
stupid camp-slut fuck-meat.  Please?".  The 'please' was quite heart-felt,
though she meant it as 'please stop hitting me'.  "No.  Lick my balls,
hole." Yes, anything so long as he stopped hitting her and yelling at her.
She could never stand people yelling at her.  Her father used to... 
"That's good.  That's a good little bitch.  Oh yeah." Someone guided her
hand to a another hard cock.  Then her other hand.  Someone was reaching
around to finger her pussy.  Hands pawed her breasts.  Mr.  Balls was
pushed out of the way and replaced by a cock.  She sucked this until Mr. 
Right Hand shoved this guy away, and stepped up.  Smack!  "Open your
fuckin' eyes, bitch, and look at me".  Her last refuge gone, she looked up
through bleary eyes at a laughing, mocking face.  Then another cock, and
another.  New ones?  Repeats?  Just an endless procession of cocks which
she sucked as best she could, which was never good enough.  Smack!  "Watch
your fuckin' teeth".  Smack!  "Deeper".  Smack!  "Harder" Smack!  "Not so
hard." Smack!  Smack!  "Stop crying".  Smack!  "Your too ugly".  Smack! 
"Open your God (Smack!) damned (Smack!) eyes!  (Smack!)" They made her
kneel so they could fuck her while she sucked.  Stark's sperm greased her
pussy, and without having to look at her rapist's taunting face made it
less humiliating.  It was more like just another bad fuck; she'd had had a
few of those before this!  One sawed away in her womb, while another fucked
her face.  She was just expected to kneel with her head back and let them
use her.  Being used like this was still horrible, but it was better than
when they were hitting her and yelling at her.  Two holed fuck-meat, she
thought.  The one in her mouth shoved into her throat and came, holding her
by the back of the skull.  She choked a little, but she swallowed.  Then
another was probing her lips.  Another in her pussy.  Another in her mouth.
He pulled out and squirted her face with scum.  When one started poking at
her asshole, she whined her protest around the cock she was sucking, but
she did nothing to stop him.  Until he shoved the head in in none too
gentle a manner, ripping her sphincter.  She shrieked and lurched away from
the violating prod, ripping her face off a cock to beg them to spare her.
Hands descended on her, holding shoulders, waist, hips and thus immobilized
like a sacrificial beast, her anus was summarily slaughtered, shoved full
of thick cock while she screamed, begged and blubbered.  After a while the
muscles adapted and the intense tearing pain ebbed to raw scraping at every
thrust.  And she was grabbed by the hair and cock again skewered her face.
They made her sit on a guy's cock, so another could fuck her asshole.  She
couldn't believe how much cock she had in her.  The one in her ass came and
the next guy, to the delight of his fellow rapists, worked his cock into
her pussy along side the one she was sitting on.  That really rubbed her
raw, but they both came almost immediately.  The one in her mouth tasted
like dirt, which seemed odd, but she kept sucking.  "You like that, slut?
You like sucking your own shit off my stick?" Oh God, he hadn't!  She tried
to back away but he held her head like a basketball, bouncing it on his
filthy dick.  She could not imagine anything more disgusting!  And another
in her ass.  God, when would they stop?  Her pussy and asshole were fucked
raw, her jaw was totally cramped, she had a headache (from having her head
tipped back?  From the sun?  From the emotional stress?, From being slapped
so much?  Probably all of the above.), her knees were killing her, and yet
the cocks just kept coming.  And cumming.  But eventually they did slow. 
First she had one unused orifice, then, a couple of cocks later, two. 
Finally she swallowed a measly little squirt and there were no more cocks
coming at her.  She collapsed, and they left her alone; they were packing
up camp.  She was so hot!  "excuse me," she said timidly, sitting up,
"excuse me, but could I have something to drink?" The few that had heard
looked at each other in indecision.  She wouldn't be much good to them if
she got dehydrated, she thought.  "Yeah, I got something for ya." The scary
bald one cackled.  He cackled every time he spoke, like some demented
hillbilly.  But he came to the blanket empty handed.  Unzipping his
fatigues, he fished out his cock, laughing maniacally.  No.  He couldn't
mean...but, God, he couldn't...  She started backing away from him, but a
hand grabbed her hair and a low, threatening voice murmured, "Listen, cunt,
your going to wrap your lips around that cock and drink every fuckin' drop.
If I see even one drip on your chin, I'm going to whip your titties so hard
they'll fuckin' bleed.  Understand, cunt?  Good.  Hey Greg, let her come to
you, man.  Make her beg you." How could they always make it worse?  It
wasn't enough that they were going to make her drink urine, but she had to
ask for it.  Well, she knew what they wanted, and as humiliating as it was
to beg him the way they wanted, it was not nearly so repulsive as actually
making herself perform the required act.  So she crawled over to Greg and
looking up at him, took a deep breath and recited, "Please, may I drink
your...your piss?  Please let me, 'cause I'm...  I'm just a stupid cunt."
"Sure", and he cackled as if this was a terribly humorous response.  She
looked at the proffered thick worm, trying to summon her courage.  How
could she actually put that thing in her mouth and let him...oh God, it was
too disgusting to even think about, but as if a puppet on a string, she
inched forward and with a shudder of determination, she put her lips around
the wrinkled sausage.  And waited.  "Look at him." The voice instructed. 
"From now on, I want you to look into the eyes of whoever is using you. 
Understand?  If I catch with your eyes closed again, You WILL wish you were
dead." She looked up at the crazy just as the hot bitter fluid jetted into
her mouth.  Then she was gulping it back to stop from drowning, and except
for the foul taste, it didn't much matter how disgusting it was.  And then
he was finished.  "Thank him..." "Thank you for letting me drink your piss"
"Did you like that?" She said emphatically "no".  "Do you think that if you
did that often enough you might get used to it?" Definitely not.  "Good. 
Guys, nobody pisses except in her mouth, and she doesn't drink anything
except piss" "Right on," They really liked that.  She wanted to throw up.
"Find out if any one else will let you drink." She got three more servings,
so that she had swallowed quarts of piss by the time they were done.  Then
they left her alone while they finished breaking camp.  How long were they
going to keep her?  She couldn't stand this for too long.  Maybe it would
be better if they just killed her.  She was tied again in the canoe and
within minutes they were headed off across a lake.  Then they landed on
rock and started climbing up a fairly steep hill.  After the hill, they
walked mostly in shade.  Mosquitoes and flies took full advantage of the
defenseless flesh in the canoe, while Liane listened to the men batting the
things away.  Eventually one of them asked if they could let her walk now,
and they agreed it would probably be OK.  So they let her up, untied her
hands.  They slathered themselves with bug repellent not offering her any.
One wanted to piss so she squatted before him, his human toilet, taking the
opportunity to release her own urine.  "Ah, I think she should ask
permission before going pee-pee." said one, so it was decided she should.
They redistributed their loads and put the empty canoe on her bare
shoulders.  She had never carried a canoe before, but managed it, at first.
But after five minutes, her shoulders and arms were on fire, she was
sweating like a roasting chicken, and she had half a dozen mosquitoes
drinking their fill from her.  She managed to free a hand to swat at one,
only to be freaked on by Stark, the scarred, crazy looking one, for hurting
a poor mosquito.  "Mosquitoes are your friends, hole.  Understand?  You
ever hurt another one of your friends and I'll break your fuckin' arm,
hole." She trudged on in misery, her bare feet picking their way along the
cool muddy path.  They left the trail and hiked up a long rocky ridge, then
through some blueberry bushes that hurt her feet even more and scraped her
legs, and then down into a fairly deep little ravine through a snarl of
some kind of prickly bramble.  They had stopped and took the canoe off of
her.  They where in a humid valley in deep hardwood forest.  A creek a few
feet across burbled near them.  She was quickly enveloped in a light cloud
of mosquitoes.  But now what?  They had all set about setting up camp, so
she just stood, waiting for her next instruction.  The mosquitoes were
fierce.  And they were everywhere.  And unable to brush them off, she could
only stand, her entire body clenched, trying to find the willpower to just
watch them drink their fill.  At any one time she might have a dozen of
them on her!  Even on her face!  For a while she counted five on her right
breast alone!  She danced a little, trying to shake them off, but they were
determined to suck her dry.  God, this was utter torture.  Her tears
started again, this time in frustration.  One of men came over to her, the
good-looking one, took her by the hand and led her fifty feet into the
woods.  He turned to her and she watched as he slowly formed a tight fist,
drew it back, and then pounded it into her stomach!  She fell to the ground
winded and he pushed her over with his boot and then held her head to the
ground with his foot.  "Why?  Why are you such a useless cunt?" "I
don't...", no, that's not what he wanted to hear.  "Because....  because I
am a ...  stupid fuck-meat?" "No.  Good fuck-meat makes itself useful. 
Good fuck-meat would be going to every one of these hard working guys and
asking if there was anything she could do to please him, begging him to let
her suck his cock, asking if she could drink his piss for him.  Good
fuck-meat is only happy when it has a cock stuck in it, or when it is
helping make a man's camping experience a bit more enjoyable.  Now, get on
your knees...", and he let her up.  "Now we're going to practice.  Open
your mouth, no: wide.  Good, now look me in the eye and stick out your
tongue.  No not like a point, like you're a wanton whore who's just dying
to lick the pre-cum off my dick....  Better, now give me some bedroom
eyes." As he quietly coached her, she recognized his voice as the one that
had talked her through drinking Greg's piss.  This guy was different from
the others.  He never yelled at her.  His voice moved between a quite, icy
threatening when she was not satisfactory, and a kind, encouragement when
she was performing as desired.  He seemed to know exactly what he wanted
from a sex slave, and how to make her perform his tricks like a circus
poodle.  "No, you still don't have the tongue right, darling.  Beg me with
it, show me how much your tongue wants my cock...  Oh, you need it, baby...
that's it, make me want you.  Show me you're a prideless slut.  Yeah,
excellent!  See, you can be a dirty whore, when you put your mind to it"
He's too good.  He must have done this before.  He actually had her feeling
a little happy pride in being able to totally debase herself to his
satisfaction.  "Oh, baby, that's brilliant.  You finally look like a real
camp-slut.  Now, say 'please'...No, even more desperate.  As if you need it
really, really bad." "Good", he declared, standing back.  "Now, why don't
you just crawl over to each of these campers, ask to suck their cock or
drink their piss, and then show them how much you want to until they say
'yes' or 'no'.  I bet you'll find some takers, if you ask real nice. 
"After you've asked every one and serviced the takers, you should keep
crawling around and asking if you can help with anything.  (You should
always crawl when you are begging for work).  Sluts never sleep, darling.
If you're not doing anything for a man, then you should be working hard to
find something to do.  You get to stop working when ALL of us are asleep,
understand?  OK, way you go" She started to crawl to the others, but he
came up beside her, squatted down and put an arm on her shoulder, and said
quietly to her, "Darling, if you want to survive this, you have to make
these guys happy.  And if you want to make these guys happy you have to
lose ALL of your pride except the pride of being a complete and utter slut.
I can tell that you are trying really hard to be a good little slut, but
your going to have to become a total wanton pig if you hope to live through
this.  Now, go ask to service each one of them and then come back to me and
I'll let you wash up and put on some bug repellent." And he was gone.  Lose
her pride.  That was it, if only she could.  She felt pathetic, crawling
naked through the woods, to go beg them to use her like a whore.  God, the
things he made her do.  She FELT like a slut.  Before She was just meat,
they used her like a toy.  But now she had to instigate it, beg for it. 
She didn't know if she could make herself do it, but she kept crawling
towards camp, as if to her fate.  Could she run away?  No, she was only
thirty feet from them, she had no shoes.  And anyway, the guy, her coach,
she didn't have a name for him, was standing with Ferrari watching her
approach.  She could just feel his smug satisfaction; he just knew she was
not going anywhere except to suck cock.  She made her rounds.  It wasn't so
hard, really.  She just did her little performance, just as she had
rehearsed it.  She didn't have to mean it; she just had to over-act as if
she did.  She sucked one cock, drank two loads of piss, and helped peg down
a tent.  Then, as promised, her coach "ordered" her, loudly enough that the
others could hear, to wash herself in the stream, and to put on bug
repellent and make-up.  Her toiletry bag was found, and she took a metal
cup from the fire to wash her hair.  It felt so wonderful to get clean, to
wash away the sweat, cum, and filth, as if she could wash away her
violation.  To get away from the mosquitoes, to soak her raw pussy and
knees, and all her bug bites in the cold stream.  Just to be able to spend
a few minutes babying herself.  She even dared lay back and relax for a
minute, on the pretext of washing her hair.  Just one sacred minute that
she didn't have to suck cock!  Would they really let her live if she did
what they want?  So far they had kept all their promises.  Well then, if
they wanted a slut, then she would try to be the filthiest slut ever.  She
just had to start thinking like the slut they wanted.  She tanked up on
water when she was brushing her teeth, not sure when she would next be able
to drink something other than piss.  He, her coach, came over with a towel
and bottles of insect repellent and suntan oil.  He even helped her spray
her back and hair in bug juice before leaving her with instructions to
'make herself pretty' and to grease herself with sun oil.  She didn't
dawdle, but she took her time.  She was in no rush to drink more piss after
just brushing her teeth, and anyway, 'making herself pretty' takes time,
and it WAS for their benefit.  The fuck-meat must look appetizing.  She
oiled her legs, thinking as she did, that they would probably think that it
was sexy.  She stopped.  Should she?  If they would like to watch, maybe
she should go let them.  Why was this was so hard?  Because for the first
time, no one was telling her what to do.  Be a slut, she told herself. 
Make them want you.  Just be the slut they want, and maybe it will be
easier.  She walked over to the fire they had started, and laying down on
the sleeping bag that had been thoughtfully spread out, started
lasciviously smearing oil on her full breasts.  Well, that got their
attention!  They all gathered round and started yelling rude remarks. 
Which she answered in kind, stirring their fires: "Yeah, baby, I AM your
fucking slut....  Ooo, like that?  You want me to squeeze them like that?
...  Does that look good? ...  Yeah, they're so full of milk they're ready
to burst....  Yeah, I AM a fucking cow.  I'm YOUR cow.  Your stupid fucking
cow.  You want to milk me?....  OK, then cream me, baby.  You know its all
yours, anything you want" Unfortunately, it looked like it was working. 
They were eating this up with a spoon, and they looked like they were ready
to start mounting her tender pussy again.  So she quickly grabbed the oil
again and started smearing it into her abused hole, trying to prepare it
for the threatening assault.  She masked the ploy with her act: "Ooo, does
that look good?  Do you like my pus...my ..  cunt?  (she hated that word!)
YOUR cunt?  It IS your cunt.  Your ...big ...wet...  cunt.  You can fuck it
whenever you want.  Use it.  Use ME.  I'm just your stupid camp-slut...Too
hairy?  oh.  Do you want me to shave it off? ...  OK, all of it.  I'll
shave...  PULL IT OUT?...  " (That was Stark, she was starting to really
hate him.  And he scared her.  He's the one that kept talking about
torturing her) "Um...ah...", what could she say?  She was supposed to do
what ever they wanted, but pull out her pubic hair, nah, they couldn't be
serious.  Just distract them.  "OK, I'll pull it out.  But you look like
you want to use me, first?" she stuck both middle fingers into her pink
slit and pulled them apart so the guys in front could see deep inside. 
"Don't you want to stick you cocks into there." Even getting fucked again
was better than the alternative, not to mention inevitable.  "Uh, well I
will," said the funny looking bald one, who didn't sound too bright.  But
Ferrari held up his hand for the guy to stop.  "You heard him, hole, pull
it out.  Pull it out strand by god damned strand.  Stark's a crazy fucker,
so I wouldn't say that you have to do everything he says, but he made a
perfectly reasonable request, so I think you better do what he wants." He
squatted down, took her by the hair and raised her head to within inches of
his face, slapped her hard and viciously spat, "You're just a fucking
whore. If someone tells you to do something, you fucking do it, there and
then.  It's not for you to decide if or when you do what your told.  If
something hurts, you do it anyway.  Let us know it hurts, though; tell us
how much pain you are in.  Cry for us.  Beg for mercy.  But don't!  DO NOT!
even THINK about stopping.  Got it, hole?" He dropped her to the blanket
told her, "now get to work." In tears once again, she sat up and
tentatively pinched a blonde pubic hair and yanked.  Didn't get it.  Tried
again.  Got it, and it only hurt a bit.  She got a few next time, then
found she was getting four or five at a time.  But it stung every time, so
it was hard to make herself inflict each painful yank.  And even after a
minute of this, she could see no discernible difference.  The guys soon
ignored her, lounging around the fire, sucking beer, and shooting the shit.
Some absently watched their big-breasted fuck-toy torture herself, but none
seemed really interested.  If they didn't care if she did it, why couldn't
she just shave it?  After a while she could see that she was making a dent,
as if nibbling away at the edge of a vast field of curly golden wheat.  It
was going to take her hours!  Occasionally one of them would come and stand
before her, and whip out his dick.  Disgusted with her own submission, she
would obediently get to her knees and ask, no, beg him to let her drink his
piss.  They always agreed, but some started making her sit on her heels
with her mouth open while they pissed into it from above.  Inevitably they
missed, deliberately spraying her face and chest with foul piss.  And the
more they drank, the more they pissed, so she was drinking gallons of the
stuff.  And in no time had to go herself.  "No.  Not until your done." But
that could be hours, and they kept making her drink more.  She tried to
speed up her depilation, but it hurt more when she went fast.  Still as the
minutes went by, she realized that the pain she was causing would be
nothing to the pain in her bladder.  The good-looking one came over to
relieve himself, and then handed her a pair of pliers.  They helped.  She
could get more at a time with them, but it hurt a lot more too.  And as she
had tons to go.  She was miserable.  Frustrated, humiliated, and in pain.
It took almost two hours for her to completely denude her sex so far down
that she could not see what she was doing.  Her bladder was agony.  Finally
she said, "I can't see the rest.  Please, would one of you please rip the
rest out...so my pussy is nice and bald the way you like it?" "Stark.",
they all agreed, and the sadist came over, and had her lie with her ankles
at her ears while he viciously ripped out the growth from around her hole.
She wailed in pain.  When he put the pliers down, she pleaded to be allowed
to pee.  No.  He wanted to fuck her.  "Hey Stark, we said she could piss
when she was finished." "Yeah, well fuck you, I'm going to fuck the piss
right out of her." "Fine, as long as you let her piss.  Deal's a deal"
"Hey, but not on MY sleeping bag" So Stark dragged her off and threw her
down in a mound of wild ginger, put her legs back up over her shoulders,
and held them there while he rammed his way into her dry but oily womb.  Oh
Christ, she could not believe the pain when he started poking into her
bladder.  Did he really want her to piss while he fucked her?  She hoped
so, because it was killing her to hold it.  So she let go.  And found that
it is really hard to piss when someone is fucking you.  It came out in
little spurts and squirts as he moved in and out.  It felt better just to
relax her control, but it still hurt to have him poking her rock hard
bladder.  " I can't pee.  I can't pee when you're fucking me.  Please, it
hurts, ..Ow, oh God, stop." She cried and pleaded with him, but he wasn't
going anywhere until he was done with her.  And having cum numerous times
that day already, he was in no hurry.  The more she pleaded, the more he
seemed to like it, so she gave up begging for mercy, assured that she'd
receive none.  Then on consideration, she started begging even more
pathetically, crying and gasping from the horrible pain, which wasn't
nearly as bad as she made out, so that he got all riled up, fucked the snot
out of her and spewed his scum into her womb.  God, she hoped she was right
about not ovulating yet.  He pulled out and a fountain of piss sprayed up
from her gaping cunt, soaking his pants.  He climbed off, and told her
raise her ass higher.  Then he stood back laughing as her piss gushed out
of her now bald pussy to arc back and splatter on her stomach and tits.  He
took aim and added his own piss, straight into her upturned hole.  So much
for her bath.  She crawled back to the group.  With resignation, she asked
cordially if she could drink anyone's piss for them, or whether she could
go clean herself up, so she looked good enough to fuck.  That was it, she
thought as she gulped back a couple more servings of urine.  She could just
picture herself taking umpteen baths a day, and carefully putting on
makeup, so that she looked appealing enough for them to rape her or piss on
her.  She returned to the stream.  It felt funny to wash her bald pussy. 
It reminded her of when she was a little girl.  She re-applied the
repellent and makeup (more difficult now, as it was starting to get darker)
and tied her hair back this time.  She had left it down the first time,
thinking they would prefer that, but if they were going to piss on her, she
should try to keep it out of the way.  Returning, she again tried to be the
perfect little camp-slut.  She tended the fire and every few minutes she
would crawl around the circle asking like a good hostess, "Can I get you
another beer?  Can I suck your cock for you?  Just let me know when I can
drink your piss." Their balls seemed pretty well emptied, but she
inevitably found someone who either needed a beer, or needed to get rid of
one.  She dutifully thanked them for the latter.  Some one decided that
they shouldn't piss on her for a while, so she could stay and serve them.
Bill had her suck his dick and then made her kneel in front of the fire
while he butt-fucked her slow and easy.  He didn't even cum, but after
maybe half an hour of working her asshole, he pulled out and told her to
'clean him up'.  She didn't have to ask what that meant, but it took her
twenty seconds of contemplating the thing in the firelight before she could
make herself lick it.  It didn't taste bad, just sort of like dirt, not the
way she had thought it would, not like it smelled.  But still, the idea of
licking shit off someone's cock WAS TOTALLY DISGUSTING.  They let her cook
dinner: Steak and corn.  Someone mounted her as she was kneeling turning
the corn.  So she had to finish cooking with some guy humping her like a
dog.

   She was not offered any food.  She asked if they had coffee, would they
like some, and made a caldron of it to Abe's (the not too bright bald guy)
to Abe's instructions.  But instead of the powdered milk they had, one of
them demanded "fresh squeezed".  Then they all wanted fresh squeezed, so
she crawled around and let them milk her like a cow into their mugs.  They
passed the miner's lantern around so they could watch.  How degrading!  As
they drank, she tried to make herself useful.  She removed the last
unwanted cob of corn from the fire to the edge of the grill, half-hoping
that they might let her have it.  Then she collected the dishes, stacking
them neatly, with the collected mound of scraps on top.  "That's your
supper, cunt." Greg cackled, terribly amused by his own great wit.  Well,
she was too hungry to refuse it, so she knelt on the cool mud (her ass had
indeed gotten sunburnt) and gnawed her scraps.  She timidly asked if she
might have the last cob of corn.  Ferrari made her butter it and told her
to fuck herself with it.  It was still quite hot, but remembering her
lesson from earlier, she at least touched it to her pussy.  No, too hot. 
She let out a yelp, and told them it was too hot.  "Fuck it anyways", Stark
ordered.  "Hey man, what good is her pussy if it has third degree burns?"
her coach argued.  "Hey cunt, bring it here." Thank god there was one sane
on here.  He held it in his fist for a number of seconds before taking his
hand away, flailing it to cool it down, declaring, "Shit!  Its fuckin' hot.
But... I don't think it would do any serious damage; at least nothing will
make her unuseable.  Hold the wimpy bitch down!" She was grabbed from
behind, pulled backwards, and they held her in what was now a familiar
position of her ankles spread on either side of her ears, pussy splayed to
the world.  Then Stark shoved, screwed and finally pounded the hot cob into
her until it was buried.  It might have been bearably hot in his hand, but
in her pussy it felt like it was steaming.  She started screaming from the
first assault, and continued to wail of the pain and beg for mercy for a
quarter hour.  By then she had tired out, and the corn had cooled down
sufficiently to ruin the show.  'Music to their ears' they agreed about her
screams.  Bill approached from where he had been lounging, watching her
struggles, and took the horrid thing out.  Then he put it to her ass and
started shoving.  It was by far the biggest thing that had ever gone in or
out through that tight hoop, and she fought and screamed and groveled and
cried for mercy.  Mercy?  Hah.  Not a chance.  She didn't know that two of
them had actually taken their dicks out and were masturbating, they were so
delighted with her anguish.  They left it in until her anus was so
stretched that most of the pain was gone and she was too tired to complain
any more.  They let her go.  She lay there sobbing, corn still buried in
her ass, not daring to remove it.  "You're forgetting your manners, cunt. I
see some pretty hard cocks over here." "Sorry," she sputtered, and she got
to her hands and knees to make her rounds.  She gave two blowjobs and lay
down to get fucked by another.  During the first blowjob, someone tied her
hands behind her back, so she had to finish them with out "that favourite
cocksucker trick, the slippery hand jerk off." As Ted shoved her on her
back and mounted her, she realized with horror what the hot corn had done
to her vagina.  While the damage might not have been medically dangerous,
her tender sheath had most definitely been scalded.  Even the smallest
movement of his cock sent needles of pain through her loins.  But few of
his thrusts were small.  The pain she had felt at being violated with no
preparation was nothing compared to this; they had managed to make the
simple act of fucking into a living hell.  At least for her.  Bill seemed
to quite enjoy sawing in and out of her to the sound of her breathy aria of
"ohgodnopleasenostopowgodnopleasenoowowowow" which finally degraded to a
simple "ow ow ow ow" in counterpoint to his thrusts.  When he was done, and
she had drunk the contents of some bladders, Bill told her to finish her
dinner, pointing to the forgotten corncob.  It lay in the dirt where it had
fallen from her asshole during a blowjob.  He meant it.  This guy had a
thing for making her eat her own shit.  She moved on her knees and put her
face to it.  It smelled of shit, corn, pussy, and butter.  She moved to it,
bared her teeth, as if to avoid touching her lips to the foul thing, and
took a tentative nibble.  Repulsive.   Then there was a swoosh and her ass
exploded in pain.  She shrieked at that!  "He said eat it." Seems her coach
had made a nasty long flail from a bunch of prickly bramble canes.  She
didn't know what is was, but she knew it hurt like hell!  The gang loved
this turn!  "Now be a good little piggy and eat your dinner.  You wanted
it, now get that cob clean.  And I am going to play with my toy until your
done." Another blow landed.  And a few seconds later, another.  Someone
stood astride her, his legs tight to her sides so she couldn't move.  She
dove at the corn, her only salvation.  The blows kept falling on her
sunburnt ass rhythmically every four or five seconds, urging her to wolf
down the fetid corn.  She would never have believed that she could so
voraciously gnaw at a cob of shit-covered corn in the mud.  She ate like a
rabid animal, tearing and scraping the flesh from a carcass.  But its not
easy eating corn with no hands, in the dark, on your knees, with the horrid
distraction of being whipped.  Someone moved the lantern close to her head
so they could watch Someone asked to try his hand, and the blows started
falling even harder.  The coach's voice came close by her head.  "Good
piggy.  Good little piggy.  Eat up all that nice shitty corn.  Maybe
tomorrow you'll eat what you're given and we won't have to hurt you." And
he brushed back her hair to watch her clean the shaggy bits off the muddy
cob.  "I think she's done", he said, and the whipping stopped.  After that,
things calmed down a lot.  She made her rounds, drank their piss and was
occasionally dragged off to the sleeping bag to be painfully fucked, but
they were getting both drained and drunk so even if they could get it up,
they often just stuck it in and sawed away for a while.  Much later the
alcohol also brought more badgering.  Poking her with sticks.  Spitting
beer on her.  At one point, fairly late, Stark wanted to make her walk on
hot coals or roast her tits on the grill, and they all said "sure".  But
after ten minutes of discussion during which she almost pissed herself with
fear, he actually stood her up as if to do it, and they all told him to
fuck off, and three of them were on their feet ready to stop him.  She made
note of which ones: the coach, the quiet one, and Greg.  He settled for
burning her with a glowing stick, and even here they made him keep it to
her legs, and only a few.  The pain was hideous, but she found that the
thing that made it worse was the horror of their glee.  Red coals thrust
against her calves and inner thighs, and her tormentors giggled and crowed
at her shrieks of agony.  If they could laugh at this, she was truly beyond
hope.  The party started dwindling.  She wondered if she might not be able
to run away if they all fell asleep.  In the gray of dawn, only Greg,
Ferrari and Stark were left to put a Saturday Night Fever tape on their
little shitbox and make her dance.  John Travolta imitations, wiggling her
tits, and flinging bottle caps at her amused them for half an hour.  Then
coach appeared and asked to use her for a while, and dragged her into his
tent.  He climbed on top of her as if to fuck her muttering, "Fuck, won't
they ever shut up?", but all he did was fall asleep using her breasts as
pillows.  Stark kept coming up to the tent for awhile and yelling the
tortures he was going to inflict when she came out, but eventually all of
them fell asleep.  But not Liane; she just cried.  Her mind still reeled at
her situation, it was terribly uncomfortable having someone sleep on her,
but worst of all, she was covered in bug bites, and he had snarled in his
sleep for her to stop scratching.  The frustration and physical distress of
itching so viciously and yet not allowed to scratch was a torture of hell.
She lay for hours, wide eyed, fists clenched, praying for strength. 
************************************* "Bitch!  Where's that fuckin'
bitch?!" Oh God, it was starting again.  "She's coming." Her human prison
rolled off of her so she could get back to work.  "Bring me some coffee
when you're finished".  "Bitch!  Get in here and lick my asshole.  NOW!" He
watched her enter the other tent, following her with "and keep your eye on
her!" The coach made sure that every man was greeted that morning with a
forced-cheery "May I drink your piss for you?  Can I get you a cup of
coffee?  I would love to suck your cock for you?  And your pussy is all wet
and ready for you, whenever you want it." And to a man, when asked so
sweetly, they took her up on at least two if not more of her offers. 
Coffee and a blowjob in bed, and the piss sucked from your stick where you
lie?  Pure camping heaven.  She was also expected to do all the dishes,
clean up the campsite, 'make herself pretty', and cook anyone whatever they
wanted for breakfast.  Those who wanted cereal or porridge had her go on
her hands and knees over their bowls while they milked her like a cow. 
Greg even made her 'moo' while he did it.  Then the collected table scraps
were tossed in a mucky little depression and the little piggy was told to
root for her slop.  This seemed terribly amusing, especially making her
snuffle and snort while she wallowed.  It also wrung the day's first tears,
but she did it; without a complaint or hesitation, and until the muck was
spotless.  She was a quick study of the lash.  Five of them left to go into
town "the long way" for more "piss and supplies".  She thought she heard
them making a list, but could not concentrate as she had a cock humping her
throat like it was a pussy.  The coach and the quite one, Ted, stayed to
guard her.  With just two of them, they decided they should bind her ankles
with a foot and a half of nylon rope between them.  Then they fused the
knots with a lighter.  In no time, Ted was buried in a book, a textbook
from the look of it.  This left the coach to entertain her, which meant
what?  She couldn't figure this guy.  He humiliated her more then the
others, hurt her at least as much, and yet he was the only one to show her
the least kindness, as well.  "I told you to stop scratching", he snapped,
lingering over his coffee, "It isn't sexy." Not sexy?!  She had been eaten
alive yesterday!  She would go mad if she didn't scratch.  He had her go
and bathe.  He used the top half of a plastic bottle as a funnel and filled
first her pussy, then her ass full of cold water.  The contents of her
pussy she emptied into a large cooking pot which he informed her would be
her lunch.  He bathed as she applied makeup, then she warmed some water and
he lay with his head in her lap as she shaved him.  It's hard shaving a
man's face.  During this, she screwed up her courage, and asked if she
could ask him something.  He assented.  "You've done this before, haven't
you?" "Not like this, but yes.  I have played dominance games with lovers
and whores, but never had a real slave, one that could not say 'no'". 
"Don't you care how I feel?" "Of course I do.  How you feel is the MOST
important thing.  Without your fear, pain, and humiliation, this wouldn't
be any fun at all.  If you are not unhappy, then its time to make things
worse." She thought on this awhile, while struggling with his jaw line. 
"But why?" "Because it makes my dick hard to see you cry, you fool.  Power
is a turn-on.  Don't ask such silly questions." How could men enjoy being
so cruel?  And did it really turn him on so much?  Though the day before
was a blur of hundreds of cocks laying siege to her body, she did not
remember him using her, at least not after that first rape.  She was pretty
sure they had all used her then.  She offered herself to him often, as she
had to all of them, but, thinking about it, she was quite certain he had
always declined.  She finished shaving him in quiet, but snuck in at the
end, "What's your name?" "To you?: 'Sir'", with finality.  But he did not
get up.  "I'm finished." she informed him, but he did not answer except
with an expectant look.  She didn't know what he wanted.  "uh...I'm
finished, Sir?" "Yes...?", he said, with a strongly implicated 'and?...' in
his voice.  What?  It was like she was missing something.  But he agreed
that she was done.  "Would...would you like to piss in my mouth?" He
smiled. She had past some stupid little test.  "No thank-you." but still he
stared into her eyes, upside down from her lap.  "Your cunt is...I could
have your cunt nice and wet and ready for you in no time, Sir, if you
wanted.  Would you like to fuck it?" He got to his feet, and stood over her
staring down so that she had to tip her head way back to look at him.  And
again he waited.  This WAS a test.  And Liane didn't know why but she
wanted to pass.  Just because she thought she might be punished?  Or did
she actually not want to disappoint him?  She could not say.  "Would you
like me to...", and she caught herself.  He had not answered.  He had
slapped her this morning for not continuing to beg one service until she
was answered.  Like a sicko's game of "Simon Says".  "Please, I'll...ah,
please Sir, I'll ...  I'll make your cunt extra juicy for you." He smirked.
Right answer.  "Nice and juicy, just...  just the way you like it.  The way
a cunt should be".  He tipped his head to the side to look at her pussy, as
if to see if it lived up to her claims.  He furled his brow.  She thrust a
hand between her legs assuring him "I'll...  your cunt will be ready for
you in just one minute, Sir." She spit on her fingers to help get started.
"See?  See, Sir, I'm getting all ready for you...for your cock." She had
never masturbated in front of anyone before, but modesty never crossed her
mind.  They were winning; she WAS becoming their total slut.  He smiled,
pursing his lips with mocking satisfaction.  But he said nothing.  And it
was getting hard to find words.  What else to say?  Beg him.  "Please, Sir,
please fuck me.  Your...your fuck-meat...needs to be fucked.  Your stupid
slut needs to be fucked.  Please?  I'm getting it so wet for you.  It is
still sore from all the cocks that fucked me, yesterday, and the hot corn
burned it.  So you'll hurt me if you fuck me.  I know you like to hurt me."
What else?  What else could he want to hear?  At the risk of failing his
test by becoming redundant, she continued mixing and matching everything
she had said so far, while she slowly eased back into what she was starting
to think of as 'her position'; 'her fuck-meat position', spreading her
knees farther apart than her roped ankles with her elbows, while she
diddled herself with one hand and finger-fucked herself with the other. 
"Please, Sir, Please hurt me with your cock.  I'm such a stupid cunt, but
I'm getting wet for you" Which was true.  While her brain was still
disgusted with the things she was begging, her slick fingers had managed
get her slightly wet.  Or could she actually be starting to get into her
slut roll?  Her audience may have thought so, because with bedroom eyes, as
if enamoured by her vulgarly enticing performance, he went to one knee
beside her, and slowly lowered himself toward her for a passionate kiss. 
She stopped her monologue and sensuously parted her lips to receive him. 
And he spat in her face.  An enormous hork splattered across her cheek,
some clinging to her nose, some landing in her waiting mouth, some arced
across her eye.  "Fuck, you're pathetic." he snarled in disgust, "You are
so fucking useless" and he slapped her dry cheek.  Her tears were
immediate. She had thought she was doing well, humiliating herself for his
pleasure.  She thought...she had hoped she was pleasing him.  He stood over
her again, sneering.  Waiting.  He wanted her to continue.  "I'm so
pathetic", she sniffled, knowing it was true.  "I AM fucking useless", and
she paused to snork her sinuses clear, "and...  and I hate begging you so
much, and, and, it makes me feel so awful...and I'm just a useless cunt".
And at this she broke out sobbing, so that it took quite a while for her to
blubber out, "and I hate myself, and...and, I just want you to fuck me, I
want you to fuck my...  my useless cunt.  I...I want to make you happy."
This made her cry harder, probably because at some level it was the truth.
Her distress seemed to wash away all her creativity and she was reduced to
whimpering, "Please?  Please fuck me...Please...please?" She did want it.
Not that she was at all horny; she was just desperate to stop begging him.
To stop groveling.  Somehow, being raped was less humiliating than calling
herself a slut and begging to be fucked.  He spit on her splayed pussy,
saying with disgust, "Me, fuck THAT hole?  Hell, no" Her hands fell away
from her rejected pussy, and she sobbed a little harder.  And he waited. 
Did he want her to keep going?  He had said 'no'.  She was lost, confused.
He unzipped his fly and pulled out his semi-hard cock and left it dangling
above her.  "Would...would you like me to suck your cock, then?" She almost
sounded hopeful, and yet she just knew he was just going to make her beg
some more, only to say 'no'.  But she did her best to beg convincingly.  He
looked her body up and down, disgusted, and she realized she was supposed
to be on her knees.  She did the thing with her mouth where she shows him
how much she wants it, this stuff was becoming second nature to her, now.
As if rewarding her, he lowered his balls onto her tongue for just two
licks, their eyes locked.  Then he stepped back, a few strands of her hair
in his hand, and she was again licking air.  A tug on her hair and a curt
glance towards his cock told her she was to crawl forward.  He let go the
strand and took another step back.  And she went on all fours to crawl
after him.  And then at a terribly slow pace they proceeded; him walking
backward one pace at a time, and her crawling after his cock, begging to
suck it, licking the air lasciviously, insulting herself, and generally
feeling totally pathetic.  They moved through the woods like that for some
time.  She tried to be creative, but repeated herself a lot.  The first
time she called herself a cocksucker, he nobly allowed her to lick the
pre-cum off his dick and she actually felt a vague gratification from it.
She told him how she had never liked sucking cock.  How her first boyfriend
used to make her blow him.  How she had not swallowed since she was
fifteen, but always spit the disgusting stuff out.  How her ex and her used
to fight because he wanted blowjobs but she wouldn't demean herself.  She
tried to express her absolute revulsion at begging him like this.  He asked
for more details, especially about her first experiences.  He had her beg
for just one taste, and then "allowed" her to mouth his entire length just
once, before they continued, his cock glistening with her spit.  She
crawled in mud, on sharp rocks, through brambles that scraped and scratched
her from her breasts to her toes, and on the solid, course granite of the
ridge they had crossed yesterday.  A small stack, a blanket, a pot, his
whip, and some rope lay on the ridge, waiting for them.  There he stopped,
and asked her, still in the spirit of this strange rapport, if, honestly,
she wanted to suck his cock.  Honestly?  So, honestly she told him, no, but
it was less degrading then begging, and she didn't want him to hurt her. 
"Good," he replied, "Blow me, slut." It was actually a relief to finally
start servicing him; she'd been groveling for most of an hour.  She did her
best, and even begged him not to cum in her mouth, thinking it would make
him want to.  But it was not until he laid her on the hot rock and brutally
fucked her throat, making her gag and wretch, that he finally withdrew to
spew in a puddle between her breasts.  Then he sat back and had a smoke
while instructing her to pick the goo up and make love to it as if it were
the most delicious, sexy nectar in the world.  This was a hard act and she
performed it with no real enthusiasm.  She knew it, too.  And yet after
what she knew had been a splendid performance while crawling, she thought
it might be overlooked.  She did manage to stretch out the repulsive act of
eating cold sperm off her tits for about a quarter hour making all the
right motions, but with no conviction.  She waited a moment when finished,
for any new instructions, and was about to revert back to 'did he want to
piss', when he declared, "Well.  That was pathetic.  You will be punished
for that this evening, so you better do better next time."  He had her
stand, close her eyes and place her hands behind her head.  At any moment
she expected the whip to fall, probably on her thrust breasts.  But
instead, he sensuously started smearing sun oil all over her, except
carefully avoiding her breasts, ass and pussy, the palest, most vulnerable
parts of her body.  "But I'll be roasted" she complained.  He just smiled,
though she could not see it.  He sent her to go pick blue berries.  For
over two hours she sweated in the hot sun, her already burnt ass getting
more sun, as she filled the pot with tiny berries.  She stopped only once,
to run down and get him a cold beer, him watching her like a hawk the whole
time.  He nursed his drink in the shade of a tree while she worked.  He
enjoyed feeling like a man of leisure watching his slave-girl toil in the
field.  She envied him his beer.  It was thirsty work being out in the sun,
and she was sweating away her liquids.  But she would rather go thirsty
then drink urine, and he would make her do that soon enough anyway.  But he
didn't.  When the pot was full, she went and pulled the last beer out of
the stream for him.  On returning, she thought she had better offer to
drink his piss.  "No thanks, I went while you were gone.  "Unless you 're
thirsty." He added, "I might find some more." She was, but not that
thirsty. She'd wait.  He told her to jump rope.  Jump rope in the hot sun,
in bare feet on rock, her swollen breasts flopping wildly, painfully, as he
lounged with his beer in the shade.  She had to recite al those stupid
skipping poems while she did it.  "Hey, we should get you to sing some
campfire songs for us, tonight." he mused.  Then after a quarter hour, he
ordered "peppers".  Three minutes of that and she could not decide if she
was going to faint before or after her breasts fell off.  She looked over
to him in pleading desperation, only to find he was ignoring her, while
emptying his bladder into his beer can.  When he was finished, he let her
stop.  He wanted her to ask for a drink.  Not because he had to go, not
because he was forcing her, but because she was so thirsty she was willing
to drink piss.  They both knew it.  She could wait.  She was completely
parched, and would have done just about anything for a glass of water, but
to actually ask to drink piss?  But then she rationalized that eventually
she would have to, either because she broke down, or because the others
returned and made her.  And she really was very thirsty.  "Please, may I
drink your piss?" "No thanks, I just went".  He was going to make this
difficult.  "Please, I am very thirsty, and I would like...I would love a
drink of your piss" "Oh, sure.  Help yourself." and he handed her the can.
Hot piss in a hot can on a hot day.  Not refreshing.  God this stuff tasted
awful.  Where shit didn't taste as bad as she thought, this was even worse.
And she never got used to it.  Last night had been better; it was almost
all beer.  But this morning had been gut wrenching; the acrid liquor of the
night's collected toxins.  A few sips now was enough to remind her how
pleasant being thirsty was, but a harsh look from him at her can, and she
knew she was to finish it.  Mouthful by mouthful she choked the foul stuff
back, crying just one more time at her deplorable situation.  After that,
he tied her hands together behind her head and told her she could sleep
(she looked like shit, and felt worse).  Even lying bare on a coarse rock
it the hot sun she was asleep in no time.  She knew she was going to burn,
that he wanted her to burn, and was helpless to prevent it.  She could only
try to make it evenly bad, and so tried to wake up often to change
positions.  But her ass was already a little burnt and protecting that, she
entered deep sleep flat on her back, the puddings of her ghostly white
breasts on broil.  He smiled at that.  When she awoke, sweat dripping off
her back, she knew she'd been too long on her back.  He bid her good
morning and asked her if she was ready for lunch or whether she wanted to
catch more rays.  She didn't have a choice, and that was the way he wanted
it.  Her "lunch" had partially separated into stringy clots of day-old
sperm clinging to the pot, covered by a slightly milky broth.  It smelled
rotten.  The protein had already begun breaking down and the yeasty pussy
juice made it worse.  She thought she was going to heave.  She sat
cross-legged near the smoldering fire, studying the pot of offal in her
lap. He had said, "use your fingers, and show me you love it.  Maybe you
can reduce your punishment." and then leaned back to enjoy the sandwiches
she had made.  The more she looked at the slop the harder it became to make
herself even touch it.  "Your hesitation now is going to cause you a great
deal of pain this evening.  How much is up to you.  One?...  two...?" He
made it to five before she summoned her courage and tentatively dipped her
hand into the pot.  What theatre!  The drawn-out contemplation.  The
reluctant distaste as she dipped her hand into the cold slop.  That
priceless shudder when she confronted that first pinch of ropy slime.  The
hesitation.  The gathering of determination, The look of pure revulsion as
she inched it closer to her face.  The look of nausea when she put it to
her lips.  Actually seeing her stomach heave, her throat gag.  The torture
she put herself through with every subsequent little taste.  Pure art!  He
kept his amusement to himself, not wanting to break her concentration.  Of
course she would have to be punished later for not enjoying it, but why
remind her when this was a win/win situation.  He let her finish the slime
in her own good time, first picking all floating bits, then scraping
strands that clung to the sides and bottom, and finally, when it passed his
inspection, she was allowed to raise the pot to her lips and drain the
milky broth.  "And the next time you see sperm outside of your body, even
if its running out of your ass, you will make love to it.  Do you
understand?" He had her bring him a small bowl of blueberries and milked
her until they were floating.  Then he dawdled over these while she licked
his asshole for most of an hour.  "Six o'clock.  It's punishment time,
little whore" She was lead to a large tree twenty feet from camp.  He made
two holes in a black garbage bag, one in either bottom corner.  Her wrists
were passed through these and then bound in front of her with the nylon
bowline.  He passed the dangling cord through a small hole he made in the
bottom of a second bag.  Leading her to a large maple tree, with the rope
in his teeth he jumped up to hang from a large branch.  Swinging his feet
up he managed to clamber on top of the branch and out some distance where
he tied the rope so taut that she was forced to her toes.  Fetching a roll
of duct tape from the tackle box he pulled the lower bag over her head and
tucked and taped it tight around her neck.  "I'll give you some air in a
minute", he said, gathering and taping the excess bag at the back of her
head.  Somehow, she knew he was not going to suffocate her, but as she
started re-breathing the same stale air the panic started to rise.  As she
took a breath, the bag sucked to her face then puffed away as she exhaled,
the warm stale air enveloping her head.  "Keep still or it will take
longer" he commanded.  "Now I'm going to make a hole at your mouth with a
knife.  Keep your tongue back." Fresh air flowed into her mouth.  Not a
lot, but enough.  She sucked at it greedily.  She could still see fairly
well through the black film, but she was discovering a claustrophobia that
she never knew she had.  He had her stick her curled tongue out of the
hole, enlarging it as she did.  Then he told her she may suck air through
her curled tongue, but that she was to exhale through her nose.  And her
punishment would be doubled for every word she spoke.  As she adapted to
this new state, he continued working, gathering the excess bag in a roll
down her spine, drawing the plastic into a second skin.  Holes much smaller
than her breasts were cut with the scissors of a Swiss army knife.  These
were tugged and stretched until the plastic was snug to her chest, her
breasts protruding obscenely, only slightly constricted at their bases. 
Her fear grew.  Why?  She could breathe.  Her arms hurt and her hands were
going numb, but this fear had no explanation, it just was.  The rim of the
bag was gathered and over-lapped between her legs, but no tape was used. 
Instead, he carefully buried a length of fishing line into the crack of her
pussy, drawing it between her legs and up the crack of her ass.  It was
tied very tightly at her shoulder.  A second line was tied to the first
between her breasts and followed the first except that it was drawn over
the other shoulder.  The bag that hung on the rope was pulled down over her
arms and behind her head and gathered.  A third bag was pulled up over her
legs.  So she was totally encased in plastic.  So what?  She was surviving
tolerably well on her meager allotment of air.  But there was something
totally nightmarish about the feeling.  The world looked surreal through
the black bag.  She was terrifyingly aware of every breath she took.  About
her vulnerability, sucking her life through a tiny slit.  A loop of fishing
line was passed over her thumbs and pulled tight.  It was wrapped around
her hands, binding her palms together.  Then he started passing the spool
around and around her tightly spiraling the thin cord down her arms, over
her face and down her body.  The rounds were uniformly spaced at about two
inches except where they missed her breasts entirely.  Everywhere they dug
deep into her soft flesh.  Numerous rounds encompassing her insteps and
arches held her feet tight.  Then the procedure was repeated in the
opposite direction so that when completed, she was decorated front and back
with a row perfectly centered 'X's.  He called Ted over and had him lift
her feet behind her so and hold them on his shoulder, pushing her away from
the branch so that she arched back like a diver.  He then threaded the
fishing line under the lowest crossed thread on her heels and up to a loop
in the loose end of the bowline.  Then back to the second lowest cross on
her ankle and back to the bowline.  Over and over again, tying one length
off on the nylon loop, only to start a new one, until he had reached her
wrists.  The rope around her wrists which had long since stopped taking her
weight was carefully cut through the bag and removed and there she hung in
a bow, frozen in a dive: a black worm with full firm breasts thrusting
proudly in front of her, glowing pink with sunburn in the dying light.  A
mosquito landed to take advantage of the exposed and defenseless tender
flesh.  "What I would like is a piece of flexible tubing for her to breathe
through", Sir told Ted.  They brainstormed a bit and then left her to build
it out of sections of toilet paper tube cut into a ribcage form, encased in
a condom.  The tip was cut off and the rim was taped over her mouth.  So
that it hung down towards her breasts.  "She looks like a worm".  Ted
declared.  "Exactly.  She IS a worm, so she should look like one.  But that
is only for effect.  She is being punished." She could hear Sir walking
away from her as he talked, calling back to Ted from the fire pit.  "Do you
recall me specifically telling our worm not to scratch herself like the
flea-bitten bitch that she is?" "Yeah.?" "Well she kept doing it all day,
today.  Only when she thought I was not looking, but I saw her do it, and
could see the red scratches".  He was back now, and he stopped talking
while he lit the miner's lantern and tied it with fishing line to the rope
which had, until recently, bound her arms.  She could now see nothing
except its light swinging a few inches in front of her breasts.  "Did you
noticed how thick the mosquitoes got last night at dusk", he asked,
off-handedly.  Ted chuckled.  "Yeah.  Swarms of them.  We would have been
eaten alive if we didn't have DEET." "Yeah, well tonight, dinners ready."
She groaned her protest.  "Did you know that what attracts mosquitoes is
the smell of sweat, and CO2?  Look, four early diners already.  Guess even
mosquitoes want to nurse on jugs like those.  Hey, you want a coffee?", and
they left her.  Alone with her hell.  It is hard to say if her torture was
worse for her not being able to see.  In her mind she pictured her breasts
covered with the feeding demons.  Every breath she exhaled she pictured a
little cloud of CO2 summoning a dozen more, and certainly for every real
vampire she created five more.  At first.  But as the dusk grew, her tender
mounds became veritable hells of horrid itching, so that she could scarcely
feel if a particular tingle was caused by a fresh feeder or a previous
bite. If, at that point, she had been able to see, she would have been
absolutely horrified to realize that her worst imaginings were now, in
fact, true.  As dark enveloped the woods, her fleshy mounds were
continuously completely covered in the sucking fiends.  Fifteen, twenty,
thirty at a time.  Early on, the two men had returned with their coffee. 
Sir went to carefully wash any bug repellent from his hands before milking
her into their mugs.  Then they stood back, watching her writhe in the air.
She tried to keep her breasts moving, attempting to shoo the things off. 
The men did not tell her that this had no effect at all.  It may have made
it more difficult to land, but once one of the fiends had gotten a grip, it
rode the wobbling flesh like a bucking bronco, drinking its leisurely fill.
She heard a zipper.  Her writhing, her torture had one of them so excited
that he was masturbating.  Her tears of frustration redoubled at the
realization that they were enjoying her torment.  Eventually they left,
bored with their sport.  Again, they did not tell her that whether due to
the deepening night, the lack of unbitten flesh, or that she had fed every
mosquito in the valley, the swarm had dwindled.  Also, she had tired out,
and now just hung limply, sobbing as she accepted her lot.  It was over an
hour later that voices could be heard in the woods.  Someone was at her
side, blowing out the lantern.  A knife was unfolded and placed to her
neck. "Understand?" the coach whispered.  She grunted assent, not knowing
if she was allowed to speak yet.  In a few minutes, Greg could be heard
cackling "I bet some pre-verts kidnapped that cunt and are raping her.  We
better call the police." The lantern was re-lit.  They had gone into M.  a
little holiday town forty minutes down the road.  Then they decided to go
into R.  a small city half an hour beyond that to go to an army surplus
store.  Then they decided to have dinner (and they brought wings for the
two that stayed), and then they went to watch strippers.  They ran into
some high school friends of Ferrari's and Greg's and brought them along,
Larry, Race and Flea.  And holy shit, what happened to her tits?  Sir
explained, describing the bugs at their worst, which they all found
amusing. "Well lets take her down, I want some snatch." someone crowed. 
"Not yet," Sir demanded.  "The slut hesitated before eating her sperm and
smegma soup for lunch, so we have to punish her." The lines to her feet
were cut, and her calves and knees, continuing until her legs hung down. 
"She hesitated for five, so she is to get five of the best from each of us.
Too bad about Ferrari's friends, her punishment just went from thirty five
to fifty." Oh God!  How they beat her!  They started with full swings of
the canoe paddle, each man stepping up to take one swing.  The blade hummed
through the air, announcing each assault.  She spasmed and writhed after
every blow, shrieks filling the dark woods, but the next did not come until
she swung calmly.  How she managed not to beg for mercy, let alone not
break the fishing lines that supported her, she had no idea.  Her bladder
let go and piss filled the bottom of the bag around her legs During the
second round, they started improvising.  Thus she never knew until it
landed whether to expect the paddle, a crop-like stick, or the coach's
bramble flail on her ass, her thighs or her breasts.  During the third
round someone turned the paddle around and found whole new levels of pain
by clubbing her ass with that.  They liked that, so the fourth round was
each trying to out swing the others, causing her to blackout.  They agreed
to finish that round and then save the last for later, when she could
appreciate it.  She groaned on awaking, signaling them to resume her
torture though they stopped Stark from clubbing her tits.  She had not
recovered from the last stroke before she was cut down and carried before
the cold fire pit and summarily raped.  The two lines in her vulva were
cut, she was folded in half on her back and brutally impaled.  Another
instant and the condom was ripped from her mouth and the hole filled with a
cock.  She couldn't breathe and started to panic.  Someone pointed out her
predicament.  "Fuck 'er.  She doesn't need to fuckin' breathe." But hands
ripped the plastic at her nose.  Then, for hours and hours, they raped and
re-raped her.  Her pussy, her ass, her mouth.  The plastic was cut from her
legs so they could spread her, and ripped from her eyes so they could see
her cry, torn from her mouth so they could feel her lips, and from between
her tits so they too could be fucked.  Someone stubbed a cigarette out on
the back of her thigh.  She almost drowned when someone pissed in her mouth
while she was lying on her back.  And even when they were all sated, one
after another they forced themselves hard just so as to continue her abuse.
She was forced to suck her own blood, shit, and pussy juice off too many
cocks to count, to steel them to further rape her.  They pounded her holes
viciously, trying to wring one last orgasm from their drained balls.  When
none could get it up any longer, they splayed her legs apart and each took
his turn completing the last round of whipping, using the bramble flail on
her most delicate skin.  The barbed withes turned her pink oyster into a
bloody hash.  She never felt the last of these, but became aware that she
was kneeling, sitting on a metal cup, her arms held over her head.  Someone
was cutting the last of the plastic from her.  On finding her awake, they
had her squat over the cup.  Chain was dragged over, wrapped around her
neck, and, with firm click that sounded very final to her, locked to itself
with a huge padlock.  The chain was of huge thick links, and long.  They
told her to hold her cunt open.  One by one they came to her and she licked
their cocks clean.  She felt herself draining into the cup, and knew they
would want her to eat it.  And she would.  Immediately, she vowed, anything
rather then another round of...  "Look at this, Bitch.  We have some more
cock for you" They were leading in two rottweilers!  "Sit", they were
ordered, and did.  "Suck", she was ordered, and did.  No hesitation.  While
her mind reeled at the thought, she did not give herself time to stop, but
just did as she was told, too scared but to comply.  It was only while she
was doing it that she had a chance to fully grasp what she did.  Sucking
dog's cocks.  When everything they made her do seemed to be the worst, how
could they continue finding things ever more disgusting.  The taste was
repulsive, the feel disgusting, the idea beyond words.  And they ridiculed
her for it.  Tears rolled down her face as they told her to work on the
other one.  She returned to the first to find it covered with a condom. 
"Dog whores aren't good enough to suck Bronte's scum direct from his
balls." She gave up and just sucked the thing like it was any other cock.
God, it wasn't like she hadn't sucked enough cocks in the last two days. 
It came, and she went dutifully to service the other.  Someone held the cup
against her pussy the whole time.  "Dinner time, bitch." Ferrari said,
holding up the limp scumbags, "Why don't you go wash up while it gets
cold". Sir led her to the river.  On crawling back from a chilling wash,
she found the other end of the chain had been locked about a large tree in
the middle of the camp.  No escape.  A plate sat in front of the fire pit,
the lantern beside it.  Though she could not make out what it was on the
plate, she could see that it had been artistically arranged, and knew it
would be repulsive to eat.  The men sat around sucking beer.  Waiting. 
"Dinner tonight, madam, is one of your favourites: headcheese salad, with a
blood and sperm rape puree, served with fresh doggie scumbags, and
garnished with a lump of shit.  How does that sound?" A question.  Oh God.
Was she supposed to answer?  What answer did they want?  The truth?  Eager?
"Answer him", the coach said, informing her she was allowed to speak more
than ordering her to respond.  "It...it sounds very...repulsive.  I think I
may throw up if I eat it.  May I start right away?" "Of course," he glowed.
Right answer.  She crawled forward to behold the horrid slop, a slab of
jellied brain on a sheet of lettuce, absolutely covered with congealed
sperm, pink with her own blood.  Condoms on the side.  But she did not
hesitate.  She dove face first into the slop and started hoovering it up,
gnawing at the lettuce, swallowing the small lump of turd whole.  Their
groans of disgust told her they thought it was as vile as she did.  Not
knowing what she was to do with the condoms, she left them until last,
finally asking in a meek voice.  "Should I...  May I swallow the uh...fresh
doggie scumbags?" No, she was told she could use her hands for those.  So
she picked one of the things up and holding it by the tip, drained it on
her tongue and swallowed.  Her stomach heaved, but she did it and managed
to suck the thing clean inside and out.  And its mate.  Nothing.  She
thought she was done, but they seemed to be waiting.  She went down to lick
the last traces of slime of the enameled plate.  Then she was done.  They
even gave her a beer, which she drank greedily until she realized that she
would be back to work as soon as it was done.  Then she was back to making
coffee on a camp stove they had bought and being milked, getting beers,
licking balls, singing stupid camp songs and drinking piss.  Flea, who
seemed to know about such things, said that if her tits were not sucked,
they would dry up.  So not finding any volunteers, they had her suck her
own tits, a timed fifteen minutes a side.  By dawn only Stark and Bill were
still awake to torment her.  Stark fucked her ass for over an hour, all the
time assuring her that they were going to kill her when they were done, and
describing in gruesome detail the many slow tortures he would inflict. 
Throughout this, Bill carefully clipped a full eleven of his twenty
packages of clothespins onto her, five hundred and fifty wooden pincers
covering her body.  Four packages alone had been used to so cover her
breasts that it was quite impossible to put any more on.  Another package
was used entirely on her face and even her tongue and lips, so she looked
like a bizarre voodoo mask.  She never did get to sleep, because by the
time they were done with her, Ted was up and wanted a cup of coffee and a
blowjob.  All day she made her rounds, sucking cock and making blueberry
pancakes and coffee to order.  They put up a huge camouflage tarp over the
fire pit so they could have a fire without it showing.  A poker game
started but there was always someone willing to sit out a couple of hands
for a blowjob or a fuck.  If one was too drained to keep it up, she would
have to hold one of the dirty magazines they had bought over her face and
slowly turn the pages for them while they fucked one of her wounds.  It all
started drifting.  She stopped caring.  Endless cocks, endless pain,
endless humiliation and revulsion.  She tried to keep acting the whore that
they wanted, but the act became shallow.  They made her fuck the dogs.  She
didn't care.  After you've sucked dog cock what does it matter if you fuck
them.  She could not say when she knew they were going to kill her.  It
slowly surfaced in her mind that they really could not let her live.  She
knew their names, some of them their last names.  She knew that Ferrari's
friends were from R.; how many people named Flea or Race could there be in
R.?  She almost didn't even care that they would kill her.  Half of them
had taken to butting their cigarettes out on her legs and her poor breasts
had become the focus of their sadistic sport.  They had made her 'decorate'
herself with the clothespins, and then fucked her while making her sing the
camp songs.  They disinfected a plastic box full of sewing pins, the kind
with the round plastic heads, and had her jab hundreds of them deep into
her breasts until they looked like twin porcupines.  They had hung her by
her ankles and taken turns punching her inverted breasts like she was a
boxer's punching bag.  Then they roped her breasts excruciatingly tightly
and actually hung her by them!  God, did that make her howl!  She quite
literally thought her breasts were going to rip from her chest; the pain
could not have been worse if they had.  Her tormentors made no secret of
how amusing that would be.  She had barely slept in four days, her knees
were raw from crawling, her breasts were swollen from mosquito bites,
beatings, pins and sunburn.  Her ass was black and blue from the beatings,
but they whipped it none the less.  Her pussy was a gaping wound that they
continued to worry with endless fucking.  Her asshole was in tatters; she
actually had to push her colon back inside after taking a dump!  The next
morning, a holiday Monday, while Ferrari was milking her into his coffee,
feeling she had nothing to lose she asked, "When are you going to kill me?"
He hesitated a moment, then answered, "Don't know.  After next weekend,
maybe." He actually apologized for having to break his word, explaining
needlessly, that they could not let her live.  But he swore to her that if
she served them well, he would do it personally as quickly and painlessly
as possible.  Otherwise, Stark was itching to do it one limb per day,
making her roast and eat her own flesh.  The men then fell into a
discussion of planning "next weekend".  Most of them had to go back to work
the next day, but they planned to return the next weekend with as many
friends as they could trust.  Race alone promised to bring an entire
motorcycle club.  When they counted up their friends, they guessed she
would be servicing over sixty men!  They roared at this prospect!  The
coach argued that by the next weekend she would be good for shit.  Her
pussy and face would be scabbed, her tits would be peeling, and her ass
would still be one enormous bruise.  He convinced them to wait an extra
week.  It was decided that he, Ferrari and Bill would stay with her, as
none had jobs to return to.  By mid afternoon most of the others were
preparing to leave.  The coach had her crawl to each one and thank them for
brutally raping her, and invite them back with all their friends.  The
three local guys stayed until evening and again she was made to perform
with Sasha and Bronte, the dogs.  Life seemed easy after that.  With only
three of them to service, and none of them using either her pussy or her
ass, it almost seemed like a vacation.  The novelty had worn off for them,
and they seemed to move into a more relaxed two-weeks-to-kill-no-hurry
mode. She still barely slept for the first couple of nights because her
breasts itched so ferociously and they bound her hands behind her before
they slept so she could not scratch.  But she did sleep some and more each
night.  She would find herself eating her dinner, sucking table scraps out
of the mud, and realize that she didn't mind.  It became second nature for
her to grovel and beg to suck cock; they came so much quicker when she
humiliated herself.  After the worst of the mosquito bite itching had
passed, Bill caused her only tears in days by successfully using every one
of his thousand clothespins on her.  She found she could not even cry for
missing her son anymore, though in her idle time, which she had a fair
amount of, she tried to think of nothing else.  The coach had all but
stopped instructing her.  She was being tested, they said.  Every time she
failed to satisfy, did not grovel and debase herself enough, or did not
seem eager enough to please, they would make a note of it with the
punishment she would receive next weekend.  She never saw the list.  They
kept her infractions secret so that she never knew if a blowjob or even a
request to suck cock had been whorish enough to please.  So she worked very
hard at being the slut they wanted.  She had no pride left.  When they
decided that she should turn over rocks and eat what ever she found there
for breakfast, she thanked them and did it.  And not mechanically.  She had
been so long playing the wanton whore, acting as if every humiliation,
every violating cock turned her on more than the last, that she found
herself naturally purring and grunting as she leaned her head back to lick
slugs off her fingers or crunched down on grubs and beetles.  Not that she
did not mind.  Her stomach roiled at the thought and she vomited into her
mouth before re-swallowing when they started making her swallow the things
alive.  But the act, the whore act, was so second nature that she just did
it without thinking.  Almost over.  Just a few days of hell to go and they
would mercifully kill her.  She wished she could see her son just one more
time, but she had accepted her fate and would be glad when it was over. 
Then, a couple of days before the appointed weekend, Ferrari and Bill
decided they were going fishing at dawn.  No sooner had they crossed the
ridge then the Sir told her to eat her fill of anything she wanted.  He
started rummaging around in his tent.  Then in the other tents.  He came to
her with a fully loaded rucksack.  And he unlocked the chain!  "Lets go",
and they were off, him with a canoe on his shoulders.  They hiked what
seemed like miles further up the path not speaking a word.  During a rest,
she offered to try caring the pack but he declined; she was still barefoot
and they had to make speed so she carried nothing but paddles.  It never
occurred to her that she should try and get away from him.  This was a
rescue, she had no doubts.  They came to a lake and as they paddled in and
out of its bays she realized he did not know where he was going.  He told
her to get some clothes from the pack.  They found a portage.  And a lake
and a portage.  And a hunter's cabin and a lake.  All day under a
blistering sun they trudged, until about four, when they found a road, a
narrow gravel track.  They followed it only to the first cottage they came
to then he broke in, and brought the canoe in after him.  Flopping on a
double bed, they slept.  Later, as it grew dark, he explained his dilemma.
If he left her there, the others might find her.  If he saw her back to
safety, she could turn him in.  She asked why he was doing this, and after
he thought, he said simply, "Because its right".  "I won't turn you in."
she vowed.  Could he believe her?  He thought a long time before he
declared, "I'll trust you." "What about the others?", she asked.  "Do what
you want.  I only just met them when they picked me up hitchhiking.  What a
bunch of assholes." (Ah, that explained a lot.) "Do you want to spend the
next three years in court?" Good question.  In the dark they walked for
miles down the twisting road as other roads joined it and it widened
finally joining a highway.  He left her in a roadside diner and went out to
beg a ride from a trucker.  She refused to talk to the police, aborted the
baby they had left in her, and she never, ever had sex again.  [SiCkMaN
'97]