Message-ID: <11422eli$9805191148@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/11422.txt>
From: greywolf46@juno.com (Grey Wolf)
Subject: {ASSM} The Wild Side (MF, nc)  Chapter 3
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <19980518.173923.23990.0.greywolf46@juno.com>

Chapter 3

	Bridget hardly tasted her food during the lunch.  The three women
chatted about this and that, the conversation barely holding her
attention.  She caught three business men and two Club employees staring
at her while she pretended not to notice.  As usual, it gave her a thrill
to know they saw her with lustful eyes.  That they wanted her. That their
bodies stirred at the site of her. Her thick black hair was pulled into a
lustrous mane at the back of her head, the waving curls cascading down
her back to her shoulder blades. She had taken extra care to insure that
her make up was perfect, from the subtle eyeshadow to the coral lipstick
highlighting her sensuous mouth. The thought of the strangers putting
their hands on her body excited Bridget so much that she felt her face
flush red and had to strain to keep from rubbing her legs together
beneath the table.  She knew that this torture was useless. She couldn’t
act on it. It would only frustrate her more to know she was missing out
on the passion and fire that she craved. 

	Bridget excused herself from the luncheon early, claiming to have
a headache.  The sooner she was on her way to the lodge, the better. If
she stayed here much longer, she thought that she just might have
wrestled the clean cut young waiter to the floor and fucked his brains
out right there in the dining room. The corners of Bridget’s beautiful
red lips turned up in a wicked little smile at the mere thought of such a
thing. As she slid behind the wheel of the Jaguar convertible and roared
out of the parking lot and onto the highway, Bridget began to softly
brush her knees back and forth, the wind whipping the wild hair back from
her face, the blond waiter’s face shimmering in her mind like a
mirage.......

	The Lodge lay on the shores of a semi-private lake in the
mountains 3 hours north of Brentwood. Nestled in the trees, it was the
perfect secluded hideaway. The land for miles around The Lodge was
largely undeveloped, so the same features that made it so ideal as a
private retreat, also made it attractive to other individuals and groups
wishing to maintain a discreet profile. Small holdings dotted the
mountains deep within the forest. Most of them were not visible from any
officially marked road. The residents shied away from outsiders,
particularly those from the city. Bridget had even heard rumors that
survivalist militias and drug labs were among the surprises hidden among
the hollows and dark places of this rugged land. Bill had been pushing
the local, as well as federal, authorities to clean the “bad” elements
out. Which caused even more discord between the newcomers and the
fiercely independent locals.  

	The trees whipped by as Bridget steered the Jaguar up the winding
road.  The highway had given way to the narrower mountain road, and as
she climbed higher in altitude, the air began to noticeably cool. She
thought about stopping to raise the top of the convertible, but decided
to brave the chill in exchange for the sun on her skin and wind in her
hair. Besides, the local sheriff had once warned them against stopping on
the winding secluded road. But Bridget had no intention of stopping. She
was having too much fun guiding the powerful automobile around the turns
and curves of the roadway. She loved the responsiveness of the Jaguar.
The way it seemed to become a part of her as she swept around one turn
and into another. Bridget knew she was driving too fast for the narrow
winding road, but she couldn’t help herself. It was just TOO
invigorating.

	As she glided the car into yet another turn, a dark blur hurtled
out from the trees to her right. Jerking the wheel hard to the left,
Bridget slammed on the brakes sending the Jag into a slide as the right
fender impacted the deer with a sickening thud. The screeching of tires
and the rush of the wind almost drowned out the panicked scream that
escaped her lips.  She tried to compensate for the car’s slide, but
jerked the wheel too far the other way and the Jaguar spun completely
around before crashing rear first into the brush lining the road side
ditch. 

	She sat, stunned as she looked through the haze of dust that
still hung in the air. Through the windshield, Bridget could see back in
the direction from which she had come.  The deer lay in a heap several
hundred feet down the road, a maze of black rubber marking the path of
her terrifying spin into the ditch. The engine had stopped, stalled with
her foot off the clutch. Bridget’s hands shook visibly as she released
the safety belt that had undoubtedly saved her life.  Stepping out of the
leaning car, she walked carefully around to survey the damage. The front
fender was crushed in from the impact with the deer, a jagged piece of
sheetmetal reaching out and impaling the rubber of the front tire.
Bridget took a few deep breaths as she leaned against the hood of the now
battered convertible. There was no way for her to make the repairs
necessary to get the car to the Lodge under its own power. She would have
to try to get a tow truck to pull the wreck out of the ditch and safely
to a garage. 

	Reaching over the passenger door, Bridget opened the glove box
and removed the cellular phone. Flipping the cover open, she keyed in the
number to AAA, .... only to discover that the batteries were down. 
	
	“Damn it,” she said through gritted teeth. “What the fuck do I do
now?”

	Bridget glanced up the road where it disappeared around another
corner, then back down the winding road the way she had come. She hadn’t
seen another vehicle in the past hour or so. If she waited here for help,
it might be dark before anyone happened by. Her only choice was to try
and walk to a phone, either at one of the houses or all the way to the
Lodge.  She looked down at the 4 inch heels that she wore and grimaced. 
This wasn’t going to be any fun at all. She sighed in resignation and
started off up the road way shoulder in the direction of the Lodge. With
any luck, she would be soaking in a tub before nightfall.

	The quiet of the woods around her gradually gave way to the
chirping of birds that had fallen silent in response to the noisy crash. 
A breeze moved through the over hanging limbs making them cast dappled
shadows and patterns of light on the asphalt of the road. In spite of the
difficulty of walking in the heels up the incline of the mountain road,
Bridget felt her spirits begin to lift as she put distance between
herself and the heap of metal that used to be her car.  She very easily
could have been killed, or seriously injured. But instead, she was
untouched. The damage to her car was nothing that a little money wouldn’t
fix. Ok....a lot of money, but finances had never been a problem. She was
alive, and well, and acutely aware of the beauty of the world around her
for the first time in a long while. Usually, Bridget roared up the
mountain highway with only her destination in mind. The surrounding
countryside was only a blur of shadows through which she drove to reach
the Lake Lodge.  Now, for the first time she noticed the beauty of the
natural wildness of this place.
	
	The pristine beauty of the wilderness was so enchanting, in fact,
that Bridget did not hear the approaching Van until it was slowing to a
stop behind her. Turning, she looked at the half rusted vehicle and
strained to see beyond the dark tint of the windshield. Slowly, the
passenger door opened and a figure emerged.

	“Hey,” came a voice from behind yellowing teeth, “that your car
back there?”

	“Yes,” she replied, “I had a bit of a...”

	“You kilt ‘ar deer.”

	“What?” she tried to read the expression on his grimy face, but
his lifeless eyes told her nothing.

	“You deaf, bitch? I said you kilt ‘ar deer,” he said louder. The
man stepped from behind the door of the van. His jeans were stained and
faded, and the t-shirt that he wore was so old that the design on the
front could no longer be made out.

	“You kill one a ‘ar deer,...you gotta pay the deer tax,” he
drawled, turning his head and spitting tobacco into the ditch.

	Bridget looked further down the winding road, but she knew it was
in vain. This was the only vehicle she had seen since entering the
mountains and it wasn’t likely that a kind samaritan would happen along
now to rescue her. Her mind raced for a way out of the dangerous
situation.

	“I’m sorry about the deer,” she said, trying not to panic, “I’ll
be happy to pay you whatever you want.” She reached into her bag, looking
for her wallet. If she could satisfy these thugs with cash, maybe they
would be content to let her go. 		

	A shadow fell across the contents of her bag as she looked up
just in time to see the man bearing down on her. He had closed the few
feet between them almost without a sound, and had firmly gripped one
filthy hand in Bridget’s hair before she could react at all. She pulled
back against him, but he jerked her forward causing her to loose her
balance and tumble to the ground, her thick black mane still firmly
gripped by her assailant. 

	“Please....” she begged, her hands groping for his as he dragged
her across the shoulder of the road toward the waiting van, “I’ll give
you anything you want. Just let me go.”

	“Shaddup ya prissy cunt!” The panel door of the van slid open
with a noisy creak as her attacker barked at her. Another pair of hands
reached out of the dark opening in the van and grabbed her shoulders.
Bridget kicked her feet and screamed as she felt herself being pulled
into the reeking interior of the vehicle. She tried to stab the Dirty Man
with the heels of her shoes, but he just laughed at her struggling and
grabbed her legs, pushing her the rest of the way into the van and
slamming the door, sealing her in darkness.


	The inside of the van was so dark, Bridget’s eyes could not
adjust fast enough to see more than a few inches beyond her nose. The
dank, fetid smell of beer, smoke, and urine mingled in her nostrils and
she had to fight the urge to vomit. She wriggled to free herself as she
felt the van lurch forward and accelerate up the mountain road, but
invisible hands grabbed and pulled at her arms and legs. A filthy rag was
used to gag her, pulled painfully tight at the corners of her mouth.
Another set of rough hands tied her wrists with some sort of a cable, and
she was shoved down in the back of the vehicle as it bounced further
toward it’s unknown destination.  Bridget curled up in the dark corner of
the trash strewn van, trying desperately to make herself small enough to
just disappear. 

	After an eternity, she felt the van slow and turn off the main
paved road.  The new road was considerably rougher, and Bridget was
bounced repeatedly against the littered floor of the vehicle. Then,
suddenly, the van’s tires ground to a halt. Bridget remained as still as
a fawn, but the rear doors of the van jerked open almost immediately and
she felt the rough hands on her again as she was dragged out the back and
onto the ground. The sudden change to bright daylight made her squint her
eyes, but she could see that they were now at the end of a dirt road,
deep within the woods. A squalid shack sat hunched amid the trees,
surrounded by a few equally shoddy outbuildings. The roof of the house
sagged, and the windows were so dirty it was difficult to tell them from
the grey wood of the siding.

	There had been three men in the van. The Dirty Man clutched her
hair once again as he half led her, half dragged her toward the shack.
The other two men were as equally filthy and they laughed and hooted as
Bridget tried desperately to stay on her feet under the brutal treatment
of the Dirty Man. The procession stopped several yards in front of the
shack’s half open door. 

	“Hey Dub!” shouted the Dirty Man. “Come out here and see what WE
got!”

	The battered door swung the rest of the way open and an older
version of the Dirty Man emerged, cradling a aged rifle in his arms like
a baby. He appeared to be in his late 60’s, with wisps of his thinning
hair poking wildly out from the crown of his head.  Shuffling forward he
scowled at the Dirty Man, then turned his eyes to Bridget and leered at
her through bloodshot eyes. 

	The Dirty Man wrenched her head downward causing her to fall
forward to her knees. Bridget thrust her bound hands in front of her,
barely stopping her face from impacting with the ground. Her hair had
long since come free of the clip holding it at the back of her head, and
the dark curls flew wildly back from her face as her tormentor jerked her
head backward, exposing his prize for the older man’s approval. Her mind
raced in panic. She could not even imagine the fate that would await her
at these men’s hands, but what she could guess at threatened to make her
bladder fail.

	The Old Man and the Dirty Man where laughing and talking
together, but Bridget was so overcome by fear that their words were just
noise to her ears. It was like being caught up in a nightmare, only she
knew that she would not wake up safe in her own bed. The Dirty Man was
looking at her again, as she knelt helpless on the ground before him. He
ripped her head forward once again, and she sprawled headlong on the
grass. She lay there, supported on her elbows and knees, when she felt
the touch that she most feared. The Dirty Man had crouched behind her and
was jerking her dress up, exposing her quivering buttocks split by the
thin black line of the thong.

	“Whooooeeee!” the beast hooted. “Lookie here!” 

	Bridget tried desperately to scramble forward out of his reach,
but he once again grabbed her long hair, wrenching her head back.
Callused fingers stroked her ass as her attacker fumbled to pull the
thong aside. Bridget grunted and squealed from behind the gag, but the
Dirty Man just pulled harder on her hair until she thought her neck would
break. She felt the dirty fingers between her legs, probing and forcing
their way past the lips of her vagina. Her stockinged legs were forced
apart by his body as the Dirty Man prepared to ram his dick deep within
her wetness. Bridget tried to brace herself, but it was all she could do
to breath with her head pulled back so severely. She gritted her teeth
against the pain that she knew would come....

	But it didn’t.

	She could breath once again, and it took her a moment to realize
that her hair was no longer being pulled back. The body of The Dirty Man
no longer blocked her legs and she curled herself into a ball on the
ground, not understanding what had caused her attacker to stop. She could
hear voices now, and when she dared to peek up, she could see the Old Man
on the porch, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot and peering
intently into the darkness of the woods beyond the house.

	“Do you see ‘im?” hissed one of the other men.

	“I don’t see nuthin’” came a hushed reply from the Dirty Man.
Bridget turned slightly, and saw him standing several feet from where she
lay.  The look of glee was gone from his face, and had been replaced by a
mix of worry, and fear. The air was rapidly cooling as the sun sank
behind the mountains, but the Dirty Man was sweating profusely.

	“Maybe he ain’t here,” a hopeful voice wavered from farther away.

	“That’s his fuckin’ dog, dumb shit,” spat the Dirty Man. “He’s
gotta be ‘round here somewhere.”

	“Shaddup!” hissed the Old Man from the porch. 

	Bridget slowly pulled herself up on one elbow, still afraid to
draw the men’s attention back to herself. She peered into the rapidly
darkening forest, looking for the whatever it was that had frightened her
captors. There, sitting as still as a rock in the middle of the dirt
road, was the largest dog she had ever seen in her life. Bridget had seen
the breed before. The Thompsons had a Rottweiler, but this dog made their
guard dog look like a Chihuahua.  It sat staring intently at the Dirty
Man, never blinking, never panting, never doing anything that it seemed a
dog should do. Bridget could see why the men were unsettled by it.
Bridget cast her eyes toward the forest, praying for help to come in
whatever form it would. 

	And then He was there.

	One second there had been only trees and shadows, and the next He
was sitting there on the horse, just as motionless as the dog. Bridget
could only make out the silhouette of both rider and horse, the details
were lost among the shadows. The Dirty Man and his gang had noticed Him
at almost the same moment. Bridget saw the two men by the van start to
edge away from the stranger, back toward the perceived safety of the
house. The Dirty Man cast a nervous look back toward the Old Man on the
porch, the sweat streaming freely from his forehead now. The Old Man
started to speak, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat
embarassedly.

	“You a long way from yer side ‘a the mountain, Cutter,” he
finally managed.

	No answer came from the rider immediately. Instead, the horse
began to walk slowly from the edge of the woods, stopping just within the
small clearing around the house. 

	“This ain’t no concern ‘a yers,” the Old Man’s voice wavered. “We
caught her fair and square.” The Old Man continued to try and force some
sense of bravado into his voice, but he was shaking so bad now that his
vocal chords wouldn’t cooperate.

	The rider was closer now, but Bridget could barely make out more
than basic shapes in the rapidly fading light. He was tall, although that
was hard to gauge since he was mounted and Bridget was laying on the
ground. A brimmed hat was pulled low over his face, adding it’s shadow
and obscuring her view. A long, thick lock of hair trailed from the back
of the stranger’s head. The rider wore a dark outback style coat against
the chill of the mountain’s night air, and the pony tail spilled over the
upturned collar to splay over the his broad shoulders.  When He finally
spoke his voice was deep and quiet, but it spit the tense air like a
blade.

	“I’ve been hunting.  I wasn’t aware that you were entertaining
guests, Roberts, or I would have brought a bottle of wine.”

	The sound of his voice was soothing to Bridget, each word
pronounced distinctly and gracefully amid the obvious sarcasm. But that
same voice seemed to unsettle the band of bullies even more than the
earlier silence had. 

	“I mean it, Cutter,” squeaked the Old Man. “You got no cause to
interfere with this.”

	“I’m sure your guest appreciates your hospitality, Roberts,” the
soft voice came again. “But I believe it’s time for she and I to call it
a night.”

	“You think you kin jest waltz in here and throw yer weight
‘round?” screeched the Dirty Man.

	The rider turned his head slowly in the direction of The Dirty
Man, who visibly paled as his moment of courage melted away.

	“Yes. I think I can do exactly that,” answered the dark rider.

	Bridget caught a glimpse of movement from the porch. With the
rider’s attention on the Dirty Man, the Old Man had seized the
opportunity to raise his rifle. Bridget’s heart leapt into her throat as
the realization came that her rescuer might be killed. A scream of
warning, though blocked by the gag in her mouth, was barely past her lips
when a shattering blast split the night. A flash as dazzling as lightning
momentarily blinded Bridget, but when she recovered she saw the Old Man
reeling backward into the still open doorway of the shack. The front of
his shirt looked like it had been shredded by some animal, and dark
stains spread out from all points.

	The rider’s horse reared up as he pulled the short barreled
shotgun from its concealment under the flaps of his coat. Smoke trailed
from both barrels as he swung the now empty weapon in a backhanded arc
toward the head of the Dirty Man, who had produced a knife and was
leaping up to slash at him. The impact of the steel barrels with the
skull of Bridget’s attacker cracked through the night like a firecracker.
He fell noiselessly to the ground in a twisted heap, his eyes opened in a
dead stare as blood trailed from one ear.

	Spinning the horse around, the rider dropped the shotgun into a
holder attached to the saddle and drew a pistol from its holster beneath
his coat. Near the van, the stranger’s huge dog was squeezing the last
breath of life from the throat of one twitching accomplice to Bridget’s
abduction.  The other was scrambling out of the driver’s side door of the
vehicle, a small pistol bucking and flashing in his hand as he fired
wildly at the mounted figure bearing down on him. In one smooth motion,
the rider raised his hand and fired his own weapon, two shots striking
the last thug in the chest and one ripping his neck nearly in two.  A
look of surprise came over the criminal’s face as blood rushed out and
over the front of his chest. He fell forward, dead before his face
smashed into the earth. 

	The whole incident had taken only a few seconds, but for Bridget
it had seemed an eternity. She had to consciously remind herself to take
a breath, and the acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with the slightly
metallic smell of blood in her nostrils.  The rider spoke a soft command
to the huge dog, who immediately ceased worrying his now lifeless prey.
Slowly, the man rode in a circle checking each of his opponents in turn,
making sure they were past the point of being a danger. His loop ended
with the hooves of his mount directly in front of Bridget where she lay
sprawled upon the ground. The hem of her light dress still flared up
above her waist, one strap of her garter belt dangling loose from its
attachment to her stockings. He dropped the reins and threw one leg over
the cantle of the saddle, allowing himself to slip quickly to the ground.
His boots threw up little wisps of dust from the ground in front of
Bridget’s bound wrists. Reaching again beneath his coat, the man produced
a long bladed knife as he bent down toward her. With a quick flick of his
wrist, he severed the cable that bound her. Bridget pushed herself up on
her now free hands, then froze motionless as the man reached for the gag
that remained between her lips. His fingers were strong, but gentle as he
slipped the filthy rag away from her mouth. 

	“Thank you,” she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t...”

	“Come on,” he interrupted softly. “We better get you out of here.
Believe it or not, these animals actually have friends around here.”

	Before Bridget could try to move on her own, the stranger slipped
his strong arms beneath her and lifted her in a fluid motion to the
saddle of the waiting horse.  Gathering the reins in his left hand, the
rider vaulted easily to the back of the horse behind her. Turning the
animal from the shabby cabin, he guided them back into the woods from
which he had come, whispering an almost inaudible command to the dog who
struck off in the woods ahead of them like a dark ghost.  

	Bridget felt relief beyond words.  The adrenaline had been
pumping through her veins throughout the entire ordeal and now it drained
from her body like sand, leaving her exhausted almost to the point of
unconsciousness.  The rider opened the flaps of his coat and wrapped them
around the shivering woman. Bridget allowed him to cradle her as the
horse picked its way between the trees over the winding mountain trail
through the darkness.  She pressed her head against his chest until she
could hear the beating of his heart through the denim fabric of his
shirt.  The warmth of his body comforted her, as did the clean smell of a
man. The gentle rocking of the horse and the rhythmic beating of her
hero’s heart lulled her as she felt the exhaustion over come her at last.


	Invisible to her in the darkness, the rider’s mouth turned in an
almost imperceptible smile as he heard her sleepy words coming muffled
through the flaps of his coat....

	“Knight....shining armor....”

_____________________________________________________________________
You don't need to buy Internet access to use free Internet e-mail.
Get completely free e-mail from Juno at http://www.juno.com
Or call Juno at (800) 654-JUNO [654-5866]


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>