| The story you are about to read is a work of total and pure fiction. The names do not refer to any actual persons, living or deceased. As a work of fiction, the content is not intended to be considered, viewed or understood as an actual plan or attempt to commit the deeds described. This work is designed for the reading pleasure of consenting adults and should not be read if the idea of non-consensual sexual contacts offends.
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With the pictures safely hidden in several directories of my computer, I turned my attention to the tasks of luring the remaining members of my target group to my lair.
My two cheerleader friends were not difficult. I had found them online long ago and had pretended to be a young female and interested in the idea of two blonde cheerleaders and me in a threesome for dinner and whatever might strike their fancies. It was not difficult at all to set up a meeting at the small log-cabin roadhouse not a half-mile from my hidden den. They answered my e-mail while I was stationed outside their apartment watching and listening. They giggled and got as excited as they used to when they were schoolgirls. I figured I had them intrigued enough to do most anything at that point. My e-mail had said that I was younger than they were (barely legal, the online description usually reads) and extremely nervous about this meeting, but wanted so much to meet them to find out exactly how I really felt about being with a woman. I had described myself as a redhead with overly large breasts that I was uncomfortable with, and a shaved pussy. They had described themselves exactly as they really were. I noted to myself in those online conversations that they must be quite comfortable not to have misrepresented themselves in any way as most women would – some exaggeration.
I set the meeting date and time for 6:00pm the next evening, one day prior to the date I had given Ms. Ramada and hoped it would work out.
Mrs. Whitman's luring was not a difficult task, either. I simply moved into her house one evening when she and her husband were at a local society event and traded a blank cassette for the one on which she fucks five black studs. I carefully peeled off the labels and transferred them to the blank cassette, which I then inserted, into the slot where the original tape had been.
Making several copies of the tape was no difficulty. I edited one of the copies and slipped it between the door and the storm door of her house. When she followed the instructions and placed it into the VCR, a signboard with printed instructions came up telling her to watch the tape and then to follow the instructions at the end. I had edited the tape to the point that it had been reduced to noting but a series of cum shots and shots of her face reacting to each surge of jism. There she was in all her glory, covered in cum from face to glorious blonde pussy. After each short scene, I inserted a picture of various leaders in the community: other School Board members, her priest, her mother, the garage mechanic she used for her BMW, her two best friends, and the minister of the Black Baptist church in town, etc. At the end of the video, the signboard instructed her to keep this little episode a secret from everyone, I including her husband, or else the video would reach each and every one of those persons she had just seen pictures of. In addition, I gave her the mailing address of the local underground cable TV station – run by several high school students – and told her that I could guarantee they would tap into the closed-circuit system at Crestline High to let the students there know exactly what their School Board President was up to.
I set a meeting time for 9:00 in the evening of the same day as the cheerleader targets were to meet me. I instructed her to travel to the state forestland just behind my lair and to park at the second picnic table area inside the park gates. I watched from my vantage point as she viewed the tape, then rewound the last part and viewed it again. I observed her body language and understood immediately that I had struck a responsive chord. She held her face in her hands and sobbed. She ran to the bookshelf and ripped open the box. She took out the tape I had inserted and plunged it into the VCR in place of the one she had just viewed. When she realized it was truly a blank tape and that I actually had the other, she fell to her knees in the room and sobbed, her entire body shaking.
After climbing from my observation perch, I strolled home in the shadows to plan my next move. Four of the five were set up for their eventual abductions and downfall, but I had yet to set in motion my plan for Mrs. Van Heusen, Crestline's principal.
I knew something about her that few knew. I knew she was having an affair; I knew who she was having the affair with; I knew he was married; I knew when they usually met; I knew where they usually met; I knew most of what they did when they met. But I was also aware that Mrs. Van Heusen was not married and revealing this relationship to anyone would not be a heavy enough lever to push her into any sort of meeting. Such a revelation would only serve to injure him and his wife. I actually had nothing on her to blackmail her at all. While this was my usual method of operation, it would not work with her. I had given it some thought over the past months and I had come to the conclusion it would simply have to be a 'snatch and run' in order to get this woman into my underground abode. So, I ran all of my old plans through my head to see which might fit the current situation.
I had observed her from secret vantage points, yes; but my observations led me to no specific conclusions. I never actually got a close look at her body. I never had the opportunity to spy on any of her dressing or undressing routines. The most I had ever seen was her body in a one-piece bathing suit while swimming in her neighbor's pool. I had, of course, sneaked into her house on more than one occasion, but there was nothing to find. No erotic lingerie, no tell-tale sites on the computer. No marital aids (toys). There was absolutely nothing to indicate that she was anything more than a normal woman who had been divorced and was now having a physical relationship with a married man.
She jogged, but never at night and a daylight snatch would be too difficult. She hardly ever went out except to meet her "friend" at a small motel far outside the city. Movies were not her 'thing' unless she was with several teacher friends from school. She was rarely alone outside of her home and inside her home, her unfriendly boxer was too much of a built-in alarm system for me to chance.
It would have to be clever. It would have to be unexpected. I had a plan, but I was not certain it would work.
Each Wednesday evening, the two lovers would meet for dinner at an Italian restaurant some 20 miles outside of town; then they would drive to their favorite motel where they apparently had a standing reservation, as they always took the same room. I had rented the adjoining room several times over the past six months and had listened to their lovemaking through the thin walls. I had also bored several observation ports into the walls of the room and could view most parts of the room quite well. While I could not see the bed directly – it was against the wall separating the two rooms – I could look into the mirror that was hung directly opposite the bed and view most of the action.
My plan was a bit daring, as it involved revealing myself for a moment – at least my voice – but it seemed to be the only way I could arrange for her to be alone. On this Wednesday evening, I secreted myself in the small copse of trees just to the east of the motel, not twenty feet from the freestanding pay phone at the edge of the parking lot.
After the two had been in their room for some 45 minutes, I called their room and spoke in a rather breathless tone, "Is Jonathan there? No, don't hang up! I know he is there with you. I must talk to him! He is about to be caught with you!"
There was a clatter as the phone dropped to the bedside table and then picked up again with the question coming from him, "Who the hell is this? What do you want?"
"Jonathan, just consider me a friend. I've known about you and Jennifer for months now. You've been very discreet, but not discreet enough. Marjorie (his wife) will be there in no less than five minutes. Don't ask how she found out; just get the hell out of there as fast as you can!" And I hung up.
It didn't take two minutes for him to come out of the door with his pants on but no shirt, carrying his shoes, tie, jacket and briefcase in his hands. He jumped into his Camry and threw gravel all over the place streaking out of the parking lot.
I watched the door swing closed, knowing she was still inside in a state of undress, and rushed to reach it before it could lock. I didn't make it and had to knock lightly. When she called out, "Who's there?" I simply told her, in a lowered voice, that it was Jonathan and that I had forgotten my wallet.
She jerked open the door and I slammed into her body, throwing her back onto the bed. I kicked the door closed and rushed to the side of the bed where I threw my body across hers, straddling her hips with my knees clamping her upper arms to her sides. I leaned forward and placed a hand over her mouth both so she would not scream, and also to put the piece of gauze pad into place over her nose.
I retrieved the bottle of chloroform from my pocket and unscrewed the top with one hand. I took a deep breath and held it as I dripped the contents onto the gauze covering her nose. She immediately knew what it was and in a reflex action, drew in a deep breath to try to avoid inhaling the fumes. Her reaction served to defeat her purpose in that her intake of breath was already filled with the fumes. Her eyes rolled upward and her muscles went slack over a period of the next two or three minutes. When she was totally limp and pliable, I got off her body, re-capped the bottle, thrust the gauze pad into a plastic baggie and began to inspect my most recently-captured quarry.
This woman was entirely different from the others I had been observing. Heavier, thicker in the thigh, broader in the hip, she was nearly of Rubenesque proportions. What attracted my eyes, of course, was the thatch between her alabaster-white thighs. It was not a full bush, but trimmed in a deliberate, straight line, some two inches in width. The strip of hair extended from just about what would be her bikini line directly into the valley between her legs. I lifted one leg and moved it wider apart from the other and noticed that while the edges of her pussy lips had been carefully shaved, the strip ran directly along those lips until it disappeared near her anus. Delightfully different!
And the hair was red! Golden-red and shiny! Curly and still wet from the beginnings of a sexual interlude that had not yet reached fruition. And thick! I mean that the strip of hair appeared to be something like a heavy-duty Mohawk haircut on some grunge-rocker's shaved head. Thick, coarse, heavily curled. I could not resist running my fingers through it and tugging it. My fingers came away moist and I sucked at them to assess the deliciousness of this pussy. I was not disappointed.
Her skin was freckled everywhere. Stomach. Rib cage. Breasts. Chest. Shoulders. Nose. Tiny auburn freckles appeared all over her upper body. Hmmmm, how I would love to play 'connect-the-dots' with my tongue!
And her breasts. Huge! Larger than I had imagined upon any other observation. I reached for her beige bra that had been hung across the back of the side chair. 44DD was stamped into the label. Industrial-strength straps and elastic for this one, I could guarantee. The aureoles were pink. I had not expected that. I had rather expected an auburn-to-brown coloring for her. But no, they were pink. As were the nipples that sat directly in their centers. Not long nipples. But fat! If I were to estimate their diameter, I would say perhaps the aureoles were 3 ½ inches in diameter and the nipples were at least ¾ of an inch in diameter as well….still swollen from immediately-recent sucking, I supposed. I honestly liked what I was looking at. But I didn't really have the time to enjoy the sights. I had to get her out of the room in case Jonathan wised up and returned.
I did, however, take the opportunity to slip one long finger deep inside her pussy, which was already well lubricated and offered no resistance. What struck me as unusual was the fact that my finger touched "bottom" in a matter of inches. I could not even insert the entire thing without touching fleshy walls. I found the hard circle of her cervix ring before the entire 4 ½ inch length of my finger had found its way inside. Quite unusual, I thought; for a woman to have such a shallow pussy cavern. I moved my finger around in circles, stretching and pulling at her skin and lips; and while her juices flowed freely with this unconscious stimulation, I could enter her no further than the original 4 – 4 ½ inches. Thought-provoking scenes flashed through my head, but I shoved them aside to lay myself into the task at hand.
Searching the room and gathering every stitch of her clothing I could find, I stuffed it into the backpack I carried. I took her lipstick and printed on the dresser mirror, "Jon, don't look for me; I'll be back when I get my head on straight; it can't go on like this much longer." I put the backpack on my back, stooped beside the bed, pulled on her arms and slid her across my shoulders in the now-familiar fireman's carry, and moved to the door.
I listened for a moment before switching off the lights and opening the door. Nothing. No one. I raced for the trees with her naked body rubbing against my back and shoulders. I reached the tree line in seconds and made my way through the brush to the spot where I had secreted my van. I slid open the side door, silent on its runners greased with powdered graphite, and laid her on the carpeted floor. I slid in beside her and closed the doors, again silently.
Quickly, as I could tell the chloroform's effect was lessening, I attached her wrists to the two-cuff-and-chain set extending from one sidewall; and her ankles to the set connected to the other sidewall. I placed a piece of silver duct tape over her mouth after checking to see that she was breathing ok through her nose. And I wrapped a black-bandanna blindfold over her eyes. She was now mute and blind as far as I was concerned. She could still hear, of course; but her sense of smell would not return for at least 24 hours – a lingering effect of the chloroform.
I moved to the driver's seat and slowly pulled out of the wooded lane where I had been parked. I checked the digital dashboard clock and noted that the entire operation, from telephone call to cuffing in the van, took only twelve minutes. I allowed my body – tense with the pressure of such an event – to relax behind the wheel. I was careful about both the route I chose and the speed at which I moved. No sense being pulled over by some fat-bellied township cop before I reached my destination.
Upon reaching the spot by the billboard, I clicked the remote on the visor and the spotlights that illuminated the sign extinguished themselves. I pulled past the sign and into a small shed that sat at the far end of the board. The shed appeared to be there for the sign-changers to store their tools. In fact, they knew nothing about its purpose or ownership. I'd never even seen them take notice of it. I hit the other remote button and the doors of the shed slid silently closed. The construction of this building had taken me months to solidify. The shed had always been there – for what reason, no one seemed to know. I had to have it modified so that it appeared to be dilapidated and abandoned, while actually sealing off any possible leaks of light from the inside. I had to install the remote door-operators. And I had to be certain that all of this was kept totally secret from anyone. I had hired two men of middle age some months back. They were what could be termed "mentally challenged" but only because they had pickled what brains they once had with the cheapest of wine and rye whiskeys. I allowed them to live in the shed as they made the repairs I directed them to make. I kept them supplied with as much Thunderbird wine and Seagram's rye as they could handle, and they figured it was a good deal. The remodeling turned out very well, and when two homeless alcoholics simply did not show up around town for a very long time, it was assumed they had moved on to some better place. Indeed, they had. They now rested at the bottom of the very same quarry that my other friend's body calls home.
Inside the shed everything was painted dull black, even the windows. As the doors silently rolled closed, I again clicked the remote button and the lights on the billboard outside resumed their glaring illumination. Had anyone been driving the road at the very moment the lights had gone off or back on? It was a chance I simply had to take. In the floor of the shed a small trap door led down a stairway into my underground chamber. It was but one of three entrances to the subterranean home I had built. It was here that I carried a still-groggy Jennifer Van Heusen. I sat her on a round-topped stool against one wall and fastened her hands and ankles to cuff-and-chain sets on the wall behind her. The chains were some 40" long and allowed for some movement. She could stand or sit, but she could not move more than 40" from the wall. She was leaning back against the wall and the coolness of its surface began to rouse her. She groaned a bit and knew she was shackled immediately. She reached for her blindfold and I killed all the lights in the room with another remote. Now, we were both blind.
But, as I had mentioned earlier in my tale, this curious genetic anomaly had provided me with certain physical characteristics that served me well in special situations. You already know of my ability to run (lope?) at a speed not usual for a member of the species Homo sapiens and the connected ability to sustain that loping gait for an incredible length of time. Now, I will not say that I can see in the dark; but I will reveal to the reader that my vision is not as occluded as is that of a "normal" human being. I can see about as well as a dog or, perhaps, a wolf does in the dark – enough to discern shapes and movement and some features of a figure.
I watched in the darkness as she ripped the blindfold from her eyes. She could see nothing, of course. She next removed the tape from her mouth, slowly and carefully, as it would certainly sting a bit. She spoke out loud, almost to hear herself speak, "Where am I? Where the hell am I? Where are you? I know you are here, you hairy freak! Let me go, you unbalanced piece of fur! I want to get out of here! If you don't let me go, I'm going to make sure your ass winds up in prison!"
She continued to rant and rave in that fashion for another minute or two, but when I did not utter a sound in response, she gave up. I watched her move around as far as the shackles would allow, and try to get them to release. When she realized that was impossible, she sat down again on the stool and hung her head.
I was not even three feet in front of her and she had not seen me. I reached out with one hand and with unerring accuracy pinched her left nipple. Not hard, just hard enough to get her attention, and then dropped my hand away.
She screamed out in surprise more than pain, and resumed her diatribe against me, my condition, my appearance, my parents, and anyone else she could find to curse. While she screamed out her invective, I slid to one side of her and knelt down. I lifted one heavy breast and squeezed it hard, causing the aureole to bulge out and the nipple to expand hugely. I immediately dropped the breast, allowing it to slap back against her rib cage as I stood and moved away. She kicked out with one foot and slung one hand outward at the spot where I had been moments ago. The length of the chain did not allow her to connect, of course, and she cursed out loud again.