I could not see where we were, but I felt and heard the difference when the van left the highway for a winding road, and later the winding road for a dirt one. I realized the dirt road was narrow and rarely traveled because the van swayed and jerked violently and I heard the branches of trees scratching the sides. I imagined what they were going to do to me. I saw myself as a naked, bloated corpse with buzzing flies feeding off of me. Eventually the animals would discover my tasty morsel. In the end, all that would remain was some scattered, bleached bones. I swore I would never watch those trashy crime shows again, the tasteless garbage that exploits people's fascination and fears of violence, morbidity and death. Besides, they made my imagination run wild.
My relief was palpable as the wheels hit smooth pavement. I reasoned with myself that it was only a shortcut, this rough ride through the wilderness. Soon afterwards, though in my predicament it seemed like forever, the van stopped and the side doors were opened. I looked out and saw a set of mahogany double doors in a wall of ashlar masonry. I could see stainless steel kitchen fittings through the screen doors. I was roughly lifted and taken outside. Mystified as to where I was and to the nature of this building, I soon realized it was a luxurious manor house. It must have been somewhere in the Watchung Mountain range west of the city, judging from the hills surrounding it. I'd spent many pleasant days horseback riding in Bedminster and it seemed to be somewhere in that vicinity. The grassy meadows and green forests of my memories were now bare and dry, covered in a light snow.
I was shivering with a combination of fear and the biting cold. My sweaty clothes suddenly felt icy cold on my skin. I heard one of them say, "Shouldn't we have blindfolded this stupid cunt?" The answer I heard was ominous and sent a shiver down my spine, "We don't need to worry about her identifying anyone. She won't be around much longer." I kept trying to reassure myself that's not what she meant. More visions of my bloated corpse, only this time I was a slab of rigid, putrefying meat suspended from a hook. I've read far too many trashy, sleazy true crime books. No more mobster movies for this bitch! My imagination was running away again. It felt like the time I was a teenaged girl and my parents went on vacation. I was home all by myself and decided it would be fun to watch the Fright Night horror movies. I couldn't sleep even for a moment after that- every noise in the empty house was a lurking axe murderer or sex killer. Every shadow and every closet concealed an intruder. Poisonous spiders were crawling in the darkness. Snakes with razor sharp fangs and cold wet skin slithered into my bedsheets.
Why does fear only intensify my arousal? Just as those scary nights when I'd masturbate myself to sleep, my panties were slick with a buttery goo. Whatever these bitches intended to do to me, I was waiting anxiously. I was mentally preparing myself for anything. I felt like an animal in the jaws of a trap, resigned to its fate. My sexual nerves were stretched taut as if I was suspended in a device that might at any instant swing me into a wall of spikes. The thought gripped me that with the sudden release of a spring I'd be nothing more than a voluptuous slab of putrefying meat. The combination of fear and lust I felt in the presence of these sluts was strange and perplexing. My mouth was going dry and the panties were sticking to the roof of my mouth, my tongue and my teeth with a gummy paste. I attempted to move them with my tongue so I could swallow the goo that accumulated at the top of my throat. All I accomplished was causing me to choke, which came out as some strange animalistic groans from my gagged mouth. Inga looked into my face with a sneer, that sadistic smile, and pinched my nostrils shut. My eyes bulged out of my head and I felt a panic rush over me again. She casually taunted me, "Well, we don't want our little bitch to choke now, would we? Not before we've finished with her." Her eyes left mine for a moment and she looked behind me, nodding her head.
I felt someone's hands untying the knotted scarf at the nape of my neck. Sharp fingernails scratched my delicate skin. Inga pulled the panties slowly out of my mouth. They seemed to unravel as she did so. I slowly felt the pressure and acrid taste in my mouth recede as she drew out the last of the slopped up panties. They were thick and heavy with slime- my saliva now added to the pasty filth. Inga held them up by the tips of her fingers, snarling and raising her upper lip. Her feline teeth flashed in the light, and turning her head to the side in disgust she squealed "Ewwww...." Inga dropped the squishy panties on the countertop. They landed with a wet splat. "Leave these here, Glenda. We might need them later. Ewwww, that slut's mouth smells like a hot cunt. I'd swear there were fumes rising off those hot panties."
Glenda had been watching me. Her hands were in her jeans as she leaned forward and swayed her torso. Glenda was glaring at me with lust, masturbating. Her tongue darted out to lick the drool from her wet lips. Bending over the counter to sniff the panties, still redolent with cuntslime, she continued to frig herself. "Glenda," Inga cooed, "she'll be ready for you shortly. We're going to break her in first, but there's no need to worry. We'll preserve that cherry up her ass just for you. I'm sure this dirty whore wouldn't have it any other way." I let out a moan, and Inga shushed me by putting her finger to her lips. She pointed to the panties. I knew if I spoke she'd stuff them in my mouth again.
My hands were still tied behind my back and my legs were tied at the ankles. I stood as motionless as possible because I did not want to fall. What happened now completed my humiliation. Referring to me as if I was not even present, or as if I were an inanimate object, I was slowly stripped and inspected like a prize cow being auctioned off to the highest bidder. Inga popped the buttons of my suit jacket and unclasped the front of my bra. All of my suits are lined with silks and satins, or acetate, so I rarely wear camisoles or slips- not even a half-slip. And I rarely wear pantyhose, either. My stockings are typically raw silk and very sheer. Inga pushed the jacket to each side, revealing my nipples. The crisp air of this kitchen, with its stainless steel fixtures and cool tiles, assured that my nipples remained fully erect. I was having an involuntary sexual reaction to this humiliating treatment.
Inga ran her hands over my breasts before squeezing them. I gasped as her fingers dug into the sensitive flesh. She then tugged and flicked my nipples, sizing them up for resilience and elasticity. I winced in pain and hissed through my teeth with a sharp intake of breath. Neither of these women looked me in the eyes as they inspected me this way. I was a slab of cuntmeat to them, nothing more. Their comments, though flattering my luscious body, were very demeaning. "Just listen to her yelping sounds, Glenda, as I slap her tits. She'll make some interesting noises when she's being fucked, certainly." Inga moved her examining eyes lower. "Well, her belly could use some toning." Inga squeezed a roll of belly fat as she said this, then smacked my belly with a resounding slap. I whined. "I suppose we should check her cunt, thighs and ass now. Glenda, help me get this skirt down."
Their sudden exclamations made me regret my choice of panties. I have a very chubby and protuberant mount and my labia are equally prominent and pulpy. My pubic bush is rather thick and heavy as well. The result was a very fat set of swollen lips and a thick bush plumping out the front panel of my sheer pink panties. My pee had soaked this panel and rendered it almost completely transparent. As I looked down at my fat cunt, I saw a long vertical glob of pearly cream that oozed from my slit and through the thin silk. My fully erect and tingling clitoris was poking out the silk like a tiny hard cock. Inga and Glenda gushed at the purple-pink color and abnormally large dimensions of my clitoris. When I was a girl, my clit grew so large that I thought I was a freak. I cried and whimpered and wore two layers of thick panties until a gynecologist told me not to worry, I was not a hermaphrodite and that my large clitoris should be a source of great pleasure. I suppose she was correct. My lovers always marveled at my huge clit.
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