A Walk in the Hills

Around me the group gathered their bits and pieces as they got ready to get back on the trail. Kelly went to put on her jeans but Karen persuaded her that she ‘looked better like that’ and that ‘it’s good to let the air circulate’ so she remained in just her tee shirt and panties and packed her jeans in her bag. Even in my exhausted state I could see the way in which Karen was playing with Kelly, and how Kelly was so keen to suck up to Karen that she was open to practically any suggestion.

As for me, my wrists were refastened and I was dragged to my feet. Steve produced a length of rope from his pack and it was tied round my waist. Whilst the rope had little practical purpose, with my wrists bound and my feet hobbled by the lose shoes I wasn’t about to escape easily, it reinforced my position as a captured slave, a slave that was led along like some sort of wild animal.

It may sound petty given my circumstances but, as we traipsed along the trail, far more than my freedom I would have given anything for a shower or even the chance to wash myself off in the freezing water of the river. I had still been wet when I was forced to the ground and my body was covered in dirt and mud and, between my thighs, the combined semen of my three rapists continued to seep from my vagina drying to a sticky mess as it dribbled down my legs. My hair was also going to be a problem. I wear it quite long, hanging down to the middle of my back. The combination of the dip in the river and being held down in the dirt afterwards had left it matted beyond belief. I badly needed a wash and a bottle of hair conditioner but it didn’t look like that was coming anytime soon.

All in all, we must have looked quite a sight as we set off down the trail. Steve and Randy were out front with Steve pulling on the rope that held me. Then it was me, hobbling along as fast as I could, fighting to maintain their pace and not lose either my shoes or my balance. Behind me followed Karen and her pet poodle, Kelly, each ready with their birch to swiftly punish any perceived slacking on my part. Behind them was Mel, walking by herself as usual and finally there was Bob, puffing and panting, bringing up the rear carrying far more than his fair share of the baggage.

As we walked I tried to get a handle on the group. Karen’s leadership was obvious; none of the others did anything without her say so. Steve and Randy were simply joining in for all the sex they could get, this was some perverse orgy as far as they were concerned. Kelly and Bob were so weak that they were enthralled by Karen and would do anything she told them to. This left Mel, quiet and withdrawn, the outsider. She was the youngest of the group and her petite pretty little girl looks gave her an air of sweet innocence but I could see this was only a front.  Apart from Karen she was the only one not to have used me so far and I didn’t see this as a sign of weakness, rather it was a sign that, like Karen, she didn’t feel the need to prove herself and, like Karen, for her this was something more than some sexy game to play with the boss. From time to time I had caught her looking at me with a cold, calculating look which chilled me to the bone.

We’d gone maybe two miles when we got to a bit where the trail crossed a track used by the loggers to remove the cut timber. The heavy vehicles had churned up the ground and left a patch of four feet or so of sticky mud and filthy puddles. Steve and Randy were picking their way through and maybe half way across when Randy called out.

“Allow me, ladies, have yourselves a stepping stone.” A sharp tug on the rope and I tripped, falling forward into the mud. Randy held out his hand to help them balance as they crossed.

“Why, thank you Master Randy, you’re too kind.” Karen replied putting on her best Southern Belle accent and, putting her foot firmly on my buttocks, stepped across the puddle. As she did so I was pushed deeper into the mud and I could feel the ooze seeping deep into my crotch. Kelly, as ever one step behind like a good little lapdog, followed and, once again, I was forced deeper into the slime. And then there was Mel, sweet little Mel who, not content with just using me as a stepping stone, stopped with one foot on my buttocks and placed the other foot between my shoulder blades and pushed, forcing my head beneath the muddy water. She held me there for maybe thirty seconds before letting me up again but I had barely enough time to get me breath before she reapplied the pressure. This time she held me there until I felt as if my lungs would burst before finally stepping off and letting me up.

Randy tugged on the rope, pulling me up, out of the puddle and I was half way out before Karen noticed my feet.

“Hey, fuck cunt, where are your shoes?” With a sinking heart I realised that they had come off. 

“Go on.” She continued. “Get back in there and retrieve them.

With my wrists bound behind my back there was only one way I was going to be able to obey and I could see that Karen knew this. Still on my knees I shuffled round to face where my feet had been. Time and time again, like some bizarre game of bobbing for apples, I plunged my face into the churned up mud until I found them. Hauling them out, one at a time with my teeth, I placed them next to the puddle before finally standing up and getting out myself. As I slipped my feet back into the sodden shoes I could feel that they too were full of mud, indeed, from head to toe, I could not have been more comprehensively covered. The mud had got everywhere, in my mouth, my nose, and I could  feel it deep inside the folds of my pussy. A huge wave of self pity overwhelmed me and, once again, I was racked by sobs as I cried uncontrollably.

“Shut it, fuck cunt.” The birch slashed across my buttocks. “Get moving, we haven’t got all day.”

The trail plunged back into the woods and, however I felt, however disgusting my condition, I had no choice but to follow where the rope pulled me. We had gone two miles or so further when Bob, struggling along at the rear, called out for a rest. You only had to look at his beer belly to know that he was not one for exercise; he was sweating like  a pig and finding it heavy going. As the day wore on the sun was beating down and, even under the shade of the trees, it was getting distinctly warm. Reluctantly Karen agreed to a halt and, finding a suitable area with lots of boulders to sit on, they settled down and Bob searched in the picnic coolers for some beers. I leant back against a rock, grateful to have some of the weight taken off my feet but no sooner than my buttock had touched the boulder than Karen saw me and snarled at me to go over and kneel at her feet.

“Hey, look at fuck cunt’s face!” Kelly blurted out. The others looked but didn’t reply.

“It’s like that song,” Kelly continued, “you know, Smokey Robinson, Tracks of My Tears, look, you can see where she’s been crying.”

Karen reached down and wrenched my face upwards.

“Oh, yeah, so your can. Poor little fuck cunt, can’t stop crying. Wait till we get to the cabin, then we’ll give her something to cry about.”

She slapped my face away and I knelt before her listening to their laughter. My mouth was dry and I was desperate for a drink, apart from a few mouthfuls of water to wash the vomit from my mouth back in the river I hadn’t had anything since I had left the car, first thing that morning and,  kneeling there, watching them chug back bottles of ice cool beer was a torture in itself. However I already knew enough not to ask for one, the only thing I would get from that would be more abuse.

Minutes later we were back on the trail. We slogged on for maybe two more miles before we crested a rise and Karen pointed out a cabin in the valley below us. This was quite literally out in the middle of nowhere, far from any roads, far from any of the tourist spots, a lone cabin tucked in its own private valley. Heaven knows how Karen knew about it, I certainly wasn’t going to ask her, but, from her point of view it was the perfect place, there was simply no way we were going to be disturbed for the whole of the rest of the weekend.

As we got closer I could see that it was in a pretty bad state of disrepair; a more accurate description ought be shack, instead of cabin, but the basic structure appeared to be sound and there were a number of outhouses surrounding it. Furthermore an ATV parked round the back showed that, roads or not, there was some way to get wheeled vehicles there so, isolated or not, there was no reason to believe that they were going to run short of provisions.

When we arrived at the cabin the entire party collapsed exhausted. There were a number of easy chairs set out on the porch and Karen was quick to commandeer the best one, sitting in state surrounded by her courtiers whilst Bob, as ever, was ordered to organise the beers. I knelt down on the ground and waited.

As I knelt there I was acutely aware of the dried mud that covered my body. It was mostly dry now, a dark brown crust covering my skin, but the worst bit was my hair, my beautiful hair, which hung down in heavy matted clumps. Similarly my pubic bush which, in those days, I kept long and natural, was a congealed, matted clump, the dried mud sticking the hairs together, pulling at them, making me constantly aware of my state.

“Hey, fuck cunt.” Karen called down from the porch. Wearily I looked up. “Aren’t you glad we’re giving you all this attention?”

My jaw dropped, did she really expect me to be glad that they were mistreating me like this?

“Well, fuck cunt, what’s up? Has the cat got your tongue?” Karen continued. “Don’t you know it’s rude to keep your Mistress waiting for an answer?”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you for the attention.” I forced out.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Karen laughed. “I think it’s about time you spent some time in the woodshed, give you some time to think about things, to think about exactly where you stand in all this. Steve, give me hand, will you?”

Karen and Steve came down from the porch with the others following like sheep. Steve grabbed my arm and I was half led, half dragged to one of the sheds that surrounded the cabin. The shed was quite large, maybe the size of a double garage, and inside it was mostly clear. There were no windows but the planking was poor and had bits missing so there was plenty of light to see by. Right in the centre was a wooden sawhorse which stood around waist height but, unlike any sawhorses I had ever seen before, this one had thick leather straps attached. It didn’t take much imagination to see where I was going next.

“Welcome to your luxury suite, Madam.” Karen’s voice mocked that of a hotel porter.  “I do hope you’ll find your accommodation completely satisfactory. May I suggest a little lie down after your arduous journey?”

Steve bent me over to lie lengthways along the sawhorse. My ankles, my calves, my knees were attached to the widely splayed legs holding me similarly open. My wrists were unfastened from behind my back only to be refastened to the front legs of the horse. Four straps spaced along the length of the top of the horse held me firmly from my shoulders to my waist, crushing me against it and preventing any movement.

Whilst Steve was fastening the straps Kelly had wandered over to a bench that ran down one side of the shed. I watched in horror as she picked up and played with various whips, riding crops, straps and paddles. No one was going to be spoilt for choice should they decide to punish me. Then she picked up a bundle of straps with a dildo attached.

“What’s this?” She asked.

“God, you don’t know nothing, do you?” Mel sneered.

“It’s a strap-on.” Karen replied. “It gives us girls the chance to be the one shoving the dick in.”

“How do you…” Kelly seemed bemused by the complex arrangement of straps.

“Take your panties off and I’ll show you.” Karen replied.

That was all the urging Kelly needed. She slipped off her panties and Karen helped her into the harness.

“Wow, look at me, I’ve got a dick!” Kelly strutted about, wiggling her hips, the strap-on jutting before her.

“Well, aren’t you going to use it?” Karen asked.

“Yeah, go on Kelly, fuck the bitch. That’s what she’s there for.” Randy added.

Kelly came round behind me and I felt the tip of the dildo being pushed clumsily against my pussy. However the angle that the sawhorse held me at made it awkward and Kelly was too inept to get it right.

“Not that hole.” Karen urged. “Fuck her arse. Here, let me lube it up for you.”

Karen walked over to the bench and, moments later, I felt something cold and slimy being smeared around my anus. Then I felt the hard tip of the dildo pushing against my sphincter, pushing harder, intruding, sliding inside me.

“Wow, this is fantastic, it’s rubbing against my pussy as well.” Kelly squealed in delight as she slid the dildo back and forth inside me. “Now I know what it’s like to be the guy!”

“Use your hips more.” Randy urged. “Shove it right in, Show her who’s boss. That’s what they like, the meek and mild types, fuck ‘em till they scream. That’s my motto.”

Kelly, encouraged by the others, continued to thrust the dildo inside me. With each shove the sawhorse rocked and my pussy was ground against the rough wood, which rubbed against me in sensitive places. Although the dildo was stretching me wide Kelly didn’t have enough strength to be particularly brutal and her growing arousal was matched by mine. Furthermore, it wasn’t just the indignity of being analy raped that was getting to me, it was the fact it was being done by a woman. Somehow this touched something deep inside me, some part of me that I had never acknowledged before, some part that made the rape more of a turn on.

Before now I had never fully understood my submissive side. Sure I knew it existed and that my fantasies involved me being brutally mistreated but, now it was for real, I was finding that it was far more powerful than I had suspected. What was more, and somehow more deeply disturbing, was that being raped by a woman was incredibly thrilling and as Kelly thrust away it was that thought that was getting ever more aroused.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Kelly was panting and her thrusts were short and sharp. I could tell that she was rubbing herself against the other end of the strap-on with ever increasing intensity. She had pushed it deep inside me and the thrusts had become short jerks as she pushed her body against mine. “Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes…” She was near her climax, and I was approaching mine when…

“Oh yes, oh yes, oh JESUS!!!!” Kelly’s orgasm was accompanied by the resounding smack of leather against flesh as, just as she came, Karen slashed at her buttocks with one of the straps from the bench. She jerked against the blow forcing the dildo deeper inside me, jerked once or twice and then fell forward over me.

Panting and out of breath, Kelly withdrew leaving my arse feeling curiously empty. I hadn’t climaxed, I’d been close but Kelly had been concentrating on her own pleasure, not mine. I’m not sure she even realised that I’d been turned on although I’m sure Karen would have picked up on it. Still wearing the strap on Kelly came round into my line of sight rubbing her buttocks.

“What did you do that for?” She asked Karen. “Jesus, it really hurt.”

“Why did I do it? Because I could.” Karen replied. “Anyway, I’ll bet it gave your orgasm a certain little something, the icing on the cake, perhaps.”

“No it didn’t.” Kelly pouted. Even I could tell she was lying. “I’m not a pain slut like fuck cunt here.”

“Hmm…” was all Karen’s response. “Now come on, let’s get fuck cunt hooded up and get on with things. We’ve got plenty to sort out if we’re going to have our barbecue tonight.”

Karen fetched a leather hood from the bench and fitted it over my head. In the front it came down to about the level of my nose completely covering my eyes and, as the straps at the back of my head were fastened, the thick leather covered my ears deadening the sound. Unable to move, unable to see and with my hearing much reduced I felt open and vulnerable. I was held not as a prisoner but as a sex object, a toy to be used by whomever, whenever and there was nothing I could do to stop them, nothing I could do to fight back.

The final part of the jigsaw was a ball gag, attached to some sort of quick release harness. Karen demonstrated how it could be removed and refitted should any of the guys want to use my mouth.

I sensed, rather than heard, the others leave the shed. I was alone, all alone wide open and waiting, waiting to be used, to feel the prick or dildo forced in my anus or in my mouth, to feel the lash of the strap, the riding crop, the paddle across my wide open buttocks. Why then did my pussy tingle so? Why were my nipples on fire? What was I that I almost wanted this? What was I becoming? Where was all this going?

I slipped into a semi trace and waited, waited for whatever came next.