Mary's Misery

Mary's Misery, part 2

by Abe

When Jerry came home and rescued Mary, she was in no shape for sex.  She needed lots of cuddling and treatment for the chemical burns to her vulva and vagina, but she recovered.  Then, since Mary had no automobile, Jerry had to pass up a job to take her for a new state issued picture ID, needed before she could return to work.  He also got several copies of the door key.  Mary put one in a magnetic box and hid it on a frame member of the trailer, so she would never again be locked out. 

It was a week after her rape.  She still had to walk home from the bar, but she now carried a  small can of pepper spray, not that that was much protection.  She was anxious the whole way home and thankful when she let herself into the trailer without having been kidnapped again.  She locked the door,  emptied her pocket, and put her soiled uniform with other clothes to wash.  She had lost her fancy push-up bra, so she went to work in plain cotton underwear and an old uniform.   She kicked off her shoes and  walked into their bedroom in her undies.

“Oh, Shit!” she screamed as a pillow case came down over her head and several hands held her arms while her wrists were tied together and tape around her neck secured the bag over her head.  Her kidnappers had kept her key and let themselves in.  “Why are you doing this to me?” she wailed through the cloth of the pillow case.

“Because we can.  We're bullies,” said a feminine voice. “We're strong.  You are not.  Our boy friends had their way with you last week.  Now it's our turn.”  Tiny Mary couldn't struggle against a bunch of women, all bigger than she.  There was another ride, in the same van, she supposed, and being carried up stairs to what she supposed might be the same fishing shack.  They put her down on her feet, untied her wrists, and said, “Take off your bra and panties.”  Mary hesitated.  “If we have to cut them off, you will be going home naked again.”  Mary knew she had better comply, and she took off her bra and stepped out of her panties.  “She's a cute little slut, isn't she?” remarked one of the women.

They put her on her back across an iron framed cot.  Her shoulders were at the edge, so her head was unsupported.  They used old nylon stockings, which don't leave rope burns, to tie her arms outstretched to the head and foot of the cot.  Then they raised her feet, pulling them as far  apart as they could and tying her ankles to the head and foot next to her wrists.  Her weight was mostly on her shoulders.  Her breasts slumped back on her chest like English muffins.  Her back was curled up, so her vulva and anus were uppermost, staring at the ceiling, and her buttocks were taut, the better to punish.  Mary expected the worst.

“Eew, look at the pubic hair.  I hate getting hair in my mouth,” said an unfamiliar voice.  Without further discussion, Mary felt battery powered electric hair clippers, the kind one might use to trim a beard or groom a dog, as they were quickly passed over her privates to remove most of the hair, leaving  short hairs.  Then the women used an electric epilator, rather like an electric razor, except that, instead of using blades to cut the hairs short, it used rotating discs which grabbed the hairs and pulled them out by the roots.  Mary whined as they passed the machine over her mons, over her labia, even over her asshole several times, pulling her pubic hair out by the roots, uncomfortable but not unbearable.  She wondered what Jerry would say when he discovered her sex looked like that of little girl.  She felt finger tips gliding over her smooth skin, assuring that no bits of stubble remained.  It was strange, having silky smooth labia.  “I can see from your legs that you shave them with a razor.  That leaves  prickly stubble, and you have to shave repeatedly.  You will discover, Mary, that after the electric epilator, only about half of your hairs will grow back, and they will be finer.  If you  were to repeat this a few times, you would be essentially hairless.”  The speaker chuckled.  “You look so cute, eleven, going on twelve.  OK, let's warm her up.”

Mary felt hands grabbing her breasts, massaging them, squeezing, pulling, teasing her nipples, which soon were erect.  The women all had wooden paddles given away by paint stores for stirring paint.  There was a handle and a thin slat, about a foot long and and inch and a half wide.  Someone applied a paddle to her upturned vulva, striking her labia about  once every two seconds.  With her legs widespread, Mary's outer labia were easily pushed aside, so each blow of the paddle pressed on the hood of her clitoris, a sharp sensation followed by two seconds of “memory” of the blow.  At first Mary found it very distasteful, but she realized that the treatment was having an effect.  Her labia enlarged, and her inner lips were wet.  Each blow seemed to send “electric” shocks through her pelvis.  She felt a finger, then two, slip into her wet, relaxed vagina.  They curled up behind her pubic bone and rubbed the front wall of her vagina, pressing on a g-spot Mary had not known she had.  Her breathing became  faster, and she could feel her insides responding to the repetitive stimulation of her clitoris, teamed with unfamiliar sensations inside, as if the hidden parts of her clitoris, the roots which extend down below her labia, were taking an active role in this adventure.  Sex with Jerry had never been like this.  Her breasts were sensitive and excited, too, one nipple was sucked and the other breast was gently squeezed, sending messages down to her cunt.  It was exciting, like the best of sex with Jerry, but long after Jerry would have pulled out, she was kept in a state of sexual excitement.  Finally, the paddle swats stopped and someone applied their mouth to the tender labia, sucking and sliding a tongue over the sensitized clitoris.  Mary cried out, as her body responded with a mind of its own, tensing her muscles and then relaxing, with a mind-blowing sense of euphoria.  She had experienced the big O, and it was more intense than any sexual experience she could remember.

“I think the slut liked that,” said another voice.  “Let's see if she is a pain slut.”  Mary felt a  flexible tube, about half an inch in diameter, being slipped into her anus, lubricated by K-Y so it met little resistance.  Mary did not know that a condom had been taped over the end of the tube.  Another tube was slipped into her still wet and receptive vagina, this one with a rubber party balloon on the end.  She began to feel little impulses as women pumped water with a hand pump through each tube.  The condom filled and stretched, forcing its way deep into her body, filling her rectum and then sliding up her descending colon, giving her the sensation of  fulness which seemed like an obscene violation of her being, an invasion of her body beyond her experience, much more embarrassing than simply being fucked in the ass.  Meanwhile, the balloon in her vagina was swelling: a ping pong ball, a billiard ball, a tennis ball, and still expanding.  The pressure on her bladder made her pee, but someone rinsed and wiped her upraised bottom to get rid of the urine.  Mary was gasping, feeling real pain as her insides were stretched.  Someone pinched her labia together,  at the top by her clitoris, and then rubbed them together and moved them up and down, side to side, in circles.  The pressure and friction seemed to concentrate on Mary's clitoris, and in spite of the pain, she was sexually excited, building toward that plateau which was both pleasurable and frustrating.  She was gasping, groaning, complaining that she could take no more, when the labia were released and someone slipped a tongue between them.  The muscular spasms which resulted forced the “baby” out of her vagina, stretching the entrance as no penis ever had.  The condom in her backside bulged out her anus, stretching it as no turd ever had, and then it slithered out, like a giant snake, to lie on the floor with perhaps a gallon of water in it.  The sense of relief was incredible, indescribable.  As she lay there, contorted by her bondage, breathing heavily, she was reminded of the old joke: I bang my head against the wall, because it feels so good when I stop.  Someone directed a jet of water between her labia, like a river in a canyon, impinging on her clitoris and making the inner labia at the vestibule of her vagina flutter in the stream.  Mary gasped as another orgasm followed the last, leaving her happily drained.

She lay there recovering, uncomfortably curled up and stretched out, her anus and vagina remembering as a vague discomfort their incredible stretching.  Whoever had been manipulating her breasts had stopped, leaving them slightly sore, sensitive, with her nipples throbbing.  Suddenly there was a whole new, overwhelming assault on her senses.  Each woman had one or more of the paint stirring paddles.  Two paddles beat on Mary's breasts, pushing them up and down, side to side, or simply pounding them flat, from time to time slicing sideways across a sore nipple.  Mary screamed in pain.  With her legs spread, her inner thighs were exposed, and one paddle addressed  each thigh while two more  smacked her buttocks and one, from time to time, concentrated on her swollen labia, which blushed pink under the onslaught.  This was much more than a spanking, it was  continuous, inescapable pain.  Whatever her punished clitoris was doing, Mary could not think of sex, only of the excruciating assault which had her writhing in her bondage and crying is pain and frustration.  Then suddenly, it stopped, and a tongue slipped between the battered labia.  “Uh, uh, uh, UNG!” shouted Mary, surprised that her body was doing its thing even as she was losing her mind.  It took half a minute to come down off the cliff, to recover her composure.

She could hardly believe that she could have had an orgasm when she was totally occupied with her pain.  There was noting erotic about it; her body simply ignored her brain and did it's thing in spite of her distraction.

While the paddles were plain, unpainted wood, the women had glued sandpaper on one side.  They began a repeat of the beating, but using the sandpaper side of the paddle against Mary's already reddened skin.  Each blow removed some of the upper layer of dead skin, leaving her breasts and buttocks and thighs and vulva red, even specked with blood, as the sensitive inner layers of skin were exposed to the air.  Each blow hurt more than the last.  The beating was brief, but it left the abraded skin, especially her breasts and labia, stinging, hurting, almost as if she had been scrubbed with poison ivy and had a terrible sunburn.

It was a great relief when they untied her legs and arms and stood her on her feet, bare since she had kicked off her shoes at home.  Her legs had been so strained, tied as they were, that she was unsteady on her feet, and the incessant pain from her abraded breasts and bottom kept her disoriented.  They hustled Mary back into the van.  Her bottom was too sore to sit, but they let her kneel on the floor with her bottom up.  They stopped several yards from the gravel road that led to the trailers.  It was dark.  No one would see the van.  They helped her out.

“Well, you are almost home.  You don't want to walk back naked, do you?”

“No,” replied Mary.

“Step into your panties,” said someone as others slipped her arms into the bra straps, ready to fasten the band behind.  Simultaneously, they pulled her panties up her legs, lifting the waistband for a wedgie so the cloth pressed tightly against her vulva and buttocks, while others pressed the bra cups over Mary's breasts and fastened the strap behind her back.

Mary screamed in agony.  They had saturated the cloth with Ben-Gay.  Normally, it is intended to provide heat to relax sore muscles, but when applied to abraded skin it burns like fire.  As the van sped away, Mary, sobbing, pushed her panties down, then tore at her bra.  While she was quickly naked, the Ben-Gay remained on her skin, burning like a flame.    She tore at the tape keeping the pillow case over her head  and, when she got the bag off, she started scrubbing the liquid fire from her cunt and tits.  It was only then that she noticed a car full of men had stopped not twenty feet away, and they were all staring at her nakedness.  For a second, Mary stared back, seeing lust in their eyes, and then, with her left arm over her breasts and the right hand holding the pillow case between her legs, she sprinted for home.