Pay Any Price

Stephen Underwood knew something was amiss, when his step-daughter Morgan, didn’t respond to his call that he was home.  Morgan was perhaps the most responsible 16 (and a ½) year-old he’d ever known.  Hell, she was more responsible than most of the adults he knew.  Normally when he’d arrive home from work, he’d find the statuesque young beauty already hard at work in the kitchen, fixing the evening meal.  Stephen had told her repeatedly that she needn’t cook every night, but came to believe it was a coping skill she’d developed to compensate for the loss of her mother, Stephen’s second wife.

Sylvia Taft-Underwood had died suddenly of a brain aneurysm two years ago.  Since that time, Stephen had been the sole guardian for Morgan.  Or was it the other way around?  He often wondered.  And what a two years it had been.  Morgan, smack dab in the middle of her transformation into a young woman, had been difficult at first.  But eventually, they’d reached a tentative peace, sharing the chores, etc.

Something else that changed over the same period, was Morgan’s appearance.  The change from gangly fourteen year-old, to her present day prettiness, no, gorgeousness, was astonishing.  Stephen had thought that his wife Sylvia, had been an unsurpassed beauty.  Morgan however, though startling in similarity, eclipsed her mother’s allure in almost every facet.

At 5’8” tall, her proportions had filled out pleasantly over the past 18 months.  She kept her straight, ebony hair cut long, the ends reaching the waist of her private school skirts.  As far as her private school blouses and sweaters, well, let’s just say that their buttons earned their pay every day, protecting her modesty.  A member of the volleyball, swimming and chess teams kept her fit, both physically and mentally.

“Thank God she’s not interested in boys yet.”  Stephen had said to himself almost daily. 

Oh, there were subtle queries about the opposite sex, but nothing too serious.  Yet.  It was only a matter of time before some good looking fellow swept her off her feet and she’d be walking around the house with her head in the clouds.

But back to the matter at hand.  If for any reason Morgan was running late, she’d always call.  Stephen had received no such phone call.  He called out her name once more.  The house echoed back silence.  Something was definitely not right.

He walked into the kitchen, half expecting to find her there, still dressed in her school uniform, or changed into blue jeans and t-shirt, so wrapped up in the preparations that she didn’t hear his arrival.  The kitchen was empty, stove and oven cold.  As he turned to explore the rest of the house, he saw an envelope on the kitchen table.  Walking to it, he saw two, hand printed words scrawled across it.

                               PLAY ME

Opening the envelope, he removed a re-writeable DVD.  A lump formed in his stomach.  He somehow knew whatever was on the disc, involved Morgan.  He went to his study, closed the door and inserted the disc into the player.  He took a moment to pour himself four fingers of Scotch.  He had a feeling that he might need it.

Sitting in his desk chair, he keyed the remote.  The Hi-Def TV flared to life, snow momentarily filling the screen.  Then a picture developed.  There appeared to be no audio.  Stephen puzzled at the brown image that blurred before him as the camera struggled to focus.  When the image cleared, it was still characterless.  Then he had it!  It was a hard-packed, earthen floor.

The picture veered wildly, almost as if the camera operator didn’t realize the device was on.  The screen flared, as a bright light distorted the resolution.  Stephen realized that it must have been an expensive piece of equipment, for it compensated for the glare almost immediately.  He could see the cloudless blue sky (as today had been) through a window, most of whose panes were broken out.

The camera panned, its bright light seemingly absorbed by the ancient stone walls of a moderately sized room.  Stephen’s heart skipped a beat, as the camera shifted to the center of the room and its occupant.  It was Morgan!

She must have been taken on her way home from school.  Judging by her appearance, she had put up one hell of a fight.  But her disheveled uniform wasn’t what caused the stepfather to gasp.  The sixteen year-old beauty was tied up in a manner he didn’t think possible.  Well, apparently it was possible, but certainly not comfortable.

Morgan was ‘seated’ on an ordinary, inexpensive conference chair.  Only, this chair was anything but ordinary.  Stephen could see that all four of its chromed legs were bolted to heavy wooden planks on the floor.  No amount of thrashing would tip it over.  And thrashing, was exactly what the dark-haired teen was doing.

Her long, toned legs were lashed wide apart, her knees strapped to the union of front legs and seat frame.  They were then bent double, her ankles strapped to the similar union of the chair’s back legs.  Stephen could see her feet, still clad in white knee sox (though one sneaker was oddly missing) gyrating crazily in the air.

Morgan was sitting ram-rod straight, her spine mimicking the chair’s straight back.  For one irrational moment, he thought her attackers had chopped her arms off, for he didn’t see them.  The camera man(?) moved to the left and the stepfather could see where they’d gone.  The girls arms were hauled behind her and wedged into an obviously tight, apparently supple, single glove of tanned leather.  Apparently supple, for Stephen could see how the glove’s exterior straps severely dimpled the flesh at Morgan’s wrists, elbows and biceps.  It was as though the girl’s arms had been fused into one incredibly compressed limb.

A stout leather thong had been hitched through a ring at the fingertip of the glove and tied so tightly to the rear leg brace, that it quivered.  This pulled the beauties armpits down snug and hard against the top edge of the chair back.  As the camera moved to the back, Stephen could see how the fabric of her sweater had bunched between her shoulder blades, due to her arms being wrenched so impossibly close together.

Mr. Underwood could see all this, because Morgan’s abductors had draped her long black, recently disheveled hair, down her front.  The camera continued its journey.  He could now see that in addition to the straps around her knees and ankles, 1” straps had been brutally tightened around her thighs, denting the flesh.  It was clear that these straps passed around the chromed frame supporting the seat cushion.

Then it struck him.  He could see the earthen floor between Morgan’s spread legs!  Where as he’d caught a glimpse of the chair’s inexpensive, red vinyl-clad chair back, there was no such seat portion.  It had been removed.  The girl’s legs and derriere floated in the air, supported only by her restraints!

The camera, having moved back to the front, panned up to his stepdaughter’s face.  When her hair was brushed back, Morgan’s beautiful, beautiful face, was marred and distorted.  Stephen’s jaw dropped open unconsciously, as he witnessed his stepdaughter’s lightly painted pink lips, trembling around a freakishly large, white ball.  Although it appeared that 80% of the 4” round ball had been crammed inside her sensuous mouth, it was still large enough to stretch her lips into a tight, thin seal around it.

As if there had been any hope of spitting the sphere out, a black, 1” wide leather strap pierced the ball and passed over her cheeks on the way to being buckled in back.  As with the other straps, this had been tightened to a point where her flesh bulged on either side.  A spider web of secondary straps branched out from it.

The first, began as ½” straps on either side of her gaping mouth.  They traveled upwards, merging at a silver ring on the bridge of her nose.  From there, a single 1” strap ran over the crown of her head, no doubt buckling in the rear.  The second, secondary set ran under her jaw.  Buckled with the same ruthlessness, it forced the young beauty’s teeth to clamp down on the obstruction.  A last strap passed around her head, just above her arching eyebrows.  Although this appeared to be mainly an anchoring strap, it too, had been tightened to bone crushing severity.  None of the elaborate harness, was going to slip or shake off.

The camera took up position in front once more, perhaps 8’ away from the struggling girl.  The image zoomed then stabilized, until Morgan’s bound form filled the screen.  Stephen watched the teen’s face, streaked with mascara tinted tears, as it peered back at him wide-eyed.  Those same gorgeous, hazel-green eyes grew large as saucers, as they peered not directly at her stepfather, but over his shoulder.

He realized that she was staring off camera, most likely at her assailant.  She began thrashing her head wildly, sweat soaked tangles of black hair obscuring her face.  Her brutally bound body began to shudder.  Morgan threw her head back to stare sightlessly at the ceiling, the tendons in her slender neck standing out like bridge cables..  Stephen was at a loss at what could have caused such a frenetic display.

And then he got his first glimpse at Morgan’s assailant.  What he saw, didn’t give him much to go on.  The obviously muscular man was of medium height.  He was dressed from head to toe in black.  As he moved closer, Morgan tried to shrink away, an act that consisted entirely of her straining her head to one side.  The rest of her didn’t budge.

The man reached out with a gloved hand and brushed her straight locks away from her sweating face.  Stephen could see how the wrenching pull on her arms, thrust her chest out against her school sweater.

“Wait a minute.”  Stephen thought.  “Why couldn’t he see the collar of her blouse?”

His answer came when the stranger grasped the front of the sweater and ripped it open, sending several buttons spinning into the air.  Morgan wore no blouse underneath, nor her bra, for that matter.  It was the first time the stepfather had seen his stepdaughter’s bared breasts.  Stephen sucked in a sharp breath.  It was a certainty that no one, not even Morgan herself, had seen her C-Cup breasts quite like this.

Each tit had been garroted near its base, with a strap no wider than 3/8’s of an inch.  Her breasts were freakishly swollen, a road map of blue veins traveling haphazardly beneath skin of deep crimson.  Stephen stared slack-jawed, at the pinnacle of each breast.  Each of Morgan’s gumdrop-sized nipples, had been pierced at their base with a gold barbell.  The bizarre jewelry forced the sensitive nubs to stand out at attention.

The exposed ends of thin, insulated wire, had been wrapped around each metal stud, dropping down between her legs, to a box sitting on the floor slightly off to one side.  His eyes reflexively following the wires, Stephen saw the electric motor beneath the chair for the first time.  Positioned as it was, he could see the blue sparks flashing inside, signaling that the motor was operating.

“But operating what?”  He wondered.

The answer came when the stranger reached down and pulled up the hem of Morgan’s skirt, tucking it into her waistband, which sat below the wide leather strap that anchored her torso to the chair.  Another sharp intake of breath broke the silence in the Study. 

Rising up from the motor was a metal shaft.  The shaft churned up and down rhythmically.  Unable to help himself, Stephen’s eyes tracked upward and locked on what he saw.  Pistoning in and out of the sixteen (and a ½) year-olds recently denuded sex (apparent from the red rash of razor burn) was a knobby, jet black rubber phallus.  The polished skin of the dildo gleamed with the girl’s creamy juices and quite probably, the blood of her ruptured hymen.

Up and down, up and down, the black monster, perhaps an 1-½ thick, thrust its undetermined length into the silken tunnel of his stepdaughter’s sex.  The supple lips of her labia, were sucked in and out of her entrance by the gnarled surface of the prod.  And as if this weren’t enough, something shone brighter than either her slickened vagina or prod in the camera’s light.

“Resting” at the apex of the girl’s sex, was another gold barbell.  It skewered the flesh just behind her clitoris, pinning its fleshy hood back and making the nodule jut forward.  The tiny nerve bundle (as did her nipples) glowed an angry red from the recent piercing.  Attached to the barbell, was another set of wires.

Although Mr. Underwood never voiced the question, the man in black seemed to hear it nonetheless.  He showed a small black box to the camera.  A green light glowed almost merrily.  Then he thumbed a toggle switch and the light winked out, replaced by a red one.  Immediately, Morgan’s body stiffened, then began to shudder as if having a seizure.  Her swollen breasts bobbed up and down as if in an earthquake and her head thrashed hysterically.  She gave every impression of a person being stung by a thousand bees.

Perhaps fifteen seconds went by, then the light turned green once more.  The teen went limp to the extent her bonds would allow and her head lolled forward as if her neck was broken.   No more than five seconds passed before the red light came on once more.  Morgan snapped to rigid attention, her eyes screwed shut.  Her skin, already slick with perspiration, became absolutely drenched with sweat. 

The electrocution (for he now understood what was happening) continued until he feared the girl’s heart might stop.  But when the “happy” light came back on and the assailant laid the box on the ground, Stephen was relieved to see Morgan’s chest rise and fall with each ragged breath she took.  He realized that all the while, the raping prod had never missed a beat.

The assailant then produced what appeared to be an electric toothbrush, though this device was sans bristles.  He held it in front of Morgan’s pain-glazed eyes and waited for her to focus.  When the teens gaze finally locked on to it, she began shaking her head like mad.  Apparently, the stranger had already used the device on her before.

Despite her silent protestations, the “wand” was lowered between her legs.  The man pressed the tip against his black-haired captive’s swollen clitoris.  Although the effect wasn’t as drastic as the electrocutions, there was a change in his stepdaughter nonetheless.  Her thighs began to flex against the stiff leather pinning them to the chair frame.  Her bust began to rise up and down at an ever quickening pace.  Her abdomen began to undulate, almost as if she was trying to thrust her sex against the wand (or withdraw from it).

And then she went rigid yet again.  Small quakes shook her body, growing rapidly in magnitude.   Her face turned scarlet, as it was clear that she was trying to scream with the last gasp of air in her lungs.  Morgan’s head dropped, her hair once more shielding her body.  It swished back and forth as she shook her head “NO!”, the strands inadvertently caressing her swollen nipples.  When the man could coax no more from her, he removed the wand.  It was clear that he had just caused her to orgasm.  And not for the first time, as evidenced by the agony etched across her beautiful, ballgag- distorted face.

His own heart pounding, Mr. Underwood watched as the man gathered Morgan’s sweat-drenched hair into a ponytail.  A strip of rawhide pulled the shimmering strands tight against her scalp.  Gripping the bundled hair with one hand, he removed a box from his pocket.  He pulled the listless girl’s head back and placed the box under her nose.  There was a startlingly bright, blue flash.  The teen’s eyes flew open in shock, registering the pain she felt.  She tried to pull away, but her assailant simply kept his grip on her hair until she stilled.

Releasing her hair, the man strode to the camera and held his open palm to the lens.  Resting in his gloved hand were two small metal objects.  Each had a 1/8” hole cut through their center.  Walking back to the teen, he extracted what looked like a pair of pliers from his pocket.  Sticking each scrap of metal to the jaws of the tool, he gripped Morgan’s hair once more.  The pliers moved up, centering on the beauty’s septum.  When he squeezed, more writhing ensued, but the damage had been done. 

Even from this distance, Stephen could see the 1-¼” gold ring in his hand.  The stranger threaded the ring through the grommet he’d crimped through Morgan’s septum and pinched it shut.  The box was brought up and another flash followed.   There was little mystery that the ring had just been welded closed.  This last action barely got a rise out of the teen, her endurance on this fateful afternoon taxed beyond all comprehension.

When he released her, Morgan just ‘sat’ there listlessly, having nothing more to give.  The man strode off, returning immediately, clutching a brown leather sack.  Stephen watched impotently, as the man rolled up disposable, orange earplugs and inserted them into the lax girl’s ears.  He then pulled the leather bag over her head.  Even flaccid, Mr. Underwood could tell it was some kind of form fitting helmet.

Sure enough, when the man stepped behind Morgan and began tightening the laces, the thick hide began to conform to her head.  Stephen’s stepdaughter feebly tried to ward off the helmet, but the battle was lost before it’d begun. 

In less than five minutes time, the leather squeezed her head like a second skin.  It had no mouth opening, but did have two oval cutouts for her eyes.  There too, must have been a notch at the base of her nose, for the ring shone brightly against the brown hide, where it would normally rest against her upper lip.  The man in black fed a two inch wide leather strap, which passed over the teen’s mouth, through the loops lying flat on the helmet.  Feeding the tongue through the buckle in back, he actually placed his hand on the back of Morgan’s head and yanked ferociously.  The teen’s eyes fluttered behind their openings, then scrunched closed at the incredible pressure drove the ballgag even deeper.

The man began to thread another two inch strap into the helmet but paused.  He looked into Morgan’s watering eyes, then at the camera.  He waved an exaggerated “bye-bye” at the lens, then finished securing the blindfold.  It too, was pulled tight enough to crack her skull.

Stooping, he picked up the remote once more.  The red light came on and Morgan shuddered within her own private hell.  Her ponytail, spewing from the back of the helmet, swished like a mare’s swatting flies.  The light went green and stayed that way.  He strode once more from view and returned carrying a piece of cardboard.  He turned it so that Mr. Underwood could read what was written.

                       $100,000 to get her back!        

                       Offshore Acct. 87594238710

                       DVD w/Audio-$10,000 extra

Mr. Underwood let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  He’d pay it!  Every last penny.  Yes, he’d pay any price to get sweet young Morgan back.  And when the teen was back home with him…He’d finally have the slave girl he’d always wanted!

(More to follow as time allows)