Intervention    by Abe

       As Beth left the church, she saw a man looking at her, leering at her it seemed, and she felt a shiver of disgust.  Men were always leering at her, hitting on her, asking for a date when she didn't even know them.  It annoyed her.  She would know when she met Mr. Right.  Her brother had told her that it was perfectly normal for men to come on to her; she was a good looking woman, fairly tall, slim, solid, with a flat tum and a nice bust and really nice legs.  Phooey, that was no excuse to treat her like a sex object.  She remembered George, who had tried to French kiss her on their first and only date!  Ug!

       As she got into her KIA, she wondered whether they would miss her at work.  She knew she was good, more productive than the others,  and now that she was taking a vacation they would realize that.  She paused to mouth a short prayer, asking for a safe trip.  Then she started the engine and headed for the interstate.

       The summer sun was behind her as she drove north, into farm country, toward Canada.  She didn't know where she would spend the night, but there were motels at almost every exit, and she would look for one long before dark.  In the meantime, she decided to leave the interstate and visit her parents' graves.  The village was long gone, just foundations in the weeds, but the cemetery was still there.  The narrow county road was mostly deserted.  There was one car, perhaps a mile behind her, which seemed to be going in the same direction.  She didn't need gas, but she hoped to find a gas station, as there was a call of nature.  Finally, she stopped at a roadside rest stop, a tree shaded  grassy patch with picnic tables and two primitive out-houses.

       It took a while to do her business, as she was wearing a suit jacket, which she hung  on a nail, and then she had to cover the seat with toilet paper and lower her skirt, knee length, and her elastic pantie-girdle, then her pantie-hose.  When she had done her business, she put herself together and used a wet wipe from her purse on her hands, as there was no running water.   When she stepped out she saw that her car was gone!

       Then someone grabbed her from behind, covering her head with a cloth bag  which was wet with some smelly substance.  A hand pressed the cloth against her mouth and nose.  She could only hold her breath for so long, but when she gasped for breath and breathed in pungent fumes, the felt almost instantly dizzy.  The more she breathed the weaker she got.  She tried to struggle, but her strength was ebbing and her vision was fading and...

       When Beth regained consciousness, she couldn't see.  She was wearing a hood which covered her eyes and the back of  her head, with a strap around her throat.  Her short hair was covered, but her nose and mouth were not.  Her wrists had cuffs on them, fastened together, like hand cuffs.  She knew she was in trouble.  She murmured a short prayer.  Then she spoke up: “Where am I?”

       “Doesn't matter the location, Beth.  You are at a sort of rehab center.    You know how your preacher tells you that homosexuality is the result of  childhood influences and that, by intervention, a Gay person can be retrained to be heterosexual.  You believe that, don't you?”

       “I've heard that voice before,” she said.  “Is that you, George?”

       “Names don't matter.  You can call any of us Master,” said another voice.  “You haven't answered the question.  Do you believe a homosexual person can learn to be heterosexual?”

       “Yes.  So what?  Why am I tied up?  I'm not Gay.”

       “Well, if a homosexual woman can learn to like men, then it would seem that an anti-sexual woman can learn to like men.  You are our experimental animal, to test that hypothesis. Consider this an intervention.”

       Beth was so frightened she almost wet herself.  She could barely bring herself to speak.  “That's insane!” she said.

       “You know that it isn't,” said another voice.  She wondered how many men there were.  “You are suffering from a mental illness, the delusion that chastity is a virtue, and you have no need for sex.  God made normal women to enjoy sex, sex with a man.  It's God's plan, ever since Adam and Eve.  The man rules over the woman, and she submits to his desires.”

       It took Beth a moment to consider a rebuttal.  “That is so, in a Christian marriage, but until marriage a good woman should have no interest in sex.”

       “How did the human race reproduce before there was a Christian marriage?  They did it God's way, the way chimpanzees and bonoboes do it.   The male fucks the female whenever he feels like it.”  It was yet another voice.  How many  men were there?

       “Chastity is the most odious of sexual perversions,”  added yet another.  “God gave you a cunt.  You need to learn how to use it.”  Beth was sure these men were insane, psychopaths perhaps, and there would be no reasoning with them.   She just knew she would be raped.  Perhaps they were killers.  She must, above all else, survive, do whatever it takes to stay alive.  “We are going to release your hands, so you can take off your clothes.  God created woman naked, and that's the proper condition for you.  OK, your hands are free.  Get up off the floor and start undressing.”

       Beth struggled to her feet, still a bit dizzy from the anesthetic in her system.  She had no intention of undressing.  She wanted to run, but she had no idea where she was or where a door might be.  “Take off your jacket,” said the voice she thought of as George's.

       “No,” she said firmly.  Suddenly someone grabbed her collar from behind and a sharp knife cut downward with a tearing sound.  There was a tug on each sleeve, and each half of the jacket slid off over each arm, even as she tried to bend her elbows to stop it.  “We'll burn that.  Now, take off the nice frilly blouse you are wearing.”  She knew she couldn't.  It would make her sick to take off her blouse in front of a man.  Someone pulled on her high collar, almost choking her, and he cut the blouse in half, and they pulled off the halves as they had the jacket.  “More fuel for the fire.”  She shivered with fear, standing there with only her bra between her and unthinkable embarrassment.  “Now take off the bra.  Be quick about it.”  Beth was frozen with fear and indecision.  She could not imagine herself  undressing in front of strange men, but she did not want to enrage them and get herself killed.

       They did not cut off her bra.  After a few seconds, during which she did nothing but stand there, she heard the sound of a spray can and realized that her bra cups were now wet.  She could not help touching the wet fabric to find out what was happening.  Her finger tips burned.  And then the fluid soaked through the cloth of her bra and began to burn her breasts.  It got worse and worse, as if  someone was playing a blowtorch over her breasts.  After a moment's hesitation, she reached behind her, unhooked the strap, and shrugged out of the burning bra.  With her hands, she tried to rub the burning fluid from her breasts, but it only got worse, and her hands began to burn too.

       “It burns!  Make it stop.  Give me something to wipe it off with.  Please, I can't stand it.”  Beth's pleading did no good.  She couldn't stand still, but wriggling, hopping up and down, didn't do any good.

       “She has nice looking tits, doesn't she?  Look how they swing and bounce when she moves.”  Beth felt stomach acid in her throat.  The thought of men staring at her breasts made her sick.  But there was no time for that; her breasts were burning.

       “Please!' she screamed.

       “When you are naked, we'll cool off your breasts.”  She hesitated only a moment, then reached to release the  waistband of her skirt.  She let it slide down her shapely legs and stepped out of it.  She had already lost her plain walking shoes shoes somewhere.  The pain was driving her crazy.  She peeled away the rubber pantie-girdle and pushed it down over her thighs until she could get it off over her feet.  She realized that only her pantyhose stood between her and total nudity, with all these men staring at her.  She gritted her teeth, determined to bear the pain rather than strip off her last defense.  She sat down.  Half a minute passed, and her resolve weakened.  Then someone pulled on the elastic waist of her pantyhose and sprayed  another shot of pepper spray down inside the crotch panel.  She screamed and almost tore her pantyhose pulling the thing down and off.

       “Please,” she screamed, “make it stop burning.”

       Someone handed her a wet pad.  “Go ahead, wipe it off.”  She rubbed herself with the wet pad, as if she were wiping herself after using the toilet, but harder.  She felt the wet pad push between her lower lips, but with each wipe the pain decreased.  When it was down to a bearable level, she began to rub her burning breasts.  Finally she stopped, for rubbing didn't seem to be effective anymore.  There was a residual warmth across her breasts and between her legs.  “You WILL learn to do as you are told.”

       She sat there on the floor, trying to cover her breasts and pussy with her hands, finding it hard to think as they were still warm, as if she had some muscle-relaxing liniment smeared on them.  It was no longer painful, but it was distracting.  Someone was putting cuffs around her ankles, like the ones on her wrists, but she was absorbed contemplating the warm sensation between her legs.

       “Well, before we get started, are you hungry?”  It didn't  matter who was talking; they seemed interchangeable.

       “No,” she replied.  She felt sick, and food was the last thing she wanted. 

       “Something to drink?”

       “Maybe some water.”  She had trouble believing she could carry on a conversation while she was stark naked in a room full of men.  Someone took the wrist of the hand over her pussy and turned her hand so she could hold a plastic cup of  ice water.   She took a few sips, quickly, so she could go back to covering herself, but when she held out the cup, no one took it.  Finally, she poured the ice water over her still warm breast and threw the cup away, using her hand once more to try to shield her pussy.  The cold water shocked her breast for a moment, but the warm feeling returned, and she realized her nipple was erect.

       “Do you need to use the toilet?”  She was not going to let men see her pee.  She shook her head.  That did not stop the brutes from lifting her to her feet and forcing her to sit on a toilet seat.  They pulled her arms down to her sides and  hooked the wrist cuffs to something so she could not get up off the seat.  Then they took the ankle cuffs and pulled them back toward her hands, spreading her legs and fastening them apart.  This was obscene!  She tried to find some way to not think about her humiliation.  She tried to pray.  She tried to remember her childhood, which wasn't very successful as she was reminded of how her brother and his friends had teased her when she was about six, holding her down and giving her a “pink belly.”  She tried to lean back and discovered that the there was no toilet tank behind her; it was some sort of stool with a toilet seat.  Gently, like falling rain, finger tips began to  lightly touch her shoulders, fleetingly, like a mouse walking on her.  It seemed to calm her.  But then the fingers walked their way down her arms, across her stomach, back to her shoulders, down toward her breasts.  She shuddered with anxiety.  Finger tips circled her nipples, gently pinched her nipples.

       “Please, no,” she said.

       Instead, hands cupped her breasts, which were more than a handful, and squeezed.  She screamed.  It wasn't really pain, but they were violating her body.  Suddenly it got worse.  Tepid water squirted against her pussy.  She could hear the water splashing into a bucket below.  In seconds, the stream of water had found the grove between her labia, and the force of the water parted them.  The stream was repositioned, so it impinged  at the top of her cleft and ran down it, like a river in a canyon.  “No, no,” she whined, “I can't... stop, please stop.”

       “Have you never played with your breasts?”

       “No.”

       “Why do you suppose  God gave you such large, pretty breasts?  No other species has such large breasts, not apes, not dogs, not whales.  Only humans have nice outstanding boobs, not for nursing children but for playing with and attracting men.  A male ape is attracted by the female's butt, and he fucks her from behind, but human women stand upright, and they thrust out their breasts to so it reminds the man of her ass.”  The hands squeezed her breasts, while the water pressed  inside her.  She was in a condition of sensory overload.  “Have you ever played with your pussy?”

       “No.”

       The stream of water changed again, pointing upward, causing unfamiliar tingles.  “Feel that?  That's your clitoris.  God gave you a clitoris so that you would feel like sex any time, not just when you are ovulating.”  Then, suddenly, the nozzle of the hose slipped up inside her pussy, flooding it, expanding it.  There had never even been a Tampax in there.  The water was raping her!  Her heart rate increased even more, and she began to breathe heavily, as the unfamiliar sensations overwhelmed her; she could not think rationally.  She shook and clenched her teeth and tried to withstand the torment.  Several times the bucket filled and was emptied, while her breasts were almost continuously squeezed, teased, stroked, pulled.  Her nipples, it seemed, had never been so hard or so sensitive.

       Ultimately it stopped. She slumped over, her breasts aching a bit, but no longer burning.  She was exhausted, from her struggling and the involuntary turmoil inside her.  “We are going to take off your hood, so you can watch an instructional video,” said a nameless voice.  Another added, “She looks so hot!  I've got to fuck her.”  “Take it easy.  You know the plan.”  She heard some scraping, and when they took off her hood, she found that they had put  a curtain around her.  She could not see her captors or where she was.  There was a TV screen in front of  her.  “We know you run a lot and like to stay fit.  Here are some exercises you must learn.”

       The TV brightened and showed a young woman in a gymnast's body stocking doing a variety of exercises, striking poses, doing things like crossing her ankles behind her head with her pussy lips visibly folding the thin fabric of her costume, which, from Beth's point of view was no better than nudity.  Beth was shocked that a woman could display herself that way, but  she supposed it was not far beyond what she had glimpsed on regular TV,  figure skating, Olympic gymnastics, and ballet.  Then the woman repeated the routine, but this time she was naked.  Beth saw that her pubic hair was all removed, and when she did the ankles behind the head trick, which Beth knew she could never achieve, her lower lips gaped and showed pink within.  Beth had to avert her eyes.

       When the video was over, a voice said, “Now, are you ready to do those exercises?”

       “No.”

       “You can't or you won't?”

       “Both.”  When she said that, the hood was put on her again, and the tit and cunt torment commenced again, squeezing her breasts and flooding her pussy.  Again, she was driven to distraction, almost exhaustion, but it seemed to affect her  mind.  When the torment stopped, she almost wished it hadn't.  She had a felling of well-being, almost what her college friends had described as a drug induced high.

       “OK, ready to try the exercises?”

       “No.”

       “Shit, forget the exercises,” said an annoyed man.  “Let's skip to phase two.”  This time they showed her a video of a strip tease dancer, with a spangled thong and pasties.  She concluded her routine with a pole dance, which looked as if she was trying to have sex with the pole.  Beth could not bear to watch.  Again she was asked to perform, and again she refused, and again she was subjected to tit and cunt torment, which left her almost delirious, her insides churning and her brain overcome by – she didn't know.  Next, they showed her a video of a woman taking a man's penis into her mouth and bobbing up and down on it, licking, sucking, whatever, until he  ejaculated and she swallowed the cum.  Beth hated to watch, but she couldn't help it; it was so bizarre.  She had never seen a man's penis and had only an academic knowledge of  how babies were made.  She knew a woman couldn't get pregnant if the semen  didn't get into her pussy, so this oral sex seemed strange, a kind of simile for sex.

       She couldn't help asking, “Why did she do that?  Did she enjoy it?”

       “She did it because the man would enjoy it.  She wanted to please him.  Will you do what she did?”

       “Never!”

       That wasn't the answer her captors wanted.  “OK, we'll go to plan B,” said a voice, George's she thought.  “We'll see if she really can't do those exercises.”  The men put the hood on again and dragged her over to a mat on the floor.  “Last chance.  Start with some easy stretches, then deep knee bends and jumping jacks.”

       The thought of  exposing her sexy parts with jumping jacks, her legs spread and her boobs bouncing, forced her to say, “No.”  The men threw her on her back  and forced her ankles upward toward her shoulders, so she was rolled into a ball.  They threaded her arms in front of her knees, so when her wrist and ankle cuffs were attached, her feet were back by her ears, and her bottom was upturned.  She could have looked into her pussy, but for the hood.  “That's awfully uncomfortable,”  she said.  She was not nearly as limber as the gymnast in the video, and her taut muscles hurt more with every second.

       “It's going to get more uncomfortable, until you get with the program.  You have no idea how uncomfortable things can get.”

       “I'll see you all in jail for kidnapping and sexual assault,” she said.  She didn't know how that might come about.  She was on vacation; no one would report her missing.  No one knew where she was.  She couldn't identify the kidnappers.  Still, she had to hold onto that thought, that she would be rescued and they would be punished.  She was a good Christian, and she didn't deserve this.

       Someone was holding her, so her weight was on her shoulders, and her rump remained upturned.  Suddenly the end of a leather belt came down on her pussy.  She screamed.  Again her labia were bruised by the belt, and then each buttock in turn.  She screamed and protested, but the men laughed and took turns torturing her.  One wrapped her breasts with bungee cord, so they took on the shape of big turnips, and then he put clamps, like the ones on jumper cables, on her nipples, which caused  really intense pain.  Another thrashed her bottom with a cane or riding crop, and Beth couldn't tell which was worse, the whipping or the nipple clamps.

       One man pushed a cold metal ball, about the size of a large grape, into her anus.  There was a wire attached.  “The power supply is from a junked microwave oven, something like 4000 volts.  I have here a magic wand, actually a length of copper coated welding rod with a wooden handle.  He slashed across her bottom with the rod, and it seemed as if every muscle below her navel tightened.  Then the tip of the rod was slipped into her pussy, which burned as the muscles of her vagina and rectum contracted powerfully.  “Alright!” she screamed.  “I'll do anything you want.”  Somehow, she knew she would not be rescued.  They could do anything they wanted to her.  She had no choice but to obey.

       They released her ankles and allowed her to unfold and lie, for a few moments, on her back, while they released her tortured breasts.  “Get up on your knees.  Kneel”  She obeyed.  They fastened her cuffs together behind her back.  “Hope you watched that video about giving head carefully, because that is what we want.”  She felt the end of a penis pressed against her lips, and hands grasping her hood.  Reluctantly, she opened her mouth and accepted the organ.  She got used to the taste.  The hands on her head set the pace, so mainly she had to keep her lips and tongue against the tool while he raped her mouth.  When he came, she obediently swallowed.  It reminded her of a raw oyster.  Twice more she did the deed, and then she protested.  She had had enough.  Her jaws ached.  She had forgotten the wire in her anus and the magic wand, which whipped her ass.  Her violently contracting leg muscles threw her forward onto her belly, where she flopped in agony as the whipping continued for three more strokes.  Then they helped her up into the kneeling position again and she fellated three more men.  She felt as depressed, as humiliated, as she had ever felt.  She wondered if hell could be as bad as this.

       They put her back on the toilet seat, and again subjected her to breast squeezing and nipple teasing and clitoris bathing and cunt douching, and she realized she liked it.  Her breasts had become much more sensitive to touch, and she began to understand the point of having a clitoris.  She experienced a crashing orgasm, a first for her, which left her limp and semi-conscious.

       They unhooked her from the toilet seat and left her  siting slumped there for several minutes, until she recovered.  Then they let her get up and walk around a bit, in circles.  Her hands went to her nipples, which immediately hardened, and she smiled.  She was allowed to sit, on a proper chair, and they gave her oatmeal to eat, along with some “vitamin” pills and a needle in the ass.  She didn't realize that the hormone injection would make her pussy wetter and more sexually sensitive.  There followed another session on the toilet, with tits and twat stimulated, except that they would not let her reach that delicious orgasm, just little twinges, which were nice but not like the real thing.  Then they pulled the wire from her anus and inserted the nozzle of the hose, filling her until she cried out with pain.  She expelled the contents of her rectum into the bucket. They repeated the enema treatment three more times and slipped a butt plug into her.

       She was feeling sorry for herself, annoyed by the object in her anus, when they again did her tits and twat, this time  until she had a real orgasm, which left her limp and exhausted.  In time, they unhooked her and let her stand.

       “Your pubic hair is nice and wet.  Here's a razor and some shaving cream.  Shave it off, all of it.”  Beth could hardly have brought herself to do that in the privacy of  her bathtub, and she couldn't imagine she could do it with the men watching.  Someone grabbed a tuft with a pair of pliers and yanked several hairs out by the roots.  Beth decided the razor was better, and she carefully shaved all her hair, even from the folds deep between her legs.

       “Will that be all?” she said, knowing it wouldn't.

       “We have a treat for you,” said George, the apparent leader.  “You won't have to sleep naked.”  They had her step into a thong pantie, not much, but enough to cover her now hairless vulva.  She had to bend down and grab her ankles, while someone pulled the little butt plug and slipped a lubricated object, about the size of a hot dog, through the somewhat relaxed sphincters of her anus.  When she straightened up, they placed a rubber thing, shaped like a butterfly, so it lay over her labia, and they pulled up the thong and secured the waistband, wire, not elastic, so that the butt plug and the butterfly were held in place.  Then they put on a bra, which felt like something out of a sci-fi movie, with cups which were spiral metal rods and funny nipple covers which gripped but didn't hurt the nips.  She had seen Princess Leia in something like that.

       “Time for sleep.”  She agreed, silently, for it might have been close to midnight; they had been tormenting her for hours.  They stretched her out on the mat, arms and legs spread and secured, a big X.  Very soon she was asleep.  However, her sleep was disturbed.  She woke to feeling vibrations, her breasts, the thing in her butt, and the butterfly, which pressed against her clitoris.  Slowly, the vibrations increased.  For the first time she was aware of  her vaginal juices, which seemed to dribble out of her.  The sensations increased, until she was writhing with frustration, wanting the orgasmic release.  When it came, she relaxed and was asleep in seconds.  Four times more during the night she experienced similar things.  Once, it was the metal bra which vibrated first and teased her nipples until she was almost ready to cum.  Then the vibrating butt plug put her over the edge, without even needing the clitoral stimulation.  Another time, the butterfly alone was enough, and it seemed to Beth the orgasm was very quick, less than a minute.

       In the morning, or whatever time it was, they removed her vibrators and fed her.  They had her sit on the toilet, unrestrained,  and submit to the enema again.  Then they inserted a larger butt plug  and told her to finger her clit until she came.  It was one thing to be tortured, to be raped, but she could not bring herself do it to herself.  They were gentle but persuasive.  They turned on the vibrator in the butt plug.  One stood behind her, reaching around to play with her tits, while another guided her hand to her pussy.  He made her extend her first finger and slide it between her labia.  He moved her finger, pressing on her clitoris, rolling it from side to side, sliding the hood up and down the little button, which grew in size and sensitivity.  Beth willed to resist, but she couldn't.  The twinges of mini-orgasms brought a smile to her face, and the big O had her limp, gushing pussy juice.

       They showed her another porno film, a real orgy with three men and three women doing everything imaginable, fucking every hole, while two more women were 69ing.  Beth watched, her jaw slack, finding it hard to believe but fascinated.  It didn't turn her on, sexually.  It was like the circus, strange people doing nearly incredible things. “Ready for some real fucking?”  She declined. “You know we can cause you pain.  You can't hold out long.”

       “You may hold me down and rape me,” she said, almost hoping they would, “but God will not let me commit such a sin.”  Their response was to make her straddle a sort of half-cylinder saddle, with her feet on the floor.  The butt plug was still inside her, but no longer vibrating.  They made her flex her knees and sit, and she could feel, as she settled onto the saddle, that something soft had penetrated her vagina and something else was over her clitoris.  They handed her a metal box on a cord.  It had three knobs.

       “Clockwise is stronger, counter clockwise less.  The first is up and down.  The second is round and round, and the third makes it buck like a horse.”

       “I can't do this,” she said.

       “OK, give me the box. I'll show you what to do.”  The rubber penis inside her began to move up and down, slowly, well lubricated by her own secretions.  Then it began to rotate, too, and things got more exciting.  Her pussy was sopping wet, and she unconsciously pulled at her nipples with her fingers.  When the saddle started to move, back and forth. She exploded, saw stars, and nearly fell off.  After a few minutes to recover, she was handed the box, and she found she could do that, that she could bring herself to orgasm whenever she wanted by turning the knobs, and she kept at it until she had a total of six big ones and countless little teasers.

       They  lifted her off the saddle and brought her to the mat, where she was made to stand with her feet apart. “Sit.”

       “Do I have to?  I'm worn out.”

       “What women have doesn't wear out.  Sit.”  Several hands guided her down, and she discovered she was straddling a guy who was lying on his back.  Someone held the tip of his erect penis between her outer lips.  “You know what to do.  Do it.”  Beth knew she had to do it.  She bent her knees and impaled herself on the man-meat.   It was larger than the thing on the saddle, but she was well stretched and able to take it all in, except the last inch or so which pushed her cervix aside.  Humming a mindless tune, she began to raise and lower herself and to sway fore and aft, feeling the thing inside her stretching her, pressing against a very sensitive place she didn't know she had.  She came before he did, but  she persisted until he squirted his semen inside her.  For a fleeting moment she worried that she might get pregnant, but she didn't have time to worry much,  for there was another stiff prick to soften.  There was a total of six, and the sticky seminal fluids, mixed with her own watery juices, ran down her legs and puddled on the mat.

 

       “Please,” she said, “let me rest.”  More than a dozen orgasms had done her in, addled her brain with natural  chemicals  like the ones a drug addict experiences.  She drifted off to sleep.  She had a dream, a nightmare, that she was in her cubicle at work, but she was stark naked, and her phone buzzed with a message that her boss wanted to see her immediately.  She woke with a her heart racing.

       Her captors treated her more or less kindly, feeding her but later subjecting her to more of what she came to think of as “toilet training,” the enemas, the bigger butt plug, followed by tit and twat stimulation until she came.  She realized that she was becoming conditioned, like Pavlov's dogs.  As soon as they inserted the butt plug, her pussy got wet and her nipples expanded, and the orgasms seemed to come quicker each time.

       After a rest, they stood her up and bent her over the toilet seat, face down.  They secured her wrist and ankle cuffs so she couldn't get up.  Her breasts hung down and her bottom was uppermost, as she had no room to bend her knees much.  She expected that she was in for a beating, with her ass so nicely displayed.

       “Time for the next phase of training, the third hole.”  Someone pulled the plug and squirted goop in her gaping hole.

       “No, please, not there!” she cried.  Fornication could be forgiven, but sodomy was a terrible sin.  Seconds later, she felt a penis sliding through her relaxed and slippery nether hole.”No!” she said, but she knew it was hopeless to plead.  It was all part of the plan, and it was inevitable.  It didn't really hurt, as she had expected, and  it was exciting, a whole new set of sensations, plus the childish fascination of being raped.  She used to daydream of being captured by pirates or Indians.  She had no idea what they would do to her, but it was an exciting fantasy.  Now the fantasy was real.  She was captured.  She was being raped, entirely against her will, for the first time.  Her third  rapist missed the hole and plunged into her cunt, and the angle was such that he bumped her G-spot and caused her to come in seconds, gushing juices over his balls.  The last ass fuck made her come again, much to her surprise.

       “Well, the prissy virgin is no more,” said “George”. “Chastity is a distant memory.  The intervention has been a success.  You realize, Beth, that you can never deny your sexuality.  You can never claim you were raped against your will.  Your entire experience has been video recorded, proof  you are a slut, if it should ever be questioned.”  Beth knew she was defeated.  Even is she was rescued, she could hardly cry rape when they had video of her giving head and squatting on stiff pricks.  She resolved to give in and go along with whatever happened.

       A lot happened.  She more or less willingly  was their sex toy, to be fucked whenever or however they wanted, and after  the men could no longer get it up, she would be fucked with the hose or with dildos.   They would bend her over the toilet seat and spank or cane her ass while the butterfly clit stimulator made her come even as the pain seemed unbearable.  Conditioned, as with the toilet training, she would be wet with the first blow and coming by the tenth, even without the butterfly.  Her nudity and blindness no longer bothered her, and, when she became bored, she would crawl to one of the men and put her head in his lap as if she were a dog, hoping he would fuck her or at least, if he wasn't in the mood, squeeze her tits or spank her.

       She lost track of time, but they told her that she was due back at work on Monday morning, and now it was Saturday night.  There was one more test, to prove her conversion.   They removed her cuffs.  For the first time, they let her get dressed, but she was dressed as she could hardly have imagined.  Since she still wore the helmet, they could not do much for make up, except cherry red lipstick.  They gave her a halter top, cheap silky rayon, which fastened below her boobs  and ended well above her navel.  They gave her a short skirt, which rode low, well below her navel, and ended  only inches below her crotch.  No panties!  High heeled boots.  She, who was so modest she wouldn't wear a two piece bathing suit, was now dressed in what must have been the legal minimum, if that, her belly bare, her breasts barely covered, with no bra, and a tiny skirt that would surely show everything she had if she were to bend over or sit down with her knees apart.  It would be a severe test.

       They took her for a ride and stopped at some sort of road house.  As she was led across the gravel parking lot, she could hear country music.  “Here's your purse.  We are at the door.  You will count to one hundred and then remove your hood.  Drop it.  Then go in the door and go to the bar.  Try to pick up a man.  When you succeed, and you will, eventually, you will take him to the ladies room and let him fuck you, however he wants.  When that is done, leave the ladies room, turn right, and go down the hall and out the back door.”

       She counted to a hundred, hearing the crunch of gravel as her captor retreated.  She took off the helmet and dropped it.  Even at night, it took a while for her eyes to get accustomed to the light.  She opened her purse and took out a comb, running it through her matted hair, which had not been washed for a week.  She looked down at herself.  That halter top was bright red, silky, and her nipples showed, along with vast cleavage.  The skirt was matching red, short and clingy.  The boots she didn't mind, though she had never liked high heels.  She went in and walked to the bar, conscious of the way she wobbled on the high heels, her breasts swaying without a bra.  She could feel the air on her shaved pussy lips.  Her pulse rate was elevated.  She couldn't imagine how she could climb onto one of the bar stools without flashing her pussy, so she stood there.

       “You're new.  What's your drink?” said the barkeep.

       “Just a Coke.”  he shrugged and drew her a Coke.  She scanned the Saturday night crowd.  There were several women, young, old, none dressed as provocatively as Beth was.  More men than women.  She tried to meet the eye of  various single men, but it was a while before one approached her.  He had motorcycle boots, jeans, a Harley tee-shirt, and Elvis sideburns. 

       “Can I buy you a drink?” he said.  Beth nodded.  “Whatcha drinking?”

       “Coke.”

       He raised his voice.  “Cuba Libre for the lady, and a Bud for me.”  The new Coke tasted different. She didn't know why, but she guessed there must be alcohol in it.  She didn't drink alcohol, so the Coke sat there on the bar while the guy downed his beer.

       “Are you wanting what I guess you are wanting?” said Beth, almost blushing.  He nodded.  She took him by the hand and led him to the back, where the restrooms were, marked “studs” and “brood mares.”  She led him into the mares room.  She didn't even make it too a toilet stall.  He pushed her up against the door, holding it shut, and unzipped his fly.  He went to get her panties, but only got his hand wet.  In fifteen seconds he had fucked her, standing up against the door, and backed away, cursing that his jeans were wet in front.  Beth could feel liquid running down her inner thigh.  She hadn't had the big O, but it had been a thrilling experience.  She understood her power over men.

       As the man left, without a word, Beth wiped up the mess in her crotch with toilet paper and checked her appearance in the mirror.  Then, hardly thinking, she raised  the hem of  her short skirt, seeing her own bald pussy for the first time.  She  fingered herself until she came, not a mind blowing orgasm, but good enough to relieve the tension.   She washed her hands, picked up her purse, and headed for the back door.

       Hooded again and driving back to her captors' lair, it suddenly struck her.  Why hadn't she gone directly to a phone and called 911?  Why had it not occurred to her to defy her orders?

       Her captors congratulated her on her performance.  She didn't know how they knew.  Maybe the Harley guy was one of them.  It didn't matter.  Before she could sleep, like Snow White and the Six Studs, she had to service each one, a blow job, a straight fuck, or in one case she squatted over the guy and sat on his prick, taking it up her ass.  Satisfied that she had done a good job, she slept well that night, except for another nightmare.  This time, she was in the road house, naked, and pole dancing while the men and women clapped.

       Sunday, too, was a day of uninhibited sex and  toilet training and a sexy spanking with a dildo in her cunt and her juices pouring as each blow joggled the dildo against her G-spot.

        After dark, they took her home to her rented bungalow and left her on the front step.  Her nameless kidnapper unlocked the door and said, “When you go in, count to a hundred before you take off the hood.  Your car is parked in the driveway.  You will find some changes made, toys in the bedroom, things like that.  Your wardrobe has changed.  Short skirts.  High heels.  Victoria's Secret stuff.  Most of  your bras are missing and all of your panties.  Dress respectably for work, but no panties.  You are OK for now, we gave you the morning after pill, but you should be prepared.  Don't go on any dates until you have arranged for reliable birth control.”

       Beth wondered.  What would she do or say when men    at work or in the laundromat or where ever came on to her?  What could she say if they asked her for a date?  If she met Mr. Right, how could she confess her past?  However, her mind was soon set at rest when she heard: “On Friday and Saturday nights, you must be at home and in your hood by 8 pm.  Remember, we have keys to your house.”