Thread: Transporting Taylor (Dere and skittish_butterfly)

The burning pain of whatever he had rubbed into her was just an awful memory, the goats tongue now just lapping at her raw exposed sex as Taylor shook and moaned in the chains, utterly humiliated. She tried so hard to stop her moaning, to stop the lewd motions of her hips, to turn away from the goat with her helpless little barefooted steps on the end of her chain, but it was useless. And all the while he watched. It was too much to bear. Even though it wasn't real pleasure, just a lurid sensation caused by an animal having its way with her, Taylor couldn't stop her body's sinful reaction to it. Her moans and cries grew, eyes shut tight. She could feel that point just ahead of her where she would have to stop, have to turn back or betray herself. But she couldn't. No matter how much she hated the man and how much she despised herself for moaning at the attentions of a goat, Taylor had lost control, been pushed past the point of no return. Her thighs trembled and her insides turned slippery wet and warm, her face bright red with shame she couldn't handle. And then she cried out, screamed as her whole long lean body went taut, gripping her chains with clutching fingers as the world exploded in her head. Pleasure she couldn't bear, couldn't stand but couldn't fight off, took hold of her and shook her like a dog's chew toy. Her hips bucked against the goat, looking like she actually wanted more if someone didn't knew any better. It was only as her breath slowed ever so slightly and she opened her eyes narrowly to see the world still existed that Taylor realized she had orgasmed. Her very first orgasm. So special. So wrong. This was not her man, and it wasn't really even him but the goat. Taylor sobbed. The shame of cumming for the first time in her young life while a goat licked her made her utterly miserable. It was worse than anything ever in her life, except maybe the realization that such disturbing pleasure, what should have been a special moment for her, was in front of him, a perversion against nature and everything she stood for, and still it had made her come right there in front of him. Despite the way her head hung, exhausted and pathetic, Taylor felt her breath starting to quicken again as the goat just kept going, forcing her to make the long and degrading trek back up the mountain of forbidden please, all right there in front of him, her naked body writhing and bucking for his sick amusement, making her shake and cum again and again. Taylor's shame overwhelmed her, trying to curse him in the brief moments before the goat had her gasping and moaning again with his inexhaustible tongue, and she hated him all the more even when she was cumming too hard to speak it. And despite her hatred and shame and disgust and waning determination, Taylor just couldn't stop cumming, like giving in to the desires once was all it took to destroy her values and her resolve. She could feel herself cycling through the disgust and the desire, the muttered curses and the awful unstoppable moans, her face going from shame and pain to irresistible pleasure, each wave of sensation rolling over her like a rising tide of humiliation. She heard her cries echoing in the small room and passing judgement on her, condemning her for yielding so completely to a miserable goat's tongue, cumming wantonly as if it was the joy she craved above all else. Taylor's orgasms were only stifled when he stepped forward and gripped her by her ears. Suddenly, as her moans grew again leaving her pressing her hips back for more contact with the goat, she saw the man's cock out too, hard for her. He pressed it to her lips, insistent and demanding, not caring at all about what she was going through, just expecting her to open for him. She tried to keep her lips closed, but the goat's tongue won that battle in short order, getting her to cry out, and he seized that moment to shove his thick cock between her lips, stifling her cries of shame and pleasure, filling her mouth and not stopping there. He controlled the angle, the power of his hips, and somehow he forced himself to the point where she was gagging and jerking from fear, and still kept going, making her swallow him. His cock was really in her throat, and utterly miserable and horrible feeling. As his hips slammed forward, driving his cock into her mouth like it was really her other hole, it was like he was fucking her face, every bit as hard as he'd used her other holes. Taylor couldn't get used to it, her body twisting and convulsing as she choked on his thick cock plunging her throat without regard, so miserable her mind approached the brink of just shutting down. But at least it stopped her from humiliating herself by cumming any more from the goats attentions, if only because she could barely breath, but the pure pleasure of the horrible goat's tongue was still there teasing and taunting her while the pain in her shoulders lanced like a spike in her brain, and his cock lanced like a spike right down her throat over and over. Taylor's throat made the most horrible noises each time he drove deep into her throat, like a groaning whine she couldn't control, like the sound of his cock squeaking from the tight fit in her throat, sure her neck must look like a snake swallowing an animal too large for it. That's exactly how it felt. She could feel the sweat dripping from her as he just kept going on and on, apparently ready to use her every bit as long as the goat did, the two of them, goat and man, a miserably abusive team. Her hands hurt too much from twisting against the tight cuffs, sure she must be bleeding but there's nothing she could do. Her legs were weary but his grip on her head wouldn't let her collapse, not without breaking her neck. He had her totally in his control, and she couldn't even think of trying to bite him this time. Over the sound of her throat stretching beyond repair and the rasp of the goat's tongue she heard his words, making her even more miserable and alone and hopeless. He said she was dead, and knew he was right, that if she wasn't just yet, at least she ached to be. Her life was certainly over. He pulled out, the head of his cock at her lips and then one hand released her ear and slapped her right across the face, her eyes fluttering up to him in shock at this small but demeaning new pain he had to inflict on her. He was looking right at her and explaining her new reality to her, like teaching a first grader what school was about. Holes, he said, all she had and all she was now, just holes. Taylor knows he is oversimplifying the horror of what her life has become, that she is pain and shame and fear too, but as he shoves back deep in her tortured throat, his point is well made. Taylor is just a hole for him now, a hole for a goat, her shame and humiliation just frosting on the cake for him. Grunting and gagging, he stopped to slap and taunt her every third or fourth stroke, making even her face burn with pain and shame, his words sinking home. A new name. Slave. it was hateful but she was too weary even to glare back at him, especially since he immediately slapped her two more times across the face, as if he could hear her mind resisting his new name for her. She flinched as he yelled it her again -- SLAVE! -- his cock still at her lips, her mouth ready to take him again. Then he was back in her mouth, stretching her lips and his thick seed was spurting against the back of her throat as he yelled her new name, Slave, the way a lover should have been crying out Taylor on their first night together. Taylor knew her name wasn't Slave, that she would never yield to such a thing, at least not inside. But as he wiped his cum on her face like she was little more than a filthy rag to him, part of Taylor wondered if it might be better for her to just put Taylor away in a safe corner, let him degrade and abuse Slave instead, imagining Slave was the part of her that deserved this, not Taylor. Because something this horrific could only happen to someone who must deserve it, God or the universe couldn't possibly be this cruel. Only the man finally pulling the goat away from the painfully swollen lips between her legs could be this cruel. Oh, please let it be Slave who deserves this, not her. She couldn't stand it if it was Taylor who deserved it. She slumped weakly, not exactly in relief, but at least in the absence of new pain or humiliation. The mess she'd made on the floor was obvious to her eyes as her head hung low and she sobbed, the scent of his cum on her face a constant reminder of how she was treated now. Taylor's embarrassment burned hot, that a goat made her wetter than her own fingers ever had. She almost hoped she was never rescued, like the man said. Because if she was rescued, if some man ever consented to have her after this, how would she not think of the goat every time he touched her? How could she not think of this mess she'd made on the floor any time her body wanted to react to a man's touch? She was ruined, she knew it. A tug at her cuffs made her moan instinctively in fear of being drawn up even higher, but instead the upward tug suddenly released and she collapsed to the floor in a sweaty messy tangle of toned limbs and long blond hair disgustingly plastered to soft white flesh. She was lying in her own mess, but she had no choice, could barely move anything but her eyelids and wiggle a few toes and fingers. She lay at his feet, whimpering softly from how she hurt everywhere. Even her face hurt, certain his hand-print was visible on her cheeks, the skin burning painfully from his many slaps. He moved around, taking out a little box made of metal bars, like it was a rabbit cage maybe. No, no! Oh God no! He couldn't possibly plan to have a bunny fuck her now too? Taylor tried to disappear in her own head at the thought of it, tried to be Slave, let it be Slave and not her if she had to be fucked by a rabbit. But he dragged the cage closer and she could see the bars were stronger and thicker than any rabbit cage she'd ever seen back home. She was not back home, so she knew whatever this was, it would be worse than she expected. Now she saw what a huge mistake it had been for her to sigh with relief from being dumped on the floor for a minute, because all it did was set her up for the painful lesson that there was no such thing as relief for her, not around him. She hadn't been able to lie and rest for more than 15 or 20 seconds, something like that. It was hard for her to tell how long exactly as time was becoming hard hard for her to judge. Counting her heartbeats or something like that might be wise, but Taylor was just too tired, and what would be the point? She couldn't make her suffering go any faster or slower, she had no control over anything, so who cared how fast time passed? Only he had control of that. She whimpered and twisted a token amount as he pulled up on her sweaty hips, lifting her from the concrete floor a little and working her into some position, working to keep a grip on her slippery skin. but he had her under control, her hands unable to do anything, and pretty quick she was reduced to little more than some long-limbed rag doll he could do with as he pleased. The cage came closer -- no! He was dragging her to the cage -- but the difference didn't matter. He actually shoved her head into the cage, and Taylor started to whimper with fear. He kept shoving her in, her shoulders bumping painfully over the bottom bars and still he pushed her in. Her face was all the way crammed up against the bars of the far wall -- although it wasn't really far at all, it was so tiny there was no way he could really expect her body would fit inside. Could he? Her pain and discomfort and the grunts of him shoving her even harder into the tiny cage proved it he really did think that. He was folding her legs under her, groping her at his convenience and Taylor was too weak to struggle or protest or even care really. What was a little groping compared to the horror of her life now. He was packing her into the small space like some luggage consultant. Taylor was reminded of the time she'd unpacked a DVD player and its remote and all the accessories, and then had to ask Judy to pack it back up for return when it didn't work, how she'd shoved and pushed it into the box, unable to get it back to its original compressed state, until one final shove got it in, only it popped open the other end of the box as it just wouldn't fit. They had shipped it in a bag instead. The other end of this box, this cage, couldn't pop open to let her head through, though. The only thing that could yield was Taylor's face, and her horribly bent up limbs. She felt like he was shoving her in a trash compactor as she felt every limb pressed up against some other part of her, metal bars making long horizontal dents in her soft flesh. The door swung shut behind her, she knew from the sound of the hinges squeaking, but the door wouldn't close completely, stuck against her bottom. Taylor knew better now than to bother sighing with relief, like she had learned her lesson. It was almost reassuring then when he proved her right, shoving and pushing on the door with all his might until it clicked shut, her body crumpled and compressed even more as he squeezed her fully into the cage. She couldn't move, could barely breath she was so folded up. Taylor could still wiggle her fingertips and toes but little else. She had hardly been able to move anything else lying exhausted outside in her wet mess on the concrete, but somehow having him take away even the possibility of movement, especially in such a degrading way by caging her like a little animal, it made something that was fundamentally no different somehow feel so much worse. His footsteps were clear and audible, her senses heightened as she felt completely vulnerable and scared, and incredibly uncomfortable. She could imagine his eyes, those awful eyes, staring down at her, probably ogling her caged nakedness like a pervert, wondering what he could find pleasing in her contorted state, such an indecent distortion of what a woman's shape should be. Her knees where pressed up under her breasts, practically crushing them, her spine bent and taut, her ankles pulled up behind her bottom and crossed to let the door close even that little centimeter. Every part of her had been forced to yield to the greater importance of shoving her into this thing, and it made her look and feel miserable. What could he see in that? Why do such a thing? The man didn't talk often, so those times when he did his cruelty seemed to dig deeper. Now caged like this as she was, it was like his every word had time to linger and find her softest most vulnerable spots to sneak in and taunt her plight. Why did he bother giving her a schedule for her own pain, predicting some precise imagined sequence of torment and surrender every two hours? Like he was some ringmaster trying to demonstrate his control over his animal? Taylor didn't care. Even beaten as she was, he was surely underestimating her, her strength and resilience the subject of numerous hit songs proving that the world agreed -- Taylor wouldn't break easily. Except part of her felt like she'd broken already. Still,she wasn't impressed. She had other things to worry about, like breathing. His promise of her life getting worse and worse for her every two hours and all the details he expected just settled in her head, like a thing to worry about later. But he got her attention with the words voyage tomorrow. Those were supposed to be good words, the hope of vacation, or at least another profitable stop on a long tour, another chance to greet a new set of fans. Taylor knew in her gut there would be no vacation for her, though, not tomorrow and maybe not ever. The way he used them, it just filled her with dread. She whimpered as he had to remind her of that new name, like he was really serious about it. Slave, Taylor, whatever. It seemed to matter more to him than to her. The lights went out leaving her with only the dimmest glow, so she couldn't even see the bars that held her, just feel them, pressing and compacting her. Taylor was alone. If only she could breathe freely for just a minute. If only she could stretch her limbs just a little. If only it wasn't so damn hot in here. But she made do with what he left her, trying to remember not to waste her productive energy worrying about things she couldn't control, like Daddy always said. In that case, Taylor thought, with a silent bitter chuckle, these should be the most worry free days of her life. She thought about her dad and mom, trying to review the lessons they taught her as the pain in her limbs grew worse. Sweat dripped from her to the floor as time passed unmeasured. If only they knew she was here, her parents, they would save her for sure, they always did. No matter how broken she was or hopeless her predicament here, they would fix her now too. Mom and Dad always had, even in the worst times, back before things started working out. If only they knew she was here. Taylor wasn't trying to have ideas, she'd given up on that already. What could she possibly do? What could she change or affect? All she could do is suffer on his schedule and surrender her holes when he demanded them. Still, an idea glimmered in her head for a moment. It must have been thinking of Mom and Dad that just accidentally triggered it. If she could just get them a sign, even something trivial. But how? He had taken everything from her. No cell phone. No clothes. No CDs to leave around, no GPS. Not even a pen to... Then she whimpered weakly as she realized what she had to do. Taylor pulled her lower lip into her mouth, biting it no more than pensively at first, but then she gathered her courage and bit down. She cried out, and listened for his footsteps, praying he wasn't monitoring her sounds, counting on his overconfidence because there was no one to hear her. She felt the blood trickling from her lip and she got the tip of her tongue wet with it, letting it pool in the bottom of her mouth and dipping like a quill. She pressed her head hard into the bottom of her cage until it hurt as much as she could bear, and stuck her tongue out as far as she could between the bars. She felt the floor, tasted it, and did her best in the dark to paint a blind letter T, very small, making her tongue as narrow as she could. It was difficult to do, to remember where she'd hopefully painted each previous tiny letter with her own blood, but Taylor had nothing else to do, and didn't really want to pay attention to the growing pain, to the way her body was starting to shake against the cage, it hurt so bad. She focused only on the task, so intently her dad would have been proud if he could see her, other than the part about being naked and all that. She did the best she could, the major uncertainty whether her letter y was readable -- she had felt like she was just licking her hair dangling beneath her for that one, and had redone it to be sure. Finally, exhausted, she finished the last letter, r, hopefully having painted 2 small words on the floor under her cage with her own blood. Taylor and Saudi. It had taken every ounce of strength she had, straining her neck to reach each letter's spot, biting herself repeatedly to be sure she had enough blood to finish both words. Hopefully it was legible. Hopefully the evil man wouldn't see it tomorrow, that whatever he did to her next wouldn't draw his eyes to it before the voyage. Hopefully Mom and Dad would eventually track her trail to this building and find it and at least know she was alive so they wouldn't give up. It wasn't much hope, but it was enough to help Taylor hold on in her head, pretend that if she fought against the pain and despair, she could still come out of this, maybe not exactly ok, but alive at least. She fought the pain far longer than the time he expected, she was sure of that, it had to be. The cramps had gotten bad while she was painting her name, but she fought and gritted her teeth, refusing to scream, intent on proving he didn't know everything, showing him there was still a shred of Taylor in here with Slave. She was sure it was more than four hours and she hadn't given in to the horrible need to scream yet, probably six or even seven. Finally she couldn't take it anymore and he still wasn't coming. She screamed, with all the might her compressed lungs allowed. It wasn't music. It was the sound of agony, of despair. She tried to stop, breathing hard, but it still hurt and screaming only helped calm her the teeniest bit and only for a few seconds at that, until she had to scream yet again. Taylor screamed for him to come, screamed curses at him, screamed for her parents. Just screamed. Nothing changed. It went on for hours but she was determined not to offer him what he expected. Fighting it, struggling against his expectations took a toll on her though. Taylor hurt so bad, and she couldn't breathe or move or sleep, just trapped in a cage of pain that was getting smaller with every hour. She begged him to come, begged for mercy, but he didn't come and he didn't seem to have any mercy to beg for, but she couldn't stop herself from trying. Sobbing weakly, the pain too much, Taylor thought of the goat that had used her, of all the horrible things he himself had already done. What would it matter if he did it one more time, if it ended this suffering? She struggled against that thought, refusing to give in, in the end just bargaining with herself to delay it, so important to her sense of self and purpose to hold out until at least 12 hours or so, but finally she cracked and yelled out that he could have her. Taylor offered herself in ways she never would have dreamed of before the cruel man got his hands on her, begged and pleaded for him to come and take her out, to use her in disgusting ways if it would just end this. Her song writer's mentality naturally filled in the gaps, painting an enticing picture for him of how she would wrap her long legs around him, how she would give herself willingly if he would just free her, sang the praises of his majestic cock in words she had no business knowing. He didn't come for more hours, 5 or 6 at least. He was a liar, leaving her in this pain so much longer than 8 hours, suffering in the heat and darkness alone. It was so hard to breathe, she could die in here, and then he'd be sorry because she couldn't fuck him then, but even that plea didn't convince him. She was back to mindless crying and screaming, her pleas making absolutely no difference. Finally he came, the light turning on and making her eyes blink and tear up as she sobbed and sobbed, begging him to let her out. Her body was a throbbing block of wood, complete immobile, feeling only the pincushion pain and aching joints that seemed to make him happy somehow. Her only solace was that it had taken her so much longer to crack than he had predicted. Oh how she wished there was a clock in the room so she could shove it in his face, once she stopped crying and could breathe, that is.