Thread: Transporting Taylor (Dere and skittish_butterfly)

The door burst open with a bang, turning Taylor's desperate cries for help into whimpered pathetic pleas. The light flicked on like a lightning bolt in her eyes and she felt blinded and confused, just hearing his first few footsteps approaching her. Vision returned, but all Taylor saw as she blinked in the blinding light was the hard concrete floor and the bars in front of her face. Still she could hear him, right behind her now, and it made her teeth chatter fearfully, her pitiful pleas trailing off to a soft moan of fear. She wanted out so badly she couldn't stand another minute like this, but now that he was here, close like before, close like when he'd done such horrible things to her, she began to shake with fear, hearing the soft sound of her flesh trembling against the metal bars. She wanted to see him, to know he wasn't about to do anything to her, but at the same time she dreaded seeing him more than anything, sure in her heart his presence would only mean more suffering for her. Just seeing the edge of his shadow looming over her on the floor was enough to pull a helpless sob from Taylor, her imagination and memory filling in more details than she could handle. Nothing happened, and every passing second left her more miserable, more convinced it was over. But the first thing he used against her wasn't his strength or his raping stiffness, just his voice, cold and intimidating. Five hours? He was a liar. A liar! Taylor knew he was a filthy liar. It had to be... 12, or 9 or something like that. She couldn't have broken after 5. It was supposed to take 8 and Taylor was a strong girl, always had been, Daddy had always said so. If she had snapped in only five, what would her dad think? Oh, but she was never going to see him again, never going to have to face his disappointment, so what did it matter? Still it had to be more than 5. The vile demon went on, rubbing it in, sounding totally convincing, until Taylor started to believe him. She sobbed softly, still wanting out so badly but afraid to ask for it now, her long limbs all but falling off where he'd folded them back, doubling her over like an expensive garment bag on an overbooked flight, her body just a cage full of agony. But he wasn't done, his voice boring into her skull like a drill. Her money, her fans, her dad, attacking everything that made her strong, but none of that meant she was weak! Just because she had a lot of support -- had earned all of that support, living up to her dad's standards and always being there for her fans -- it didn't mean she was nothing without them. But she blinked hard, staring at the concrete floor, unable to even see more than the shadow of her tormentor if he didn't let her, and she couldn't help feeling like the nothing he said she was, trapped here all on her own. Three holes, his conclusion, that's all she was. Three holes to him and nothing more. She wanted to shake her head but her neck was so bent against the cage she couldn't even deny it. But she clung to the fact that she must be more than just three holes, otherwise, why her? She was Taylor Swift, right? She had to at least represent money he could have, or some sort of celebrity he craved. She had to be more than just three holes. Taylor heard him moving as her mind did the slow arithmetic, not used to thinking of herself as holes, not used to thinking of all three, but realizing and remembering quite vividly then exactly which holes he was talking about. She whimpered with fear as he knelt behind her, then spread her again so embarrassingly, like the day before, or hours before, or however long ago it was. She begged him, no please! But he forced himself against her tight hole, still aching and battered from the last time. Taylor grimaced, her body tensing and fighting him but it was useless. She couldn't even squirm away, could do nothing but accept his painful thrust, penetrating deep where it hurt her most, over and over, rough and deep, grunting and pounding against her like he wanted her to feel it, wanted her to suffer. She could hear the metal scraping sound of her cage moving ever so slightly over the concrete with each violent thrust, felt him pinching her and slapping her through the bars. Taylor's whimpers grew, punctuated with cries of pain at especially violent thrusts. Then he grunted quickly, loudly, pleased with himself as he took his pleasure inside her, like her easy submission this time was some kind of victory for him rather than simply her complete inability to move or do anything to protect herself. He ground himself deep inside her, and she knew enough to realize the spasms she felt against her tight hole were from his seed shooting up into her. He was disgusting, but it only made Taylor feel worse knowing it, because it made her feel so much more pathetic for being helpless to stop him. He pulled out, the slow slimy pull of his hardness from her bottom reminding Taylor just how long and thick he was. How could he even think of forcing something like that up there? But at least he was done. She heard him coming around to the front of her cage, finally saw his feet. She closed her eyes, praying he would let her out, some kind of reward for what he'd just done to her. It had to be over. She couldn't feel her arms behind her, wishing she could still just feel the cuffs on her wrists. Her knees and ankles and hips cried out in pain and she just wanted out. Taylor waited, her lips moving in silent prayer, but nothing happened. When she opened her eyes, he was crouched down, glaring right at her as if even her famous face only made him angry, his own expression suddenly furious. Taylor didn't even have time to figure out it must have been her message written in blood. He must have seen it, but it didn't matter to Taylor. He was screaming at her and kicking her tiny cage, rocking it and banging the metal against her shoulders and knees, the bars smacking against her forehead, leaving her dazed and sobbing and desperately afraid. His words were hurtful, as if her name really was Slave rather than Taylor, and her middle name was Bitch. Yelling at her like a bad dog, like a bad dog that made a mess on the floor. And then his foot wiped out that mess, erasing one of the bravest and most difficult hours of her life, smearing her blood on the floor so no one could read it except maybe with a DNA reader. Taylor's heart hurt even worse, like he was stomping down hard on her only hope. He stomped around behind her and she heard the metal catch on the door flipped open. Then the cage door opened, feeling the press of the metal against her bottom finally yielding, not with a slow squeak like when he shoved her in, but with an impatient clang as he flipped it open and reached for her ankles. She was too weak to kick at him, any movement only making her pain and position worse. He just pulled on her, hard, dragging her out without a second thought, and she screamed at the pain and indignity as he forcefully straightened and tugged on her long legs, her chin banging across the metal bars underneath her, making her see stars by the time he had her out and lying on her back under his angry gaze. She wanted to twist away from his view of her nakedness, to roll away from him, but she was too weak and weary to move. Even her wrists trapped uncomfortably in the small of her back were no use. She lay still, trying to breath, feeling his seed trickling from her. He stood over her, his foot kicking at her legs, nudging her open, an excruciating reminder to Taylor that in her heart she still didn't really feel like a glamorous celebrity herself, especially not now, her arms and legs always too long, a girl no one ever quite understood. She couldn't remember ever hating her long legs more than at this moment, not caring how many other girls said they were jealous, how she could be a model or how many extra albums they might have sold for her. They just hurt so bad from the long bent-over confinement, and now just opened so weakly as he kicked at them. Naked like this, she was just the long-limbed dork again, no clothes to hide it, to pretend she was something more, something elegant or famous, something human. She had only agreed to the tight glittery dresses because that's what it takes to make it, but right now she would give anything for a glittery dress, for anything at all to cover herself. The fancy dresses, so tight in all those places, she knew they were just so men would find her sexy, so girls would want to be her, so they would all buy her albums. But they were just glittery dresses, fabric nothing more. Underneath, she was still Taylor. It was all a little marketing game she had played along with. But now as he spread her open, staring at her with open lust and rage, Taylor shivered at the possibility these were the kind of thoughts she had been giving her male fans. Is this how they saw her? Is this what her fans thought about as they stared at her posters and album covers? Is this what she deserved for dressing that way instead of simple jeans and skirts, just playing her music the way it used to be? To end up on her back taking this abuse. Was she that bad a sellout? And is this what it bought her? Taylor shook her head over and over, the only thing she could move on her own for the moment, whimpering to him, begging him to stop as he pulled her legs apart, sending waves of lancing pain through her hips. Then he bent her legs back and she could feel herself opening as he drove her into the floor, putting his weight on top of her and pounding her, raping her again, violently, painfully, making her hurt inside like a woman shouldn't hurt unless she was having triplets. It wasn't her bottom this time so it shouldn't have been so bad. But he actually made it worse, like a mockery of all her dreams. This couldn't be what it was like to finally share a special man's bed, not with this unforgiving concrete for a mattress, and not with this evil man rutting and thrusting inside her, forcing his mouth on hers like it belonged to him. How many times had she dreamt that at least one of her glittery dresses might attract the perfect guy,the one she had always believe must be out there for her, someone who would notice the dress, but stay for Taylor, really love her, right? Not just her legs, but her heart. Not just her cleavage but her brain too. So when her dreams of making love finally came true on that special day, it would have been like two souls fusing completely, not just one thick crude cock pounding her like a sledge hammer, trying to crack her open. That wasn't how love worked, Taylor believed that with all her heart. Two bodies moving as one, not this one-sided brutal pounding. The tears on her cheeks should have been joy, not this pain and hopelessness. And it just went on and on, probably for another 5 hours, she couldn't tell. The agony was too much to count or measure as he just didn't stop, didn't slow, didn't relent. How many times had she overheard her dancers giggling and gossiping about their boys and their adventures when they thought she wasn't listening, how it was usually over so fast, wham bam thank you maam. They'd thought it so funny, and so sad. But all Taylor was getting was the wham and the bam, again and again. As she turned her head aside and stared listlessly at the cage as he rocked her back and forth on the hard concrete, she couldn't believe how small it was, that she had actually fit inside it, like it was hard to believe he actually fit himself inside her. He bent her legs even harder, making her squeal in pain at her hips, her thighs spasming in pain, but he seemed satisfied with the new angle, penetrating her even deeper. He licked her breasts, kissed her from time to time, forcing his tongue into her mouth like a poisonous snake, not a lover. It was terrible and painful and soul crushing and Taylor never wanted to be touched by a man again, but still he kept touching her, taking what he wanted. The sensation in her legs slowly returned, making it worse, and she tried to pound her heels into his back as he hurt her even deeper, but he just gripped her legs, spread her so wide she couldn't move or breath, and jack-hammered the last two or three minutes of his need into her, until he erupted with a loud cry of pleasure, as if what he'd just done was somehow beautiful and good, sighing as his weight draped over her, all but crushing her until he was ready to talk at her again. She lay quietly, struggling for breath, cuffed wrists in agony beneath her, just trying to hold on, to breath, until he got off her. Finally he got up on one elbow and looked down at her. It reminded her of how a lover would finish and then take that pose and look down at his partner so lovingly and tell her how amazing she was as he gazed at her in wonder -- that was how it played in the movies she liked. But he was just a sick parody of a lover, a cruel imitation sent to punish her for all her sins. And of course where a lover would have thanked her, he demanded she -- Slave -- thank him, her master, complimenting her that she was getting better at being raped, as if it was supposed to make her feel better, or make her want to thank him with more enthusiasm. He got up and she was still down on the floor, her legs drawn up protectively until his gaze made it clear it was time for her to move, that he really was taking her somewhere. And that he meant it about thanking him. A last flicker of anger flared somewhere deep in her heart, like the last red ember glowing in the ashes of the previous night's bonfire. Thank you? Thank you for noth... Taylor flinched and curled up again at the look in his face. He didn't even do anything, didn't strike her, just looked at her and she knew she'd gone too far. She hurt too much, felt his seed leaking from her body in too many places. She hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't bathed. She had nothing and no one. She couldn't take it. Taylor looked back up at him, resolving in her heart to give him no more than necessary, to keep her self in her heart. But she couldn't take it. Her voice was a hoarse murmur. Thanks. And even that hurt. She rolled weakly and leaned into the cage, unable to get to her feet at all without something to help her, hands behind her useless for pushing herself up from the floor. Finally, trying to stand, for the first time not chained to anything, his hands not on her, Taylor felt her whole naked body trembling. She couldn't tell if it was fear or what it was, just too many emotions, too strong, all at one time. She was still naked and cuffed but at last there was nothing to control her panicked need to flee. Nothing except the hopelessness she felt. She hurt, and her slender legs were like a new born colt's, barely able to support herself, bare feet wobbly on the hard concrete. Still, she wanted to run faster than an Olympic sprinter, in any direction at all, just away. But she didn't dare. She stayed right there as he looked at her, standing naked in front of his eyes as the abuse dripped from her with every drop of sweat and every disgusting trickle between her legs. There was nowhere for her to go.