Thread: Transporting Taylor (Dere and skittish_butterfly)

It took a few minutes for Taylor to recognize he'd shoved her right back into the vehicle that brought her here, but this time with more than just her head shoved into a dark sack, all of her trapped in darkness, unable to move or call for help as she felt the vehicle start to move. She recognized the thrum of the engine vibrating through her and the vaguely familiar dips and bumps, the car's shocks just barely enough to keep the bumpy road's frequent bounces from banging her head into the wood hard enough to knock her out. But the worst of the knocks kept her feeling just the slightest bit woozy and apprehensive as she had no idea when the next one was coming. The light coming through the holes was dim, but it got just a little brighter once she realized they were out of the building and on the road. She started to scream again. Taylor screamed and yelled and begged for someone to hear her, unable to stop herself from crying out for someone to save her, no idea that she was exhausting herself in the middle of nowhere. As her voice started to crack and she slowly slipped into a defeated silence, she might have heard him chuckle. He didn't even have to drown her cries out with her own recorded voice this time. The longer Taylor bumped around, squeezed up tight in the little box, the warmer she got. She could feel her stale breath clinging to her sweaty skin like a fur coat, and she wondered how he was able to function in the growing heat. Why didn't he turn on the air conditioning? Trapped in darkness, Taylor could see the light so tantalizingly close, three little circles inches above her eyes, feeling like her cheek was a once precious fruit now slowly bruising with each smack against the wood. She strained her neck, struggling to lift her head, to get her eyes closer to the nearest hole, trying to get any glimpse of what was outside, just to confirm there still was an outside and that she hadn't died and been condemned to a hell worse than the fire and brimstone televangelists warned against, her own personal hell of pitch black claustrophobic heat from which she would never escape. Through the hole, her neck straining and aching as she fought each little bump to keep her head up, Taylor caught the slightest glimpse of the outside. It looked like the back of car seats, with sort of darkened windows, and dilapidated buildings outside with people everywhere. It reminded her of the ride through the city with Antonio and ... and ... Taylor felt awful as her memory struggled... Rob... Roarke? Was it just a day ago, and already the memory was fading? He'd died trying to protect her, to save her from this misery, and she couldn't even remember his name now. Her long graceful neck was hurting from the effort of sneaking even a peek through the hole, but she kept struggling until she cold feel herself starting to shake from the strain. Just before her neck failed her and her face fell back to the wood with a dull thump, she felt something through the hole against the tip of her nose, the slightest tease of cool air. As her face fell back on the rough wood, the holes unimaginably far away again, Taylor realized that little brush of coolness meant he already had the air conditioning on out there. He was perfectly comfortable, practically whistling a tune it must be so cool out in the car but in her tiny sealed up box Taylor could feel her whole body dripping with sweat. It was hard to breath too, not just because the little holes were barely enough to get her any fresh air, but because her long legs and knees forced up into her chin bent her up so tight it felt like she could really only get a lot of quick shallow breaths, taking a full deep breath too hard. Taylor's eyes couldn't look away from the 3 little circles of light, source of what air she had, her only connection to anything other than all-encompassing darkness and her own misery. She wished more than anything she could just push one of her slender fingers out through one of the holes in the thick wood, to feel the world she knew must still be right there outside her horrible prison of darkness, so close, and yet impossibly far away. But of course with her wrists cuffed tight behind her back still she couldn't reach anything anymore, condemned instead now to wait for pain and horror to reach for her whenever they pleased. How ridiculous that she was in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world with people teeming all around her, and she couldn't do a single thing to reach them or get someone to save her, locked away in isolation by thick wooden boards, tight metal cuffs now warm and slippery with her perspiration, and by the will of a madman. Curled up and swaddled tight in rough hard wood, each bump of the slowly moving car rubbing her bottom uncomfortably against a splintery protrusion in the wood behind her, Taylor kept quiet, trying to listen for something, anything, that might give her hope. If she could hear the outside world, they would hear her too, wasn't that right? But the soft whir of the AC, the chilled air pouring through the vents outside her box, the jangle of the crazed driver's keys hanging from his ignition, the soft pat, pat, pat as he sharply, hand over hand, turned the steering wheel, all of it was louder than the muffled, unintelligible chaos outside the car. Taylor was too weary to bother calling out, her voice already hoarse and cracking from her earlier panicked cries. It was too hot and she couldn't even draw a full breath. What was the point? Finally sinking into the reality of being completely and utterly alone, trapped in the privacy of her own personal misery, even the cruel rapist not able to see her now, Taylor couldn't fight the tears anymore. Her sobs were quiet, but they wracked her sweat slicked body even twisted up as she was. There was a different sound, something louder than her soft shuddering cries. The tears still ran down her cheek, joining the small streams of sweat, but she went quiet. The man was talking. She had missed his first words, but as she strained to hear, she could make out some of it. Something about never getting anywhere, and you can have her and a ship. Have her? Was he going to give her up? Was she going to be free of him? Taylor was afraid to get her hopes up, anyone he gave her too would have to be a bad person, but, still, it couldn't possibly be worse, could it? Taylor felt him pulling the car to a stop and she wondered how long the red lights were here -- did they even have them? She couldn't remember. Then the engine sound cut out and the car shook as a door thunked shut. It wasn't a light. They were parked. Would someone be coming to take her away from him now? Taylor desperately hoped so as a drop of sweat hung tenaciously from her nose, making her want to rub it but her fingers were useless for anything more than scraping her fingernails blindly against the wood. No way she could write her initials in it, not like this, and he would just see it anyway and hurt her again. It felt like it was getting even hotter in the box as the time passed, and Taylor started to realize that with the car turned off and no air conditioning outside her box, it was getting even hotter in the car, and her own situation even worse. She was a dog trapped in a hot car and she cried out for him in a panic, her voice cracking and parched. Please, please, let me out! Her voice was a pathetic croak, not the pleasant flow of sonic honey she was used to. Please! But no one came. She grew more and more thirsty, feeling like every drop of her body's moisture was beading on her hot skin and dripping to evaporate or be absorbed by the dry wood. Finally there was something like the sound of tires on gravel outside, maybe the scrape of boots on hard dirt close behind her. It was so hard to hear clearly through the wood and the car's thick windows and the sweltering, deadening heat. The light through Taylor's holes flared brighter as a door was thrown open. She heard it behind her. Then her box was sliding, pulled backward, until the bottom suddenly fell out of her world, and then even more suddenly came back and smacked her hard in the face. Someone had dropped her? Taylor screamed but it sounded like an emphysema patient crying for oxygen. Her head was spinning and no one paid any attention to her, like they couldn't even hear there was a naked girl in the box. She could hear them, breathing and cursing and all of it sounding like gibberish inside her tiny box. Taylor called out to them again, and she felt herself lifted up. She didn't know if that was good or bad, but at least she felt a little air moving through her tiny stuffy space even if all of that air was hot. She was sliding again, thumped suddenly to a stop as her nose bumped the board in front of her. Taylor's eyes filled with tears as she groaned again, but no one heard or responded. There was just the solid clunk of a door closing behind her again, and this time she was plunged into near darkness, almost no light coming through the holes. They were moving, bouncing slowly, moving through the crowded city streets again, Taylor imagined. It was so dark and she was sure they must have just shoved her alone in the back of some truck. She wanted to figure out where she was being taken, to decide whether she should hope with all her heart to get to whoever was waiting there to take her, or to dread it worse than the press after a bad breakup. But it was kind of like the rest of her life in that way, it was going to be what it was going to be, and all she could do was deal with her own heart. Her heart was pounding and scared. Taylor realized her lifelong belief was simply gone, ruined. She'd always been so sure that good things were right around the corner for her, if she could just weather the painful moments, understand them and own them. This was beyond her understanding, and she couldn't own it or control it or bear it. Nothing good could possibly be at the end of this trip -- why would she still be in this box otherwise? -- but she forced her heart to pretend there was hope, spinning fantasies of commando teams rescuing her and they just kept her in the box because they knew she was naked and didn't want her to be recognized. Taylor heard a muffled police siren through the wood, somewhere close outside the vehicle, and she imagined it was the police assisting her heroic commando team, especially since the siren's wail didn't fade or grow at all, as if it was her rescuers' personally assigned escort. She was a VIP, very important prisoner, about to be freed. But the police escort didn't seem to move them any faster and the tiny box just got hotter and hotter again. If she sweat anymore Taylor thought she might be able to swim to safety in a pool of her own perspiration, if she could just get her helpless wrists free and somehow fit her slender form through the tiny holes -- she felt so dessicated it just might be possible. So thirsty. Taylor was moaning for water, even though she knew no one was listening. She just felt so miserable she couldn't help herself. The vehicle seemed to move upward on a smooth surface, and the pitch of the siren seemed to change, echoing slighlty like the vehicle was indoors. Maybe this was the command center? Taylor would have been holding her breath if she had any breath to hold, waiting and trying to convince herself her wild hopes were possible. It made no sense, of course, but she ignored that. Nothing made sense anymore. She just focused on wishing hard enough for this improbable, movie-worthy rescue, the way she'd spent her childhood wishing to be famous and to make people happy, and hoping maybe someone in heaven would smile on her one more time. She had to be rescued, just had to be. Or pretty soon there'd be nothing left of Taylor Swift worth rescuing. Taylor's heart pounded as she heard the doors open again, a lot less light through her holes indoors, but so deeply grateful in her heart just for that tiny scrap that she knew she would hug the first commando that let her out of her little box, even if she was still naked. If he would just uncuff her first. She slid again and then screamed as she dropped and jolted against the floor. Taylor moaned softly, her ribs hurting from that one, like they dropped her on concrete. Why weren't they being careful? That's not how rescues went in the movies, but maybe they were injured or something. Then Taylor heard the wrenching sound of nails being bent free from wood, one after another. She was going to be freed. She was so hot, so sweaty, so thirsty she thought she would die if they kept her locked up another minute. Taylor tried to collect enough spit to wet her lips so she could say something clever or brave when the lid came off but her mouth -- her whole body -- was too dry. A sliver of light, and then the lid flipped off and clattered heavily on concrete. Taylor looked up from where she lay huddled and crumpled, shuddering and sweating. She wanted to smile but her lips felt like they would crack. Still, she lifted her neck to get a view of the face shrouded by the too bright light. Blinking hard she suddenly made out his face. The man. The demon. Taylor felt her heart shrink to down to the size of an ice cube in her chest and she moaned no, no, no, no, over and over again, the no's coming faster the more she understood there had never been any hope for her at all. Her tormentor stood back and another man appeared over her, an Indian in a police uniform. Police. Police. Her voice was too far gone to yell for his help, she just croaked to him as he bent down. I'm Taylor Swift, please, help me. The soft chubby man leering down at her was short enough that he didn't have to bend far to reach her. But he didn't give her a supportive hand under her shoulder, or offer to release her cuffs. His pudgy hand went straight for her sweat-drenched hair, taking her long locks and twisting them around his fist and then pulling up hard. Taylor screamed pathetically, so sharply she felt like here throat was going to fall out. Her body was so weak that with her hands cuffed there was almost no way for her to stumble to her feet in his grip, not from the tight embrace of the unyielding wood, and it was as much the small fat man jerking on her hair that got her up as the shaky muscles of own long trembling bare legs. Taylor was up, her bare feet on the wood still standing inside her box, with the vile little police officer and his dark eyes almost down at her chest level standing in front of her, reaching up with his hand still in her hair, holding her still. It was so hot, she felt all the perspiration on her skin practically evaporating, except it was so humid there was nowhere for the moisture to go. She could see the sweaty shine on the swarthy man's forehead too, the room was so hot, but he seemed used to it, like he bathed in his own sweat regularly. Taylor wanted to cry so badly, but her tears were long since dried up. There was nothing left. She just stood in the box, her body naked and shining with sweat, the man making her stand there totally exposed. It was an awful feeling, now naked in front of three men -- that she could see -- not just the one anymore, and she knew this meant things must just be getting worse. And for all her wealth and talent and connections, there was nothing left anymore Taylor could do to help herself. The three men just stood there ogling her for a minute, like it was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. They had stripped absolutely everything away from her except sweat and misery, nothing else left. No makeup, no microphone, no glamorous dress, or elegant hair style. Just pure exposed Taylor and she was barely even that anymore -- just a naked helpless girl, shaking and exposed, tracks of tears drying on her cheeks as filthy swarthy men closed on her. She didn't want to be racist, even now, but the two policemen really were sweaty and dark in a way that just seemed to promise unbearable odors. The other was tall and skinny and he had a mustache that maybe in his culture was suave and sophisticated, but to her it looked like he might just twirl it in his fingers while doing terrible things to puppies and kittens and naked girls. Still, of the three men in the room, even though he was looking her naked body up and down just as openly as the other two men, at least he hadn't hurt her or touched her like the other two yet. So Taylor focused on him. He had to be the one, the unexpected heart of gold that would melt at the sight of her. It had happened before, she knew she had that effect on men, although usually it was in a frilly dress, or an tight, elegant skirt, never naked like this. The man holding her up in the box was slapping her breasts, sharp sweaty slaps that made her grunt and gasp from the sting, and twisting and pinching her nipples and running his hand along the slick sweaty skin of her side and her hip. Taylor yelped softy, her voice cracking but struggled to keep her fear and disgust under control. This could be her only chance. Please... please, Mr.... Officer... I'm Taylor Swift... Please, you have to help me. She yelped from a sharp slap on her bottom and then the man grabbed her with his hand, painfully pinching her tight butt. Owww, don't... Taylor Swift? You know? I'm not dead! He didn't seem to recognize, or maybe he didn't care. Maybe he didn't believe her, not without the makeup and the jewelry and the crowds and cameras. But there couldn't be that many slender blond girls like her around these parts so she had to stick out. He just didn't seem to recognize exactly which famous blond she was. Taylor tried to sing one of her hits, that would have to do it. The siren song of her voice, instantly recognizable, Never...ever...ever... she trailed off, her throat sore from the effort of singing at all, and sounding like a drunken chain smoker on Karaoke night, not a best selling pop star. The two Indians were closer now while the white devil stepped away. That should have been a relief, but the two were still holding her up by her hair, like they were displaying her for an auction and discussing how much her naked body was worth. Please... What would work? Money. I can give you a lot of money, more than he can. Double it. Triple anything he's giving you. My father, he'll pay. I can call him right now. They were still mumbling in their own tongue. Listen! Don't you speak English? I'm Taylor Swift. I'll pay you anything, anything at all to save me! She thought she heard some sort of chortle from across the room, but she was too desperate to stop her begging. Maybe it was working, or maybe the two sweaty officers had decided on the auction price. They grabbed her, one claw in each upper arm as her hands twisted anxiously in her cuffs behind her. Her leg muscles trembled visibly as they made her step out of the box, having to lift her slender leg high enough to get her bare foot over the side of the wooden box. The concrete was warm under her toes, as they literally dragged her across the room, but it was no comfort. There was no comfort anywhere as they pulled her to a wooden bench thing. Please, I'll pay, just give me water. Just a cup of water. Lot's of money for a drink? She was so thirsty, and even if it took a million dollars to get her a cup of water and 30 seconds free to drink, it would be worth it. But their grip just grew more insistent, and they shoved her face down over the wooden plank across the two supporting ends. Her legs were kicked apart until she straddled one end, her long torso laid out along the wood's length. It was hard against her belly and ran up between her bare breasts all the way to her chin at the other end. Please, please please. She couldn't stop. Water, help me, you're police! Just like the men who'd murdered Antonio and .... and ... Taylor was ashamed she couldn't remember her second bodyguard's name, or the poor driver with the picture of his child. Taylor understood. She was in the hands of murderers and rapists. There was no mercy, no turning back. The men pulled on her ankles and fastened them painfully tight to the wooden legs on either side, some plastic kind of thing digging into her leg straining against it to get free. Then they unclicked her wrists' cuffs. Taylor cried out in agony as they moved her arms down in front of her for the first time in a day, her damaged shoulder in agony. More cords around her wrists, fastening her down tight to the wooden plank. She could hear the squeak of the wood, her body jerking weakly but unable to pull free. The two men started to undress, slipping out of their uniforms right in front of her, like they were showing off or rubbing it in. She tried to turn her head aside, but the fat man grabbed her hair again and pulled painfully until she looked and watched them undress again. He was smiling as he looked at her, she could feel his eyes all over her nakedness. And soon they were naked too, their meaningless police uniforms carelessly tossed aside. They were hard already, clearly every bit as sadistic as the white man, taking pleasure in her misery. She hated them, but it didn't matter. They took her anyway. One man stepped behind her, and Taylor tensed with fear on the wood, but before the tall skinny man did anything between her legs as she feared, the older one stepped up right in front of her. He stepped up on a little wooden box to get high enough, and he held her head up with that excruciating grip in her hair again, until she was eye to eye with his erect cock. The tip was glistening, like it was sweating too only it seemed slicker than sweat. She could smell his odor and felt sure he hadn't bathed in weeks. Taylor knew what was coming and closed her eyes. He slapped her twice until she opened her mouth, surrendering to the futility of resisting him. Her fingers gripped the wood, her body jerking on the wood as the other man shoved up inside her from behind. Her lips were dry but the man didn't care, just plunging into her mouth. Thankfully he wasn't so long that he went all the way down her throat making her choke and gag like the white sadist, but his taste was vile enough to make her want to heave, if she'd had anything in her squeamish stomach to throw up. The two seemed like they'd done this before, their vicious thrusts starting to sync up as they battered her. Taylor groaned and whimpered around the cock puffing her cheeks, stroking in and out of her mouth, not even able to promise wealth or favors anymore as she was silenced by his cock. The two worked her over, working together, their rhythm starting to set up a counter point, one to the other, rocking her back and forth on the rickety wood horse, wood and Taylor both squeaking about equally loudly as they kept at it. Taylor couldn't even decide if she wished she was back in her tiny wooden box in the heat again. It was beyond her to judge the relative merits of one misery compared to another. She had no say in it anyway. The brutal fucking went on and on in the heat, Taylor's sweat and other bodily fluids dripping to the floor as her body began reacting again to the onslaught. Why was this how a woman's body had to protect itself, by betraying her with humiliating wetness, like she was giving in, her body helplessly moist and utterly tight in a way that only seemed to please her rapists? Why couldn't her insides sprout razor blades, instead of all but encouraging the men to want to rape her again and again? Her cries grew louder as they rammed into her harder and harder, so hard it hurt, but in a way her body seemed to be learning to accept, her insides, front and back, only getting wetter and more pleasant, like she actually wanted them to finish inside her. The thought of their seed congealing in her belly was revolting, but she felt herself starting to tighten up between her legs, as if it was natural for her belly to crave any sperm it could get, no matter how brutal and unworthy the man inside her.