Thread: Transporting Taylor (Dere and skittish_butterfly)

Martin rolled the SUV into the afternoon Mumbai traffic, which was now all the more confused following the explosion. But he was heading across the flow of people and vehicles, and following out one of the fetid streams that leaked out of the slum. The progress was careful but deliberate - although the police were either in his pocket or now focused on the blast, he wanted to be as invisible as possible. His destination was a rural safehouse he knew from his MI6 days. It was long disused but he had prepared it well in advance, and felt it would serve perfectly for Taylor's initial sufferings. He had come to know her soft, intelligent voice well enough from videos watched during his research. But to hear it just behind him was a spine-tingling thing, even for a man as phlegmatic as him, She was so polite and reasonable, even in the midst of her mind-numbing terror. The distress in her voice was obvious, but Martin could tell she still was trying to be the good girl her parents raised her as. He listened to her begging and pleading, feeling himself grow hard as he drank in her fear like perfume in the air. The silent treatment was his preferred method, and as Taylor's pleas ran out and she fell to weeping and being wracked with sobs he said nothing. He made no noise at all, the growling hum of the engine and Taylor's whimpers being the only sounds he could hear. Somewhere outside the car the city's noise had faded as they headed out to swampy farm belt that marked the real end of the great city. Nothing had really changed out here for centuries, and the stoic local folk barely gave the mudsplattered SUV a second look as it rolled past. Looking up in the rear view mirror, he looked over her lithe body as it lay recumbent in the back seat. She was taller still than he imagined, an elegant six feet stretching across the whole seat. Her tanned thighs quivered with fear and adrenalin, and Martin breathed tightly at the sight of them, perhaps Taylor's sexiest asset. He imagined her wrapping them tight around the flanks of a lover, making those same soft sobs as they teased her to orgasm. His bloodshot eyes followed those bronzed flanks right up to her skirt. It lay in slight disarray, exposing more than a hint of of her firm, high ass clad in ultra-tight nylon panties. About halfway from the trip, he played a little mindgame to amuse himself and taunt Taylor. She had tried to play the celebrity factor, and use her fame to get out of this, assuming he was ignorant of it. So he turned on the SUV's elaborate stereo and began playing a series of her songs, focusing the speakers on the back seat. He pitched it just loud enough to listen to her reactions, wanting her to know that he was exactly aware of her identity - and that was the whole reason the nightmare was happening. It was not quite an hour before they reached the farmhouse . It was an ugly lump of concrete on the fringe of a seedy and largely uninhabited town. The house's location on a swampy, fetid semi-island in a desperately poor village, rendered it almost inaccessible and invisible. The ground floor was maintained like any other local farmhouse, but the upstairs floor had been especially designed years ago by MI6 as a 'black' torture site. Ten foot by ten foot, the walls were solid concrete covered with beaten steel, like a cube of metal inside the house. It was soundproofed and custom designed to hold a single prisoner for a few days. Martin had made full use of this, and it would give him a place to hide long enough to move her on. He pulled the SUV around the back. The scorching orange sun of the large afternoon was beating down oppressively. A reek of rotting vegetation and staid water came from all around. With his soldier's eyes darting about for any sign of danger, he opened the back door, grabbed Taylor by her long luscious legs, and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Urgently he entered the farmhouse, plunging into a stench of curry power and damp mold. An emaciated goat munched desultorily on a pile of trotting cabbage, while every surface seem covered with old sacks of seed. Clearly no-one had actually lived here in a while. Martin ran up the rickety wooden stairs, hefting Taylor easily beside her height. He kept a strong grip on her ass, having flipped over her skirt and exposing the bright white little mounds in their skintight panties. With callused hands he squeezed and pinched the rock-hard buttocks, feeling the firmness of her tight dancer's ass. Upstairs initially seemed like some kind of empty storage room, until Martin took off a lightswitch cover and pressed the hidden button within. A door suddenly slid open in the 'wall', exposing the little torture chamber behind. A blue pale light shone from a single bulb, reflected off the steel plates and gave the small room a lurid illumination. Landing Taylor down on her exquisite legs, he had to hold her steady as they then buckled under her like she was a newborn colt. He pulled a long chain that hung from a winch, the greased gears clicking as it came down. A small hook fitted neatly to her handcuffs, then with another series of pulls he brought the chain up. Taylor found herself dragged to her toes in a painful strappado, he wrists pulled over her head as she was bent forward nearly halfway. Martin only lifted her high enough to keep on her tiptoes, and just stop the full weight of her body coming her bear on her straining shoulders. He had no idea of her earlier injury, which was worsened a thousandfold as the muscles stretched unnaturally and her body was forced into an agonizing position. The heat in the small steel box was nearly suffocating, with only a slim vent in the ceiling for ventilation Both Martin and Taylor rain with sweat. As he panted lustfully, Martin quickly and quietly undressed in the corner. He began to slowly circle Taylor, breathing fast and hard. Four, five, six times he circled her suspended body. Each time he ran a hand across some part of her spanking her ass or squeezing her tits. As her came round in front of Taylor for the seventh time he suddenly seized the collar of her t-shirt and ripped it off. The sound of tearing cotton echoed loudly in the small room as her breasts bounced free. They were the size and shape of firm grapefruit, perky and round and very bouncy. Still blossoming into full womanhood, Taylor's pert tits were crowned by light pink nipples that stood out bright against her ivory skin. Martin stood back for a moment to enjoy her cries and admire the elastic bounce of her perfect young breasts. Then he began to slowly circle her once more, again squeezing and pinching her nipples as he passed. When he came around behind her for the fourth time, he pulled her loose skirt down to her ankles. Taylor now wore only the sack and his tight nylon panties. Standing behind her, Martin gently ran his fingers from the nape of her neck down to the base of her long spine. Then he ran them inside her pantyline, tracing the tight strap around her narrow waist. Finally he seized the elastic band and yanked it off with a snap that resounded around the round. Her ass and pussy were finally exposed in full. The first more than fulfilled its promise hinted at in photos, being high, tight and rock-hard, and cried out to be fucked. The second was a pink little oyster, hidden just below a tiny and well-groomed puff of golden pubic hair. Taylor was still completely in the dark in the sack, but otherwise hung naked and helpless before her rapist. Holding her hips tightly, Martin slid into her pussy from behind. He was dry and she was drier, but it hurt her much more than him. Her tiny snatch was wrecked by his cock, the size of which she had never obviously taken before. It yielded to him like a soft velvet fold, stretching and tearing with every iron hard thrust. Starting slow, he had soon pounded her enough to establish a steady rhythm, and began fucking her fast and deep. Both their bodies ran with rivers of sweat as they slapped together noisily.