Innocence Taken

by Janet Durbin

  The man stood by the pot, stirring the contents. Rew rose to her feet and moved next to him, the leash trailing behind her. She reached around his waist and gently stroked his penis. She couldn't get enough of it. It rose to her touch. The man put the wooden spoon down, reached for her, and pulled her tight against his body. He grabbed her ass and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around him. He inserted his penis into her and pumped her up and down. She arched her back and met his thrust with her own.

  Without warning, he threw her to the floor. She landed with a loud thud. His lip curled. He grabbed the spoon and beat her already bruised thighs, adding red whelps to the dark spots. She hissed in pain. She didn't know what she had done to make him so mad.

  A voice filled the room; it was his. “You will never take sex unless it is given. You will beg for it first—beg for it on your knees!"

  He emphasized each word with a smack of the spoon. He wanted her to remember who the master was. He did not want her to take liberties that were not hers to take. Finally, he calmed and the spoon slowed.

  She was crying silently. She took the punishment. She had been bad. All she wanted was for him to take her, and now he was mad. The spoon made her juices flow. They covered her inner thighs.

  The man held the spoon in front of his mouth. He licked and sucked on it before returning it to the stew. Rew cringed. She didn't know what he would do next. The man removed the stew from the fire. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. She felt him lift her off the floor and indicated for her to wrap her slim legs around him. She did. He carried her to the bed and laid her on her back. She was surprised to see his penis limp.

  He climbed on top of her and shoved his ass in her face. He indicated for her to lick his anus. She complied. She was afraid of what would happen if she didn't. Her pink tongue ran around his dark opening. He grabbed his cheeks and spread them. At the same time, he motioned for her to insert it inside. She pushed her tongue against the opening. The taste was retched. She wanted to stop, to throw up, but the fear of punishment kept her going. She pushed it inside.

  The man wrapped his legs around her head, forcing her face into his ass. He wiggled it. He made her keep her tongue straight. He made her push it in and out. He enjoyed testing her devotion, her willingness to follow commands. It made him feel powerful, in complete control.

  Rew closed her eyes. Her heart pounded. She was excited and grossed out at the same time. The things she was forced to do should never have been done by anyone barely eighteen years of age. Yet, here she was, doing those gross things only whispered about during sleepovers with her girlfriends.

  The man got off her. He ran his tongue over her face. She opened her mouth, accepting it. He moved down her body. She shivered. His tongue found her clitoris. She shivered again. He lay on her and pierced her mouth with his now hard penis. She sucked it willingly.. He pushed his member deep into her throat. She reached up and grabbed his ass, shoving it in deeper. He smiled and fulfilled her dreams. He pumped her so hard he couldn't believe she did not choke. When he came in her mouth, she lapped it up like a puppy.

  Time passed. Minutes became hours. Hours became days. Days became weeks. Rew ceased thinking about her parents, her home, her friends. The man was the only thing important now, the man and his magical touch. She loved this man like she had no other ... not even her mother. The pain he inflicted no longer mattered. The touch always followed. Sometimes she begged for the pain so she could get the touch.

  The man tugged on the leash, pulling the girl outside. He did not need it anymore but he liked it anyway. It gave him power. Lately, the girl was becoming too complacent. He bored easily. She didn't fight, she didn't show fear, and she didn't pull against her restraints when he used them. She didn't even please him like before. It took the others months to reach this point. She achieved it in weeks. He knew she was not The One from the start, but had hoped she would change. The hope vanished with her lack of resistance.

  He led her deeper into the woods. She had no idea what he was doing. She didn't know he was taking her to meet the other girls. He stopped when he reached a place covered with leaves, dropped from the trees draped over the clearing.. He pulled the girl in front. He turned her toward him and kissed her sweet lips. He knew he would miss this one, but it was time to move on. He needed to be excited again.

  He laid her back on the dry leaves and fondled her breasts. She smiled at the pleasure caused by his touch. She shifted her hips, opening her knees to allow him access. He reached down and played with the hair. His penis hardened. He knew this would be their last time together. He mounted her gently, something he had never done before. She groaned with joy. He moved in and out slowly, savoring their last dance.

  Rew sensed something was wrong. He was too gentle. She opened her eyes. She looked into the black depths of his. They were void of feeling, of life, of anything. She kissed them, trying to bring something to them. They remained void. That was when she felt his hands on her throat. She arched her head back, thinking he wanted to feel the skin there. They tightened.

  Breathing became difficult. She fought. She thrashed. She hit. The hands squeezed tighter. He pushed his penis in deeper. He closed his eyes and held on to her throat tight while he pumped her. She gasped for air. The man lost all sense of time. With a cry of release, he filled her with his sperm. When he opened his eyes, he saw hers staring into nothing. He never knew exactly when she had died.

  Getting off her, he knelt at her side. He felt the tears as they rolled down his cheeks. He cried—cried for the girl, cried for his loss, but most of all, he cried for the next girl he would meet.

  When he finished, he buried the girl in a hole dug especially for her. She lay next to seven others. All of them his past loves. All of them young girls. All of them missed dearly by their families.

  He covered the soil with some of the dry leaves, to hide the girl's resting spot, and to keep her warm. He felt she deserved that much for all the pleasure she had given him. He returned to the cabin, dressed in the same clothes he had worn a little over three weeks ago, packed the knapsack, and pulled the door closed behind him when he left. A plain brown van pulled onto the blacktop five hours later.

  Chapter Two

  Nature Kranderson bolted upright from her resting position. She looked around, bewildered. It took her a minute to get her bearings and to realize she was not in a wooded area, but in her own study. Four people sat in the room with her. Two were the people who hired her, one was her secretary and trusted friend, the last was the local sheriff. The sheriff did not look pleased.

  "How long was I out?"

  Sheriff Westerly replied, “Six hours."

  "Did you see anything?"

  The woman asking the questions was in her mid forties. Gray streaks ran through her brunette hair. She was beautiful. The man next to her remained silent. He must have been a body builder at one time. His upper half still rippled but his waist rolled over his pants, probably from too much beer on football nights with the boys..

  "Liz—give her a minute. She just came around."

  "Our daughter may not have a minute!"

  "It's been almost four weeks."

  "What difference does that make? She could still be alive. I know she is—I can feel it.” She stared at her husband, holding the front of his shirt tight in her clenched fists. “I can feel it!"

  "Calm down, baby. Getting all upset doesn't make the situation any better."

  Nature watched as Mark Mosby, her client, pulled his wife close. He looked at her with pleading eyes. Nature kept her expression blank. She knew what had happened to their daughter. She had seen it in her vision, her gift, her nightmare. She was a psychic.

  She did not want to be the one to tell them, but knew she must. They needed closure. She gripped the teddy bear tighter against her body. It had been the daughter's favorite toy. Even at eighteen, she still slept with it..

  Someone moved toward her. A cup came into sight. A dark brown liqui
d filled it.. The smell of tea wafted to her nose. She looked up to see her secretary standing there.

  "Thought you might need this after such a long session."

  Nature took the cup, wrapped her stiff fingers around it, and sipped at the contents. It helped warm the cold emptiness she felt inside.

  "You always know how to take care of me, don't you?"

  "I have to. You don't seem to know how to do it yourself. You need my help."

  She tipped the cup at the young woman, “Help appreciated."

  Sandy Nemoy was in her late twenties. She could have been a super model in New York, with her long slender legs, dynamite body, and flowing mane of blonde hair, but chose to be a secretary instead. Nature had asked her about it once. Sandy only laughed. She said she did not want to be stereotypical. Besides, she liked being a secretary, especially to Nature. It was exciting.

  Sandy returned to her chair, crossed one leg over the other, and waited. Nature saw Sheriff Westerly eye those legs with appreciation. He noticed Nature looking at him and looked away, blushing. He may be in his fifties, but he was still a man after all.

  The Mosby's shifted on the couch, bringing her attention back to the current situation.. They were waiting for some word on their lost daughter. She had not come home from school and a missing person report was filed with the local police. Search parties combed the neighborhood and surrounding areas. They found nothing. After just over two weeks without any leads, the police moved on to other more pressing cases. Cases involving murder, shootings, and death. Unwilling to follow their example, they hounded the officers, friends, neighbors, and anyone they met, without results. That was why they were here now. Nature was their last option, their last hope.

  Sandy had taken the desperate call on Wednesday. By Friday, they had the money for the fee and the airfare to come to Montana. They were staying in the guest cottage on her property. It was the only building Nature refused to enter. The feelings emanating from it were too much for her to handle. Too much sadness, too much anger, too much loss.

  "Mrs. Kranderson...?” Mark Mosby said.

  Nature drew in a deep breath. She held it only a second before releasing it, the built up tension eased somewhat by it. This was going to be rough. She set the cup of tea on the end table.

  "Mr. Mosby ... Mrs. Mosby...” She nodded her head to each. “I'm afraid your daughter is dead."

  "What?” Mrs. Mosby asked, her face covered with disbelief, “That can't be right, I can feel her ... she's alive.... she's alive I tell you."

  Mr. Mosby stared at Nature. He asked in a voice barely above a whisper, “Are you sure?"

  "Yes.” Nature looked at the wife, “She was late and didn't want you to get mad at her. She was taken from a shortcut through the woods behind the school."

  Mrs. Mosby's mouth hung open, her hands clenched into fists before it, hiding it..

  "Did you see who took her? Did she know who the person was?” Mr. Mosby asked all the questions. His wife was too stunned to speak.

  "I couldn't see him. I could only feel the evil within. And your daughter didn't know him.."

  "Do you know where she is?"

  "She's close to some mountains, somewhere not frequented by many, somewhere in a forest.. I don't know which mountains. But I do sense they are toward the east."

  Mrs. Mosby bolted from her seat. She ran to Nature before anyone could stop her. Grabbing her exposed hand, she pleaded, “You're wrong. You're wrong! Rew can't be dead, she can't be!"

  Nature jerked her hand back, trying to free it. Liz wrapped her other hand around the wrist. Desperation and despair made the woman's grip strong, too strong to break free. She felt the woman's sorrow, her grief. She experienced her pain as if a knife had been plunged into her back. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her heart felt like it was going to rip out of her chest. Her world disappeared into a shroud of blackness. She started to scream.

  "Liz! Let go NOW!"

  Suddenly, the hands holding her were gone. The feeling from them remained. Nature heard Mr. Mosby shouting. She heard Sheriff Westerly, Web, shouting. She heard Mrs. Mosby crying. She kept her eyes closed tight. She was trying to work the horrible feelings out. Her body had had too much and wanted to withdraw. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she was able to bring herself under control.

  "Don't ever do that again,” Westerly growled.

  "She couldn't help it. Rew is our only child; the news hit her hard. How would you feel if you just found out your daughter was dead."

  Nature opened her eyes and surveyed the situation. Sheriff Westerly stood in front of the couple, hands resting on his gun belt, legs shoulder-width apart, a cold look locked onto his face. The Mosby's were seated again. Mr. Mosby had his wife wrapped in his arms, rocking her back and forth. Sandy had remained in her chair. She knew the man with the gun could handle things. She had witnessed this kind of outburst before.

  "I'm so sorry,” Nature started, “You can stay in the cottage as long as you need.” She rose to her feet, wobbled a bit, then grabbed onto the furniture as she made her way to the double doors which lead to the rest of the house.

  Sandy rose to her feet but did not help. Nature would not want it. She was very independent and would be insulted by the gesture. Westerly remained in front of the Mosby's, preventing them from following. The rest of the house was off-limits to outsiders.

  Nature made it to the hall, shut the doors behind her, and leaned back against them. She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears. Every nerve was raw. She needed a scalding hot shower. She turned and stumbled her way up the stairs to the second floor.

  Her house was located in a remote section of Montana. She had it specially built, and then sterilized before moving in. It could be considered a mansion to some, but she considered it home. She owned 375 acres, allowing her to be away from the crowds and the unwanted feelings associated with them. Her property skirted the Charles M.. Russell National Wildlife Refuge.

  At the top of the stairs, a hall went right and left. To the right were the bedrooms. There were two in use at present. One was hers; Sandy used the other. Sandy was the only other person allowed on this level.. The woman had great control over her emotions. Moreover, she touched as little as possible. To the left were more rooms, including her office. She loved her office. It was full of soft oversized chairs and a huge mahogany desk littered with her papers.

  She turned right. Upon entering her room, she locked the door. She did not want company right now. Peeling off her clothes as she walked, she made her way to the large bathroom. A modern walk-in shower stood in one corner, an old-fashioned porcelain tub next to it. She slid the door open to the shower, reached in, and turned the hot water knob several times. The water rushed out. Gradually she mixed the cold water in, but only enough to keep from scalding her when she entered.

  She moved to the built-in radio/CD player located on the wall near the doorway. Pushing play, the blaring sounds of Nightwish echoed throughout the room. She turned up the volume and returned to the shower. The infectious beat of an electric guitar caused her to dance into the hot water. It hit her skin, turning it beet red. Losing herself to the words about wishing to have an angel, she opened her arms wide and leaned back under the spray. She began to spin slowly. The hot water helped wash away the feelings of the girl, her mother, the tension.

  Classical instruments blended with the sounds of heavy metal. She could feel the bass vibrate through the floor, the wall, her soul. As the music intensified, so did her dancing. She threw her mid length brown hair forward then back, like a major rocker during a concert. When the music changed to a melancholy one about a trail of tears, her own tears followed suit. The feelings washed away rushed back with a vengeance. She slid down the wet wall and curled into a small ball. The water pounded her. It hit and hit and hit, just like the rod. She threw her head back and screamed.

  Downstairs, Sandy sat in her chair. She watched as the Sheriff and the Mosby's left through the side door.
She heard the music start afterwards. She felt the bass as it vibrated through the house. Now, sipping her coffee, she sat quietly as she listened to the screams.

  The first time had scared the shit out of her.. She remembered running up the stairs and pounding on the locked bedroom door. The screams continued. Sandy yelled to be let in. Nothing happened. The sound of running water continued. Just when she was about to smash the doorknob off with a hammer she had found in the garage, the door opened.

  Nature stood in the entranceway, wet hair hanging in her face, dripping on the hardwood floor, a towel wrapped around her medium sized body. Sandy had rushed forward to comfort her, but the other woman backed away. She remembered being asked to wait downstairs in the study. She remembered going down and waiting for what seemed like hours. When Nature appeared, she was calm. Her hair was still wet but it lay neatly across her shoulders and back. The redness of crying was gone.

  They talked far into the night about what was expected and how Sandy could help. Seven years and many sessions later, Sandy continued to do what was expected and help the woman who was not only her boss, but her friend as well.

  Sandy decided to have a bite to eat. She had not eaten since before the session with the Mosby's and her stomach was growling at her. She left the study, making her way to the kitchen. All the fixings for a ham and cheese sandwich littered the counter when Nature finally joined her.

  "Feeling better?” Sandy asked as she continued to spread the mayonnaise across the slice of whole wheat bread.

  "Some."

  "That was a bad one, wasn't it?"

  A moments silence filled the room.

  "Yes."

  The word was barely above a whisper. Sandy paused, the knife hovering above the bread. She looked at her boss. Nature's head leaned forward, preventing the secretary from seeing her face. She knew this case was different. She also knew Nature would talk about it when she was ready. The knife resumed its back and forth motion. Upon completion, she handed the sandwich to Nature.