The Abduction of Veronica X

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Once Zack had her all charged up, he started smacking her pussy with the dildo still shoved inside her cunt. He beat it until she was gasping for breath and carrying on like crazy, kicking, screaming. I’d never seen anyone quite so crazed—of course until all this started I’d never actually watched anyone having sex. When you’re in the middle of it yourself, you’re hardly thinking about what you and your partner look like.

  Penny and I were worried that someone would hear. I think we were pretty sober by then, which made the scene even more bizarre, more unbelievable to watch. This was Kathy Ann, our sweet, innocent Kathy Ann behaving like a savage slut.

  When she’d drift off, Zack would smack her face to bring her around, then he used a soothing voice to melt the fears. He made her focus on his eyes while he hurt her. Then, rather oddly, every few minutes he forced beer down her throat, which she gulped as if she were dying of thirst. All that screaming, she probably was.

  When she finally complained that she had to pee, Zack told her to pee right there, right there with her back to the tree, her arms tied behind it and probably pretty achy from the stress. She refused and cried a lot about that one. I almost thought he’d lose her there.

  He finally gave up and released her from the tree. But Zack was not one to take the complaint lightly. He made a slipknot of the rope that went around her neck. Then he made her crawl deeper into the woods. I suppose she peed there, for him, just for him. When he returned with her, she was forced back to the tree, this time facing the trunk, which had to be much easier on the psyche, even though it scratched that pretty skin of hers raw by the time the three of them finished taking her ass.

  I’m not sure she was conscious during half of it. It appeared that she was cumming half the time, her voice like a fucking angel’s, rising over all the grunts from her male abusers.

  Penny and I watched, breathless and salivating, our bodies roaring with excitement and no way to enjoy it. I guess that fact suggests that we were all three exhibitionist masochists.

  It really was lovely when Zack brought her down and cradled her in his arms. I think for five minutes of his kindness, Kathy Ann would do anything for the man, including going back on the tree.

  This last incident bonded us in a curious way. The Writer’s Club was now more a secret society, a primitive cult, than it was a serious endeavor to expand our writing prowess. Emerson, for all his bossy, overbearing rhetoric succumbed to that feral calling.

  Yet, our decadent games did have their effect. He never wrote so profoundly as then, which became a truth for all of us. Inspiration tore through us. But there were rarely readings after the initiation was complete. I suppose it wasn’t necessary anymore, not when we could whip up the creative frenzy in the cauldron of our sexual heat.

  Sadie

  So, is this when you moved to the country house?

  Daphne

  We didn’t actually move there. We all had apartments in town. But we met there to drink, share our work on a few rare occasions and, of course, partake in the sexual antics that became the true center of our world.

  Sadie

  And Veronica X?

  Daphne

  Yes, and eventually, Veronica X. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…

  Chapter Four

  The windows in the porch room stood open; the breeze flooding the room, billowing curtains and sending pieces of Penelope’s manuscript flying.

  “Dammit!” she hustled after her pages, while trying to hang on to the cigarette between her lips. Crawling the floor was not exactly her normal mode, but no one bothered to help her retrieve the strewn pages so she had to do it herself. Once she had everything back in hand, she stood up, took a drag off the cigarette—its ash falling to the floor—and then parked it back between her lips while she sorted the pages.

  Emerson moved into the room from the darker rooms behind the porch and looked out of the large window that faced the lake. The house sat inside a grove of trees, mostly maples and overlooked a deep blue lake, which was outlined by a wreath of evergreens and deciduous trees. It was Zack’s house, or soon to be Zack’s house, as soon as his father finally gave it up to him. This was the inheritance he’d been promised since he was a boy.

  They all agreed that the porch was the house’s best feature. It had been built with ceiling high windows on three sides, which allowed for plenty of cool, fresh air in summer, while the rest of the house got stuffy in the heat. They practically lived on the porch day and night.

  “Fuck, what a mess!” Penny fumed.

  Hearing Penny’s curse, Emerson moved in her direction and plucked the lighted cigarette from her mouth. “Filthy habit.” He squashed the burning end against the stone wall and tossed the butt out the window. He liked annoying her, matching his haughtiness with hers.

  “You ass!!” She must have said it hourly when the two were together.

  “I am, aren’t I, darling?” he said, pulling her to him and giving her a wet kiss on the mouth.

  She seemed, reluctantly, to return the gesture with a degree of mild enthusiasm. Daphne was sitting right there, staring at the two. Sometimes they even fucked in front of her as she watched. Daphne found herself unable to sort out what she felt seeing her husband and good friend locked in a sexual contest no one particularly understood. For lack of any other explanation, she assumed that Penelope helped Emerson handle the darker moods that recurrently clouded his personality.

  This time Penelope pulled away before he got too randy, which wasn’t likely at the moment. No drink or drugs were in his system now. He’d just returned from an invigorating walk with Bo, who at that moment was sitting staring out at the lake, aimlessly drinking the day’s first beer. Zack and Kathy Ann were arm in arm on the swing, one of their good days, from her perspective.

  Emerson returned to his thoughtful pose, staring at the lake trancelike.

  “I like this anarchy, don’t you?” he finally said, more rhetorically than to elicit a response. “We stretch the boundaries of our thinking like this. We have no rules here. And so fortunate for us, we have no war, either. Isn’t that rare… no protest in the street, no military-industrial complex, no soldiers and generals, no guardsmen and mace throwing police. No self-serving politicians who seek to squash the imaginative spirit, or corporate dicks who would enslave us to forty hours a week of worthless drudgery. You see how peaceful anarchy can be?” He finally turned toward the others and looked for some response in their eyes. The five were somewhat curious about this line of discourse, and took the time to listen to his rant. They didn’t always.

  “I should be a happy man in this halcyon life,” he went, but his expression dimmed, “yet, there’s something that gnaws at me, a more shadowy being I need to seek. Don’t you imagine that’s why we’re here?”

  Penelope lit another cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction. “You think we aren’t trying hard enough?” she quipped. “Not fucking enough, perhaps?” Pure sarcasm.

  “Fucking is a start, Penny, but we’re only scratching the surface. I won’t go down the road to war that everyone outside this place seems so obsessed with. It’s trivial. Old World. We were made brilliant to discover something of brilliance. But still, we’re going to plunge deep, challenge ourselves in this immoral anarchy we have created. We are unique. No one else has the chemistry we do, or the means to pursue the sort of experimentation available right here in this private haven.”

  Everyone look at bit perplexed, while Emerson peered around the room and laughed.

  “Oh, yes, it’s the same old Emerson getting dotty at his young age, huh?” he continued on with his soliloquy. “Daphne’s looking scared, Kathy Ann is petrified, Penny here, you’re destined to be bored with my monologues, but you’re really not, and Zack and Bo, you’re just confused. Maybe I need to be more specific, huh? Is that it? A bit of an explanation?”

  His mind seemed to be going a hundred miles and hour.

  “Don’t keep spouting drivel,” Zack finally
blurted out, “or you’ll bore us all.”

  “Well, I won’t for long. I have a plan, a big plan.” He stopped and looked like wouldn’t say more.

  “So, what is it?” Zack finally asked.

  “In good time.”

  “No, dammit, you fuckin fraud…spit out it out now, or we’ll never believe anything out of your mouth again.”

  Emerson smiled. The big smile. The one that wove spells, the movie star-politician’s smile which women swooned to embrace and lured men to action.

  “All of us in the woods after dark. We’re the wolves, our fair sex here become the sheep to be devoured.”

  Zack instantly snickered.

  “I don’t want to be tied to a tree again,” Kathy Ann spat out petulantly, which made Emerson stalk to where she sat and bend over leaning on the arms of her chair. Their faces were just inches apart. She backed up as much as she could.

  “If we wish to tie you to a tree we will, Kathy Ann,” he said, mockingly. “And you have nothing to say about it. You whine about it, little girl, I’ll set Zack up with a dozen women more attractive than you and force you to watch them make love.” He sighed heavily, annoyed with her. “As it is, I have no intention of tying you to a tree this time, unless, perhaps I hang you from your toes.”

  Kathy Ann slapped at him, to slap him away.

  Emerson just laughed as he backed up.

  “Hey, bitch, don’t you hit my friend,” Zack jumped on her.

  “But, you let him speak to me that way?” She was hurt.

  “It’s a game, honey. Emerson’s just reminding you how much you like to play.” He gazed around. “I think a little savagery in the woods would be a perfect way to rev up the juices.” He jumped from his seat and went for a couple of beers. Returning, he handed one to Bo, one to Emerson and the third he downed in sixty seconds. His eyes hit on every eye. Even Bo seemed to understand the event at hand, while the women looked at the three wonderingly, their crotches stirred to life, the threat of being captured, beaten and raped making magic in their fertile brains.

  ***

  Blindfolded and stripped nude, the three women were bound to stakes before the bonfire on the beach.

  In the preceding half hour, they’d played a game they’d played before—dubbed ‘Release and Capture’. The three women, in various states of attire were given a head start, told to run through the woods and evade capture. It might take fifteen minutes; it might take an hour, depending on how spirited they were, and how long the three could stave off their mounting sexual arousal. Normally, the three men would gang up on each woman separately—abuse her, fuck her and tie her to a tree while they resumed the game until all three women had been subdued. The woods might ring with laughter one night, with tears and screaming the next. The quixotic spirit of the night, which was as changeable as Emerson’s moods, dictated the theme, the atmosphere and the final outcome, whether it was joyous, painful or intense. One fact remained true, however; each time the six ventured into the woods, the three men became more daring and more sadistic as they pushed through taboos they previously thought were set in stone. Beatings, bondage and lust-filled rapes became the favored means of finding sexual satiation. Although Daphne may have had a natural inclination for submission and found it natural, Kathy Ann and Penelope never failed to behave as servile sexual animals once the game was on.

  On this particular night, the festivities had a unique new twist. The three women began blindfolded, and were pushed into the pitch-black night with nothing to guide them but their hands. Once they were sufficiently disoriented, the three men suddenly appeared and forced them through the woods a good hundred yards through thick trees and brush. They prodded them with sticks, Zack assigned to Penelope, Bo to Daphne, and Emerson goading a squealing Kathy Ann, who was acting most afraid of her disorienting journey into the woods. Not a speck of light could be seen through the thick black material that had been tightly wound over their eyes. They stumbled, hardly able to stay on their feet, each one falling several times and picking themselves back up until they were at last at the lake’s edge, in a tiny cove with a cloudy sky overhead. It would have been pitch black this night if it hadn’t been for the bonfire the men had built earlier in the evening. Although the three blindfolded women could still not see a thing, they could feel the heat of the fire and hear the crackling flames. They felt oddly safer now that they were bound to something immovable.

  They were tied to the posts, which, earlier in the day, the men had sunk deep into the sand, in a semi-circle around the fire pit. As their skin began to glisten with sweat from the growing heat, the naked female bodies glowed like golden pillars in the dancing light.

  “So, my fellows, this is our finest hour with our three groveling whores. Who’s to begin?” Emerson spoke, as was expected. These nights were primarily his inspiration. His question had little value because he and his allies in this radical plot knew exactly what would come next.

  “Perhaps, the boldest of our lovelies would be the first to suffer,” he answered his own question, while striding toward the bound Penelope and ripping away her blindfold. It took some seconds for her eyes to adjust to the bright light from the leaping flames.

  “You know, you are one fascinating beauty in bondage. Your only trouble is your mouth. Maybe someone one should rip out your tongue?”

  Penelope’s eyes opened wide in horror. His eyes were too dark, too crazed to know for sure if he were kidding or not. “Does that scare you?”

  “Emerson, be sane,” she said evenly, in a voice to soothe a madman.

  “Oh, Penny, you try so hard to be unbreakable.”

  “But I’m really just a whimpy brat, that’s all.” She tried to smile.

  Emerson stood back, chuckling, then in a surprising move, he pulled a pack of Penny’s Camel Unfiltered from his pocket and shook a cigarette from the pack. The way he lit it looked as if he’d smoked for years. “Yes, luv, you’re a whimpy brat and I’m a big softie, huh?” He held the glowing cigarette before her eyes, then eyed both the burning tip and Penelope’s ashen face. “High and mighty bitch.”

  “Just a put-on, Em,” she said.

  “But I have you scared.” He took a drag and blew the smoke in her face.

  “I trust you, darling,” she answered, but rather haltingly.

  “The only thing you’d better trust me to do is the unexpected.” The words weren’t out of his mouth before the burning end of the cigarette was shoved against Penelope’s inner thigh.

  “Oh, my God!” She threw her head back unconsciously, knocking her head against the post. Her legs shook, but this had little to do with fear. Her entire being dripped with lust. A red welt remained when Emerson took the stub of the cigarette away. Then he fiddled with her crotch, pulling out his wet fingers.

  “My, just like our Penny to turn hurt into a fountain of pleasure.” He pulled another cigarette from his pocket. “Shall we try again?”

  “Emerson, really.” Her voice was just a breathy cough.

  “But why not, when you respond so beautifully to the sensation of pain, my little ashtray.”

  The burning end went straight for the side of her left tit, leaving her panting one more time, her head bent forward, and a searing red spot of ash and burnt skin.

  “Oh, damn you!” she seethed under her breath.

  Bo was right there, feeling her crotch and kindling that fire.

  “How about one more?” Emerson posed.

  There was little doubt about how sexually engaged she was now. Despite the sweltering anger, her svelte form shuddered end to end.

  “Tell me you want another,” Emerson ordered as he lit the third cigarette.

  “Emerson, no!”

  “No? Oh, I think you’re lying,” he sneered wickedly. The smoldering tip made a similar searing mark on her opposing inner thigh. Penelope shrieked. She might have been in pain, but her body jerked as if she were about to come.

  “Come on, Penny, ask for it.” Emerson goaded.
He lit the butt again, took a long draught and sent another puff of smoke through his nostrils and onto her heaving chest.

  “I can’t,” she grimaced, as her head thrashed back and forth.

  “Oh, darling, all I’m asking for is your unambiguous respect. Just a simple acknowledgement of how much you burn—excuse the pun—for being treated like shit. You’re turned on, Penny dear.”

  “No, I can’t be!”

  “But you are? Isn’t she Bo?”

  “There’s a fucking flood between her thighs!” His fingers were adept, well-practiced. He’d been fingering girls for nearly twelve years, getting them off on a dexterity of movement that had actually become somewhat renowned in their circle of acquaintances.

  “It’s Bo, damn it!” she said.

  “Is it? Really? So sure of yourself,” Emerson practically spit in her face. The smoke of his exhaling curled around her head and disappeared into the nighttime sky above. “Bo, open her labia where she’s juicy. I want to hear the sizzle.

  Bo’s fingers parted the great divide between Penelope’s thighs where her nether lips topped with their curly black pubic hair beckoned a man’s perusal. Her shiny pink pussy glimmered in the bonfire light. As Emerson dropped to his knees, he smiled sadistically and aimed the burning end of his half-spent cigarette directly for the tender flesh, giving her one more test to suffer.

  “Oh, oh, gawd, no!” She would have stamped her feet if they’d been free to move. Instead, her body strained against the bondage making her look like a beached fish in her struggles.