Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Axe Man Sam
Title: Heavyweight Abduction
Part: Scene 2
Summary: Dominant cow, who yearns to be dominated herself, risks
everything with an anonymous abductor.  In this scene she is collared,
leashed, whipped, and forced to crawl like a dog.
Keywords: Mf, bd, sm, ds, abduction, fat, bbw, tort, dog training, viol.
   Scene 2
   There is a swerve, and a squeal of tires.  The car stops.  You hear the
driver's door open and close.  Footsteps.  You feel the hot and moist air
of your own breath inside the hood.  The rear door of the car opens.  Cold
air blows in.  You feel it brush up your big naked legs, set randomly apart
in the back of the cargo compartment.  You feel the cold air on your heavy
thighs.  You feel a few icy raindrops spattering on your fat pussy.  You
hold your breath, motionless, waiting.  You feel the heat of your pussy
lips warming the raindrops, the raindrops freezing your pussy lips,
exchanging warmth, the rain taking, your body giving it up.
   You feel me undoing the buttons of your coat, carefully.  You swallow
against the penis gag lodged in the back of your throat.  For the first
time, you feel my hands brush against your massive tits, but only brushing
against them, as I open your coat up from bottom to top.  There is a pause,
no movement, no sound.  Though you are blinded with your face inside the
hood, you sense that I am now looking at your body, studying you.
   Then you hear me speak.  My voice sounds strange.  Distant.  Distorted.
   "It is good.  It is enough.  Good enough.  Enough meat.  There is enough
meat to use tonight."
   You have no idea what I am talking about.  For the first time you think
I might be completely deranged.
   "Out of the car, meat.  Get up.  Come out"
   Getting out of the car seems impossible.  Your arms and shoulders ache.
Even if you could get up, you are not even sure which direction is "out".
Your only clue is the direction of the cold wind blowing across your parted
thighs, your pussy, your belly, your tits.
   Something big and heavy snaps onto each of your tits, clamping them both
flat.  The pain is instantaneous, but before you can even register the
pain, it gets ten times worse.  I am pulling on these clamps, heaving you
out of the car.  It's impossible, your body weight is too great to be
lifted by your tits...  surely?...  but it doesn't matter, it has the
required effect, you bolt upright and scramble blindly out of the car,
sliding on your naked arse, unable to see, terrified of hitting your head,
sliding down the metal, over the bumper, scraping your bound hands, landing
with a great thud of your fat arse on the wet concrete.
   Cold rain seeps under your buttocks, which are splayed onto the concrete
by your weight.  You hyperventilate in your hood.  You can't believe you
didn't get injured, didn't hit your head.  You have never been this scared.
At least I've stopped pulling you by the clamps on your tits.  You try to
slow your breathing, you need to be able to talk, you need to be able to
beg me not to do that again.  For the moment you've even forgotten the gag
in your throat.  All you can manage is a sucking, sobbing noise.  You feel
a burning, bruising feeling spread over your tits, radiating out from where
the clamps bite into the flesh.
   I pick you up, by your shoulders this time rather than your tits, and I
lift you to your feet.  Your shoes have already come off, your feel your
bare soles on the wet ground.  I brush you down.  I remove your coat, throw
it in the back of the car with your shoes.  You hear the rear door close.
You are fully naked now, apart from the gag and the hood, and the plastic
binding your hands behind you.  The engine isn't running.  It is very quiet
here, wherever this is.  You feel your tits swinging from side to side,
heavy, huge.  In your mind's eye you imagine me watching them swing,
enjoying your humiliation.
   You feel me fasten something around your neck, pushing hood's drawstring
upward so I can find room for something else.  It is a collar, a thick
collar.  It's not a fancy fetish collar, it's just a big collar for a big
domestic dog, from a pet store.  You can tell by how it feels and how it
smells.  It's a very large size, it goes on quite loose until I tighten it
and buckle it.  Then you can feel your throat when you swallow.  You hear
the jingle of a chain dog-lead being attached.  Then you feel tension on
the chain, tension on your throat, as I pull you forward.  Panic comes back
- you have bare feet, hands tied behind you, you can't see anything with
your face hooded.  You stumble forward but you are terrified of falling,
hitting something, you can't even break your fall if you trip.  You cry and
whimper in your gag, desperately.
   I stop pulling you forward.  You steady yourself, try to stand,
disoriented, not quite sure which way is up.  Your big tits keep moving,
swinging from side to side and around after the rest of you has stopped,
slapping against you.  Every movement of them pulls against the heavy
clamps that are biting into the flesh of your tits, makes the pain in your
tits worse.  Above all, you are afraid, just the simple and terrible fear
of not being able to see, not being able to protect yourself.
   "If you promise to be completely quiet, I will remove your hood.  Do you
promise not to make a single noise, not a single sound, unless I give you
permission?"
   You nod your head desperately, agreeing, shaking your tits up and down
with the motion, the ends of the clamps slapping against your fat belly. 
The ends feel like some kind of metal, cold, though the parts biting in to
your tits, flattening them, feel like a dull, heavy plastic.
   "Be still.  Keep quiet, or you will have the hood again, permanently,
with no second chances."
   The fear of the hood is already enough to make you obey.  You feel me
step behind you, and work at the drawstring of the hood.  I pull off the
hood.  The atmosphere of your own hot, wet breath is replaced by cold night
air.  For a moment you wonder why you still can't see, but it's because
your eyes are still screwed closed.  You keep them closed to take deep
breaths of the cold, fresh air, and you try to remember not to make a
sound. You don't want to wear the hood again.
   You focus your mind, disciplining yourself not to speak, not to make any
outburst.  The pain in your tits is very distracting.  Your nakedness, the
feeling of your bare skin, the cold air, the light drops of rain, these
things are soothing.  You focus on those soothing feelings, calming
yourself.  You feel the passage of a few drops of icy rain, down your
shoulders, down your back, onto your arse; other droplets run along the
broad swell of your tits.  You wish the wind would blow the rain between
your legs, to soothe your pussy.  You focus, and open your eyes.
   You are looking down.  The first thing you see is a wet, black, concrete
road surface, and your bare feet, and your huge hanging tits, and your
protruding belly.  I have put industrial clamps across your tits, flat
plastic carpentry clamps about 4 inches wide.  They felt to you like they
were massive, but now you can see them, compared to your huge tits, the big
clamps look small, almost delicate.  They are clamped onto the flesh behind
your nipples, not directly on your nipples, which is just as well.  You
understand now that they were placed there for manipulation, physical
control of your body, not specifically for causing pain.  The pain was just
incidental.  It could, easily, be much worse.
   Looking up, there is some kind of factory or warehouse ahead of you, and
smaller buildings to the sides.  You are standing in some kind of paved
yard, parking for cars or trucks, but there are no vehicles here now apart
from the black SUV.  It feels like this is a high place, on the top of a
hill or a mountain.  It's secluded, there are no lights in the distance, no
city, no towns, no roads visible even.  No sounds.  There is dim, yellow,
electric light coming from the sides of the building.
   You hear the click of a knife, you startle in fear, and just manage to
stifle a sound.  The penis gag helps you to avoid making a noise.  I am
holding your bound hands, and the contact reminds you of your aching
shoulders and arms.  You feel the plastic tie separating in two, as the
knife goes through it.  You feel my fingers brush against your wrists,
scooping up the severed plastic, pocketing it rather than letting it drop
to the floor.  I leave no evidence, you realise.  No traces.
   Blood rushes back into your arms, filling them with pins and needles. 
You actually see stars in your eyes.  Then there is the familiar feel of
the rough plastic, this time around your knees, binding clicking and
locking again.  Something is threaded through the plastic, a thin rope
perhaps.  I hold your left arm, from behind you, and you see me wrap
something around your elbow.  It is another plastic cable tie, serrated,
self sealing.  It clicks into place, tight on the flesh, above the bone. 
Then the right elbow.  I push a finger, just barely, under the sealed cable
tie, and thread the thin rope through it.  I pass the rope under your
breasts, and thread it through the cable tie on the other elbow, and then
back down to the knees.  You try to understand what I am doing - with your
penis-gagged face you turn back toward me, to try to ask me with your eyes
what is going on.
   You barely see the anger in my face before you are falling, falling to
the hard concrete.  You twist and turn and try to block your fall with your
numb arms, bound at the elbows, but they barely respond.  You crash onto
your knees and forearms, only just shielding your head.  Your mouth smacks
against the ground, the gag drives into the back of your throat but
protects your face from the worst of the impact.
   You lie there on your knees, and your tits, and your forearms, digesting
the pain in your knees, speechless with shock like a schoolgirl who has
fallen over in the school playground.  You feel me tightening the rope that
now connects your elbows and your knees in a loose rectangle.  Only then do
you wonder if you cried out, if you broke the rule, if you will get the
hood again.  To your surprise and relief, you realise you didn't make a
sound.  And now you focus all your will on stifling the scream of pain that
is rising up in you, trying to stop yourself from making a sound.  You
manage to transform the would-be scream into nothing more than a short
intake of breath into the leather penis gag.
   "Good.  Well done."
   You understand that I am praising you for your control, for your efforts
to obey.
   And now I walk forward, and pull on the chain on your collar, the
domestic dog collar suited only for the very largest breeds of domestic
dogs, and now you understand why you have tight cable ties around your
elbows and knees and a thin nylon rope connecting them.  I am walking you
like a dog.  With the rope cinched tight into a rectangle, there is no way
you could stand up if you tried, you couldn't do more than crouch.  So you
can only crawl.
   I pull the chain lead tight in my hand, next to your head, and pull you,
almost push you, forward.  You do your best to crawl, wincing with the pain
in your bruised knees.  Your tits are so big that they drag along the
ground at first, scraping on the concrete, and you try to raise your stance
to keep them off the ground.
   "Keep your legs apart while you crawl.  Keep your arse and pussy parted.
When I look from behind I want to see your thighs make a triangle with the
ground, not a square."
   You struggle to widen your legs, but the gait is difficult.  The fixed
length of rope pulls your elbows closer together, as you spread your
thighs. You are crawling on the side edges of your knees, which at least
gives a little relief from the pain on the front of your knees.  Your fat
arse and pussy are wide open and exposed.  With the low stance, your tits
again rub and scrape against the ground, and the big tit clamps clatter and
bounce and twist on the concrete.  I keep pulling you forward, toward the
factory building.
   "We are going for a walk.  You are my collared cunt dog.  Others would
call you my bitch, but that would be incorrect.  A bitch suggests a female
with some power, with a will of her own.  A free woman can be a bitch.  You
are not a free woman.  You are an object, a domestic animal.  You are my
object for my use.  So I do not dignify you with the name of bitch.  I call
you merely what you are, a fat, lumbering cunt dog."
   "We are going for a walk and you are being trained.  You will behave
properly.  It will be a pleasant walk if you behave and perform, cunt dog.
It will be extremely unpleasant for you, if you do not give me total
obedience and service."
   "I now release you from your promise of silence."
   You start to make a noise of thanks, forgetting again the thick penis
gag shoved in your mouth, but your breath freezes in your throat when you
heard the sound of the air being cut by my whip.  You only have time to
tense your thighs, clench those great, fat, buttocks, and even as you
realise it is exactly the wrong thing to do, a stripe of fire burns across
your arse, like a spray of acid, like someone has taken a thin strip of
your skin and peeled it from both sides of your huge arse in an instant
with a red hot pair of pliers.
   You scream, and scream, the comical gargling scream of a cunt with a
thick leather cock filling her mouth, the sweet music that every pure
black-hearted sadist like me dances to with joy.
   "Your posture is inadequate.  Improve it, cunt dog.  Thighs wider, pussy
lower.  Stop trying to protect your tits.  They are big enough to handle
much more punishment than this.  Do not lift them from the ground.  Imagine
they are two big, fat, sanding blocks and you are sanding the floor.  "
   The whip comes down again, pulling another strip of skin from your arse.
   You desperately try to comply with my orders, to avoid another dose of
the whip.  You scrape your tits, scrape your knees, as you scamper forward.
I pay out a length of chain, no longer pulling your forward, making you
drive yourself forward.
   "Faster, cunt dog.  Crawl faster.  Faster.  And shake that fat arse. 
Wave it, wiggle it.  Dance an arse-dance for me while you crawl.  Entertain
me.  This is meant to be a pleasant walk."
   You crawl as fast as you can, dragging your sore tits over the rough
ground, gyrating your fat arse like a whore, desperate to please me,
desperate to avoid punishment.  Every time you falter, the whip comes down
again, scorching your arse like napalm fire.  Your heavy, flabby buttocks
are crisscrossed with stripes and weals, every inch of your arse is in
agony, when you finally reach the wall of the factory, and I let you pause.
   I unbuckle the gag and remove it, along with the fragments of your
panties, now just lumps of wet rag.  You retch as the cock gag comes out,
then you pant for breath, you pant just like a big dog, in fact.  You look
up at me with a big dog's eyes, wide, uncomprehending, wanting to
understand how to please its master, how to make the punishment end.
   "No, cunt dog, the punishment has not ended.  The training has not
ended. I've taken out your cock gag, because I want to hear it when you
scream.  I want to appreciate your screaming, fully.  As you have gathered,
we are quite alone out here, under the night sky, and there is no one for
miles to hear us.  And I do like to hear screaming, when I am giving such a
well deserved whipping to a big, fat cunt dog like you."
   "This building is a hundred meters long and fifty meters wide.  You are
going to crawl, on your knees and tits, around the perimeter of this
building, showing me your wide spread open cunt and arse all the way, and
your thighs a perfect triangle of obedience.  That's three hundred meters
of crawling on your knees and tits.  If you slow down, or falter, or fall,
or lift your tits off the ground, or close your thighs, or close the cheeks
of your big fat arse, you will feel the lash of my whip.  If blood is not
flowing freely from both of your raw-scraped tits by the time we get back
to this position, you will go round again until you learn to do it right.
And when you have learned, only then will your real training, and your real
punishment, begin."
   "Now crawl for me, cunt dog!" 
  
Heavyweight Abduction - Scene 2