Sarah In The Dark

Codes; F, BD, WS

 1

Sarah Burden tried to ease her bound wrists where they were fastened behind her back, but pushed back into the corner of the car boot space and with her bound legs pressed up under her chin there was little room to move. Worst of all, the car was going down some sort of country lane, and the unmade road was making the car bounce and shake. Something, probably a wrench of some kind, had been pushed back when she had been loaded in by several pairs of hands and now the tool was digging into the small of her back to add to her discomfort. The smell of petrol was making her feel a little sick as well as worrying if this old car was leaking so much it would explode in a ball of fire.

The interior of the boot had no light of course and anyway, the last she saw of the outside world before the blindfold was put on her was that it was getting dark in the late afternoon. She had been in this old car, bound and gagged as she was, for at least an hour. She was pretty much helpless and isolated, and she couldn’t hear much with her ears plugged with cotton wool. Nice touch, that, she thought because she was sure the incessant grumble of the car’s engine in a part of the vehicle without any sound-insulation boot would drive her nuts.

Not for the first time, Sarah thought it hadn’t been good idea to let those men tie her up. Of course they had enjoyed a good feel of her, both upstairs and downstairs as it were, and she usually enjoyed being bound and gagged and treated to some non-consensual sex. ‘The rougher the better,’ her husband Steve had once told her and the thought never really left her because it was true. Usually, she enjoyed far more being felt up and even fucked by under-age boys but when young lads of 11 or 12 weren’t available — you had to make allowance for their shyness in coming forward — she had no objections to grown men doing whatever they wanted with her. 

If she had to say the one place where men did better than small boys was that they could (usually) hold back their orgasm longer and their cocks were longer so would penetrate her deeper. Young lads though would often be ready to do her again within minutes; they needed no ‘recovery time’ at all. On the other side of this equation she also had to acknowledge that the older her abusers were the more imagination they had when it came to making her suffer. A pre-teen boy, eager as he was to stuff her holes, had few ideas of how to punish a woman. They had to be told how to pinch a woman’s hard nipples until it hurt, or even how to slap her face. When it came to caning and spanking, small boys really weren’t that good. Lack of arm strength or inbuilt youthful caution? Sarah couldn’t answer that one.

Sarah had thought long and hard in quiet moments why she both wanted young boys to fuck her and use her and why she had burning need to be punished. Did all women want that, she had wondered? Well, she couldn’t speak for all women, though a few of her friends (who she could not bring to tell that she had a thing for pre-teen boys using her as whore) admitted over drinks that they liked a ‘bit of rough’ and had no problem with being tied to the bed for Saturday-night fun and games. One friend, Paula, even liked to be beaten and her husband Philip had a traditional whip bought from a leather fetish shop on holiday in Spain to make her scream, she said.

But none of them ever said they liked — as Sarah did — small boys to use them as sex objects.

But this wasn’t Saturday night if her immediate destiny was to be stripped and bound to a bed, legs wide apart with maybe a pillow under the small of her back to lift her hips that little bit higher. It was Sunday evening and she had work in the morning, if she was free of this. She wondered if her secretary would merely think Sarah, as manager, had been summoned to some regional meeting at short notice (the fashion retail trade was like that) and she would hear later that Sarah was in Leeds or Manchester or even Birmingham. There would be no alarm bells until Tuesday morning if she didn’t contact Louisa in the office. More, the store would get along fine without Sarah at the helm: she had appointed good staff who could do their job without her immediate direction.

The car bounced on, the smell grew worse and the wrench or spanner in her back grew more uncomfortable. More, she needed to pee and while she had no objection as part of some sex game to piss herself she felt she wouldn’t enjoy lying in her own urine with the puddle getting cold under her.

The knotted-scarf gag in Sarah’s mouth was sodden. She preferred a rubber ball gag to stop that happening but this gag, efficient though it was, was soaked and she was drooling on the floor of the car’s boot. Under her cheek there was a sizeable damp patch already. She felt her hair was a mess and in a way she hated that most of all. Yes, being roughed up during sex made a mess of even the best hairstyle, but now she felt a wreck without the sex.

It wasn’t then a good idea to allow three strange men to tie her and load her into this car, but if she was honest she hadn’t put up more than a token fight. They hadn’t said where she was going, and in fact had barely spoken at all. From the little she heard before they plugged her ears up, she did not recognise a voice among them. If her husband Steve was there — and he was usually not far away when his wife was ‘kidnapped’ as he enjoyed wanking as he watched his wife being taken and later abused — then he had remained quiet.

The car came to a halt. It had stopped before at junctions or lights on the journey, but this time the engine was turned off. In the silence and lack of movement Sarah felt even more helpless and aroused. She couldn’t help it; the prospect of anonymous sex was always a cunt-trembling delight. Of course, she had no idea if there would be sex. As far as she knew lying there trussed in the dark the people who had taken her and brought her to some far off place would merely use her for something that gave her no pleasure at all.

There had been a time when she was in a situation like this and had spent an evening bound to a pole on display while a small group of men and women watched television in a suburban living room and ate and drank, chatting away as if a woman in her underwear wasn’t there. Hardly anyone had looked her way. Indeed, no one had ever explained that to her: if anyone knew, they were keeping quiet. Not even her husband Steve had any idea who they were.

There were times he admitted he “sold” his wife. Not for much. He sometimes, half-jokingly, said Sarah wasn’t worth much though the woman suspected he was very much in love with her. He simply had a compunction to offer her to strangers, just as she had a compunction to offer herself to small boys if she could. Steve’s idea of fun was to watch his wife being used and humiliated. They had good sex life — better than most people, Sarah suspected — but they both had their needs. That was why her husband would arrange for her to be ‘kidnapped’ and taken. How much he charged for this ‘service’ she had no idea. But she didn’t complain. Strange cocks and even stranger practices aroused her hugely.

That was why she had been put in the back of the car, being taken to heaven knew where. Now the car was at rest and she became agitated. She had hoped on arrival she would be hauled out of the confines of the boot, trussed up or laid out and fucked. Instant reward. Having a man on her, or behind her if she was bent over (which was more likely than not) humping her was a pleasure she couldn’t get enough of. Yet now nothing was happening.

Surely they hadn’t forgotten her, had they? Or did the car driver not know what was in the back of his or her car? Oh fuck, Sarah, thought, I could be here a week or more before anyone opened the boot. She made as much noise as she could into her sodden gag and kicked her feet against the side of the car. She had heels on — truth was Sarah never went anywhere much without her high heels on — but the stiletto shoes didn’t make much noise that she could hear, but then her ears were plugged up.

To her relief the boot opened and a voice told her to be quiet, faint though it was to her. It was a man’s voice, so at least something would happen now. Again, Sarah didn’t recognise the voice. Certainly not Steve, nor any of the ‘regular’ men who used her. Then Sarah felt hands on her, and more than one pair at that. But the hands were small and dare she say it, soft. Usually the men who used Sarah for sex had large, strong hands. Worker hands, she called them, though again there were plenty of horny men who worked in offices and lifted nothing heavier than a few sheets of paper who who had her like this. But these were small hands, and there was a noise like a girl giggling. The man who had spoken a moment before told someone to be quiet. Sarah tried to reckon how many hands were hauling her out of the car. Four pairs, possibly five. All small. Then she was set on her feet, with more of the hands holding her upright. Her legs ached as she straightened her knees.

Then some of the hands were pushing her forward as if they wanted her to walk. Sarah gasped into her gag that she couldn’t move her bound legs but she understand that she now had to hop. There were pairs of hands on each of her arms, so she wasn’t going to fall she was sure. She hopped. It was torturous and hard work, and sweat broke out on her brow from the effort. But the people guiding her were patient. No one demanded that she move faster; she did it in her own time. They were happy with her small hops and slow progress. But she also knew no one was feeling her up. There was no hands on her tits as usually happened, no hands up her skirt. No one groping round her stocking tops. She was still in her skirt and blouse and no one had ripped her top open to expose her bra.

There was something she didn’t expect too: a smell of burning wood. Then she felt the faint heat of a nearby fire and panic seized her. Were these people taking her to burn her at a stake like some medieval witch? She struggled a little but the bonds were as good as ever and her gag still stopped her making meaningful sounds. Then she felt the warmth on her lessen; she was being guided away from whatever fire there was. Sarah was so relieved she wouldn’t be sacrificed in some devilish cult ritual she let her bladder go and her pee ran down her legs. The relief from being able to piss herself was immense, and at once she heard a girl nearby say: “Oh, look, cow’s pissing herself!” and another girl say, “Yuck, dirty whore.”

There was no other comment and the bound woman hopped on, exhausted by the effort. In a few moments she felt her shoes meet something harder than soil and she knew she was on a solid surface. Still she was being urged on however. Then she was turned and pushed back a little so her back met an upright of some kind. A rough one, she could feel through her blouse and tied arms. Ropes were being wound round her to keep her pinned to the post, with her arms trapped by her earlier bondage securely behind her.

To her surprise, Sarah felt rope being tied round her neck and then across her blindfold. Her neck and head was being kept firmly in place. The ropes were tight, but not unbearably so. More ropes were being put on her legs and round her waist and to her absolute amazement, her bust was flattened to her with more ropes around her chest. She could breathe, but it was hard. Sarah had to concentrate on her breathing, keeping at a steady rhythm and fighting any urge to panic.

Normally the woman’s tits were never bound because the people who used her would want to play with, or torture, her boobs. But her bust was clearly of little interest here. Sarah was puzzled, to say the least.

One thing she did know was that she was being tied up by at least three or four people; the ropes at her head and legs and waist as well as her bust suggested this was all being done at the same time. Then she felt her skirt hauled up to her waist, a girl said ‘yuck, stinky pants’ and a rope round her waist was threaded back between her legs and tied off to the post behind her, putting a pleasant pressure on her slit and ensuring her hips would stay quite still.

Then a blanket was fastened round Sarah, secured at her neck, and draped so it covered her body from neck downwards to at least her tied knees. More ropes were wound round her body, to obviously keep this blanket close to her. After a second or two a woman’s voice said: “Bedtime now, girls,” there was the sound of several people hurrying away, and a door being closed. There was the click of a lock being closed, and then silence.

Sarah wanted to cry. Not because she was tied up: God knows that had happened plenty of times before, but she wanted to know where she was, and have an idea what they would do with her. She also wondered why this had all happened so late on a Sunday night, having been taken to somewhere in the middle of nowhere. At least she presumed so. Something told Sarah these people didn’t want her for sex as such, and as she was usually aroused in preparation for fun whenever she was kidnapped and bound, she now felt very frustrated. She couldn’t of course get to her pussy to frig herself with hands secured and pinned to the post behind her, but at least she had the crotch rope. With a huge effort Sarah tried to wriggle her hips to make the rope on her cunt rub nicely, but it was almost impossible. There was some sensation, true enough, but it was so minimal it felt like a new torture. So close and so denied.

Now, standing in her wet panties and pee-soaked stockings, she felt at a complete loss. How long would she be here, and what for? As time passed she understood that she was tied here for the night. No one was going to release her and put her to bed, even bound and gagged. It occurred to Sarah she would have to get what sleep she could like this. At least she wasn’t cold, though her self-pissing hadn’t helped.

And then what? Sarah took a deep breath and consoled herself. She loved bondage adventures, and this one promised to be quite different, she was sure. It would be hard sleeping standing upright in her heels, but that was what lay ahead of her. Tomorrow she might find what exactly was happening, so there was that. Sarah eventually drifted into a restless, immobilised sleep, and dreamed as usual of being used for sex.