


Codes: Mf ped bd




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*   WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING  *
*        WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING        *
*                                                                              *
*                                                                              *
* For the love of SPOONS no one under the age of twenty-one (21) or the age of *
* consent for their geographical location (whichever is HIGHER) needs to be    *
* anywhere near this.  This is a story meant for legally-adult readers.  Don't *
* let your kids read this.  Don't let your dog read this.  Don't let your      *
* religious leader within the same postal code as this.  You know, really, YOU *
* probably shouldn't even read this horrible, nasty, terrible story.           *
*                                                                              *
* Hopefully it goes without saying, but if you ever even vaguely ponder the    *
* SLIGHT idea that MAYBE you would CONSIDER doing anything even REMOTELY like  *
* anything depicted herein--GET HELP.  NOW.  Therapy is a wonderful thing.     *
*                                                                              *
* This story can (and probably does) contain one or more of the following (bet *
* your last nickel on "more"): Incest, pedophilia, watersports, extreme female *
* domination, bestiality, psychological torture, and who knows WHAT other      *
* sick, perverted, dirty, terrible, and disgusting things I can come up with.  *
* Really, you ought to stop reading.  Right now.  I'm serious.                 *
*                                                                              *
* ...still here?  You sure?  This is bad-bad mojo.  Last chance...             *
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*        WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING        *
*   WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING    WARNING  *
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                               CHANCE ENCOUNTERS
                                       by
                          Forbidden Fantasy Storyteller



        When she awoke, she was groggy.  She found herself on a cold, stone
floor.  When she tried to get up, she found that her arm hurt and could barely
support her weight.  Crashing back to the floor made it all come back to her.

        The fourteen-year-old was on her way home from school.  She remembered
crossing a street, and she noticed a man staring at her from behind the wheel of
his van.  Something about it didn't seem right, but when she got to the other
side she put it out of her mind.

        She had just turned down her street when she noticed that she was
walking by the same van she saw earlier.  That realization came many moments too
late.  She was grabbed from behind and dragged into the back of the van, where
he fumbled around frantically in the carpentry tools.

        He finally brought out something that looked like a gun, growling, "You
say a word, I shoot you.  You try to scream, I'll shoot you through the throat.
You do ANYthing but lay there on the ground, and I'll shot you.  Got me?"  She
could only nod frantically, trying to keep the sobs under control.

        He got into the driver's seat and fumbled for his keys with his left
hand.  The gun was pointed more or less at her, and when he realized she noticed
how much it wavered, he said, "If I shoot you, I may try to just hurt you but
accidentally kill you.  Do you WANT that?!"  She shook her head so fast it
looked like it was in danger of being flung off.  "Good!  Now lay down and cover
your head with your hands!"  She did so, and he managed to make the van start up
and get into gear.

        While the van lurched down the street, she tried to imagine why this was
happening to her.  She wasn't anyone special--she wasn't on the cheerleading
squad, she wasn't a member of the school paper, nor anything else that attracts
the perverts.  So why was this happening?

        It was also one of those ludicrous times of "Never a cop around when you
need one", which, as she figured, was the only reason why the van wasn't pulled
over.  She was sent tumbling around the back of the van more than once when he
took a corner too roughly; it couldn't have looked like a sane maneuver.

        They finally stopped, and he leapt into the back to grab her by her hair
and jerk her upright.  A hand clamped tightly over her mouth and he used that
arm to pin her against him as he quickly dragged her inside the house.  He
parked his van close to the back door, and there were high fences around the
yard, but he still looked around quickly, making sure no one saw them.

        She was dragged to the basement and thrown onto the floor, where she'd
accidentally hit her head and passed out.  Here it was, however long later, that
she was coming to and pulling herself to her hands and knees.  Suddenly an ice
pack landed next to her.

        "I'm sorry," said a voice, gruff and low, though carrying no sincere
apology with it.  "It--wasn't planned, you know.  I don't know who you are, I
don't know--anything about you.  But I saw you there, and--I knew, then.  I knew
it.  You were mine."

        She got up as far as her knees so she could sit on her heels, trying to
pick the man apart from the darkness.  She could see his silhouette; there was a
single light bulb above and behind her; the only other light was coming from
around the door at the top of the stairs, framing him.  She could see he was
sitting a few steps up, watching her.

        Plaintively, she cried, "Please, mister!  I'll do anything you say!
Just let me go!"

        He scratched his chin.  "Anything?  At all?  You'll do anything at all
if I let you go?" he asked, voice not really changing.

        She nodded furiously.  "Yeah, mister."

        "Okay," he said, the grin audible in his voice as he shifted position a
little bit.  "Strip, then.  Take it all off, every last stitch.  And toss the
clothes far away from you."

        She just--stared at him.  He WAS one of those perverts!  On the other
hand, he did say he'd let her go....  She bit her bottom lip as she stared at
that silhouette.

        "Well?" he prodded.  "Strip, I said."

        "Alright, mister...." she muttered, then slipped her hoodie over her
head, tossed as far as she could.  Then the tennis shoes were untied, slipped
off, and they too were chucked across the room.  She hesitated, then, hands at
the hem of her shirt.  He brought that gun out into view--she could see the
silhouette of that quite perfectly--and hurriedly tugged up her T-shirt.

        Jeans were next, slid down her legs, then socks, everything thrown to
join the shoes and hoodie before.  The last things were the bra and panties.
Completely red-faced, she took those off and tossed them away, then looked back
up at the man.

        "Turn around," he said, motioning with the gun.  "I want to get a good
look at you.  Face the other way."  She did so, nearly feeling his eyes crawl
all over her.  "Bend over.  Grab your ankles," he said, and she slowly did so,
tears starting to well up again.

        "You really are a nice piece'a ass," he said appreciatively as he got to
his feet and walked toward her.  "Alright, you can stand up and turn around."
He was less than a yard away, she realized with horror when she did so.  "You
know what this is?" he asked her, brandishing the gun.  She shook her head.
"It's a paintball gun, missing the hopper and air tank.  If I'd shot you with
it, at best it would have stung like a son-of-a-bitch.  But--without the hopper
there are no paintballs, and without the air tank there's no way to shoot the
balls."  He grinned at her, and she just stared at him again.

        Suddenly she struck, her knee flashing out to aim for his groin.  He
emitted a surprised shout and went down--but she had actually only hit him in
his thigh.  Still hurt, but not what she was aiming for.  He grabbed her ankle
as she tried to run by him, yanking her bodily to the floor.  She started to
struggle, but socking her in the jaw knocked her right out.

        She woke up with a missing tooth, jaw throbbing in pain--and a thick,
metal collar around her throat, attached to the brick wall by a rather long
length of chain.  Sobbing openly, she tugged on the chain as hard as she could,
but it didn't budge even a millimeter.

        "You can struggle if you want," came his voice suddenly, stopping her
cold.  "You can even scream.  Basement's soundproofed.  I could have a marching
band in here and a tea party upstairs, and neither would know of the other."

        He stepped closer to her, and that's when she realized--he was naked.
And his cock stood quite erect.  "Easy way or hard way, darlin'," he said,
stepping closer still.  "Up to you."

        She started screaming her head off and didn't even hear him say, "The
hard way it is."  He grabbed her and shoved her against the wall, the jarring
making him able to grab her hands and pin them to the wall.  One knee pushed
open her thighs, then just like that, he was inside of her.  He pushed his cock
into her--and ran into her hymen.  Even better.  That made him want her even
more.

        He thrust furiously into her, oblivious to her cries and struggles.  Her
pussy clenched him reflexively, the inflamation making her even tighter.  This
ensured he didn't last very long inside of her at all.  When he finally came,
he rutted a few more times then sagged back, letting her slip through his hands.
At this point she was sobbing too hard to do anything but sink to the ground,
soon passing out from sheer emotional exhaustion.

        The next time she awoke, there was a bucket and roll of toilet paper
next to her, and a television on the far end of the room.  It showed an open
area--maybe a large yard nearby, maybe a part of the forest on the edge of town;
she couldn't say.  What was on the screen was the man, putting her clothes and
backpack in a pile, then pouring some kind of liquid all over them.

He walks back to the camera, then says, "This is it.  The end of your former
life.  Watch close, now."  A match was struck, then tossed at the pile.  Before
it even landed the entire pile went up in a WHOOSH.  She watched, tears
streaking down her cheeks, mouth agape, as her clothes and backpack--her
identity--went up in flames.

        Suddenly the image paused, and out from the shadows came the man,
holding a remote control.  She hadn't even noticed that it was a recording and
not a live feed.

        "I hoped you watched real close," he said quietly, stepping fully into
view, smiling.  "If you didn't, however, I can play it back for you.  Oh, and
that--" he nodded to the bucket and roll of toilet paper, "--is your bathroom."

        She looked down at the bucket in horror, then made herself look back up
to the man.  "One more thing, darling...." he said, unzipping his fly as he
stepped closer to her.  Once more she was shoved back against the wall, thighs
spread so he could rape her.

        This became a ritual.  In the mornings (she only knew it was morning
because of his stubble and bed-hair) he'd come down, rape her, then empty and
rinse her bucket.  Lunch, same thing.  Dinner, same thing.  Each time, he would
throw her against the wall, fuck her as hard as he could, then while she was
sitting on the floor in a heap, tend to her bucket.  The rapes would always come
just before she was given her food.

        One evening, as he'd finished his "last call" with her pussy, she sat
there against the wall, and found herself saying, "They're coming for me, you
know...."

        That made him laugh.  "No they aren't, darling.  They're interviewing
your momma and your daddy, everyone you're related to, everyone you ever knew.
They talked to me, sure, and they even came in the house, but they never even
asked to check the basement.  They're still thinking it's a relative or friend
of yours."

        The police had been there?  In the house?  Right above her HEAD?  That
thought was enough to make her break out in a fresh bout of sobs.  She drew her
knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, crying softly.

        "Oh, if you liked that, you're gon'a love this," he said with a grin,
wheeling out the small television again.  She blinked as she lifted her head
trying to focus on the television.  There was a view of what looked like a
living room, though it looked like something out of the 'Seventies.

        "I have a meeting with them in about twenty minutes," he said with a
chuckle as he headed up the stairs.  She was so dumbfounded she didn't even
think to scream when the door was open.  She watched him on the television,
tidying things up a little.  Not that it was really necessary.  Though nothing
in the living room was all that recent, everything was spotless.

        Finally the doorball rang, and the man let two police detectives in.
The male detective introduced himself and his partner, saying, "Thank you for
meeting with us."

        "Hey, not a problem," said her captor.  "I'm sorry I couldn't come down
to the station, but I'm the only one taking care of my mother.  This is her
nap time, so as long as we're quiet, we should be okay."

        The female detective smiled and said, "Perhaps we should get right to
it, then."

        He invited them in, closing the door behind them and leading them to the
living room.  Offering them the couch--that conveniently made them face the
apparently-hidden camera directly--he asked, "Can I get either of you something
to drink?  My mother drinks tea, but I also have coffee, or some store-brand
soda pop."

        "No thank you, sir," said the male detective.  "Where were you on the
afternoon of the seventh, at around three o'clock?"

        He seemed to ponder that as he eased himself into an armchair.  "Hmm.
Afternoon of the seventh.  Oh, I know.  That was the day I was on my way back
from the pharmacy.  I was picking up my mother's pills."

        The male detective scribbled something down in a small notepad as his
partner spoke up.  "Is that your van out in front?" she asked, motioning vaguely
to the window over her shoulder.

        "Oh, umm, technically no, but I drive it.  It was my father's, but he
died, and I never got it transfered to my name."

        "Can we take a look inside?"

        "Of course.  I don't keep it locked.  You're more than welcome."

        The male partner spoke up again, saying, "What about the house?  Can we
take a look around here?"

        "Sure," said the girl's captor, getting to his feet.  "I'd prefer you
only, maybe, peek in my mother's room.  Even that's only 'cause I want to help
you officers.  She can be real light sleeper sometimes."

        The trio moved off-camera, and their voices faded away.  After five or
ten minutes they came back into view again, with the female detective's voice
caught by the camera mid-sentence.

        "--in here?" She motioned toward the kitchen.

        "Just the kitchen and the basement," said the man, motioning in that
direction. and lingering behiind just long enough to surreptitiously turn the
camera so it faced another direction.  The detectives looked around the kitchen,
and the man didn't have a single problem with it.

        "The basement, sir?" said the male detective.

        "Right this way," said he man, slipping one hand into his pocket
nonchalantly.  They only made it two steps when it sounded faintly like a bell
was being rung.  "Oh, that's her," he said, looking conflicted, glancing from
the officers to the direction of the stairs and back again.

        The female detective smiled at him.  "Go on ahead.  We'll show ourselves
out.  Thank you for your time."

        That made the man smile, back.  "Oh, thank you.  Don't worry about
locking up the van after you're done, okay?"  They agreed and everyone headed
off-camera.

        After a moment, the man reappeared and headed down into the basement.
"What'd you think?" he asked with a grin, pulling a small garage door opener
out of his pocket.  "Jury-rigged this two days ago.  My mother is mostly deaf,
actually, so she could sleep through a hurricane like a baby."  He pressed the
button and from the television came the same faint sound of a bell being rung.

        The girl just stared at him, her shoulders slumping in defeat.  He may
not have been a Machiavellian genius, but he certainly wasn't an idiot, and he
had luck on his side.

        "I recorded her bell a while ago.  It's not a great system, but it works
well enough for what I need."

        She wasn't even listening anymore.  She was defeated.  She knew it.  He
simply had won.  She rubbed her jaw with her bicep, where it was still sore from
having had the tooth punched out.  She could keep fighting, but--she'd soon lose
more than a tooth.  She'd suffer who knows what if she kept fighting.  It became
clear that she was never going to be rescued.

        Suddenly her tears stopped flowing.  She looked down, at the plate of
food.  "Thank you...." she whispered softly.  "For the--the food."  She cleared
her throat and slowly extended her hands to him.  "Help me up, please?  Sir?"
The last word was whispered so softly he barely caught it--but catch it he did.

        She could see his brows furrow in surprise, but he took her hand and
helped her up.  Tentatively, cautiously, she leaned up to lightly rest her hands
on his chest and place a soft, trembling kiss on his cheek.  Somehow she found
a smile for him, too.

        "What is this?" he asked, voice a soft murmur.

        There was a look to his eye, a curious look beneath the raw suspicion.
It was a look she could capitalize on, if she played her cards right.

        She smiled the smile he mother once chewed her out for, the one that her
mother said was too "enticing" to boys.  The smile that made the corners of her
mouth curl sweetly.  "If I may have hot water, soap, and a wash rag, I'll show
you."  He hesitated, eyes narrowing.  She held up a length of the chain and
remarked, "I'm not going anywhere."

        That he had to agree with, so he finally left.  A few minutes later, 
he returned with what she asked for, a bucket of steaming-hot water, a bar of
soap, and a wash rag.  He handed it to her, and she set it at her feet, saying,
"Thank you."

        She crouched and dipped the wash rag in the water, then scrubbed the
soap on it until it lathered up nicely.  With meticulousness, she washed
herself, keeping her eyes on her captor.  He watched her with a smile that
formed slowly.

        Remembering the only porn video she'd ever seen, she soaped her small
breasts slowly, squeezing them together, then slowly slid her hands downward.
How the woman in the video did it without falling over the girl had no idea; she
had to lean back against the wall to spread her legs wide enough and wash
between them.

        That, she could easily see, her captor very much appreciated.  So, she
spent more time, rubbing the washrag over her pussy.  Turning around, she bent
over and braced one hand on the wall, the other reaching back to thoroughly
clean her asshole, making sure he saw how her soapy finger slipped into the
tight ring.

        Eventually she had to continue, and the last thing to get cleaned was
her face, then she thoroughly wiped all the soap off.  Dropping the rag and soap
bar into the bucket, it then got nudged away with her foot, and she first turned
around in one direction, then back the other, keeping her arms stretched out.

        "All clean for you," she said, smiling at him.  His brows lifted as he
looked her up and down.

        "Beautiful, baby...." he whispered, moving to her.  Her arms curled
around him, and though she'd hadn't really kissed a boy before, she made an
honest attempt, here.  And it showed.

        As their tongues danced, she wrapped one leg around him, feeling his
cock bulge underneath his jeans.  Breaking the kiss, she grinned at him, sliding
one hand down to start unfastening the jeans.  She actually had trouble
unfastening it, so he had to lean back and do it.  She took over once the flaps
were undone and pulled away.

        His cock stood out, already quite hard and ready, and she lightly
wrapped her hand around it, biting her bottom lip while still smiling.  Can't
forget to smile at him.  She watched him carefully, starting to stroke his cock
gently.  She arched her hip and managed to get the head of his cock into her,
but that was as far as she could manage.

        With a grin of his own, he took over, grabbing her waist to hoist her
up and pull her other leg around him, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
A barely-stifled gasp threatened to break from her lips as she slid onto him.
Her legs tightened around him to let her move with him as he began thrusting, so
she could actually move with him.

        Faster and faster they moved together, and she watched as his eyes took
on a glassy aspect, and she could feel his cock start to throb inside of her.
In only a few moments more, he gasped and thrust even faster, cumming inside her
in thick bursts.  He seemed to have a never-ending supply, his orgasm likely
made more intense by not only her acceptance, but her initiation, her avid,
actual fucking.

        When he at last slowed to a stop, she eased herself off of him though
stayed leaning against him, kept her arms around his neck.  "How was that?" she
whispered, a strong hopeful aspect to her voice.

        Panting hard, he cupped her chin, looking directly into her eyes.  He
couldn't help but smile.  "That was very good, babe," he said softly.

        The next day, when she mentioned she would be starting her period soon,
he got some tampons for her.  He had to go grocery shopping anyway, so tossed
a box in with the purchases, making sure no one was paying undue attention.
That evening, he taught her how to suck him off, so he could still get his
pleasure from her.

        She was on her knees, one hand on his hip for balance, the other holding
the base of his cock steady.  She would learn to not rely on her hand, but every
ride should begin with training wheels.  She had to concentrate, hard, to not
gag as he pulled her head to drive the head of his cock into her throat, but she
managed.  Pleasing him ensured she was taken care of, was kept unhurt.

        The rhythm was easy enough to figure out; she could gauge by how he
sounded, how he would thrust his hips and pull her head.  She suckled him as he
began to thrust harder, and she could feel his cock start to pulsate.  He drew
her head back so only the head of his cock was in her mouth, then gasped as he
orgasmed, shooting his cum down her throat.

        She struggled to swallow it all, not needing to be told that's what he
wanted her to do, but some dribbled out from her lips.  When he was finally
empty, he drew her head back, his other hand on the wall for support, then
told her to lick his cock clean.  She did so without hesitation, bathing his
cock and balls with her tongue to get every drop of cum she'd missed.

        When she was through, she was pulled to her feet and actually embraced
by him.  A simple thing, the hug--firm sincere.  A simple thing, but such an
embrace she hadn't had in so long, and didn't realize she missed until she felt
his arms around her.  She melted against him, hugging him tightly in return,
smiling warmly.

        The next week saw the start of some changes.  The rest of the basement
was cleaned up, his own bed brought down, and a longer chain for her.  She
bathed herself every morning while he watched, and she even started to enjoy,
just a little, the way she could entice him.  He would usually have her start by
suckling him, then he'd fuck her until he came, which he had her lick off of
him.  She had to get used to sleeping in a bed again, after having slept on the
ground.

        Soon the basement was revamped into a pretty decent living area, and he
would spend most of his available time.  Sheets were hung on the wall to give
the room a bit of color and artistic flair.  He actually let her pick the colors
out, and she chose warm ones, to give the room a "home-y" feel.

        She also kept pleasing him, focusing on trying to come up with new,
special things to do for him.  When he was pleased, he was content, and he would
sit with her and stroke her hair.  She hadn't been hurt intentionally since the
smack that cost her a tooth, and she planned to keep it that way.  She knew, in
some part of her mind, that she was delving into a certain metaphorical darkness
to please him, but she'd long since given up hope of rescue.  She contented
herself to live to please him, to keep him happy.

        To that end, the first night he would sleep downstairs with her, she
thought it was a special enough occasion to deserve commemoration.  She had
planned it out as carefully as she could, and when the time came she had him lay
back on the bed as she kissed him deeply, then led a trail of kisses down his
chest to his cock.  That hardening shaft was swallowed without hesitation; she'd
become much better at using her mouth to please him.

        She made sure his shaft was nice and slick before removing her lips from
it, then she moved to straddle him, smiling down at him as she took his cock in
one hand.  Instead of placing it against her pussy like she normally would, she
instead placed the head against her asshole.  She knew girls could do this, but
only from perusing a collection of porn magazines when the basement was cleaned
out.  She had no real idea of the mechanics behind it, but that didn't stop her.

        Gritting her teeth, she forced her hips down, her captor wide-eyed with
definitely-pleasant surprise as he watched her.  His shaft disappeared into her
ass, the cheeks firmly resting on his thighs.  She squirmed a bit, maneuvering
his cock in a bit of a tease before drawing her hips back up again, thighs kept
spread to let him have an unobstructed view.

        The look on his face was more than enough to help her ignore the aching
in her ass, so she could start pumping it on his cock faster and faster.  This
newest surprise and the tight feel of her asshole ensured he didn't last long
after she waas sliding along him as fast as she could.  With a rather loud grunt
he came in her, but she knew to not stop.  Only when he had reached out and
grabbed her thigh did she slow to a stop, then slipped off of him.

        Laying down next to him, she snuggled up against him and kissed his
cheek, whispering, "Did you like that?"  His response was a slack-jawed smile,
and he gathered enough strength to touch her cheek with the backs of his
fingers.

        "Darling, that was fantastic," he whispered.

        As she had somewhat expected, that became a regular event.  Sometimes he
would stay hard enough to fuck both her pussy and ass in one fucking, though he
usually preferred to switch things up now and then.  No matter what, however, he
had her clean him with her tongue, and she was already well on the way to losing
her dislike of the tastes.

        The next major change was the death of his mother.  It was expected;
he'd moved back in with her to take care of her, knowing her numerous health
problems, but he was still sullen when he came home from the funeral.  The rest
of the day was spent with her massaging his neck and shoulders, kissing him 
lightly, and reassuring him.  On the other hand, it let him stay down in the
basement whenever he was home, so her constant reassurance helped him through
the grieving.

        The next-to last change was when she missed her period.  He bought three
different brands of home pregnancy tests to be sure, but when they all read
positive he realized there was no getting around it--she was going to have his
child.  He was actually rather happy with that, though it had obvious
complications.

        She was almost halfway through her second trimester when, very late one
evening, there came a knock at his front door.  When he opened it, he found a
man and a young child, the latter looking to be around five or six years old,
naked and kneeling at his feet.

        After introducing himself, the man said, "Good evening.  I represent a
group of people who, I am sure, you will want to eventually meet.  If I may have
but a few moments of your time...?



                                       THE END...?

