****** : Fred's Slut ******
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Synopsis: Fred's wife is kidnapped and tortured to make her mend her immoral
ways.



         
Fred's Slut
by Abe

Tiffani stepped out of the car without waiting for
Fred to open the door for her.  He seemed to be in a
strange mood, dissatisfied with her, somehow.
When they had decided on a romantic dinner to
discuss the matter, Fred had insisted on this strange,
distant restaurant, which was so crowded that they
had to park way in the back in the dark.  Still, it
was always fun to show off at a restaurant.  Wobbling a
bit on her highest heels, she struggled to pull the
hem of her tight black dress down to the point of
decency.  It was then that she felt a sack being
pulled over her head.  She had only a moment to
scream, "Fred!," before the sack was over her head
and shoulders and down to her hips, effectively
confining her arms.  She struggled as best she
could, but someone was putting ropes or straps over
the sack, pinning her arms to her side and
effectively gagging her by pressing the burlap
between her lips.  Her shoes fell off as she was
lifted and carried several feet, then plopped onto the
seat of a van (it had a sliding door) and belted in.

Her dress had a zipper all down the front.  The
lower part could be opened to make a suggestive
slit in front, and the top could be opened to reveal
as much cleavage as needed.  For walking into a
restaurant, she had elected maximum closure and
maximum tightness.  Now, she felt someone
unzipping her skirt right up to the bottom of the
sack, at her waist, and lifting her skirt out from
under her so that her bare buttocks (she wore thong
panties to avoid lines in the tight skirt) rested
against the cool leather of the seat.  She imagined,
for a moment, telling the police," I don't know
what kind of van it was, but it had leather seats."  A
hand pulled at the waist of her panties and slid a
golf ball down between her legs, positioning it right
at the bottom of her vulva where her weight would

bear on it.  Her abductor tightened the seat belt
more, so she was trapped, sitting on the ball which
pressed it way between her outer labia.

Miles later, the van stopped.  Tiffani  had not paid
much attention to the route taken, when they turned
or what sort of surface they were on or possible
audible clues to their location, like a low‑flying
airplane or something.  She had been utterly
distracted by the pressure of the ball between her
legs.  For several minutes, all she could think of
was that strange pressure, pressing the very
entrance to her vagina, shifting slightly when the
van went over a bump or she squirmed in her seat.
Her preoccupation with the ball made her hornier
and hornier; she felt she had to reach a climax, but
she couldn't.  Finally, she found that with extra
effort she could rock her hips, could move enough
in her lap belt to bring herself to an orgasm, and
then another, and then a real earth‑shaking orgasm
when her vaginal exertions coincided with some big
bumps (railroad crossing?) that drove the ball
deeper into her soggy sheath.

She was carried into a building and made to stand.
The floor was concrete, suggesting a garage or
industrial building.  It was bright inside; the light
filtered through the coarse weave of the sack, but
she could see nothing.  The strap around her waist
was loosened and strong masculine hands extracted
her wrists and bound them together.  Then the sack
was further loosened, gathered up around her neck,
so her wrists could be raised.  She heard the click‑
click of some sort of winch as she was hauled aloft,
until she was on tip‑toe.  Then the lights went out,
and the sack was taken off  her head.  Immediately,
someone put wide duct tape over her eyes, so she
was totally blind.  Her dress was completely
unzipped, so it fell away from her taut body, but it
still hung from her shoulders.  Well, it did until
someone cut from armhole to collar on each side
and the dress fell away entirely.  She was now
clothed only in her black thong panties and a little
black strapless push‑up bra.  Her vaginal muscles
tightened, quite unconsciously, and the golf ball

slipped out and fell to the floor.  "Jesus Christ, you
fucking bastard, what the fuck do you think you are
doing?" she yelled.

A deep male voice said, quite calmly, "It looks like
a slut and it sounds like a slut.  It must be a slut.
Lately, you have been flirting and talking dirty and
shaking your tits and ass at every guy you met.  I
don't suppose you had sex with all of them, not
with me, anyway, but you sure put on the tease.
That's not right for a married woman.  So some of
us decided you need a lesson you won't forget, sort
of vigilante justice.  Behave yourself, and we'll take
you back to Fred more or less undamaged, sadder
but wiser, as they say.  Give us a hard time, and you
may not live through the night.  Your choice."

Tiffani tried to stay calm and figure things out.  It
was warm and humid, no air conditioning.  She
could feel some radiant warmth on her skin,
probably bright lights.  There was a bit of
reverberation, echoes of the voices, so it was
probably a big room with hard walls, not just a
residential garage.  It was quiet, with no
background sounds, like traffic, so it was either
downtown, which was dead at night, or maybe out
in the country.  She felt the hooks of her strapless
bra being released.  It fell off, leaving her breasts,
lifted by her raised arms, perky and public.
Someone squeezed them, and she gritted her teeth
in annoyance.  Her skimpy panties slid down her
legs in seconds and lay on her toes.  However, her
feet were lifted and the panties removed.  One
ankle, and then the other, was hauled up and tied at
the level of  her wrists, but to the side, so she
found herself doubled up, with her knees by her shoulders,
her feet perhaps three feet apart,  and her still wet
vulva nicely displayed for her abductors.  She tried
not to imagine what they might do to her.

"First of all," said the man with the deep voice.  She
didn't know his name, so she thought of him as
Fucking Bastard.  "First of all, I think we should
address the business of shaking your tits and ass at
other men.  This should remind you not to do that."

She felt the mouth of a small beer bottle being
pressed against her anus.  She contracted her anal
muscles to keep it out.  "Oh, well, I guess I need to
lubricate it."  There was a few seconds of respite
while he rubbed something on the empty bottle.
Then he placed the mouth of the bottle against her
anus and gave the bottom of the bottle a sharp blow.
The slippery neck slid in, right up to the shoulder of
the bottle.

"Oh, God, it burns!" Tiffani screamed.  "What is
that?"

"Tiger Balm, a heat rub for sore muscles.
You brought it on yourself, Tiffani."  She felt his
hand on her back as he pushed hard on the bottle,
and her anus slowly stretched until the widest part
of the bottle was inside her.  The burning and
cramping was like nothing she had experienced.  It
felt as if she had to shit, but she couldn't.
Chuckling, F.B. added, "That's a treatment for the
condition known as tight ass.  And this corrects for
wiggling hips and shaking ass."  A searing blow,
from a cane or fish pole or something, cut
horizontally across her taut ass cheeks.

"Yeeoowww!" she screamed, as the sharp initial
pain gave way to the slower ache.  She was just
getting her breath when he struck again, and again.
She screamed and begged him to stop, writhing as
he systematically raised welts across her bottom.
Sometimes he would strike low and upward.  The
cane would strike the bottom of the bottle, and the
tip would whip around and hurt even more, while
simultaneously the bottle would jolt in her rectum,
transmitting the force of the blow to her insides.
For a while he worked his way up the backs of her
thighs, each blow a half an inch higher, until the
cane hit her perky, outstanding tits, bringing
especially loud shrieks of pain.  When he changed
from horizontal blows, slashing downward to catch
the nipples which protruded beyond her folded up
thighs or when he let the tip strike her labia, she
wondered why she didn't faint from the pain, or
have a heart attack.  She was sure she couldn't

stand another blow to her tits or cunt when,
miraculously, the caning stopped. "You are going to
stop flaunting your tits and ass in public, aren't
you?"

"Yes! Yes!  I'll wear loose clothes and stand
very still."

"There is still a problem about your teasing cunt.
You give the impression that you never get enough
sex.  We'll have to address that.  First, we'll see
just how much we can stuff it."  She felt something, not
much bigger than a Tampax, being slipped into her
vagina.  Then she heard the screech of a water
faucet and felt hot water entering her, inflating a
balloon which was up there by her cervix.  At first,
it wasn't painful; there aren't a lot of nerves
inside, as opposed to the very sensitive vestibule of the
vagina.  She could feel the heat, and the hose
entering her, but... but then things changed.  There
was a real stretching pressure.  Urine spurted from
her compressed bladder, and the beer bottle was
forced from her compressed rectum, to shatter on
the floor.  Finally, as if delivering a baby, she
screamed as the balloon stretched her cunt and
forced its way to freedom, plopping on the floor.
She panted, catching her breath, until a hand forced
its way into her gaping cunt and made a fist.

"Yeeoww!" she screamed as the fist ravaged her
vagina, and she had a mind‑boggling orgasm.,
fainting for a few seconds. As she recovered, she
realized that her vagina was now empty, but F. B.
was sliding a condom‑clad penis into her anus, still
slack from its stretching by the bottle.  He held her
with a hand on each hip as he pulled her down on
his penis.  It didn't take long before he came and
withdrew, pulling the receptacle end of the condom
out of her asshole with a little snapping noise.

"That's what's likely to happen when you wiggle
your ass at men.  Don't do it."

"I won't.  I'll never again wiggle my ass at a man."


"Well, not unless you want it from your husband."
Nothing happened for a few seconds.  "I've learned
my lesson.  Can I go now?"

F. B. chuckled.  She felt a big penis, a rubber penis,
sliding into her.  Suspended as she was, the tunnel
of her vagina was almost horizontal.  She heard a
growling sound, grunge‑grunge, like an old
fashioned washing machine, and the rubber penis
pushed into her, bumping her cervix and pushing
her backward, like a pendulum.  As it started to
withdraw, she swung foreward to follow it.  It
started to pull out and she to swing back, but then it
plunged into her again.  To make it worse, there
was some sort of extension on the thing that
bumped her clitoris.  She was wet enough it didn't
hurt, but she didn't like being violated by some sort
of machine with a prick twice the size of Fred's.
She'd sometimes wondered what it would be like to
be fucked by a real stud, some black guy with a
foot‑long dick.  Now she was finding out, and it
wasn't as good as she thought it might be.  Still, the
relentless fucking had an effect, and she finally
came, and then again, and then still again, until, in
her groggy, fucked senseless state, she couldn't
really count or keep track of time.

Then her ankles were lowered, and her hands, and
they made her kneel on the hard floor.  Her cunt felt
stretched and tired, and she flashed on the stories of
gang bangs, where women are raped repeatedly.
They must feel like that, worn out.  She had
sometimes wished Fred would last longer.  Now she
thought maybe once a night was enough.

She soon discovered why she was on her knees.
"Suck," she was ordered.  She had no choice, did
she?  Not like with Fred, when she always said no.
She thought of that old joke: why does a bride smile
at her wedding? It's because she'll never again have
to give head.  Now Tiffani had to give head, and she
licked and sucked and swallowed.  They've stuffed
all three holes, she thought, what more can they do?

"OK, Tiffani, you can get dressed now, but don't

touch the tape over your eyes."  Someone squeezed
her tits, and then put her bra back on.  Then they
had second thoughts and removed the bra.  She felt
each breast being wrapped tightly at the base with
stretchy rubber electrical tape.  She knew her boobs
must be swollen like balloons, and they felt so...
sensitive and... tingly.  Someone touched her
nipples, and they were much more sensitive.  When
they put her bra back on, further compressing her
swollen breasts, she was thoroughly distracted by
the sensations it produced.  Someone was slipping
her thong panties up her legs, and placing her feet
in her high heeled shoes.  "Stand still, Slut, and
don't wiggle your ass."  Someone pushed on the
small of her back and pulled back on her hips, so
she was standing sort of funny in her heels, her
chest stuck out and her ass behind.  They slipped a
smooth, heavy, kind of cool cylinder with rounded
ends, only maybe half an inch in diameter, past her
thong and deep into her vagina and taped her twat
tight with a piece of duct tape, so it couldn't fall
out.  "OK, Slut, time to go home.  Walk this way."
Someone faced her toward what she supposed was
the door.

She got about two steps in her high heels when a
jolt of electricity caused her vaginal muscles to
contract violently.  "Argh!" she exclaimed,
staggering, until they held her  still again.

"Tiffani, you have to learn to walk without wiggling
your ass.  That thing has batteries in it, and a
little kind of pendulum switch.  If you wiggle your ass,
it's going to make contact.  Keep your vagina
upright and still, and it won't zap you.  Still, by
the time you get home, you should be nice and tight for
Fred."  Taking tiny steps, Tiffani made it to the van
with only a few more shocks.  They belted her in,
and she had to sit very stiffly.  If she slumped,
rotated her pelvis, her vagina would cramp
violently.  Distracted like that, she couldn't pay
much attention to the ride home, except that at one
point they stopped and someone got out.  It seemed
a long drive,  and bumps --- more railroad tracks? ‑‑‑
activated the shocker, forcing artificial orgasm‑like

contractions.

They got her out of the van.  "You're home.  Just
walk up the walk and knock on the door."  She
heard the van drive away.  She knew it must be
dark, so probably no one would see her.  She had on
a bra and panties, so she wasn't indecent.  She
reached up with her bound hands and pulled the
tape off her eyes, knowing her artificial lashes
would be pulled off too.  Slowly, carefully, she
went up the walk until she came to the step at the
door.  Very carefully, she climbed the step, fearful
of the shocker inside her.  She felt for the door
bell.

The door opened. "Tiffani," said Fred.  "I was so
worried!"  He pulled her into the room and closed
the door.  As he hugged her, she stiffened and
struggled and screamed, until he had to let go.

"Ah, ah, ah" screamed Tiffani, rolling on the floor.
"Fred, get that thing out of my cunt!"  She lay on
her back, her hips bucking, until Fred pulled away
her panties and ripped off the tape and found the
cylinder inside her.  When he had pulled it out, she
was able to talk.  "Fred, I was kidnaped.  They did
terrible tings to me.  Why didn't you call the police
and save me?"

"I was tied up.  I just now got loose and drove
home."

"You didn't call the police?"

"They said not to, or they'd hurt you.  Besides, what good
would it do?  What could I tell the police? Thank
God you are home safe, Tiffani."

"My tits, save my tits."  Fred removed her bra and
unwound the electrical tape from her swollen breasts.

"Oh, they are so sensitive, " she said, as he held them
in his hands and kissed her nipples.  "That feels good."
Finally, with some help from a kitchen knife, Fred
was able to release her hands.

After that awful night, there were subtle changes in
the marriage of Fred and Tiffani.  They didn't go
out so much, and she dressed more conservatively
and didn't talk so loudly.  She knew Fred still had
the shocker, and he had threatened to use it, if she
wasn't a good wife, but he never did.  Maybe it was
because whenever he seemed angry, a timely blow
job from Tiffani would defuse the situation.

A year later, Tiffani  was six months pregnant, had
given up her job, and had a nest‑building obsession.
The whole house would have to be neat and clean
for the baby.  She cleaned places she'd never seen
before.  And  then, in the back of the closet under
the stairs, she found a VHS tape cassette with no
label, but partially played.  Somehow, she couldn't
resist popping it in the player and seeing what it
was.  There she was, being fucked by a big dildo
attached to a pole attached to an old washing
machine agitator.  A tall, thin guy she didn't
recognize, that would be Fucking Bastard,  seemed
to be running the show, while someone else taped it
all.  And then she was on her knees and the tall guy
took the camera and took close‑ups as some other
guy raped her mouth.  And then the cameraman
zoomed back, and she could see the two of them,
herself, on her knees sucking like mad, and the guy,
grinning like mad.  It was Fred.



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