RANCHER'S WIFE - CHAPTER TWO: free porn video

CHAPTER TWO:

The first time I awoke with true awareness of my surrounds was two days from the moment of knowing I was in the forest entangled in barbed wire. The first moments of awareness were fearful, anxious, and drenched in terror. What was to come next? I had survived that experience somehow. Maybe a better thought, a more appropriate thought would be, why? Why had I survived? Why would I want to survive? Why would I want to endure any more of this existence? But, the worst why that came to me instantly in the first moments of awareness was why couldn’t I have just died? How did it all come to this? That I actively wonder why I couldn’t just die.

That was my first reaction, my first impulse and thought after my first moment of awareness, my realization that I was indeed alive and not dreaming. My second and subsequent reactions, impulses, and thoughts were quite different, though. Something was different. Not just different, though, more like wrong. But not wrong in a bad way, wrong in the way that you weren’t expecting, that your mind wasn’t used to. I awake and was instantly, fully aware of the feeling of pain in my body, anytime and every time I moved on the bed. Everything about those first visions were wrong, at least they were so different from my experience that they seemed to be wrong. Without moving more than I had to, feeling that pain over my lower back, butt, and the back of my legs every single time I moved. My eyes took in the room I was lying in and my brain tried desperately to remember anything about how I got here. Barring that, because I remembered nothing of coming to this room, I went back to the last thing I did remember … and my body, heart, and brain seized up in terror.

I remembered being driven in the back of the cargo van that master used to haul us around in. I was naked, of course. The roads after a long drive became very rough and dusty; there were mountains, streams, and trees. Then we stopped and I was taken out of the van and led to a barber wire fence. My very being panicked. I did what I was told to do; I tried to control my fear from showing, avoiding any indication of hesitancy in my response. I had been beaten, abused, and punished for years with different men until I learned that my response had to be immediate and without complaint. After being bought and sold to several men, I learned that my life as a woman and individual no longer existed. I had nothing, absolutely nothing, to call my own, not even my will or body, except for my master, whoever that might be at any time. It wasn’t a life worth living; but, if I was to live, it was my life.

I remember being bent over the fence, the barbed wire being wound around my arms, my stomach and breasts pressed into strands and then tied in place. If I moved, even slightly, I could feel the barbs digging into my bare flesh. I could try to remain perfectly still now, but I knew I was about to be used, abused, and they would move me, even if I tried not to, I would not have the stability of my feet and legs to resist and eventually I would become so fatigued that I would be hanging from the wire. They had never done this to me before; they had done many things, but not this. Then, I felt the needle into my butt and the contents pressed into my flesh. This was going to be bad, very bad. The journey of going from physical abuse to sexual slave to sexual abuse to sexual and physical abuse to, now, extreme sexual and physical abuse and torture has been long, my will nearly destroyed. They used this d**g on us, the other slaves and me, when they anticipated an extreme amount of pain. Otherwise, many of the men seemed to enjoy hearing the cries and shrieks. I know there were different groups of men, first one group, then a different group, and maybe even a third. I also know at some point my mind gave out, partly with the administering of more of the d**g and partly to escape the pain searing into my brain, radiating from every part of my body as the barbs dug into me, the caning picked up at or during the fucking. And, all the while, that camera pointed at me, capturing everything. Who watches stuff like this? I couldn’t help but wonder in times like that if my final video was to be my final execution in some manner. Would I care if it happened? That was usually when my mind gave way …

But, instead, I find myself in this clean, if rustic, room. Sounds are coming to me in addition to the visual of the room; a window is open above me, a breeze through trees causing the sunlight to dance across the wall, a dog barking nearby, sounds of nature, birds, water lapping against something. But, no traffic, no city, or residential sounds, no k**s playing or men yelling or arguing, no airplanes, trains, or trucks. Except for nature, it is quiet.

The room was quiet, too. It was rustic, like I imagined a cabin looking, but cozy. There was no radio evident, alarm clock, TV, or computer. There was no overhead light fixture, just a kerosene lamp on the bedside table. To the side along the wall was an IV stand with a bag still hanging from it but no longer being used. There was bottles of medicine on the nightstand, painkiller, anti-biotic, and sedative. Also, a tube of ointment for wounds.

Somebody was spending a lot of time taking care of me. I woke up periodically, even if just for moments. Somebody was helping me take medicine, clean my wounds, give me shots, and take these pills, giving me something to drink. A man. A big man? I remember a man and woman but only once and she referred to him as doctor. That was recent, but time meant nothing to me at this point. It seemed like a safe place, the window was open, the door was ajar giving a nice breeze through the room. I lifted the top sheet and looked down, I was naked, but that only made sense. I could see the marks where the barbed wire had dug into my breasts and stomach. They looked pretty much healed with little scabs. I threw off the sheet and swung me legs over the side of the bed. The effort produced some pain from my backside, but not as much as I was anticipating. How long have I been here, or was it just the care I have received. A mirror was on the wall opposite, a full length mirror, and I stared at myself. I put my hand up to my hair and touch it, ran my hand through it. My hair was clean and brushed, there were no knots and tangles.

There was a little desk along the wall. A vase of, I was guessing, wild flowers, they were just put into the vase, not arranged … a man, a man not accustomed to doing such things. But they brightened the room, added a sense of joy to it. Then I saw the other two things, a tall glass of water and a large mug with a spoon in it. All the way across the room. To encourage me to get up once I finally woke up? “Okay, then, if that’s what is expected of me …” I smiled, wow, a smile … how often has that happened in the last years. And, within minutes of waking and taking in my surroundings, I have already had a smile. I gingerly walk, carefully, a step in front of the other, until I am in front of the desk. I drink deeply from the water and I don’t want to stop. This is the best water I have maybe ever tasted. When I take a breath, I look closer at the mug; it is soup, which is the reason for the spoon. I put the glass down and take up the mug; it is still warm, not hot, just nicely warm. I take the spoon out and lick it, then put the mug to my lips and sip it. Yes, nicely warm. After several drinks, a thought comes to me. Nobody woke me, but there is warm soup and chilled water, perhaps the ice cubes just melted. But … he couldn’t know when I would get up or he might be waiting here. How many times did he refill the containers, anticipating me waking?

I heard the dog bark excitedly outside and I moved to the open window, still aching with each step, while drinking from the mug, now using the spoon to get vegetables and pieces of meat out. I looked out and saw the dog at the end of the dock barking at the lake. No, at someone in the lake, someone swimming toward the dock. The dog was a large black lab and was clearly very excited at the approach of the swimmer. He stopped maybe ten feet from the dock and was treading water, slapping the surface, then, “Come on, Blackie. Jump!” The dog took a single step and went airborne in the direction of the man, then they both went for the side of the dock. The man lifted the dog unto the dock and turned his back as the dog sent a wild spray of water in all directions.

I laughed. A smile and now a small laugh? I look down at the mug, the bed, the IV stand, and medicine, the evidence of a lot of time, effort, and care. A tear came to my eye and I wiped it away. How long has it been that I allowed tears to come?

I looked out to the dock just in time to see the man climbing up onto the dock. “Oh … my … God!” It just came out of my mouth. I seemed to remember a big man, but … oh my god! This guy wasn’t just big, he was naked and … big; he was naked, and had more muscles shown on his body than four or five other guys I have seen lately all combined. And … dear god … he was naked and … big … I mean BIG. My mind was connecting all this, a big powerful man like this, a setting in the woods, and he provided all this caring? As he walked up the dock, he stopped and picked up a towel and dried his hair, face and chest … well, I guess it was just a joke that big men didn’t have big cocks.

Just then, he looked up at the window, saw me, put the towel around his waist, and waved before calling out, “Well, the dead arise. Welcome back to the world.” He made a beeline for the house. I heard a sliding screen door open and close. There was silence as I waited, then there was a knock at the door and he waited. He didn’t just come in. I wasn’t used to this consideration.

I reached down, grabbed the top sheet, and held it up to me, “Come in.”

He opened the door, saw me standing with only a sheet held in front of me and swore … at himself, not me, and left. He was back in a moment holding two shirts to me through the cracked open door, “See if one of these covers you. Sorry, but I don’t have any women’s clothes here.”

I took them from his hand and he pulled the door closed. I put the sheet back on the bed and held out the two shirts, one a tank top, the other a black tee-shirt with Black Sabbath on it. Both seemed huge to me. I tried on the tank top and it dropped to mid-thigh, I was a little exposed from the side at the arm holes but was covered on top and bottom. I opened the door and handed him the black one. “No, keep it. Until we get you some proper clothes, these will have to do. Sorry.”

My eyes were down, looking at the shirt, but also nervous of making eye contact. “Thank you, sir. You might not think it is much but it is more than I have had for a long time.”

I could feel his eyes on me and there was silence for a long time, at least some minutes. “Well, we’ll get into that eventually. Listen, you go out onto the porch and I’ll meet you there. Want more soup? And water? I’m going to have some.”

“Thank you, sir; yes, it’s very good.”

He laughed at that and turned, I followed him. There was a bedroom right next to the one I was in. Across the hall was a bathroom and a room with a large desk that held a laptop and files. Those four rooms formed a hallway that emptied in a large room that was front to back. The front, I assumed was also the normal back. Usually, the side with the large sliding doors to the outside was the back. This side had both the main door and the large sliding door, both emptied onto a large, covered porch. In one corner of the room was a wood burning stove set on pavers on the floor. One wall was nearly covered with shelves that were jammed with books, hard cover, and paperback. There was a large chair that appeared to see the most use next to the large glass door, a coffee table covered in magazines, books and newspapers, the dates of which were weeks old. There was a large couch, probably large enough even for this man spread out on. Opposite the hallway we just came out of was an entry to a kitchen. I couldn’t see much but it looked complete with a kitchenette table and a couple chairs. Then there was a closed door.

He had already disappeared into the kitchen so I went to the porch. I couldn’t immediately determine which was his favorite chair and I knew better than to sit in a man’s chair, so I stood at the railing, fixing my gaze on the lake and forest covered mountain slope on the other side. I heard the screen door slide open and I turned.

“I meant for you come out here and sit. You probably want to be up, but you are going to be weak.” I still hesitated until he took a chair, then I quickly settled into the other one. They were exactly the same; could it possibly make a difference? But, I knew, the smallest things seemed to make a big difference to the men I belonged to. ‘The men I belonged to’. So, what was I doing here? What was the story here?

I took the mug of soup and quickly drank and ate it. I didn’t care why he laughed at my comment earlier, I thought it was delicious. When I was finished with the soup, I sc****d the last piece out, ate it, and put the mug on the small table between our chairs. He was watching me, “There’s more if you would like some.”

“No, sir. It was delicious but I think that is enough for now. Thank you, sir.”

I could tell he was deciding something in his head. He wanted to say something, but was struggling. He finally made a decision and sat back, facing the lake and sighed deeply. Then it was quiet until that large black lab came bounding up the steps to the porch. I reacted at his sudden appearance. The dog went directly to the man who loved the dog up, and then he looked to me, “Are you afraid of dogs?”

“No, sir, not at all. In fact, I am very comfortable with dogs, if they like me. He just surprised me; I guess I’m not really sure of my surrounds here.”

“Fair enough. Well, this handsome guy is Blackie. I know, it’s not a very original or creative name, but he was here as a pup when I bought the ranch. We’ve become best friends.”

“Sir, forgive me, but … a ranch? This seems more like a vacation home, a primitive one, with the kerosene lamps and wood stove, but certainly not a ranch even with the other building there.”

He followed my eyes and laughed. “Yeah, I suppose it does seem that way. Actually, the ranch is on the other side of the mountain behind us. When I was thinking about buying this, the old man who owned it brought me up here and said this was where a house should be built. I had to agree, so I did. It was hard to get all this up here, but where there’s a will, right? The big building is a barn for the cow and a few horses, there is a stable on the other side. The other building is for my trucks and workshop and wood storage.” He looked into the house, “The primitive … you are right, of course. I was looking for a complete change in life. I didn’t know a thing about ranching and am not sure I know a whole lot more now. When I built this, I made the decision that the bathroom, kitchen, pump house, barn, and the work building would be all that had electricity. Heating would be by wood, not furnace. It would force me to be different.” He was quiet for a few minutes, thinking again, perhaps weighing how much to share so soon. “I wanted to find a place where I could ignore the rest of the world, as much as possible.”

Ignore the world. “Sir, do you mean ‘hide’ or ‘run away’?”

“No, I mean ‘ignore’. I’m not in trouble with anyone that I know of. I’ve … well, I’ve lived a complicated life so far. I thought it was time to slow down, way down. Don’t get me wrong, though, there is non-stop work around here, life isn’t boring. I’ve been here a couple years and there are still parts of the property I haven’t set eyes on. No, ‘ignore’ is the right word. I just didn’t want to be bothered by the world anymore.”

Who the heck is this guy? What kind of life did he lead before that he wants to so thoroughly change his existence in it and not be in any kind of trouble? “Can I ask a question, sir?”

“That’s why we’re out here. Oh, yeah, I introduced Blackie but not myself.” His big hand came out to me, “Mitch Conner.”

I took his hand, “Catherine Abernathy, but years ago, friends called me Cat.”

We talked for hours, avoiding the difficult things, focusing on the property in front of us, the ranch land, and livestock on the other side of the mountain. He did most of the talking and he seemed intent on doing so, allowing time for me if I wanted it, but not pushing me, perhaps giving me time to adjust to the surrounding, gaining some comfort. We were interrupted by a racket in the trees beside the house. Something was mad, frightened, or disturbed. Blackie barked a few times in response, but the basic noise didn’t seem driven by the barks, instead the barks seemed driven by the noise. Mitch saw my distraction and chuckled, “That’s a squirrel. I think there is a squirrel nest back there somewhere. When Blackie gets too close, the squirrel goes nuts, scolding him endlessly until he leaves. The squirrel doesn’t make him leave, but the noise does. As you can hear, that noise just irritates him and restricts a part of the place he can comfortably wander.” It made us both smile as Blackie rounded the corner and came up onto the porch, sighed deeply, and lay down.

This man made no demands or presented any expectations. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. That night, I expect something to happen … it didn’t. He was sitting in his chair reading some detective novel, mostly lost to anything but the book and Blackie who would occasionally raise his head for another pet. I was flipping through a magazine that was three months old. I was yawning and kept drifting asleep. I popped awake and looked toward him, he was watching me, and smiled when our eyes met. He got up and came to me, put his hand out and stood me up. He put his hands on my shoulders, guided me to the guest room, and stopped at the doorway.

“Don’t stay up because I am. Go to bed and I will see you in the morning.” He turned to return to the other room.

“Sir …”

He stopped and returned. I lowered my eyes as he came to me, it was reflex. He stopped right in front of me, put a hand under my chin, and raised my head so he was looking directly into my face and eyes, “A new rule is needed: I am not ‘sir’. My name is Mitch. No English Queen has ever Knighted me that I can recall. I think I understand why it is coming out, but I want you to try to address me, not some controlling figure. Okay?”

I had to smile; even when trying to be firm with me, he turned it gentle and added something light. “I’ll try, but … I am so conditioned.”

“Like I said, Cat, I think I understand. All that I ask is that you try.”

“Okay, I will. But, Mitch,” and he smiled, “why am I here? Why are you caring for me? Why am I still here?”

“Where could you go? I couldn’t very well take you to the Sheriff or hospital, could I. ‘Honest, Sheriff, I found her like this.’ Besides, there were other reasons why I couldn’t. Tomorrow, Cat, tomorrow we talk about this. Okay?”

“Okay, s … Mitch. Thank you. I mean, thank you for caring for me.”

The day started out normal, which is decidedly abnormal for me. I woke up at my own time except perhaps for the sounds of life outside the room. There was the smell of coffee coming through the door to the room that was about six inches ajar. There were sounds of nature, once again, from the still open window. But, the sounds that motivated me to get up was of Mitch and Blackie moving around the yard outside. I got up quickly and was pleased that there was less stiffness than I felt yesterday. I stood at the open window and watched this big man playing with his dog, throwing pull toys, and playing tug-of-war with him. Blackie leapt at him when he turned his back and the dog managed to knock him over, immediately arms came up to hide his face from the dog who danced around him pushing with his snout to try to lick any skin he could find. There was playful barks from the dog and laughter from the man.

He pushed the dog to the side and regained his knees, then seeing me in the window. His hand shot up, he waved happily at me, and I returned it a little more timidly. The dog proceeded to take advantage of his distraction and knocked him over, once again. I laughed aloud, grabbed the tank top that I wore yesterday and realized that he undoubted could easily see me naked. I ran to the bathroom, rushed through those needs and pulled on the shirt as I walked quickly down the short hall, grabbed a mug and coffee and out to the porch.

As soon as the screen door slid to the side, “Good morning, Cat! I hope our playing didn’t wake you.”

“Good morning, you two. It was a wonderful sound to hear in the morning.” Blackie left Mitch and came running to me at the sound of my voice. “Well, this is a surprise; you’ve decided I’m okay?”

Mitch was walking up to the porch steps, “He’s an excellent judge of character, you know.” I chuckled and just watched him. He was so at ease in the world, it was like he expected to always to be in control of whatever situation came his way. “I’ll get the coffee and some rolls. Then, we can talk.” He said we would and he apparently meant it.

When he sat down with his own coffee, he looked out across the lake, sat up straight, and pointed. “Look a moose just in the water on the other side.” I had never seen a moose except in pictures before. Could this place get any more interesting? “Sorry, okay … so, why are you here and not somewhere else? Why couldn’t I just have gone to the Sheriff or the hospital with you?” He started in on the story about accidently see something and confronting it. He mentioned killing the four men and tying up the camera guy, his phone call, and the FBI. He talked about the doctor and nurse examining me and their prognosis that I would be safer and better suited to be here than in a hospital.

“You mean you made a phone call on that special phone, you left, and the FBI came and cleaned up? You weren’t in trouble for killing those guys?”

“It’s complicated. Cat, there are things I can’t talk about, not yet. There things the FBI doesn’t really understand, they just know they have been told not to pry and to work with me. Believe me that is very frustrating for people like the FBI.”

“So, the FBI and not the local or state police … Wow. Am I going to have to talk with these guys sooner or later?”

“Definitely! The camera guy has been talking but the real details are not coming out, yet. They will want to know your story, how you got involved, if there is an angle through you on these people. They think this is some kind of porn, torture, slave trade ring. Probably also d**gs. It’s a complicated case, though, and finding an angle to get into the people to discover more information is the key. There is nothing for certain, though. These kind of people are crude and assholes, but they are generally pretty careful to protect themselves. If people below them in the food chain start being compromised, they just shut down, cut their losses, and move to another location.”

“When will they want me? And … will I be on my own at that point?”

“You’re wondering if I am going to drop you off at the FBI and be gone? That, Cat, is up to you.”

“How?”

He studied my face and eyes, gazed out over the lake and into the mountain. I doubt he was looking at anything specifically, just gazing, thinking. He smiled and gave himself a slight nod of agreement, turned back to me, “You just have to decide what you want. I can drop you off and leave … or, I can stay with you, you with me … a little longer, if you want.” He seemed less sure of himself for the first time. It was like he was on unfamiliar footing, a place where he lacked experience.

Most of the morning had passed in our talk and he still hadn’t started on his questions about me or my telling my story. Instead, he asked if I could swim and I responded that I loved to swim in high school until I ran away. He stood and put his hand out. I took it and he pulled me up and into him, I was against his body, very close, my breast pressed into him. I looked up at him and I knew what I was feeling, a need for contact that wasn’t abusive. The eyes I saw coming back to me showed his own need, his wanting. Instead, he turned, still holding my hand and led me out onto the dock. At the end, he took off his shoes, then his tee-shirt, and finally his pants and underwear. He stood beside me naked. His loose fitting clothes did nothing for him, he was magnificent, tall, wide, muscular everywhere, his chest, arms, stomach, and legs. God, I never saw so many muscles. I wanted desperately to reach out and touch him, touch those muscles. But, whether I would have or not, he dove in and resurfaced ten feet away.

“Come on, Cat, no swimsuits allow in this lake. It’s plenty deep to dive in.”

I pulled the tank top over my head and saw him looking at me from my head to my toes. I froze where I was for just a moment; it had been so long since a man just admired my body without the intention of using it or abusing it for his own singular pleasure. Snapping out of it, I dove in and came up next to him. We swam next to each other, each using smooth and easy strokes. He led me away from shore and soon I recognized some rocks piled. He stopped and approached the rocks slowly and I soon discovered why. Just beneath the surface and marked by the rocks was a large shelf of rock. The shelf wasn’t more than four inches below the surface.

Once on top, he explained the rocks. “I nearly clipped this thing with the outboard when I was running around. I noticed the wake change as I ran past it and circled back to investigate. I marked the corners with the rocks.”

I duplicate his action of leaning back on elbows. We were facing the house and I could see Blackie walk to the end of the dock and lay down, probably on our clothes. The mountain behind the house was tree covered and then changed to rugged rock outcropping. There were boulders strewn along the slope.

“So your ranch is on the other side of that mountain?”

“Yes.”

“For the amount of time you spend on this side, how good of a rancher are you?”

He laughed, “Even you can tell I am not a very good one. I am trying to learn, though. My only saving grace, I am afraid, is that the previous owner was worse.” I looked quickly to him, he saw my disbelief, and he laughed, insisting that it was true.

He was so easy. He quickly made fun of himself, but was just as quick to encourage or reassure me. I lay next to him in the shallow water, naked next to his nakedness, and I felt very conscious of it. I had been so used to being naked in front of men and to being touched and used without my consideration or acceptance, now I was very aware of my nakedness, but was comforted, oddly, by his comfort in being naked and so casually.

I turned to him, “You interrupted five men from beating me. You could have just continued on your way and called the Sheriff. Why did you take the personal risk?”

“Yes, there was a risk. But, they had been drinking, I hadn’t. They were boisterous and wild; I was calculating the angles and likely moves. They were going to be wild in an assault; I was going to be precise and deliberate. There was a risk, but I was trained for that situation, I didn’t think they were.” He turned to face me, put a finger on my right nipple, then my left. “Ultimately, I took the risk for these.”

“My nipples?”

“No, as nice as they are, no.” He touched my left nipple again, this time pointing out the small marks around my nipple. “Those are burn mark, aren’t they? Electrical. At some point, they put clips on your nipples and used something, probably a transformer, a small one, to send electricity into you. It hurt didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.”

“Look here.” He point his finger on his own nipple, then the other. I leaned closer and parted the chest hair; I found marks like mine but even more pronounced, larger, and uglier when I found them.

I put my fingers on each nipple in turn, touching the marks around them. “How?” I leaned in and kissed each one. “You were captured weren’t you? And … tortured.”

“Yes, there and other places I don’t like to think about. It was a dark time. So, when I saw what was happening to you, I couldn’t just go away. I had experienced it; I knew what you were going through, even if you had passed out by then.”

“If you were captured, how did you get away? Rescued?”

He smiled but it was forced. He hesitated, he was deciding, again, if he should say more. “I became compliant, lulling them into a sense of security with me. The guards became complacent, careless. It cost them their lives.”

The Sat-Phone buzzed a week later while we were eating dinner. The senior agent wanted a meeting. They would be out in two days. The next day, Mitch had two horses saddled and waiting outside, tied to the porch railing. We were going to the old house on the other side. He thought he saw the clothes of the old man’s wife in a closet. Neither the old man nor Mitch later had the interest in sorting through all the stuff so it continued to just sit there in boxes.

It was shocking to realize, but it had been nearly two weeks since arriving at this idyllic location. Tee-shirts and barefoot the entire time, and it never seemed inappropriate, restricting, or awkward. But he was right, if I was to be interacting with others, I needed something in the way of clothes, even if it was hand-me-downs from an older woman. He also warned me about riding, that I shouldn’t rely on my feet in the stirrups too much. Without boots with a good heel, my foot was likely to slip right through. He said we had a serious shopping trip coming up. Those little things came out in his comments; there was nothing in his attitude that indicated a short time-frame.

Inside the house, he led me to the location of the boxes and left me alone as he went on his own search mission. He returned a while later with another box, this one full of outside shoes and boots. I was in the midst of trying on a light dress with straps and standing in front of the full-length mirror. I folded the hem to just above the knees, then pulled in the waist at several locations. He was watching me. “I have a sewing machine and all the attachments and spools of thread. It was one of the things I did take from here.”

“You are full of surprises, good sir.” As soon as it came out, I tensed.

He was smiling, “Relax, that was an appropriate use.” He walked up to me, again put his hands on my shoulders so we were focused only on each other, “I am proud of the effort you are putting in to react to me as a man and without the slave side coming out.” I smiled at his words. My chest swelled in pride that the work and turmoil within me was recognized. Then he did something even better; he pulled me into his arms and body, his powerful arms and body seemed to engulf me into him. I felt the more safe and protected than I might have ever felt … in my life. Then as he released me, he shifted his hands to the sides of my face and he seemed to slip right into my being through them. My heart rate increased sharply, my breathing was catching irregularly, my nerve ends became hyper sensitive, and I just KNEW he was going to kiss me. And he did … but my forehead. I nearly groaned in frustration.

We came away with three garbage bags of stuff tied to the saddles. The woman was generally my size but thicker in the waist. I had some alterations to do for a summer type dress to wear for the interview the next day. Even the boots fit, it was a look that Mitch was immediately in love with, me wearing only a tank top and cowboy boots. Sitting in the saddle, my bare butt showing as I bounced in the saddle, my breasts moving freely under the shirt, and my feet securely in the stirrups. We were free to ride at a gallop now and he loved the view it gave him. For me, it was thrilling, exciting that I created that interest, stimulation, and reaction.

We dropped the bags at the house, and took the horses to the barn. He gave me a crash course on caring for the a****ls after a ride. He unsaddled the horse he rode, a handsome stallion, and I moved him to a stall. Upon returning, I was just in time for him to be taking the saddle off the horse I had ridden, a mare. He had said mares were supposed to be more gentle and easier for a new rider. As he pulled the saddle off toward him, the top of the saddle came to view at eye level and he stopped, looked at the saddle, then to me, and got a big smile on his face. He brought the saddle down to waist level and rotated it to my eyes, there on the top and center of the saddle seat … was a large wet spot. And I blushed. How many times have I blushed around this man? I had been used and abused physically and sexually by men my entire adult life, but with this man, I blush.

When the FBI group arrive the next day, it is by car. Mitch checks the monitor that is hidden in a cabinet in the kitchen, he presses a button, and the gate several miles away at the narrow dirt road slides open. They pull up to the house in a black Suburban, how cliché is that? There is a general nod of recognition to Mitch but they are not there to talk to him. I am watching this from the kitchen window. Mitch brings them into the large room and chairs are gathered around the couch where Mitch and I sit. From our location we are looking out over the lake, their view is out smaller windows butting into the forest and the slope up the mountainside.

Besides the senior agent, there are two other men and a woman. One of the men is getting a small recorder setup and everybody waits for him. Mitch has already briefed me that these people are not here for me but for their investigation, my concerns and issues may have nothing to do with theirs unless they overlap. Therefore, he instructed me to answer their questions and offer information as it pertains to what has happened, but if he squeezed my hand, I should stop and let the conversation get back to point. They might try to delve into areas that don’t concern them relative to this case and her situation. The guy handling the recorder was a technician, the other guy and woman were field agents.

The man they are interested in is Harry Banks; he is the man I knew as the Master of the slave house where I was caged for the past years. They asked me to briefly outline my life and how I got to be with Harry Banks, who they now know to be in Alamosa. So, I began my monologue, never so grateful for having Mitch at my side to help me through it:

I was an only c***d. My father was physically abusive to my mother, especially after drinking, which seemed to be most of the time. He took out his frustrations that were centered on his lack of personal ability and control of his behavior on the only person in the world who still supported him, his wife, my mother. By the time I was fifteen, he apparently came to some strange conclusion that I was now old enough to be the brunt of his frustrations, also. Mom and I were now both beaten, but mom’s was always much worse. When I was s*******n, he beat mom so badly that she was taken to the hospital and he was arrested. I heard the officers talking about the county c***d system, but I took off into the night before that could happen. I didn’t have much when I ran and lived in the streets and with a few friends for a little while. I met a guy who was good, supportive, and caring. Within months we were married, despite the fact that I hadn’t turned eighteen, yet. He never explained how he got that done. I was just grateful to be away from that awful life.

My life seemed to have turned a good corner and for several years it seemed idyllic. Then, he lost his job, started drinking, and eventually became physically abusive, too. I lasted four years with him before running, again. I didn’t even bother with a divorce, why should I since he didn’t have anything. I then bounced from one guy to another, all dominant, controlling men who quickly saw my submissive side and were able to pull me further into that kind of behavior. Each man became more dominating and controlling, and soon I was just passed from one to the other. I was a sexual plaything almost before I knew what was happening, control being completely taken from me. The men used me freely day or night. Their friends soon had access to me, day or night, if he was home at the same time or not. There was a steady stream of men coming to use my body. Eventually, it got to the point that I was forbidden to ever wear clothes unless specifically direct and instructed. I was to be always available to men, no matter who the man was.

If there were a party, I would be brought. There might be twenty men and only me, but I wasn’t to refuse anyone. One night, a guy showed up who was invited by someone who was invited. These gatherings quickly were out of control, nobody knowing everyone attending so almost anyone could crash the party. There was something about this particular guy, though. He talked to the other guys more than he participated, asking question about me, what they did to me, what they had done, what my limits seemed to be. The guys always drank too much and sometimes became physically abusive as they fucked my every hole repeatedly. He was given the impression that I could endure almost anything. I think they meant by a cock, that wasn’t what this guy was thinking, he was thinking something much more.

Then, everything changed, and it was lightning fast. The guy who was currently controlling me was gone, but there were two guys in the house and they had just finished fucking me when the front door burst open. That guy and three others walked in, surveyed the situation, and told the two to leave. They did with only a minor protest, swearing that they were going to complain. After the two drove away, they pulled me out to their van. It had just snowed five inches, it was five degrees, and I was taken out barefoot and naked to the van. I knew right there that my life had just hit another all-time new low.

From the van, I was taken directly into a basement. The basement was fitted with three cells, each having a single mattress on the floor, three of the sides and the top were steel bars with a door of bars in the front. It was no more than six feet deep by seven feet high by four feet wide. Each backed to a concrete wall. The cells were bolted to the floor and wall. I was pushed into one of the cells and the men left. I was the only one there, the other cells were empty. I looked at the cell and it seemed like new construction. There were several devices around the room, the likes of which I had never seen. I would become very familiar with them very soon. The walls were covered with whips, canes of various sizes, dildos, plugs, and things that were completely foreign to me.

From that day on, for the next two and a half years, I was abused in ways I didn’t know could be done. Before, with the other men, I was used by cocks, repeated, but seldom really beaten or physically abused beyond the endless sexual use. This, I was to learn, was to be sexual, physical, and psychological torment. And it was frequently recorded. Things were put into my pussy and asshole and I was stretched wide and objects were put in, sometimes insects, mice, or snakes. It was as if in their minds it didn’t matter what they used, just another object to fuck me with or to put inside me. Their minds became perverse with the things they tried. All the time recording it. When the mice were used, I was spread wide and their escape required them to clawed at me inside, finally pushing through my lips to escape. Insects were similar. Grasshoppers scratched and sometime bit. I don’t know about insects, but the mice seemed panicked and terrorized by the experience. Dogs came into being used when a participant arrived with his dog. At first it just wandered around or slept, but when I was strapped over a bench, essentially on my hands and knees, the dog came up to me after the other men had used me, licking and eventually mounting me. He was clumsy and it was frustrating for him and painful for me. But they started purposely involving dogs after that. Once, they brought a larger, more powerful dog, and when it was tied to me, they put towels under my knees, whipped the dog causing it to move around the room, and pulling me by the knot in my pussy along the floor. I thought the knot would rip right out of me that day. I think the dog was equally terrified, as he growled and barked as the men laughed.

Other times, hot wax was dripped or poured on me; they even opened me once, someone hold my pussy wide open, and poured melted wax inside me. Nobody can imagine what that feeling like on such tender tissue. I was whipped and caned. I was tied into devices that left me in positions with no possible movement, but my pussy and ass completely open to be used. And, so often, it was recorded. I could hear them talking, like it had nothing to do with me, their a****l or thing. ‘Torture Cell.com’ they called it. There were two other women eventually, each taken from whatever life they previously had, one from prostitution, the other seduced for a thrilling adventure only to find this as her new life. Each would be used in the same way but were built up to each new experience, partially by being made to watch the abuse of another. Nothing seemed out of bounds to these men as they considered new ways to record how the human female body could be used.

That day in the forest, was one of the worst. It seemed the basic intent was for whipping. Sure, they were fucking me in any of my holes, but they seemed to want to hurt me. The event this time seemed specifically intended on hurting me, the sexual use was almost incidental. Three separate group came. I didn’t think any of the groups saw the others. During these really bad sessions, they used the d**gs. It made us more pliant, I supposed.

It took hours to get through the description and then the questions: would I recognize this Banks? Yes. Do I know where the house is? No. Would I recognize the house? No. Would I recognize the inside in the basement? I shuddered, yes. Would I recognize the upstairs? Yes. Would I recognize others involved? Some, yes.

It was late afternoon and as they left in their vehicle, they indicated that at some point in the investigation they will need more from me. They were making progress through the camera guy, but there were a lot of holes. They were having trouble tracing the money or the porn business or the website back to this guy. They believed he was at the top, but he was clever and thorough. They left and Mitch returned to the monitor and waited; once they are through, the gate rolled shut. I was exhausted.

Mitch didn’t bother to ask me, he simply led me back to the large room, sat on one end of the couch, and pulled me down onto it, lying along the length, and my head in his lap. He was stroking my hair, lightly touching my arm, side, waist, and hip. We were watching the last of the sunlight disappear over the mountain across the lake. It was so beautiful, the scene so peaceful, and his touches so soothing, gentle, and caring. The tension, turmoil, and stress of telling my story left me, it was replaced by the peace of him, his presence, his touch, and his smell. As I drifted into sleep, not wanting to move, to leave him, his touch, a fleeting thought went through me – why couldn’t I have found this man all those years ago?

Three weeks later, I am getting much better about not letting ‘sir’ come out of my mouth. I can tell Mitch is pleased with my progress and comfort. Blackie was as likely to come to me for a pet or scratch, as he was to go to Mitch. Mitch called him a traitor but I can tell it was just teasing the two of us, probably me more than the dog since Blackie wouldn’t understand the teasing.

Over the next nights, I try to give myself to him. “Sir, I ….” “No.” Ugh, I said ‘sir’! The next night, “I … want you to have me …” “No.” What? Refused? I didn’t use ‘sir’ that time. The next night, “You have been so good to me, I want you to take me to your bed and have me.” “No.” Again? Do I repulse him and he is only being nice to me, but doesn’t find me desirable? No, not the way he has looked at me. So, what was it? That night as I puzzled over it in the dark … OF COURSE!

The next day we go for another swim and are relaxing on the rock shelf. I rolled to my side and looked at him, I leaned into him, my breasts squashed against his body. My fingers go to his nipple and I see the burn marks, I bend over, and kiss the nipple and marks. I looked up at him, “Mitch, I … I … I want …”

I keep hesitating. He jumps in, “Cat, you’re blushing!”

“I am? Yeah, I probably am. Mitch, I want you to make love to me. I want to make love to you.” I reach down and tentatively take his cock in my fingers; I can feel it begin to harden. “I want your cock to make love to me. I want my pussy to make love to you. I need you, Mitch, I want you. I hope you want me. Mitch … I want to feel what it is like to be loved, again.” I was blushing stronger now and I knew it.

He smiled and pulled me on top of him, put his hands on each side of my face, and smiled a huge smile. “Hi, Cat … I’ve been hoping you’d come out. I would do anything you want, but to you, not the slave.” He then kissed me deeply, and long. I felt his cock completely harden under me, my pussy lips spread by my straddling him and his cock pressing against me. A single movement (him or me?) rubbed my clit against his cock head … and I orgasmed. I held him tightly and rode it out.

When my body stopped shaking and my heart rate and breathing returned closer to normal, I raised up from him slightly and ventured a look into his face. He was watching me and seeing my eyes shining, he smiled, “You needed that.” I blushed at the thoughts and feeling still coursing through my mind and body. He kissed my forehead, “I love it when you blush, Cat. You may have been treated as a slave for sex and pain, but that’s not who you are, not when you blush like that with me.”

I dropped my chest back into his, my cheek pressed into his shoulder. I sighed deeply and moved my pussy mound against his cock. I kissed his shoulder, “Yes, I needed that, but not the release in and of itself. I needed to know that gentle and caring was still something that I could identify with, react to, and enjoy. I needed to know that I was still a woman and hadn’t been turned into a thing that is used.”

His hand moved my head up and my face to his, he looked into my eyes and I saw so much contained in them shining out to me, openly and freely. He moved my lips to his, we kissed, again, even longer this time, but gentle and tender. When he broke it, he was again looking into my eyes; I could see a smile in them without needing to see the rest of his face. “Cat, there was never a doubt in my mind about the kind of woman you truly were. You just needed to be able to bring her out. I am sorry I was hard on you, pushing you away, not making it easy with more guidance. But, you needed to discover the route out by yourself. Otherwise, you would just be acting and responding the way another man was directing you. You needed to be past that.”

I didn’t say anything, I didn’t do anything in response, I just sat up and looked down at him, touching his marked nipples like he has touched mine, a shared recognition of a very unique bond between us. I leaned down, kissed him briefly on the lips, and while in that position, slipped a hand between my legs, took hold of his magnificent cock, raised it slightly and pushed back against it, moving around on the head until it pushed between my lips and entered my pussy, just barely, but there.

“Now it’s time to do it right.” He smiled at me and that smile disappeared when his mouth opened as I pushed back against him and took his cock deeply inside. “I have wanted this so much for a long while now … and it is soooooooo good!”

“I know … hmmmm … I know you have, Dear Cat. And I made it hard for you.”

“But … ooooooooo …. Nnnnnnnn … but I know now, what kind of man you are. I … I …. know what … mmmmmm … what kind of woman you … you want. You … want me … and that is sooooooo hot!”

I moved on him, taking him completely into me, deeper than any cock has ever been before. Women might agree that size is nice but not the best, that love and sharing will outweigh just size. But, size, combined with love and caring … OH MY GOD! I orgasmed, again.

* * CHAPTER THREE will follow * * Thanks for reading.