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The Compound - Chapter One

by David Witheld 7 days ago in nsfw / fetishes / erotic
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WARNING: This is XXX rated. If you are easily offended, move along now.

Chapter One

There were four of us in the squad. The Compound is pretty self-sufficient. The women garden and bake, doing the things women are born to do. The livestock provides meat and milk and eggs. The women's milk is too valuable to use around The Compound. It's our greatest cash crop. The forests of our 1,200 acres (more or less as the deed said) provided building materials and energy.

But we did need some things our land couldn’t provide. A couple of times a year we would come to town, get what we needed, and be gone before anyone recognized that we had been there. We “visited” a new town each time. We didn’t want to become creatures of habit.

This trip was for the necessities we could not produce. At the Kroger store, we got pretty much one of every spice. At Ace Hardware we got a dozen 100-foot lengths of high test rope. Stuff like that.

We hadn’t really come for women, but when I saw her I knew I had to have her. In part, it was her snooty look that pissed me off. She wasn’t bad looking, don’t get me wrong, but I guessed her fancy platform sandals at $500 and her stupid “distressed” jeans at $250, minimum. Mostly, though, it was the stupid “Baby on Board” T-shirt drawn so tight across her hugely pregnant belly that her belly button showed where it protruded. Hell, you could even see the stretch marks across her belly.

I knew, at first glance, that this cow was joining our herd.

Billy and Tom and Jack and I hatched a quick plan. I mean, it’s not like we hadn’t done this before. So they pulled the van up the block and I walked down a hundred feet or so, and we waited.

She went in and paid for the gas she had pumped and when she came out and walked back to her fancy Lexus hatchback we moved. I started walking and the van started rolling. We had it timed right and the snatch went perfectly. Our van arrived just as she walked around the front of her hatchback, the door slid open, and Tom and Jack grabbed her, covering her mouth with a strong hand and clamping the “sleeper hold,” like you’ve seen on television a zillion times, cutting off the blood to her brain and rendering her unconscious in just a few seconds. I grabbed the keys to the Lexus where she had dropped them, the door on the van slid shut and it started moving, I got in the Lexus and it started as I knew it would, and I drove off in the opposite direction.

Total elapsed time for the kidnapping was less than 10 seconds.

Oh, sure, the surveillance cameras would have a good picture, but our faces were covered and we didn’t really care if they knew what happened. The only real danger had been if we had been unlucky and a passerby, or a bored clerk, had happened to be looking that way and made an immediate 911 call. The way we had positioned things, though, made even that unlikely. The Lexus had been between the action and the convenience store, and the van had been between the action and the street.

Still, I was nervous, holding my speed at the posted limit plus 2 until we met at the housing development under construction we had noted on our way into this town. There wouldn’t be bystanders or cameras here at night.

One more quick council and we set up the escape. The other three would take our new cow to the compound for her initiation into her new life. I would drive the Lexus to an abandoned quarry we had used before, sink it in about a hundred feet of water, and they would pick me up later.

The quarry was about 60 miles away, over state and then county roads. It was fun, actually. It was a fine car. Powerful and responsive, handling like my old Fiat 124 sports car rather than a yuppie people hauler. I would regret losing it, but these modern cars had so many gadgets it could be tracked in real-time and nobody at the Compound believed they could disable those systems reliably. The theory, and so far it had worked a half dozen times, was that the deep water would quickly short out even the most well-protected electronic components.

And so I did what we had planned. The lock on the gate had long since been replaced by one of ours, so I opened it with the combination I knew, drove in, got out at the edge, put the car in drive, and watched it tumble over the edge to disappear into the water. I had left the lights on and I watched as they got dimmer and dimmer until all light was lost in the depths. Frank, our guy who knew something about computers and electronics, had suggested leaving the lights on to hasten draining the battery.

Then I walked back to the gate and waited.

Billy showed up in about twenty minutes in the van, and we laughed and chugged Coors on the way back to the compound. I wasn’t actually drunk, but I was pretty damn well let when we got back.

They had the new cow in the stocks - yes, stocks, something straight out of Puritan New England with the three holes, one for her head and two for her hands forcing her into an awkward bent-over posture that would have her back hurting inside 10 minutes. I know because every man in The Compound had to try them to see what he was causing if he locked a cow in. She was naked, as were all of the women in the compound, and I have to say she looked damn good.

Her breasts were swollen, her nipples very dark, as her pre-term body got ready to feed the new arrival. Her belly hung, heavy and round, so big I would not have been surprised to see her water break and labor start right then. The tracery of stretch marks covering her belly and radiating around her hips and across her sculpted ass was very pale. I could picture her carefully rubbing Vitamin E, or whatever the stretch mark eliminator of the day was, carefully into her skin before getting onto the treadmill or elliptical machine or whatever it was she used to keep her ass so nicely sculpted. I laughed softly at the silliness of that as well as the way her innate understanding of how the world worked had been so dramatically destroyed.

I walked over and patted her ass, chuckling a little at the way she still had the energy to flinch.

Between her legs, it was obvious the men had already been at her. Her labia were swollen, more of her body getting ready to deliver the baby, and she was leaking semen from her pussy and from her asshole.

I chuckled as I walked around, just looking, enjoying the ruination of this snooty bitch with her bought and paid-for tits and fancy car.

Charles, The Compound’s leader, was sitting in his folding rocking chair, smiling at me. When he crooked his finger, beckoning, I went to him, grinning.

“Did you get rid of the car?” he asked.

“In the quarry,” I said.

“I don’t normally approve of freelance jobs,” he said, “but this was pretty damn good.”

“It was the stupid shirt that put me over the top,” I said, grinning.

“Well, she’s a good one,” he said, “and I figure another week or so and she’ll be fully broken.”

I chuckled and said, “it looks like you have a pretty good start.”

He laughed, that great belly laugh of his.

“Yeah, she just would NOT shut up,” he said.

I walked slowly around her, checking out what he had done. Charles is VERY good at shutting annoying women up.

Across her ass and thighs were a dozen or so very bright pink welts. Evidently, Charles had been feeling kindly, there was no blood.

The same could not be said of her face. Her cheek was swollen and her lip showed the swelling of a little internal cut. Most obviously, though, he had ringed her tongue, a heavy brass ring passed through the middle of it about a half inch in from the end from which a two-pound weight was suspended from a brass chain. Her tongue was pulled out an impossible length from the weight, and a thick rope of drool and mucus hung to pool on the ground under her face. She was crying, tears and snot from her runny nose joining the puddle of drool. Charles DOES know how to shut a bitch up.

Whoever said rape is not a sex crime, but a crime of violence had it about half right. I moved around and pushed my pants down far enough to free my erection. I was feeling kind so I pushed into her pussy for lubrication before spreading her cheeks and taking her anally. She groaned as I pushed in, but that was about all the sound she could make. This part was definitely sex, and the control I had over this bitch was a great aphrodisiac. I swapped holes a few times, giving her a break and using her natural lubricant along with the semen of those who had gone before to make it easier on her. And that was the point. I could take whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and there wasn’t shit she could do about it.

I watched as Maeve, Charles’ long-time woman, walked to the bitch in that awkward, limping gait of hers. She walked oddly because she had tried to run away one time and Charles had gone all Kunta Kinte on her. He had cut off the toes of her right foot with an axe, about halfway up the arch of her foot, and then cauterized the wound with a propane torch. I hadn’t been in The Compound when that happened but Dave, my best friend, and gateway into the Compound had told me they were all surprised that she lived. Apparently, she had been in a fever state for over a week and the smart betting was she wouldn’t make it.

But here she was, lightly stroking the bitch’s hair and, I presumed, telling her it would be all right if she’d just accept her new life.

We all liked Maeve. She was 60-something with one of those delightful old woman’s bodies. She had run fat and her belly was a series of rolls. Her hips had spread from the dozen calves she had dropped, and the saddlebags outside her thighs were soft and great fun to play with. Her udders were huge, hanging almost to her belly, her nipples dripping. Her milk was the sweetest of the herd and when bottled, it commanded a premium price.

Oh, and she was a terrific fuck too. Her pussy could be so loose you barely realized you were inside of her, but also, when she squeezed, so tight she felt like a teenage virgin.

I got bored with the whole thing and whistled up Elsie, my cow, and told her to get something to eat ready.

My cow was fat and knocked up, just as I liked her. We walked to the cabin and I enjoyed watching her make dinner. Nothing fancy, last night’s meatloaf warmed up. The fun was watching her big ass move around as she prepared things.

“I saw what you brought home,” she said, “congratulations.”

I chuckled and said, “it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I think it was the idiotic shirt that got to me.”

She laid the plate on the table before me and then slipped to her knees on my right side. She laid her chin on my thigh, looked up at me with sad cow eyes, and asked, “will she be my replacement?”

I laughed and patted her on the head.

“Do you intend to run off?” I asked.

Her eyes got big.

“Don’t even say that,” she said.

I grinned.

“Are you a good heifer?” I asked.

“You know I am,” she said, relaxing a little.

“Show me,” I said.

She giggled, mooed softly, and lifted her udders and squeezed, fine streams of her milk squirting freely.

I patted her on the head and said, “good girl. You get to sleep in the bed tonight.”

Her eyes brimmed over and tears ran down her cheeks. I’m always amazed at how easy it is to keep a well-broken-in heifer happy.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, “really.”


About the author

David Witheld

College degrees in teaching, history, and economics.

Veteran, Vietnam ERA but I never, EVER, put myself in the same league as those guys who went over there and did it. I was an Air Force analyst.

Retired now, and write for fun and profit.

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