ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
A young man stands behind the counter of the Three Pines Hotel, checking the wall clock as the time reaches 5:03 PM. He gives it a curious look, having been notified beforehand of the late arrival of an important guest, or so she announced herself to be, one who insisted on an hour-long massage and spa treatment at 3 PM sharp before her important business meeting happening that night. In fact, it is just in the adjacent room that the hotel’s masseuse is waiting for her, a young woman who had gone out of her way to prepare the guest’s session based on her laundry list of requests, from the softness of the towels, to the temperature of the hot rocks, even going so far as to specify the massage oil right down to the scent and region. Several meters away, seated at the bar of this four-star establishment is the person she was to be meeting, one Kobe Akihiro of the Star Valley Holdings Group. With its central office located in Japan, Mr. Akihiro endured a 14-hour flight to meet with who he was told was the key to the joint merger between their company and hers, but who is now nursing a lukewarm martini and is down to his very last olive. Little do they know that they will not be treated to the delight that is Mrs. Marcy Frasier, as she, along with her highly irritable stepdaughter Jessica, are currently lying unconscious in a seedy hotel several miles away, and are about to receive some true hands-on attention, if you know what I mean.
Circumstances beyond their control had led them down the path leading straight to this unfortunate predicament: having their tire flattened by a conniving Dax Lawton, leading them to the establishment of one Old Lady Turnbauer, forcing them to rent a hotel room that was to be broken into by the Maxwell brothers Enis, Lester, and Buzz. However, as the chloroform-soaked rags sat over their mouths and noses, forced to fall unconscious surrounded by the lowest forms of sentient life, it might have been good for them to contemplate just what hand they had in securing this fate. Maybe had Marcy not insisted on making enough room in the car for her several changes of clothes for every occasion, they would have had the spare tire needed as not to require any help from a strange man and his lustful gaze. Maybe had Jessica been more agreeable with her new stepmother over the course of these several months, then they would not have had to go on this little trip of theirs to begin with as insisted upon by her father. And maybe, had they not been locked in a shouting match, each taking potshots at the other to try and hurt them, then maybe they would have heard the growing crowd amassing outside their door, growing to the point where they would be easily overpowered before it was far too late.
But, here they lie, unable to be grown women and own up to their mistakes, as though they would even do so if they were not knocked out cold.
“Les git ‘em ready,” Old Lady Turnbauer directs, pointing her bony decrepit finger towards Marcy on the bed to her right. It begins with Lester, the eldest of the three brothers, seating himself beside Marcy at the edge of the bed. He flicks the side of her face with his finger, satisfied to know the extra potency of the chloroform has paid off, having learned just recently just how crucial it is for it to be the right strength from the beginning. Taking her by the wrists, he hoists her body up to his, leaning her on his chest as he grasps her coat by the shoulders. Inch by inch, he slips the gray fabric off of her, revealing her toned bronze arms as he goes, those same ones that struggled so valiantly for freedom but ultimately failed their owner. Removing it from her person, he tosses the outer garment onto the floor below, leaving her in the black blouse she was wearing underneath.
Just to his left, poor Jessica is treated to the same attention, as the two ladies who subdued her, twins Dacey and Tracey Carlyle, begin to strip the unconscious girl. Patting the sides of her face, the two ladies watch as Jessica doesn’t even flinch, giving a cue to Old Lady Turnbauer that they did good this time. They begin with her pullover, placing her flat on the bed, as Tracey hoists Jessica’s arms high above her head. Grasping her by the ends of her sleeves, the slightly older twin begins yanking the garment up over her head, just as Dacey keeps hold of Jessica’s waist so as not to have her sliding around. Getting it over her head, Tracey swiftly slips it off of the limp girl, feeling the thick comfortable material making up the dress. As she does that, they reveal a pristine white tank top underneath, that which has been pulled up slightly from her coat being taken from her, revealing a toned stomach with just the slightest amount of baby fat on top.
“Where ye wan’ uh start, Mama?” Buzz Maxwell, the youngest of the brothers, asks Old Lady Turnbauer, utilizing the affectionate title he has for her despite being old enough to be his great grandmother.
“Dis n’s got a nice little tush!” Lester notes, setting Marcy back down on the bed, grasping the side of her buttox, squeezing it much to the delight of those around her. “Betcha hur sister’s got a nice one on hur!” Taking her hands, Dacey pushes Jessica’s limp body to its side, giving Tracey access as she grasps her buttcheeks in both hands, squeezing them through her loose-fitting sweatpants.
“S’okay I spose, but I’m bettin’ she got a better rack,” Tracey notes, as Dacey lets Jessica fall back unto the bed. Just as that happens, Old Lady Turnbauer interjects, clearing her throat as she redirects all attention back to her.
“We got all the time in the world,” she says. “But, let’s start with thems feetsies!” A shiver rolls down the spine of Enis Maxwell, the middle child, and handyman who loosened the lock on their door for them to break into. It was one thing that his massive foot infatuation was going to be satiated, but to have it be that he was about to play with the feet of the woman who kicked him in the leg made him all the more excited. To say Enis’s history with women was spotty was an understatement, given his tendency to only fulfill his greatest sexual fantasies with the ones that have been rendered unconscious. However, mix that in with a sense of impending revenge, knowing he has the capacity to show Marcy just what happens when you mess with Enis Jeremiah Maxwell, and you have a recipe of pure bliss on your hands.
Taking hold of the side of Marcy’s right ankle boot, Lester begins slowly unzipping the side, revealing a purple socks underneath, one tightly hugging her size nine foot. On the other side of the room, Tracey and Dacey begin to do the same with Jessica’s well worn Converse sneaker, untying her top laces as they slowly peel her left shoe away, revealing a bulky white sock, its underside slightly dirty from the sole of her shoe.
“We gots sum ripe winners here!” exclaims Old Lady Turnbauer much to the delight of those around her, knowing that of all the countless unsuspecting victims they had lured into their trap, these two ladies are proving to be the ones with the biggest payoff. She gazes upon their feet, both of fairly equal size as compared to one another, with Marcy’s foot being more narrow than that of Jessica’s, surely a byproduct of the former’s propensity for high heels, sitting in stark contrast to Jessica’s tendency for loose-fitting sneakers and running shoes. “Just how they be smellin’ Trace?” Cradling Jessica’s left foot in both hand, Tracey places it just against her nose, taking in a deep whiff of her scent.
“Whewhee! Das sum ripe stench!” she exclaims, pressing it once again against her nostrils, the sounds of her indulgence inspiring the others to do the same. “How’s her sis’s?” The youngest of them kneels before Marcy’s limp right foot, sniffing a few short whiffs before turning towards the rest of them.
“Smells like blosssms ur somethin’!” he shouts, taking in a longer smell, gazing up into the corner of the room in contemplation. “Maybe roses?” Had Marcy the capacity to answer, she could have informed them that her cherry blossom body butter was imported from Japan, making it unlikely that anyone other than those with the most exquisite of tastes would be able to identify it by smell alone. However, she might have been more concerned with just how they were getting that smell, as well as just how many people were gathering at her feet this very moment to take it all in.
“Hey don’t be hoggin’!” one of them calls out. “Pass ‘em around!” The two at Marcy’s feet oblige, pinching at the tops of her socks, slowly stripping them from their feet, watching with great admiration as they reveal her plump round heel, followed by her long supple arch, all the way up until they have revealed her long slender toes, the nails of which coated in a black varnish. Taking his sock in hand, Buzz holds it right underneath his nose, taking in a long whiff before opting for shorter sporadic ones, savoring the subtle stench of her sock almost like Marcy savors the smell of a freshly poured glass of cabernet. With her shoe in one hand, and her other sock in the other, Lester alternates between the two, sniffing into the opening of the ankle boot before swapping back to the sole of the sock, admiring just how different they could be despite settling in the exact same spot. Across the space on the other bed, the same attention is being given to Jessica’s feet, as the two ladies slowly peel her socks from her feet. In contrast, Jessica’s feet show but the most minimal amount of attention, with her toenails being left unpainted, and yet her youthful skin is enough to retain its supple form. Taking her sock in hand, Dacey starts off slow, having learned from her sister just what a ripe stench she is in for, taking in short whiffs while holding the sock mere inches from her nose. On the other side of the bed, Tracey is opting for a more immersive approach, placing her nose right into the opening of Jessica’s shoe, noting the warmth emanating from the footwear having just been removed from its owner, as it slightly obscures the stench from it.
“What y’all think?” Tracey calls over, holding up Jessica’s right foot for everyone else in the room to see. “She gots sum pretty lil feet, ain’t she?” They gaze upon Jessica’s bare foot, noting the way in which the toes fan out from one another, how Jessica’s second toe is the same length as her big toe, how little of a color difference there is between her heel and sole, going over every little detail as they begin to compare it to Marcy’s left foot. They note just how much more slender it is than Jessica’s with a darker hue on her heel than on any other part of her foot, noting that her second toe is longer than her big toe, something that might make open toed shoes difficult to pull off, as far as Dacey is concerned. They revel in the difference in smoothness between the two, rubbing their fingers across their soles, able to hear a slight scratching sound coming from Jessica’s. Apart from their personal styles, both Marcy and Jessica had radically different approaches to footcare, with the former’s smooth foot bottoms and perfectly preened heels denoting a recent pedicure in the last 72 hours, whereas the younger of the two takes a more minimalistic approach to feminine selfcare, something just slightly related to an aversion towards people touching her feet. Had Jessica known that there was any possibility of her feet being touched during this trip, then she may have opted for a pedicure, that which would have been one of the roughly half dozen she had gotten over the course of their entire life due to this said aversion. However, even if she had never gotten one before today, that would not deter the perverted figures from ravaging them as they are sure to do, the thought of her disliking the sensation merely feeding into their fantasies.
“Well, don’t just be sittin’ there all day!” Old Lady Turnbauer exclaims, much to the surprise of those around her. “Enjoy ‘em!” Such is met with almost immediate indulgence, as the two figures seated at Marcy’s feet take hold of each foot and, ever so slowly, begin dragging their tongues up the length of her soles, from the bottoms of her heels, all the way up to the very tips of her toes. The same is done to Jessica, with each twin indulging in her feet as though they were fresh ice cream cones, leaving lines of saliva across her bare soles as they lap up and down as slowly as they can. Their tongues push back the ladies’s feet, a testament to just how experienced they are at this, as well as just how much force they are utilizing pressing their tongues into their feet, getting every last sense of taste they can out of their pare soles.
“Tastes a wee bit salty o’er here,” Dacey notes, fondling her toes one by one as she kisses and suckles each of them one by one, eliciting what appears to be a flinch from the youngest of the two unconscious ladies. “An’ she seems to be a li’l bit ticklish, I sees!” Tracey mirrors that of her sister, nibbling on the tops of Jessica’s toes, as she gets the same autonomous response, a wriggle of the toe clearer to her than anything the young lady could tell her about. It had been so many years since Jessica had her toes tickled even close to this manner, remembering how her cousins would hold her down when they were younger before having their bulldog lick Jessica’s toes much to her dismay, surely a memory that is being incited deep within her unconscious mind as she lays there showing these two ladies exactly how ticklish they truly are. Unfortunately for Lester and Buzz, Marcy’s feet do not have a strong enough taste for them to identify, that which seems to be on the tip of their tongue, but eludes them no matter how hard they press their tongues into her soles. It might have been the strawberry scented hand and foot lotion Marcy uses every day, that which is quickly absorbed into the skin, leaving very little remnant of its application, something the two are dealing with this very moment.
As the two fondle Jessica’s feet, Enis removes himself from the spectator’s position by Old Lady Turnbauer. Seating himself beside her limp body, he his hands directly atop the volleyball captain’s tank top, grasping her youthful yet fully formed B cups. Shifting his hands around, he watches as her breasts begin bouncing about, jiggling underneath his grasp much to his delight. A horrid sound begins emanating from his gullet, one that is intended to be Enis accompanying his fondling of Jessica’s breasts by humming “Smoke on the Water” to himself, but that amounts to a rendition of an old hog chewing his own leg off the sound is so crude and horrid. Peering downward, he spots her shirt slowly working its way upward, revealing her small sunken belly button to his view. Leaning forward, Enis takes his tongue, inserting it into her bellybutton as he begins to swirl it into her navel, all the while still playing with her youthful perky breasts. As he does this, Lester watches in delight as his younger brother satiates himself, opting to do the same with Marcy.
“Les see whut we gots undur hur,” Lester says to the unconscious woman, taking his hand and snaking it underneath the bottom of Marcy’s blouse, left open by the elderly woman’s efforts at usurping Marcy’s resistance attempt. “Mmmm, das sum good on ur.” He slides his fingers over her toned abs, feeling her protruding ribs, as he touches the underside of her lacy bra. Taking his other hand, he begins to unbutton the top of Marcy’s blouse, reaching the end of the garment as he spreads it open, revealing her C cups hidden underneath her black lingerie. Despite Marcy’s frequent visits to the gym, along with her weekly yoga sessions and body toning classes, she is not immune to the voluptuous curvature that she has been graced with by her good genes, a full womanly figure that which keeps her in the fantasies of all men who pass her by, which is now on full display to those who she wouldn’t even give the time of day to. He takes his hands, groping and playing with Marcy’s bra-clad breasts, swirling them around as he notes just how much more malleable they seem to be than Jessica’s firm breasts. As he does, he can see Marcy’s eyes start to flicker, thinking his expert stimulation must be working wonders on her as she is just waking up. However, Marcy does not budge, falling once again into her deep sleep, completely oblivious to the horrendous attention she is being given.
“Betcha she’s waxed under thur,” Buzz tells Lester, prompting both Dacey and Tracey to bet that it is their girl who is waxed, while Marcy is obviously clean shaven. Going back and forth with one another, they tally up the bets, with three betting Marcy’s clean and Jessica is hairy, with the rest betting the alternative. If either of them are correct, then they can be the one to strip the bras off both of them, a bet which they all readily agree to. They count off, as Buzz begins unbuttoning Marcy’s pants, as Tracey tugs the top of Jessica’s sweatpants just slightly upward, not letting anyone else see as they slide their hands through the opening, slipping them underneath Marcy’s tight lingerie and Jessica’s bulky white underwear. At the count of three, they feel up the two ladies, with the results being made clear: Jessica is clean shaven, while Marcy is sporting a Brazilian wax, verifying that it was Buzz who was correct about both of them. Both Lester and Dacey verify the result, reaching underneath their pants to feel the smooth area underneath, conceding defeat as Buzz affirms he will be the one removing both of their bras. This is disappointing to each of them, but especially so for Enis, hoping he could be the one to expose Marcy’s rack to his brothers as payback for kicking him during the struggle.
Button by button, Buzz slowly begins undressing Marcy’s black blouse, taking pleasure in revealing every subsequent inch of the unconscious woman lying underneath. By the second button, he can see the burgundy material of her lacy bra, covering her prominent C cups that seem to be begging to come out as far as they are concerned. By the fourth button, a ripple of her abdominal muscles is seen, a combination of weekly gym outings and weekend pilates toning her core to a noticeable degree. By the sixth button, her inward belly button is revealed, much to the delight of Lester as he gazes in awe, licking his lips to the thought of plunging his tongue into it the moment he gets the chance. With the seventh and final button, the garment is undone, as Buzz splays it open to reveal the entirety of her midsection, even able to catch a glimpse of her panties peeking out the top of her pants, letting them stay there for the time being.
The process of stripping Jessica on the other bed is less ceremonious, but no less pleasurable in the slightest. Taking the bottom of her white tank top, Dacey begins to roll the thin fabric up like a carpet, slowly revealing her midsection in the opposite direction as with Marcy’s. They take inventory of the top of her underwear, a gray strap with white fabric underneath, more functional than Marcy’s seductive undergarments, letting them know Jessica isn’t trying to entice anybody special in her life. Rolling it up further, they catch sight of her bellybutton, outwardly oriented, while being a bit smaller than Marcy’s and much more adorable by result. Further up, they see her toned abs revealed, those with just the slightest bit of baby fat lying on top of them, that which prompts Tracey to poke the top of her belly, watching as it slightly jiggles to her amusement before Dacey swats her hand away. She gets to her bra, white and bulky, matching her underwear no doubt, giving them the indication that Jessica is not one who is sexually active, given that she does not try to look her best inside and out. However, by the time Dacey rolls up the remainder of her shirt, tucking it underneath her armpits for good measure, every person in that room has a bird’s eye view to everything Jessica is hiding from everyone else, and they are going to show her just what they do to modest young women like her.
“Aight, back it up!” Buzz tells them, watching everyone back away from the women. “It’s my time ta shine!” Not even the look of pitiful lust on Enis’s face would deter Buzz from taking it upon himself, and himself alone, to strip these women of their bras. He takes his hand, fishing it underneath Marcy’s back, fumbling for the strap, or buckle, or tie keeping it in place. Lucky for him, it is a clip, with a squeeze of his fingers loosening the undergarment instantly. Taking his other hand, Buzz grasps the front of the bra in between the cups, watching as the straps slide from Marcy’s sides, revealing her bare breasts to the room. They are lightly tanned, not as much as the rest of her body, but not by too much, indicating an unfinished tan job she was set to return to at the end of their trip. Without a speck or blemish in sight, they can only assume they are completely natural, a particularly gifted woman Marcy knows herself to be. Even her nipples seem to be a gift from heaven, with their dark areolas, widened to the size of half dollar coins underneath the warmth of the room, sitting perfectly right in the middle of her breasts. As they gaze in wonder at thor perfect form, Buzz takes it upon himself to rise from his perch, heading over to the bed where Jessica is lying by her lonesome.
Just as before, he takes his hand, snaking it right underneath Jessica’s back, as he fishes for the connection of her bra. However, unlike the simple process of before, poor Buzz finds himself unable to find it, even utilizing his left hand to try and do the job. Little does he know Jessica prefers her bras without connectors due to their tendency of digging into her back during volleyball practice, opting for a single piece of garment over her back. Huffing in frustration, Buzz knows there will be no removal unless he takes it upon himself to fish it over her head. However, Buzz is an impatient man, opting rather to treat it in the same manner as her shirt: grasping it at the bottom of each cup, Buzz unceremoniously tugs it upward, tucking it underneath her underarms as he reveals a pair of supple B-cups to the open air. They are pale, much like the rest of her skin, a tendency for the indoor version of the sport something that has disappointed many dates after Jessica tells them she is a volleyball captain. Tiny freckles dot their surface every inch or so, with a higher concentration centered around her upper chest. Much like her breasts, Jessica’s nipples are paler than Marcy’s with areolas that are more aligned with the size of nickels, an indicator of her youth and procreative history. In fact, it is a well kept secret of Jessica’s, even one that Marcy doesn’t know about, that she has never been sexually active with another person, only experiencing one kiss in high school while never taking it further. Such lack of sexual awareness may prove to be Jessica’s downfall, but right now, she is far away, dreaming of a time when she didn’t have to put up with a woman trying to pretend to be her mother, not knowing that what she is experiencing this very moment may be a fate even worse than that.
“Betcha I can make ‘er nipples stiff ‘fore you can,” Enis spouts, pointing his finger at the unconscious form of Marcy, the center of his lustful spirit of competition. He turns to Tracey, receiving a devious smile from the younger of the twins as she takes her position right above Jessica, kneeling above her limp body with both her bare breasts well in view. Enis does the same, placing himself above Marcy’s hips, gazing down at the woman’s nipplies he was sure he was going to get to stiffen before Jessica’s would even get close, banking on his desire to win as his competitive edge over Tracey. Standing between them, Buzz takes it upon himself to be the referee, looking them both straight in the eye before he counts them off.
“One...two...THREE!” he exclaims, as Enis and Tracey go to town on their nipples, surrounded by the frantic cheers of those standing around them, with even Old Lady Turnbauer getting a few words of encouragement in. From the get go, Enis feels he is starting off strong, grasping firmly on Marcy’s large nipples as he twists and turns his fingers around them. Knowing their size merely means more room for stimulation, Enis is more than sure he is bound to make Marcy’s nipples stiffen first, with more than a simple victory on the line for him. You see, it was not just the fact that Marcy had thrust the state of his manhood into question by incapacitating him during their capture that was driving Enis mad with thoughts of revenge. As the middle child between his brothers Buzz and Lester, Enis Rutherford Maxwell always found himself the last person on everyone’s mind, being neither the natural born leader like his eldest brother Lester, nor the most good looking of the three like his younger brother Buzz. If Enis was going to stand out for anything, then it would have to be this, wielding a masterful hand over his victim’s body, stimulating her erogenous senses even as she lies unconscious and fully unaware.
However, past the first few seconds or so, Enis finds his apparent advantage turning against him, with the sheer size of Marcy’s nipples being more than he can handle. His clumsy fingers do not possess the dexterity to hone in on the most effective strategies to getting them aroused, those which Enis would not be perceptive enough to pick up on anyways. Added to that is the fact that his libido is currently running amok, with his persistent erection pressing against his jeans distracting him as he tries to work, having never gone this long after the start of arousal without pleasuring himself. This would be the opposite problem Marcy was experiencing at this very moment, as little would Enis know that her sexual appetite had been well fed up to this point, her voluptuous body making her wildly seductive to her new husband as they demonstrated each night much to Jessica’s dismay. However, she would never tell him that most of the time, her “earth shattering” climaxes were dramatized, preserving his ego as she was forced to pleasure herself after their love making just to experience one orgasm, a level of stimulation Enis could never replicate even in his wildest dreams. Even as he licks his fingers, periodically blowing air unto her wetted areolas, poor Enis is unable to stimulate even one hair out of place.
“Gettin’ close o’er here!” Tracey exclaims, eliciting a look of dread from Enis as he gazes over, spotting Jessica’s half stiffened nipples underneath the twin’s fingers. “Is all in the touch, buddy boy!” Taking the tips of her fingers, Tracey begins by flicking just at the tips of the nipples, swirling her fingers and thumbs around the outside just before gently pinching at them, tugging and pulling until she is satisfied before doing the whole thing again, a formulaic approach as compared to the desperate fumbling Enis demonstrates. It is true that Tracey may have the ultimate edge over her competitor, her awareness which buttons to push derived almost solely from her experience as a woman herself. However, it is more than likely due to Jessica’s underlying biology that is making her more susceptible to the stimulation. Having spent most of her teenage years without her mother, Jessica’s only instruction on feminine sexuality and body image would have been from her father, a person whose overprotective nature would make any talk of her daughter being sexually active be rendered completely out of the question. As a result, Jessica would develop an aversion towards her sexual urges, constantly repressing them to keep herself more in line to what her father perceived as the ideal daughter. Even masturbation was off the table, with the thought of her father overhearing her self-pleasure making her shudder in dread, rendering the idea completely null and void. What has resulted from this constant state of suppression is an underlying state of overarousal, a potential for near instant sexual stimulation that is lying in wait for the right touch in the right place.
“WINNER!” Buzz shouts, as Tracey lifts her hands, revealing a pair of perfectly stiffened nipples atop Jessica’s breasts. “Beater luck next time, big bro!” He pats Enis on the shoulder, a gesture which is met with a violent shrug, as Enis lifts himself off the bed to examine his defeat. Wandering over to the other bed, he gazes down at Jessica’s nipples, their small form fully stiffened, even lingering so after so little time much to his dismay. He cannot believe just how low he finds himself, having been beaten by a woman, in the act of stimulating a woman, a man’s job if there ever was one. If that weren’t enough, the twins begin to tease him further, bringing their fists to the sides of their eyes as they emulate a crying baby, watching Enis’s cheeks turn red in a mixture of frustration, anger, and embarrassment. It was one thing for the eldest of the two to subdue him in such a degrading manner, kicking him in the leg as he could only nurse his wound as the others did the bulk of the dirty work. But now, it is the younger of them that questions his manhood, showing just how inept he is as stimulating a woman’s libido unconscious or not. With steam underneath his collar, Enis aims to vent his frustration, opting to take it all out on the unconscious woman who secured his defeat.
Crawling up on top of the bed, Enis mounts himself over Jessica’s limp body, placing her in between his legs, giving him a bird’s eye view of her delectable assets. Taking cue from his brother, Buzz mounts Marcy in the same way, as the rest of the posse gaze on in not-so-subdued delight. Sliding his hands over her upper body, Enis begins tracing the toned figure Jessica has established for herself over the many months of training and conditioning for competitions far and wide. The same is done by Buzz on the other side, noting the firm yet full nature of Marcy’s figure, denoting an exercise routine that is less rigorous, but no less effective. Over and over, they drag their fingers over the exposed flesh of their victims, feeling them up in the way they have many times before upon many other victims. However, none have indulged in the unconscious form of a woman with the vigor and zeal like Enis is doing at this very moment, with not even his throbbing erection deterring him from attempting to restore his own manhood, as paradoxical as that may sound.
Grasping hold of Jessica’s pert breasts, he jiggles them back and forth, up and down, executing science experiments in guessing just how bouncy they could still be with so much blood rushing to her nipples, his clumsy fingers getting what little information they can out of the unconscious girl. Taking her by the nipples, he gives them a slight tug, releasing them only to watch her breasts go back to their initial position, still remaining just as hard as the moment he sat down. He licks the drool from the side of his lips, as he begins to contemplate just what is lying in wait for them underneath the rest of her bulky clothes, a whole smorgasbord of erotics delights surely that which they are going to indulge in soon. However, just as he once again gropes Jessica’s breasts, pinching at her stiffened nipples just a little bit harder than before, he hears a stifled groan, almost as though the unconscious girl is responding in pain, embarrassment, or both simultaneously. It is then too that Marcy gives off a stuttering breath, a possible response to Buzz cupping both of her buttcheeks in his oversized hands, squeezing and rubbing them possibly much to her lack of amusement.
“Dumb boys, yer wakin’ em!” Dacey exclaims, met with a shoosh from her sister, as she clasps her hands over her mouth, turning her shouting into hushed whispers. “What’cha gonna do now that they wakin’ up?” They look over at one another, seemingly not having thought this far ahead with the situation that has been placed in their laps. It was different with their previous victim, not having to worry about letting her slip out of their grasp too easily since they outnumbered her six to one. However, with two victims in their midst, one of them being fed by a strong maternal instinct to protect the other, they needed to make sure they were fully under their control. Clearing her throat, Old Lady Turnbauer directs their attention towards herself, a reassuring grin atop her wrinkled leathery face.
“Git the ropes,” she commands, with each of the townsfolk echoing the same phrase to one another. Rising from his perch, Lester takes it upon himself to exit the hotel room, wrapping around the building where his pickup truck has been stashed this entire time. Similar to Dax Lawton, Lester Ebenezer Maxwell has grown up within Mayberry Crossing his entire life, soon establishing for himself a proper place within the social and economic structure of the community. An expert hunter and fisherman, Lester kept the general store stocked with several local delicacies procured from the surrounding swamp, even utilizing an array of handmade devices to catch every make and model of critters one could imagine cooking up and serving at the dinner table, his ingenuity much appreciated to those around him.
However, it is through this experience that Lester became the de facto “procurement specialist” of the town, able to catch and subdue near anything that crossed his path, no matter how wily or crafty they could be. His finesse with ropes was legendary, able to bind with three knots what others could not accomplish with ten or more, and his ability to utilize this skill in tandem with his handmade traps made him a force to be reckoned with. It was such a trap that prevented their previous victim from escaping, having ensnared the poor creature after she had slipped out of her bonds, stringing her up to a tree by her ankle for the townsfolk to retrieve her safe and sound. How she managed to escape Lester’s knotwork in the first place was something he was itching to figure out, but in the meantime, he was currently occupied with concocting the best way to restrain the two ladies lying limp in the hotel room, all while carrying the extra bunches of rope on hand. He re enters the hotel room, much to the glee of those around him, with the conundrum he was trying to solve already answered for him.
“Les git the girl first,” Old Lady Turnbauer tells them, pointing her bony finger at Jessica. “Spread her cross the bed, nice n snug.” Taking several bunches of rope, each made of thick white nylon, Lester tosses them over to the twins, those who begin unwinding them as they fall over Jessica’s unconscious body. He hands another wad to Buzz, letting him and Enis unwind them in preparation before they prepare Marcy. Taking her by the left wrist, Dacey drags Jessica’s arm to the top left corner of the bed, tugging her just enough as to leave the tips of her fingers three inches from the corner. She begins wrapping several coils around her wrist, just as Tracey mirrors her sister’s actions with Jessica’s right wrist. Having bound her wrists, the two twins begin snaking the length of the rope underneath the bed, wrapping it several times around the top legs of the bed frame, its thick wooden slats perfectly sturdy to resist any struggling. Satisfied with their work, they finish off each rope with a tautline hitch, whatever that is, the knot Lester assured them would only get tighter the more their victim struggles. Watching them move towards Jessica’s ankles, Old Lady Turnbauer turns towards the three brothers, having just hatched an idea.
“Le’s hogtie dis un,” she commands, twisting her finger as to denote them flipping Marcy over. “Face her tords the girl; let her watch ‘em suffer.” A devious grin encapsulates their faces as they do what she says: taking her by the shoulders, Buzz begins to turn Marcy over, rotating her body until her head is pointed towards Jessica, with her legs dangling off the opposite side. He takes her wrists, placing them over one another behind her back, holding them there as Lester wraps a length of rope over them. With the fourth and final loop, Lester indicates his satisfaction, watching Buzz take hold of Marcy’s ankles, directing them over her raised buttox, crossing them in the same manner as her wrists. With the excess rope, Lester wraps it around Marcy’s ankles, the proximity of her hands and feet close enough to touch, but not enough to have any impact on what is going to happen to her.
Looking over to her left, Old Lady Turnbauer spots the twins, each taking hold of one of Jessica’s ankles, as they wind several lengths just above her feet. Fishing the strands underneath the bottom of the bed frame, they begin binding her lower extremities to the bed, fully securing her fate. At Old Lady Turnbauer’s side stands Enis, gazing menacingly at the elder of the two women as she is being prepared. He cannot wait but get his hands on her, breaking her spirit as payback for making him seem useless in subduing her the first time, an embarrassing experience to have him bowled over on the floor in pain, only because she had the audacity to resist the inevitable. She will soon learn what it means to be helpless, Enis swears, even if he has to call in reinforcements to get the job done. Just as Lester cinches the last of the rope around Marcy’s ankles, so too do the twins finish up their bonds, tightening the ropes around Jessica’s ankles, as they stretch her in an X position across the bed, fully immobilizing the poor girl. Locking eyes with Buzz, Old Lady Turnbauer gives him a nonverbal signal, prompting him to begin rubbing Marcy’s cheek, enticing her awake.
“Hmm...uhnn...what is goin...who is that?” Marcy moans, her senses slowly creeping back to her, as she rocks her head back and forth trying to shake whoever or whatever is disturbing her slumber. “Stop it...let me sleep...wait, who are you? WHAT?!” Her eyes gently peel open, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of the horrendous figure looming over her, taking in his toothy grin as her eyes shoot open wide as saucers to confront this horrifying ordeal. She looks about, scanning across her own body, as she discovers she has been stripped of her blouse and bra, her breasts laid bare and open for the world to see. Feeling a slight breeze come in from the window, Marcy suddenly senses that her feet are also completely bare, a detail that seems more devious than considerate of her captors. However, as she looks over to the other bed, she is absolutely horrified as she is treated to a full view of her stepdaughter, stripped half naked, bound with thick rope across the motel bed, surrounded by two women she has never seen before. Taking in every horrid detail, Marcy notes that Jessica too has been stripped of her shirt and bra, with her hardened nipples pointing straight up into the air, along with both her shoes and socks having been taken from her possession.
With each and every detail gathered, the astute Marcy begins piecing together their horrifying fate: that they have been ensnared by some kind of cult, or enclave, or religious sect of foot-obsessed sexual deviants, and that from the moment they have been out, both she and Jessica have most likely been subject to their unique brand of molestation. This summation is seemingly confirmed as she looks over at Enis, spotting the dark spot on the top of his pants that is a result of the prolonged leakage from his unsatisfied erection, merely revealing the prolonged sexual pleasure he has derived from their predicament. With this final detail, Marcy finds herself utterly infuriated, now hellbent on showing these deviants just what a grave mistake they have made by messing with either of them. She tries to get up in a desperate attempt at setting Jessica free from her bonds, only to find herself completely unable to. Looking back at her wrists, she finds them completely encased in the same type of rope, along with her ankles that sit mere inches from her fingertips. Rocking back and forth, baring her teeth in a mixture of frustration and exertion, Marcy finds herself unable to break out of her bonds, letting out a primal grunt as she directs her attention towards the person who is pulling the strings.
“GET US OUT OF HERE, NOW!!” Marcy demands, met with the scattered laughter of every other person in the room. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?! I’LL HAVE ALL YOUR ASSES ON A BURNER BY THE TIME THIS IS OVER!! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU’RE DONE FOR!!” Her fire, despite being an asset in boardroom meetings and courtrooms alike, is only proving to worsen her condition, enticing their imaginations with just what she could sound like once they subject her to their most diabolical treatment, reserved for only the most defiant of guests. Yes, she can only make it worse from here on out, both for herself as well as her stepdaughter, who is just starting to wake up herself from all the surrounding commotion.
“Ye got sum fire in ya missy,” Old Lady Turnbauer explains, licking her lower lip as she gazes upon the look of utter indignation atop Marcy’s face. “We like that dun here, don’t we y’all?” She is met with affirmation all around, their lustful gazes making waves of rage roll down Marcy’s spine.
“Wha...what’s going on? Why all the noise?” Jessica moans, catching the attention of Marcy as she shifts from unbridled rage to motherly concern. She opens her eyes, catching the sight of the two ladies seated right beside her, leering at her with unbridled glee.
“Wakey yerself sleepy head!” Tracey exclaims, patting Jessica on the cheek, as the distraught girl begins looking around her, seeing the horrifying sight of her half naked bondage. However, unlike her defiant stepmother, she neither struggles nor protests, her sense of self-preservation taking hold as she can only lie there in utter fear, her lower lip quivering, with tears starting to build in her eyes. If only Marcy could run over to Jessica right now, covering her eyes and ears as she shields her from what is possibly going to be a very hard ordeal. Little could they have predicted accidentally stumbling on this fate, with seemingly the stars aligning to place them in this hellish ordeal out of thin air. However, feeling the utter absurdity in thinking this to be accidental, it is then that Marcy starts putting all the pieces together: the flat tire, the aloof truck driver, the unoccupied hotel room filled with personal items, all pointing to the possibility that they didn’t just stumble into a rundown old part of the country by accident, but rather they were ensnared through a careful concoction of circumstance and conspiracy, and she was going to get to the bottom of it right now.
“WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO US?!” Marcy wails at the tops of her lungs, confronting the disgusting sight of the old hag standing over them, her arms crossed as though she were overseeing this debacle like a manager. “DID...DID YOU DRUG US?!”
“Yes’m we did!” Old Lady Turnbauer shrieks, a cackling wail soon to follow. “Keep yer thanks, as it be necessary to keep ya round long nuff fur the fun! Us had sum troubles in da past gettin’ li’l ladies like yerselves docil’ to ‘preciate our special brand of hospitality. Yer welcome!” Hot steam seems to be ejecting out from under Marcy’s collar, having to listen to the old bag dictate their utter pleasure in ensnaring them like this. Feeling as though she is not getting anywhere with the bombastic approach, Marcy proceeds to lower her voice, opting for a tone of flattened wrath she has used to sway many stubborn clients.
“If you don’t let us out right now, I can promise you one thing,” Marcy growls, her piercing gaze directed right at the hollows with Old Lady Turnbauer’s face. “I will disembowel you in the courts. You will never see the light of day once I’ve gotten word out to all my prosecutor friends that they should throw the library at you. Now, I don’t know what this “special brand of hospitality” may be, but you better hope we don’t find out about it, because you’ll be…” Just as she tries to formulate that last threat, Old Lady Turnbauer interjects with an abrupt interruption.
“Why, ticklin’ of course!” she exclaims, throwing a sudden shiver across Marcy’s entire body, as the decrepit woman leans forward towards the bound business woman, her voice transforming into a low ominous moan that brings Marcy to the brink of fear. “An’ I guarantee, you’ll be right docil’ by time we done with you, else you won’ last ver’ long here. We all gon have lots uh fun o’er the next few hours, days, hell, maybe weeks ‘en if y’all really fun. Don’ believe me? Jus’ ask our last guest, who thought it be nice ‘n hop in a truck on a desert road, like she didn’ deserve what she gettin’ right now. Dun worry, y’all will meet her soon, that is, ‘less you got sumwhere else more ‘mportant to be, missy.”
End of Part Two
Circumstances beyond their control had led them down the path leading straight to this unfortunate predicament: having their tire flattened by a conniving Dax Lawton, leading them to the establishment of one Old Lady Turnbauer, forcing them to rent a hotel room that was to be broken into by the Maxwell brothers Enis, Lester, and Buzz. However, as the chloroform-soaked rags sat over their mouths and noses, forced to fall unconscious surrounded by the lowest forms of sentient life, it might have been good for them to contemplate just what hand they had in securing this fate. Maybe had Marcy not insisted on making enough room in the car for her several changes of clothes for every occasion, they would have had the spare tire needed as not to require any help from a strange man and his lustful gaze. Maybe had Jessica been more agreeable with her new stepmother over the course of these several months, then they would not have had to go on this little trip of theirs to begin with as insisted upon by her father. And maybe, had they not been locked in a shouting match, each taking potshots at the other to try and hurt them, then maybe they would have heard the growing crowd amassing outside their door, growing to the point where they would be easily overpowered before it was far too late.
But, here they lie, unable to be grown women and own up to their mistakes, as though they would even do so if they were not knocked out cold.
“Les git ‘em ready,” Old Lady Turnbauer directs, pointing her bony decrepit finger towards Marcy on the bed to her right. It begins with Lester, the eldest of the three brothers, seating himself beside Marcy at the edge of the bed. He flicks the side of her face with his finger, satisfied to know the extra potency of the chloroform has paid off, having learned just recently just how crucial it is for it to be the right strength from the beginning. Taking her by the wrists, he hoists her body up to his, leaning her on his chest as he grasps her coat by the shoulders. Inch by inch, he slips the gray fabric off of her, revealing her toned bronze arms as he goes, those same ones that struggled so valiantly for freedom but ultimately failed their owner. Removing it from her person, he tosses the outer garment onto the floor below, leaving her in the black blouse she was wearing underneath.
Just to his left, poor Jessica is treated to the same attention, as the two ladies who subdued her, twins Dacey and Tracey Carlyle, begin to strip the unconscious girl. Patting the sides of her face, the two ladies watch as Jessica doesn’t even flinch, giving a cue to Old Lady Turnbauer that they did good this time. They begin with her pullover, placing her flat on the bed, as Tracey hoists Jessica’s arms high above her head. Grasping her by the ends of her sleeves, the slightly older twin begins yanking the garment up over her head, just as Dacey keeps hold of Jessica’s waist so as not to have her sliding around. Getting it over her head, Tracey swiftly slips it off of the limp girl, feeling the thick comfortable material making up the dress. As she does that, they reveal a pristine white tank top underneath, that which has been pulled up slightly from her coat being taken from her, revealing a toned stomach with just the slightest amount of baby fat on top.
“Where ye wan’ uh start, Mama?” Buzz Maxwell, the youngest of the brothers, asks Old Lady Turnbauer, utilizing the affectionate title he has for her despite being old enough to be his great grandmother.
“Dis n’s got a nice little tush!” Lester notes, setting Marcy back down on the bed, grasping the side of her buttox, squeezing it much to the delight of those around her. “Betcha hur sister’s got a nice one on hur!” Taking her hands, Dacey pushes Jessica’s limp body to its side, giving Tracey access as she grasps her buttcheeks in both hands, squeezing them through her loose-fitting sweatpants.
“S’okay I spose, but I’m bettin’ she got a better rack,” Tracey notes, as Dacey lets Jessica fall back unto the bed. Just as that happens, Old Lady Turnbauer interjects, clearing her throat as she redirects all attention back to her.
“We got all the time in the world,” she says. “But, let’s start with thems feetsies!” A shiver rolls down the spine of Enis Maxwell, the middle child, and handyman who loosened the lock on their door for them to break into. It was one thing that his massive foot infatuation was going to be satiated, but to have it be that he was about to play with the feet of the woman who kicked him in the leg made him all the more excited. To say Enis’s history with women was spotty was an understatement, given his tendency to only fulfill his greatest sexual fantasies with the ones that have been rendered unconscious. However, mix that in with a sense of impending revenge, knowing he has the capacity to show Marcy just what happens when you mess with Enis Jeremiah Maxwell, and you have a recipe of pure bliss on your hands.
Taking hold of the side of Marcy’s right ankle boot, Lester begins slowly unzipping the side, revealing a purple socks underneath, one tightly hugging her size nine foot. On the other side of the room, Tracey and Dacey begin to do the same with Jessica’s well worn Converse sneaker, untying her top laces as they slowly peel her left shoe away, revealing a bulky white sock, its underside slightly dirty from the sole of her shoe.
“We gots sum ripe winners here!” exclaims Old Lady Turnbauer much to the delight of those around her, knowing that of all the countless unsuspecting victims they had lured into their trap, these two ladies are proving to be the ones with the biggest payoff. She gazes upon their feet, both of fairly equal size as compared to one another, with Marcy’s foot being more narrow than that of Jessica’s, surely a byproduct of the former’s propensity for high heels, sitting in stark contrast to Jessica’s tendency for loose-fitting sneakers and running shoes. “Just how they be smellin’ Trace?” Cradling Jessica’s left foot in both hand, Tracey places it just against her nose, taking in a deep whiff of her scent.
“Whewhee! Das sum ripe stench!” she exclaims, pressing it once again against her nostrils, the sounds of her indulgence inspiring the others to do the same. “How’s her sis’s?” The youngest of them kneels before Marcy’s limp right foot, sniffing a few short whiffs before turning towards the rest of them.
“Smells like blosssms ur somethin’!” he shouts, taking in a longer smell, gazing up into the corner of the room in contemplation. “Maybe roses?” Had Marcy the capacity to answer, she could have informed them that her cherry blossom body butter was imported from Japan, making it unlikely that anyone other than those with the most exquisite of tastes would be able to identify it by smell alone. However, she might have been more concerned with just how they were getting that smell, as well as just how many people were gathering at her feet this very moment to take it all in.
“Hey don’t be hoggin’!” one of them calls out. “Pass ‘em around!” The two at Marcy’s feet oblige, pinching at the tops of her socks, slowly stripping them from their feet, watching with great admiration as they reveal her plump round heel, followed by her long supple arch, all the way up until they have revealed her long slender toes, the nails of which coated in a black varnish. Taking his sock in hand, Buzz holds it right underneath his nose, taking in a long whiff before opting for shorter sporadic ones, savoring the subtle stench of her sock almost like Marcy savors the smell of a freshly poured glass of cabernet. With her shoe in one hand, and her other sock in the other, Lester alternates between the two, sniffing into the opening of the ankle boot before swapping back to the sole of the sock, admiring just how different they could be despite settling in the exact same spot. Across the space on the other bed, the same attention is being given to Jessica’s feet, as the two ladies slowly peel her socks from her feet. In contrast, Jessica’s feet show but the most minimal amount of attention, with her toenails being left unpainted, and yet her youthful skin is enough to retain its supple form. Taking her sock in hand, Dacey starts off slow, having learned from her sister just what a ripe stench she is in for, taking in short whiffs while holding the sock mere inches from her nose. On the other side of the bed, Tracey is opting for a more immersive approach, placing her nose right into the opening of Jessica’s shoe, noting the warmth emanating from the footwear having just been removed from its owner, as it slightly obscures the stench from it.
“What y’all think?” Tracey calls over, holding up Jessica’s right foot for everyone else in the room to see. “She gots sum pretty lil feet, ain’t she?” They gaze upon Jessica’s bare foot, noting the way in which the toes fan out from one another, how Jessica’s second toe is the same length as her big toe, how little of a color difference there is between her heel and sole, going over every little detail as they begin to compare it to Marcy’s left foot. They note just how much more slender it is than Jessica’s with a darker hue on her heel than on any other part of her foot, noting that her second toe is longer than her big toe, something that might make open toed shoes difficult to pull off, as far as Dacey is concerned. They revel in the difference in smoothness between the two, rubbing their fingers across their soles, able to hear a slight scratching sound coming from Jessica’s. Apart from their personal styles, both Marcy and Jessica had radically different approaches to footcare, with the former’s smooth foot bottoms and perfectly preened heels denoting a recent pedicure in the last 72 hours, whereas the younger of the two takes a more minimalistic approach to feminine selfcare, something just slightly related to an aversion towards people touching her feet. Had Jessica known that there was any possibility of her feet being touched during this trip, then she may have opted for a pedicure, that which would have been one of the roughly half dozen she had gotten over the course of their entire life due to this said aversion. However, even if she had never gotten one before today, that would not deter the perverted figures from ravaging them as they are sure to do, the thought of her disliking the sensation merely feeding into their fantasies.
“Well, don’t just be sittin’ there all day!” Old Lady Turnbauer exclaims, much to the surprise of those around her. “Enjoy ‘em!” Such is met with almost immediate indulgence, as the two figures seated at Marcy’s feet take hold of each foot and, ever so slowly, begin dragging their tongues up the length of her soles, from the bottoms of her heels, all the way up to the very tips of her toes. The same is done to Jessica, with each twin indulging in her feet as though they were fresh ice cream cones, leaving lines of saliva across her bare soles as they lap up and down as slowly as they can. Their tongues push back the ladies’s feet, a testament to just how experienced they are at this, as well as just how much force they are utilizing pressing their tongues into their feet, getting every last sense of taste they can out of their pare soles.
“Tastes a wee bit salty o’er here,” Dacey notes, fondling her toes one by one as she kisses and suckles each of them one by one, eliciting what appears to be a flinch from the youngest of the two unconscious ladies. “An’ she seems to be a li’l bit ticklish, I sees!” Tracey mirrors that of her sister, nibbling on the tops of Jessica’s toes, as she gets the same autonomous response, a wriggle of the toe clearer to her than anything the young lady could tell her about. It had been so many years since Jessica had her toes tickled even close to this manner, remembering how her cousins would hold her down when they were younger before having their bulldog lick Jessica’s toes much to her dismay, surely a memory that is being incited deep within her unconscious mind as she lays there showing these two ladies exactly how ticklish they truly are. Unfortunately for Lester and Buzz, Marcy’s feet do not have a strong enough taste for them to identify, that which seems to be on the tip of their tongue, but eludes them no matter how hard they press their tongues into her soles. It might have been the strawberry scented hand and foot lotion Marcy uses every day, that which is quickly absorbed into the skin, leaving very little remnant of its application, something the two are dealing with this very moment.
As the two fondle Jessica’s feet, Enis removes himself from the spectator’s position by Old Lady Turnbauer. Seating himself beside her limp body, he his hands directly atop the volleyball captain’s tank top, grasping her youthful yet fully formed B cups. Shifting his hands around, he watches as her breasts begin bouncing about, jiggling underneath his grasp much to his delight. A horrid sound begins emanating from his gullet, one that is intended to be Enis accompanying his fondling of Jessica’s breasts by humming “Smoke on the Water” to himself, but that amounts to a rendition of an old hog chewing his own leg off the sound is so crude and horrid. Peering downward, he spots her shirt slowly working its way upward, revealing her small sunken belly button to his view. Leaning forward, Enis takes his tongue, inserting it into her bellybutton as he begins to swirl it into her navel, all the while still playing with her youthful perky breasts. As he does this, Lester watches in delight as his younger brother satiates himself, opting to do the same with Marcy.
“Les see whut we gots undur hur,” Lester says to the unconscious woman, taking his hand and snaking it underneath the bottom of Marcy’s blouse, left open by the elderly woman’s efforts at usurping Marcy’s resistance attempt. “Mmmm, das sum good on ur.” He slides his fingers over her toned abs, feeling her protruding ribs, as he touches the underside of her lacy bra. Taking his other hand, he begins to unbutton the top of Marcy’s blouse, reaching the end of the garment as he spreads it open, revealing her C cups hidden underneath her black lingerie. Despite Marcy’s frequent visits to the gym, along with her weekly yoga sessions and body toning classes, she is not immune to the voluptuous curvature that she has been graced with by her good genes, a full womanly figure that which keeps her in the fantasies of all men who pass her by, which is now on full display to those who she wouldn’t even give the time of day to. He takes his hands, groping and playing with Marcy’s bra-clad breasts, swirling them around as he notes just how much more malleable they seem to be than Jessica’s firm breasts. As he does, he can see Marcy’s eyes start to flicker, thinking his expert stimulation must be working wonders on her as she is just waking up. However, Marcy does not budge, falling once again into her deep sleep, completely oblivious to the horrendous attention she is being given.
“Betcha she’s waxed under thur,” Buzz tells Lester, prompting both Dacey and Tracey to bet that it is their girl who is waxed, while Marcy is obviously clean shaven. Going back and forth with one another, they tally up the bets, with three betting Marcy’s clean and Jessica is hairy, with the rest betting the alternative. If either of them are correct, then they can be the one to strip the bras off both of them, a bet which they all readily agree to. They count off, as Buzz begins unbuttoning Marcy’s pants, as Tracey tugs the top of Jessica’s sweatpants just slightly upward, not letting anyone else see as they slide their hands through the opening, slipping them underneath Marcy’s tight lingerie and Jessica’s bulky white underwear. At the count of three, they feel up the two ladies, with the results being made clear: Jessica is clean shaven, while Marcy is sporting a Brazilian wax, verifying that it was Buzz who was correct about both of them. Both Lester and Dacey verify the result, reaching underneath their pants to feel the smooth area underneath, conceding defeat as Buzz affirms he will be the one removing both of their bras. This is disappointing to each of them, but especially so for Enis, hoping he could be the one to expose Marcy’s rack to his brothers as payback for kicking him during the struggle.
Button by button, Buzz slowly begins undressing Marcy’s black blouse, taking pleasure in revealing every subsequent inch of the unconscious woman lying underneath. By the second button, he can see the burgundy material of her lacy bra, covering her prominent C cups that seem to be begging to come out as far as they are concerned. By the fourth button, a ripple of her abdominal muscles is seen, a combination of weekly gym outings and weekend pilates toning her core to a noticeable degree. By the sixth button, her inward belly button is revealed, much to the delight of Lester as he gazes in awe, licking his lips to the thought of plunging his tongue into it the moment he gets the chance. With the seventh and final button, the garment is undone, as Buzz splays it open to reveal the entirety of her midsection, even able to catch a glimpse of her panties peeking out the top of her pants, letting them stay there for the time being.
The process of stripping Jessica on the other bed is less ceremonious, but no less pleasurable in the slightest. Taking the bottom of her white tank top, Dacey begins to roll the thin fabric up like a carpet, slowly revealing her midsection in the opposite direction as with Marcy’s. They take inventory of the top of her underwear, a gray strap with white fabric underneath, more functional than Marcy’s seductive undergarments, letting them know Jessica isn’t trying to entice anybody special in her life. Rolling it up further, they catch sight of her bellybutton, outwardly oriented, while being a bit smaller than Marcy’s and much more adorable by result. Further up, they see her toned abs revealed, those with just the slightest bit of baby fat lying on top of them, that which prompts Tracey to poke the top of her belly, watching as it slightly jiggles to her amusement before Dacey swats her hand away. She gets to her bra, white and bulky, matching her underwear no doubt, giving them the indication that Jessica is not one who is sexually active, given that she does not try to look her best inside and out. However, by the time Dacey rolls up the remainder of her shirt, tucking it underneath her armpits for good measure, every person in that room has a bird’s eye view to everything Jessica is hiding from everyone else, and they are going to show her just what they do to modest young women like her.
“Aight, back it up!” Buzz tells them, watching everyone back away from the women. “It’s my time ta shine!” Not even the look of pitiful lust on Enis’s face would deter Buzz from taking it upon himself, and himself alone, to strip these women of their bras. He takes his hand, fishing it underneath Marcy’s back, fumbling for the strap, or buckle, or tie keeping it in place. Lucky for him, it is a clip, with a squeeze of his fingers loosening the undergarment instantly. Taking his other hand, Buzz grasps the front of the bra in between the cups, watching as the straps slide from Marcy’s sides, revealing her bare breasts to the room. They are lightly tanned, not as much as the rest of her body, but not by too much, indicating an unfinished tan job she was set to return to at the end of their trip. Without a speck or blemish in sight, they can only assume they are completely natural, a particularly gifted woman Marcy knows herself to be. Even her nipples seem to be a gift from heaven, with their dark areolas, widened to the size of half dollar coins underneath the warmth of the room, sitting perfectly right in the middle of her breasts. As they gaze in wonder at thor perfect form, Buzz takes it upon himself to rise from his perch, heading over to the bed where Jessica is lying by her lonesome.
Just as before, he takes his hand, snaking it right underneath Jessica’s back, as he fishes for the connection of her bra. However, unlike the simple process of before, poor Buzz finds himself unable to find it, even utilizing his left hand to try and do the job. Little does he know Jessica prefers her bras without connectors due to their tendency of digging into her back during volleyball practice, opting for a single piece of garment over her back. Huffing in frustration, Buzz knows there will be no removal unless he takes it upon himself to fish it over her head. However, Buzz is an impatient man, opting rather to treat it in the same manner as her shirt: grasping it at the bottom of each cup, Buzz unceremoniously tugs it upward, tucking it underneath her underarms as he reveals a pair of supple B-cups to the open air. They are pale, much like the rest of her skin, a tendency for the indoor version of the sport something that has disappointed many dates after Jessica tells them she is a volleyball captain. Tiny freckles dot their surface every inch or so, with a higher concentration centered around her upper chest. Much like her breasts, Jessica’s nipples are paler than Marcy’s with areolas that are more aligned with the size of nickels, an indicator of her youth and procreative history. In fact, it is a well kept secret of Jessica’s, even one that Marcy doesn’t know about, that she has never been sexually active with another person, only experiencing one kiss in high school while never taking it further. Such lack of sexual awareness may prove to be Jessica’s downfall, but right now, she is far away, dreaming of a time when she didn’t have to put up with a woman trying to pretend to be her mother, not knowing that what she is experiencing this very moment may be a fate even worse than that.
“Betcha I can make ‘er nipples stiff ‘fore you can,” Enis spouts, pointing his finger at the unconscious form of Marcy, the center of his lustful spirit of competition. He turns to Tracey, receiving a devious smile from the younger of the twins as she takes her position right above Jessica, kneeling above her limp body with both her bare breasts well in view. Enis does the same, placing himself above Marcy’s hips, gazing down at the woman’s nipplies he was sure he was going to get to stiffen before Jessica’s would even get close, banking on his desire to win as his competitive edge over Tracey. Standing between them, Buzz takes it upon himself to be the referee, looking them both straight in the eye before he counts them off.
“One...two...THREE!” he exclaims, as Enis and Tracey go to town on their nipples, surrounded by the frantic cheers of those standing around them, with even Old Lady Turnbauer getting a few words of encouragement in. From the get go, Enis feels he is starting off strong, grasping firmly on Marcy’s large nipples as he twists and turns his fingers around them. Knowing their size merely means more room for stimulation, Enis is more than sure he is bound to make Marcy’s nipples stiffen first, with more than a simple victory on the line for him. You see, it was not just the fact that Marcy had thrust the state of his manhood into question by incapacitating him during their capture that was driving Enis mad with thoughts of revenge. As the middle child between his brothers Buzz and Lester, Enis Rutherford Maxwell always found himself the last person on everyone’s mind, being neither the natural born leader like his eldest brother Lester, nor the most good looking of the three like his younger brother Buzz. If Enis was going to stand out for anything, then it would have to be this, wielding a masterful hand over his victim’s body, stimulating her erogenous senses even as she lies unconscious and fully unaware.
However, past the first few seconds or so, Enis finds his apparent advantage turning against him, with the sheer size of Marcy’s nipples being more than he can handle. His clumsy fingers do not possess the dexterity to hone in on the most effective strategies to getting them aroused, those which Enis would not be perceptive enough to pick up on anyways. Added to that is the fact that his libido is currently running amok, with his persistent erection pressing against his jeans distracting him as he tries to work, having never gone this long after the start of arousal without pleasuring himself. This would be the opposite problem Marcy was experiencing at this very moment, as little would Enis know that her sexual appetite had been well fed up to this point, her voluptuous body making her wildly seductive to her new husband as they demonstrated each night much to Jessica’s dismay. However, she would never tell him that most of the time, her “earth shattering” climaxes were dramatized, preserving his ego as she was forced to pleasure herself after their love making just to experience one orgasm, a level of stimulation Enis could never replicate even in his wildest dreams. Even as he licks his fingers, periodically blowing air unto her wetted areolas, poor Enis is unable to stimulate even one hair out of place.
“Gettin’ close o’er here!” Tracey exclaims, eliciting a look of dread from Enis as he gazes over, spotting Jessica’s half stiffened nipples underneath the twin’s fingers. “Is all in the touch, buddy boy!” Taking the tips of her fingers, Tracey begins by flicking just at the tips of the nipples, swirling her fingers and thumbs around the outside just before gently pinching at them, tugging and pulling until she is satisfied before doing the whole thing again, a formulaic approach as compared to the desperate fumbling Enis demonstrates. It is true that Tracey may have the ultimate edge over her competitor, her awareness which buttons to push derived almost solely from her experience as a woman herself. However, it is more than likely due to Jessica’s underlying biology that is making her more susceptible to the stimulation. Having spent most of her teenage years without her mother, Jessica’s only instruction on feminine sexuality and body image would have been from her father, a person whose overprotective nature would make any talk of her daughter being sexually active be rendered completely out of the question. As a result, Jessica would develop an aversion towards her sexual urges, constantly repressing them to keep herself more in line to what her father perceived as the ideal daughter. Even masturbation was off the table, with the thought of her father overhearing her self-pleasure making her shudder in dread, rendering the idea completely null and void. What has resulted from this constant state of suppression is an underlying state of overarousal, a potential for near instant sexual stimulation that is lying in wait for the right touch in the right place.
“WINNER!” Buzz shouts, as Tracey lifts her hands, revealing a pair of perfectly stiffened nipples atop Jessica’s breasts. “Beater luck next time, big bro!” He pats Enis on the shoulder, a gesture which is met with a violent shrug, as Enis lifts himself off the bed to examine his defeat. Wandering over to the other bed, he gazes down at Jessica’s nipples, their small form fully stiffened, even lingering so after so little time much to his dismay. He cannot believe just how low he finds himself, having been beaten by a woman, in the act of stimulating a woman, a man’s job if there ever was one. If that weren’t enough, the twins begin to tease him further, bringing their fists to the sides of their eyes as they emulate a crying baby, watching Enis’s cheeks turn red in a mixture of frustration, anger, and embarrassment. It was one thing for the eldest of the two to subdue him in such a degrading manner, kicking him in the leg as he could only nurse his wound as the others did the bulk of the dirty work. But now, it is the younger of them that questions his manhood, showing just how inept he is as stimulating a woman’s libido unconscious or not. With steam underneath his collar, Enis aims to vent his frustration, opting to take it all out on the unconscious woman who secured his defeat.
Crawling up on top of the bed, Enis mounts himself over Jessica’s limp body, placing her in between his legs, giving him a bird’s eye view of her delectable assets. Taking cue from his brother, Buzz mounts Marcy in the same way, as the rest of the posse gaze on in not-so-subdued delight. Sliding his hands over her upper body, Enis begins tracing the toned figure Jessica has established for herself over the many months of training and conditioning for competitions far and wide. The same is done by Buzz on the other side, noting the firm yet full nature of Marcy’s figure, denoting an exercise routine that is less rigorous, but no less effective. Over and over, they drag their fingers over the exposed flesh of their victims, feeling them up in the way they have many times before upon many other victims. However, none have indulged in the unconscious form of a woman with the vigor and zeal like Enis is doing at this very moment, with not even his throbbing erection deterring him from attempting to restore his own manhood, as paradoxical as that may sound.
Grasping hold of Jessica’s pert breasts, he jiggles them back and forth, up and down, executing science experiments in guessing just how bouncy they could still be with so much blood rushing to her nipples, his clumsy fingers getting what little information they can out of the unconscious girl. Taking her by the nipples, he gives them a slight tug, releasing them only to watch her breasts go back to their initial position, still remaining just as hard as the moment he sat down. He licks the drool from the side of his lips, as he begins to contemplate just what is lying in wait for them underneath the rest of her bulky clothes, a whole smorgasbord of erotics delights surely that which they are going to indulge in soon. However, just as he once again gropes Jessica’s breasts, pinching at her stiffened nipples just a little bit harder than before, he hears a stifled groan, almost as though the unconscious girl is responding in pain, embarrassment, or both simultaneously. It is then too that Marcy gives off a stuttering breath, a possible response to Buzz cupping both of her buttcheeks in his oversized hands, squeezing and rubbing them possibly much to her lack of amusement.
“Dumb boys, yer wakin’ em!” Dacey exclaims, met with a shoosh from her sister, as she clasps her hands over her mouth, turning her shouting into hushed whispers. “What’cha gonna do now that they wakin’ up?” They look over at one another, seemingly not having thought this far ahead with the situation that has been placed in their laps. It was different with their previous victim, not having to worry about letting her slip out of their grasp too easily since they outnumbered her six to one. However, with two victims in their midst, one of them being fed by a strong maternal instinct to protect the other, they needed to make sure they were fully under their control. Clearing her throat, Old Lady Turnbauer directs their attention towards herself, a reassuring grin atop her wrinkled leathery face.
“Git the ropes,” she commands, with each of the townsfolk echoing the same phrase to one another. Rising from his perch, Lester takes it upon himself to exit the hotel room, wrapping around the building where his pickup truck has been stashed this entire time. Similar to Dax Lawton, Lester Ebenezer Maxwell has grown up within Mayberry Crossing his entire life, soon establishing for himself a proper place within the social and economic structure of the community. An expert hunter and fisherman, Lester kept the general store stocked with several local delicacies procured from the surrounding swamp, even utilizing an array of handmade devices to catch every make and model of critters one could imagine cooking up and serving at the dinner table, his ingenuity much appreciated to those around him.
However, it is through this experience that Lester became the de facto “procurement specialist” of the town, able to catch and subdue near anything that crossed his path, no matter how wily or crafty they could be. His finesse with ropes was legendary, able to bind with three knots what others could not accomplish with ten or more, and his ability to utilize this skill in tandem with his handmade traps made him a force to be reckoned with. It was such a trap that prevented their previous victim from escaping, having ensnared the poor creature after she had slipped out of her bonds, stringing her up to a tree by her ankle for the townsfolk to retrieve her safe and sound. How she managed to escape Lester’s knotwork in the first place was something he was itching to figure out, but in the meantime, he was currently occupied with concocting the best way to restrain the two ladies lying limp in the hotel room, all while carrying the extra bunches of rope on hand. He re enters the hotel room, much to the glee of those around him, with the conundrum he was trying to solve already answered for him.
“Les git the girl first,” Old Lady Turnbauer tells them, pointing her bony finger at Jessica. “Spread her cross the bed, nice n snug.” Taking several bunches of rope, each made of thick white nylon, Lester tosses them over to the twins, those who begin unwinding them as they fall over Jessica’s unconscious body. He hands another wad to Buzz, letting him and Enis unwind them in preparation before they prepare Marcy. Taking her by the left wrist, Dacey drags Jessica’s arm to the top left corner of the bed, tugging her just enough as to leave the tips of her fingers three inches from the corner. She begins wrapping several coils around her wrist, just as Tracey mirrors her sister’s actions with Jessica’s right wrist. Having bound her wrists, the two twins begin snaking the length of the rope underneath the bed, wrapping it several times around the top legs of the bed frame, its thick wooden slats perfectly sturdy to resist any struggling. Satisfied with their work, they finish off each rope with a tautline hitch, whatever that is, the knot Lester assured them would only get tighter the more their victim struggles. Watching them move towards Jessica’s ankles, Old Lady Turnbauer turns towards the three brothers, having just hatched an idea.
“Le’s hogtie dis un,” she commands, twisting her finger as to denote them flipping Marcy over. “Face her tords the girl; let her watch ‘em suffer.” A devious grin encapsulates their faces as they do what she says: taking her by the shoulders, Buzz begins to turn Marcy over, rotating her body until her head is pointed towards Jessica, with her legs dangling off the opposite side. He takes her wrists, placing them over one another behind her back, holding them there as Lester wraps a length of rope over them. With the fourth and final loop, Lester indicates his satisfaction, watching Buzz take hold of Marcy’s ankles, directing them over her raised buttox, crossing them in the same manner as her wrists. With the excess rope, Lester wraps it around Marcy’s ankles, the proximity of her hands and feet close enough to touch, but not enough to have any impact on what is going to happen to her.
Looking over to her left, Old Lady Turnbauer spots the twins, each taking hold of one of Jessica’s ankles, as they wind several lengths just above her feet. Fishing the strands underneath the bottom of the bed frame, they begin binding her lower extremities to the bed, fully securing her fate. At Old Lady Turnbauer’s side stands Enis, gazing menacingly at the elder of the two women as she is being prepared. He cannot wait but get his hands on her, breaking her spirit as payback for making him seem useless in subduing her the first time, an embarrassing experience to have him bowled over on the floor in pain, only because she had the audacity to resist the inevitable. She will soon learn what it means to be helpless, Enis swears, even if he has to call in reinforcements to get the job done. Just as Lester cinches the last of the rope around Marcy’s ankles, so too do the twins finish up their bonds, tightening the ropes around Jessica’s ankles, as they stretch her in an X position across the bed, fully immobilizing the poor girl. Locking eyes with Buzz, Old Lady Turnbauer gives him a nonverbal signal, prompting him to begin rubbing Marcy’s cheek, enticing her awake.
“Hmm...uhnn...what is goin...who is that?” Marcy moans, her senses slowly creeping back to her, as she rocks her head back and forth trying to shake whoever or whatever is disturbing her slumber. “Stop it...let me sleep...wait, who are you? WHAT?!” Her eyes gently peel open, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of the horrendous figure looming over her, taking in his toothy grin as her eyes shoot open wide as saucers to confront this horrifying ordeal. She looks about, scanning across her own body, as she discovers she has been stripped of her blouse and bra, her breasts laid bare and open for the world to see. Feeling a slight breeze come in from the window, Marcy suddenly senses that her feet are also completely bare, a detail that seems more devious than considerate of her captors. However, as she looks over to the other bed, she is absolutely horrified as she is treated to a full view of her stepdaughter, stripped half naked, bound with thick rope across the motel bed, surrounded by two women she has never seen before. Taking in every horrid detail, Marcy notes that Jessica too has been stripped of her shirt and bra, with her hardened nipples pointing straight up into the air, along with both her shoes and socks having been taken from her possession.
With each and every detail gathered, the astute Marcy begins piecing together their horrifying fate: that they have been ensnared by some kind of cult, or enclave, or religious sect of foot-obsessed sexual deviants, and that from the moment they have been out, both she and Jessica have most likely been subject to their unique brand of molestation. This summation is seemingly confirmed as she looks over at Enis, spotting the dark spot on the top of his pants that is a result of the prolonged leakage from his unsatisfied erection, merely revealing the prolonged sexual pleasure he has derived from their predicament. With this final detail, Marcy finds herself utterly infuriated, now hellbent on showing these deviants just what a grave mistake they have made by messing with either of them. She tries to get up in a desperate attempt at setting Jessica free from her bonds, only to find herself completely unable to. Looking back at her wrists, she finds them completely encased in the same type of rope, along with her ankles that sit mere inches from her fingertips. Rocking back and forth, baring her teeth in a mixture of frustration and exertion, Marcy finds herself unable to break out of her bonds, letting out a primal grunt as she directs her attention towards the person who is pulling the strings.
“GET US OUT OF HERE, NOW!!” Marcy demands, met with the scattered laughter of every other person in the room. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?! I’LL HAVE ALL YOUR ASSES ON A BURNER BY THE TIME THIS IS OVER!! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU’RE DONE FOR!!” Her fire, despite being an asset in boardroom meetings and courtrooms alike, is only proving to worsen her condition, enticing their imaginations with just what she could sound like once they subject her to their most diabolical treatment, reserved for only the most defiant of guests. Yes, she can only make it worse from here on out, both for herself as well as her stepdaughter, who is just starting to wake up herself from all the surrounding commotion.
“Ye got sum fire in ya missy,” Old Lady Turnbauer explains, licking her lower lip as she gazes upon the look of utter indignation atop Marcy’s face. “We like that dun here, don’t we y’all?” She is met with affirmation all around, their lustful gazes making waves of rage roll down Marcy’s spine.
“Wha...what’s going on? Why all the noise?” Jessica moans, catching the attention of Marcy as she shifts from unbridled rage to motherly concern. She opens her eyes, catching the sight of the two ladies seated right beside her, leering at her with unbridled glee.
“Wakey yerself sleepy head!” Tracey exclaims, patting Jessica on the cheek, as the distraught girl begins looking around her, seeing the horrifying sight of her half naked bondage. However, unlike her defiant stepmother, she neither struggles nor protests, her sense of self-preservation taking hold as she can only lie there in utter fear, her lower lip quivering, with tears starting to build in her eyes. If only Marcy could run over to Jessica right now, covering her eyes and ears as she shields her from what is possibly going to be a very hard ordeal. Little could they have predicted accidentally stumbling on this fate, with seemingly the stars aligning to place them in this hellish ordeal out of thin air. However, feeling the utter absurdity in thinking this to be accidental, it is then that Marcy starts putting all the pieces together: the flat tire, the aloof truck driver, the unoccupied hotel room filled with personal items, all pointing to the possibility that they didn’t just stumble into a rundown old part of the country by accident, but rather they were ensnared through a careful concoction of circumstance and conspiracy, and she was going to get to the bottom of it right now.
“WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO US?!” Marcy wails at the tops of her lungs, confronting the disgusting sight of the old hag standing over them, her arms crossed as though she were overseeing this debacle like a manager. “DID...DID YOU DRUG US?!”
“Yes’m we did!” Old Lady Turnbauer shrieks, a cackling wail soon to follow. “Keep yer thanks, as it be necessary to keep ya round long nuff fur the fun! Us had sum troubles in da past gettin’ li’l ladies like yerselves docil’ to ‘preciate our special brand of hospitality. Yer welcome!” Hot steam seems to be ejecting out from under Marcy’s collar, having to listen to the old bag dictate their utter pleasure in ensnaring them like this. Feeling as though she is not getting anywhere with the bombastic approach, Marcy proceeds to lower her voice, opting for a tone of flattened wrath she has used to sway many stubborn clients.
“If you don’t let us out right now, I can promise you one thing,” Marcy growls, her piercing gaze directed right at the hollows with Old Lady Turnbauer’s face. “I will disembowel you in the courts. You will never see the light of day once I’ve gotten word out to all my prosecutor friends that they should throw the library at you. Now, I don’t know what this “special brand of hospitality” may be, but you better hope we don’t find out about it, because you’ll be…” Just as she tries to formulate that last threat, Old Lady Turnbauer interjects with an abrupt interruption.
“Why, ticklin’ of course!” she exclaims, throwing a sudden shiver across Marcy’s entire body, as the decrepit woman leans forward towards the bound business woman, her voice transforming into a low ominous moan that brings Marcy to the brink of fear. “An’ I guarantee, you’ll be right docil’ by time we done with you, else you won’ last ver’ long here. We all gon have lots uh fun o’er the next few hours, days, hell, maybe weeks ‘en if y’all really fun. Don’ believe me? Jus’ ask our last guest, who thought it be nice ‘n hop in a truck on a desert road, like she didn’ deserve what she gettin’ right now. Dun worry, y’all will meet her soon, that is, ‘less you got sumwhere else more ‘mportant to be, missy.”
End of Part Two
Last edited:
