A Late Summer Night’s Eve
by Abducted Damsel as Roxanne, as recounted to Victor Von Doum: email@example.com
Illustration by Mike Lee
NOTE: THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEX. AND, LIKE, A BUNCH OF IT.
Chapter One: Encounters
Roxy meets up with her good friend and college roommate Angie in Albuquerque about an hour after leaving the Circle-7 Ranch in Pena Blanca. Angie Schmidt, the rarest of combinations—a 5’8” tannable auburn-haired beauty with huge, pale emerald eyes—and her summer roommate, Eve Paszynski, are all supposed to go out on a manhunt, but Eve ends up going out with her on-again, off-again boyfriend that evening, to Roxanne’s disappointment as she was particularly looking forward to getting to know Eve better.
Instead, Angie and Roxy go out to the bars where both striking 22-year-olds catch the attention of hordes of underclassmen that make repeated clumsy attempts at picking them up. Annoyed, the women decamp for a quieter bar, one that usually professors and grad students frequent, where they find a place to talk and catch up.
Roxy tells Angie all about her adventure with Tom Gatling, her former ranch boss, who had tricked her into tying her up, then proceeded to force her into three massive orgasms. Roxy tells Angie how incredible it made her feel: the ropes, the gags, the squeaking of the leather, in effect fulfilling a damsel-in-distress fantasy that she never knew she even possessed. Angie admits surprise at Roxanne’s confessions, what with Roxy’s history of mostly plain-vanilla sexploits.
The next three evenings play out in similar frustrating fashion: plenty of come-ons from men, just none from guys who didn’t actually act like college freshmen. Decked out every day in various outfits of jeans and cowgirl boots, the redheaded Angie would turn heads and Roxy—5' 6” with wide hazel eyes and wavy, light brown hair now with major natural summer-sun-soaked blond highlights and—would turn them too.
Roxy and Angie also get to talk a lot about the post-college job search, now that they had both completed their coursework. With Eve having headed back home to her family in Santa Fe for the Labor Day weekend, she is supposed to come back to UNM-ABQ to finish her senior year. Roxanne asked Angie about Eve:
“What’s she like? She’s barely been around the times I’ve come to visit you.”
“She’s OK. Spends a lot of time at her boyfriend’s place. Though…” Angie’s voice trails off.
“Though one time, after I came back from the bars one night, I swear I heard ANOTHER woman’s voice coming from her bedroom. Might have been a weekend you were in town. Can’t quite remember.”
“Really? You think she…”
“I’m not sure. I was pretty wasted. Might have just been my imagination. Maybe Eve was just role-playing or something. I didn’t dare ask.”
At the end of the Labor Day weekend, Roxanne gives Angie a big hug and jumps back into her car for the long trip back to her parents’ house in suburban Denver. A warm early September afternoon, Roxy puts on some old jean shorts, a T-shirt and beat-up tennis shoes before hitting the road, completing the somewhat grungy outfit with a rolled red bandana around her neck .
An hour or so on Interstate 15, the weather gets nasty: rain, hail, and reports of several tornadoes in the area. Near the turn-off to her summer job in Pena Blanca, the radio announces a major accident on I-15 and its immediate closure. Roxy, close enough to see the warning flares for the accident off in the distance, gets off on the nearest exit and looks for a place to park the car and ride out the storm.
A mile or so down the road, she sees an Old West-themed—and by all appearances, somewhat fancy— roadside lodge called “The Original Route 66 Hotel and Cantina,” which Roxanne he had passed before during the summer but never ventured into. As she pulls up, she sees the wind knock the second “6” upside down. Thinking nothing of it and seeing how nasty the weather is getting, she turns into its driveway, and figuring that she might be holed up there for a while, looks into her overnight bag for some nicer clothes, throwing some her purse and toiletries in there as well.
ROXANNE: It’s been four days since Tom had his way with me, and I am still thinking about it. In fact, I’ve been dreaming over it nightly. I am heading back through the Pena Blanca area on my way back home. About 10 miles outside of town, I run into a bad storm and decide to wait it out at a hotel cantina. I really am not dressed right to go in this fancy-looking place, so I change inside my car in the parking lot. My faded denim mini skirt, slate gray blouse and new 3" heeled light brown Lucchese cowgirl boots would work just fine. Underneath I am wearing a small black lace bra and panty set—but no one needs to know that little secret. Once inside, I find a table in the rear and order a salad and a chicken breast. During dinner, I kick off my boots, resting my poor feet from these still-wearin-‘em- in gorgeous new kickers. About forty minutes later, I check the window and the weather looks like it’s mostly passed through, so I figure it’s time to go. Standing up, I slip the right boot on, and then use the chair to steady myself and put the left one on when I feel a shadow come over me. I spin around on my heels and come face to face with: TOM?
Without thinking, Roxy slaps him hard across his face. She doesn't know whether she’s more pissed off at how he'd manhandled her in the barn those four days ago—and how GREAT it felt—or how she hadn't heard from him since then.
The remaining patrons in the cantina all turn and look at them. Roxy doesn't care.
"Whoa, little filly: what's that all about?"
“For not calling," she insists, belying at least half of her true answer.
Switching to his crispest East Coast prep school accent, Tom replies, “Roxanne, I was merely observing the ‘Tuesday Rule,’ an absolute must in any new relationship. Today is Tuesday, after all, and here I am.”
“Liar!” Roxanne shouts, as she moves to slap him again. Tom grabs her hands this time and pulls them lower, away from his face.
"Sit back down," Tom orders her, and as usual, her resistance crumbles immediately. The memories of how Tom tied her up and gagged her and brought her to several HUGE orgasms in that hot barn just a few days ago day are clearly convincing her that sitting down would make for the correct move. Her tall, tan cowgirl boots make clomping sounds on the tile floor as she walks the few steps back to the small round table. Tom sits across from her.
"I’m not lying. It IS Tuesday,” Tom cracks. Roxanne responds with a fake, annoyed smile, as she crosses her arms at the table.
Tom continues, “This place serves booze, right?"
"It’s a cantina, Tom. What do YOU think?" Roxanne answers snottily.
"Cut the jilted-schoolgirl act, Roxanne. You're better than that. Plus, we both know you like your red wine."
"Fine," she replies, still miffed.
"Let's get a bottle and catch up."
"I don't think so, Tom," raising her voice slightly. "You may have had your way with me four days ago, but you tricked me into it. I'll sip a glass of wine with you but that's as far as it goes."
Once again, her defiance would ultimately prove hollow.
ROXANNE: I don’t know what is getting into me. I am usually calm and collected, but my emotions are getting the best of me. After arguing for a moment, I agree to sit down with Tom. Images of me bound and gagged at his mercy invade every thought. I try to keep the thoughts at bay, but it’s like he holds some power over me.
"You are a caveman and I detest you" I spit cruelly at Tom. "You never called me, after you treated me like a whore in the barn and that was it? I should have called the police!"
He reminds me I did not call the police.
After a few minutes of bickering, I decide, against my better judgment, to have a glass of wine with him before I leave, storm or no storm. Wine ordered, I excuse myself to use the ladies room. Once inside, I ask myself, "Are you crazy--he could have raped you!" But my body betrays me by remembering those powerful orgasms. Returning to the table, I decide to make this reunion a quick one. Gulping my glass of wine, I say,
"Say what you want to say and then I am leaving." Tom just smiles and says nothing.
Suddenly, my head begins to swim, and I become dizzy. I stand up, resting my palms on the table.
"You don’t look too good," Tom smiles.
"What have you done," I whisper as the room begins to spin. I faintly remember hearing Tom offer excuses to the people in the cafe, saying I have drunk too much wine, as he was helping me out the door.
"What do you say we get a room for the night, sugar—it’s really storming again anyway.”
Then darkness overtakes me.
I awake to hear faint noise—a television? I clear my head, trying to remember. My arms seem to fail me, and everything is dark. Clearing the cobwebs, I realize I am tied to a chair, arms lashed behind me, ankles tied apart, and blindfolded too. Something is lodged in my mouth and some sort of cloth is tied between my teeth. I moan and shake my head as I hear:
"Welcome back, sweetheart, ready for some more fun?"
Tom's taunt awakens Roxanne out of her stupor. “Mmmph! Mmmph!!” her “Help! Help!!” comes out, muffled through her gag. She feels a mass of white rope tied on the top and bottom of her boobs, which must be going around the chair, she figures, since she can’t move forward at all, and they’re making her ample but firm boobs scrunch together. She feels ropes running just above her tan, wide, tooled Western belt and encircling her bound wrists and tying her torso tightly to the back of the chair.
She tries to move her boots from the chair-legs: no dice. She feels ropes lashed tight around her ankles, digging into the boot leather enough for her to feel the pressure. She also feels another set of ropes running around the boot-tops, fixing her shins and calves tightly the thick wooden chair legs. She can’t move her legs toward in any direction at all, and the heavy wooden chair isn't budging from her attempts at rocking it. She tries to spit out her gags, but immediately realizes she's got no chance, not with one wrapped tight around her face and neck, blocking the one in her mouth from coming out. The outside one is covering her teeth, but she feels her full red lips protrude on the outer gag’s top and bottom. As she wriggles and struggles, she feels another bandana loose around her neck, however, presumably her red one—and her hair feels slightly damp.
“Kinky sadist fuck head! He must have brought me to that hotel attached to the cantina,” Roxanne realizes.
She struggles some more, hoping to loosen her bonds, but completely in vain. She remembers how well Tom knows his ropes from his years of working on the ranch.
"Crap," Roxanne thinks. "What he going to do to me now that he didn't do to me in the barn?" She quickly recalls that late afternoon's events four days before: Tom had tricked her into tying her wrists together with some leather straps, then tied some ropes to it and pulled her arms over her head with the barn-winch. He first tied her legs together above the knees—Roxanne remembers how much her boots squeaked when they rubbed together when she tried to shift her feet—how he tickled and smacked her with the riding crop, how he tried to kiss her, then gagged her tightly when she'd turned her head away. He then switched his attention to tying a crotch rope to her and positioning the riding crop between her legs to press up against the rope and bringing her to an unexpectedly HUGE orgasm, her first since her man-free summer had begun. She remembers how great it felt when she screamed into her gags with pleasure.
Tom then positioned her over a bale of hay, moving the winch to lay her down on it, and then tied her booted legs separately on either side of the bale, spreading them. After he'd stretched her flat onto the blanket-covered bale, he proceeded to open her shirt, do shots of tequila out of her belly button, licking salt and lime off of each of her very sensitive nipples. Adding some careful pulling on the crotch-rope, Tom soon brought Roxanne to O #2.
Tom then even asked Roxanne whether she wanted another; gagged tightly, Roxanne couldn't say no. Tom skillfully unbuckled Roxanne's belt, then slid his calloused left hand onto her womanhood, and taking turns kissing, sucking, playfully biting, and massaging her nipples. Roxanne quickly succumbed to the single biggest O of her life. A pile of jelly at that point, Roxanne watched as Tom mounted his horse and rode off on a ride. She soon freed herself, walked back to her car, and drove to meet her girlfriend Angie in Albuquerque, seeing Tom ride off in the distance on her way to the main road.
"So now what?" Roxanne ponders anew. "He made me O three times then. Is he going to want payback? Is he going to make me come FOUR times? Both?"
ROXANNE: I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel Tom run his hands over my breasts!
"MPHMPHMPH" I shake my head no!! But, bound as I am, I once again am helpless to resist his advances.
"Easy, girl; just relax and let go..."
This makes me madder than hell! I am sure my face is red. I test the knots binding me, but I really know it won’t do any good. I remind myself I’ve been through this before. And then, in the corner recesses of my mind, I remember. Orgasms like I've never felt before. NO!!
"This can’t be happening," I think, as I knew my panties are getting moist. His hands are almost gentle, cupping and massaging my breasts through my blouse, his fingers rolling my nipples: they are hard, even I can tell. He stops for a moment—GOOD! Or was it?
"You know what, Roxanne? You didn’t exactly tell me ‘no’ last time, did you?"
He’s right, damn him. It was sexual torture, of a gentle kind, back in the barn. I wanted to tell him then but I was gagged and couldn’t tell him anything, but here I am, gagged again! I feel fingers on the buttons of my blouse that are being undone. Even with the ropes around my chest, he manages to remove my blouse enough, exposing my bra.
"Now hold real still, darlin’, I wouldn’t want to slip..." and I feel the cool steel of a knife slicing my bra off.
"MPHMPH," damn him, that WAS one of my favorite black lace bras...
Seconds later, the hands resume their action on my breasts, this time a little more forceful, pinching my nipples slightly, causing me to squeal.
"Hmmm, I think you like that, girl! You could dial a telephone with those nipples," he chuckled. "OK, let’s look elsewhere for fun." Fingers on either side of my skirt tugged the hem upwards. Strong hands massage my thighs and a small moan escapes my gagged lips.
"Was that a ‘Please continue Tom?’" he chuckles. "I’ll take that as a yes, little lady.
A finger ‘accidentally’ brushes over my womanhood, sending tingles through my body. No. Not again. Please, it’s humiliating. Fingers play with the edge of my panties, and a finger, and then two, slip underneath. My body is betraying me. I am getting wetter by the minute. I am breathing heavy through my nose, and getting close to climax. Tom senses this, and stops. A high-pitched moan signals my frustration. Moments later he works out a repeat, getting me close, then stopping: a sexual roller-coaster. And he is the master. I need to O. Badly. If only I weren’t gagged, I could tell him. Again, he stops. This time, he takes my head into his hands, my face trembling, and says,
"Last time you had three orgasms. After you left, I had to take matters into my OWN hands. So, the way I figure it, you owe me three orgasms." He presses his jeans against my arm, and I could feel his hardness.
"So, do you want to cum—you have to earn it!" In no time, Tom unties me from the chair, and quickly re-ties me in kneeling hogtie, in front of a chair. I hear him unzip, and he orders me to inch closer.
"Now you be a good girl and do this right, and I’ll make sure you are rewarded, understand?"
The toe of his boot is rubbing under my skirt. I am dying from frustration, I have to cum or I’ll go mad. I nod in agreement, as I feel fingers loosening my gag, and I spit the wadding out and lick my lips...