Taken

I tossed my suitcase on the stand and surveyed my home for the week. It was exactly like every other motel I had spent previous weeks in. One large room, separated by a room divider into a bedroom, and a tiny kitchenette. A small desk was against the wall, the through-the-wall heater/air conditioner, the big television across from a reasonably comfortable recliner.

Absolutely generic.

So I called home and checked in. Told the kids to be good. Told the wife I loved her.

Another evening for a road warrior.

I actually had to stop and think about what state I was in. Oh, yes, Kentucky. Over the next four days, I would visit eight little stores (Dollar General if it matters) and coach the store manager. The way we were growing, managers needed a LOT of coaching. I enjoy that part of the job. I just wish I wasn't on the road four days a week.

Well, if we're being honest here, I didn't mind the break from the kids and my bitchy wife.

So I did my little bit of unpacking, took a quick shower, put on my hunting clothes, and got ready to head out.

I checked myself in the full-length mirror mounted to the back of the closet door. Not bad. I had survived the Big 4-Oh last year and still cleaned up good. No grey in my dark brown hair (thank you Lanette (the woman who touched me up every week when I had my hair done)), no sags around my eyes or under my chin, no beer belly, and good posture. In my Oxford cloth, pinstriped, button-down shirt, white cotton denim Levi's, bright socks, and black loafers I thought I looked good. I could easily pass for 30, maybe a graduate student. It usually works in the college bars and I do like my pussy young.

So I called an Uber and headed downstairs.

I was glad that the driver was a young man. I could be straight with him.

"Take me to a college bar," I said, "I need to get laid."

He laughed and said, "I know just the place."

So I relaxed to enjoy the ride. I just looked around, trying to get a feel for the city. I had absolutely no idea where we were in relation to the motel or, well, anything.

The bar was like every other college bar on the planet. A sound system was playing too loud, the bar was long with a bartender who looked to be about 18. There were booths, a few tables, a pool table, a jukebox, and what I had hoped to see, three dart boards across the back wall.

I got a pitcher of beer, worked my way through the crowd without spilling any, and took a seat at a table near the dartboards. I poured myself a beer and made a big production of getting my darts out of my pocket and assembling them, the tail to the tube and then the flights to the tail. They are very good darts, titanium, probably $200 at retail. I had won them from their previous owner using bar darts. I'm very good at darts.

So I started shooting, warming up. I wasn't going to try to hustle or anything so I made no secret of just how good I am. I casually put two darts in the triple ring of the 20 pie, the third nicking the wire in a miss. Then hit the double ring on the 20, the 19, and the 18. I laid out a Cricket game on the chalkboard and sat to wait.

I didn't have long to wait. Since college girls outnumber college boys these days, college bars tend to be a target-rich environment for someone who looks just older enough to be interesting and maybe a little dangerous.

"You're really good," she said as she sat opposite me, "show me how."

I looked at her and liked what I saw. She was a brunette, cute rather than pretty, a little button of a nose, a sprinkling of freckles, a small mouth, and very blue eyes, a nice surprise given her hair color and the kind of tan shade of her skin.

"Sure," I said, standing, offering my hand, and then moving to the line.

"I'm Dave," I said, extending my hand. She took it with a warm, firm handshake and said, "Carla."

She looked good standing too. She was short, maybe 5'4", and very curvy. I guessed her bra size at 36E. Short shorts showed off good legs, heavy at the top but tapering to nice, almost delicate, ankles.

"The trick," I said, "is to not think about it. Just pull the mental trigger and let your muscle memory take over. Of course," and I chuckled my best, endearing chuckle, "you need to practice a lot to develop that memory."

Then I demonstrated. I held my arm out straight, used the flights of the dart, not to aim, but to focus, and then pulled the mental trigger. For me, that involves moving my forearm through 90 degrees until it points straight up, and then forward, releasing the dart at the proper time. Doing that, my theory was, I limited the number of muscle groups involved. The dart hit the bullseye. Then, to emphasize, I held my arm out a second time, focused, turned to look into her eyes, and let fly. It wasn't a bullseye of course, but it was reasonably near the middle of the board.

I grinned.

"Muscle memory," I said.

"Now you," I said, pointing to the line. She moved to it and I laid my hands on her hips, enjoying the softness I found there, and liking that she didn't seem bothered. I adjusted her until she stood facing 90 degrees away from the board. Then I put a dart in her hand, showing her how I hold it, and moved her arm until it was straight out, pointing at the board. I used two hands to get her arm into the proper position, said, "focus, look right where you want the dart to hit."

I waited a few seconds and then said, "shoot."

She giggled when she managed to hit the board inside of the double ring.

"You're a natural," I said.

I looked over at the table and saw a blonde sitting there. She was the exact opposite of Carla. She was thin to the point you thought, "anorexia." She was blonde and tall and very pretty in that stark way of some very thin girls.

"And what do we have here?" I asked, back at the table after telling Carla to practice for a while.

She smiled, a very good smile, all white teeth. Her eyes got involved. One of THOSE smiles that made you want to make her smile again.

"I'm Lindy," she said, still smiling, "Carla and I kind of watch out for each other."

"I see," I said, sitting, "and do you think she needs watching out for?"

The smile turned into a grin. "You have a functioning Y chromosome, don't you?" she asked.

I thought about saying something like "you shouldn't answer a question with a question but decided to let that pass."

"I do," I said.

"Then, yes," she said, "she needs to be watched out for."

I flashed my own grin, my BEST boyish grin, well-practiced in the mirror, took a big drink of my beer, and thought, "oh boy oh boy, a twofer."

Looking back, I guess I noticed an odd, bitter aftertaste from the beer, but I wasn't focusing on taste right then.

We talked for a while, I don't really remember much of the detail. I watched Carla, looking very fetching, as she walked back and forth from the line to the board. I listened to Lindy but my concentration was off. I was a lot drunker than I should have been after my first beer.

"I think he's ready," Carla said, and I couldn't find the will to say something like, "Hey, I'm right here."

Lindy reached over and patted my cheek.

"Yep," she said and stood.

"Come with us, sweety," she said and it seemed like the best idea I had ever heard.

They had a car, an older model Chevy Caprice. It looked like a giant whale.

Lindy moved right to the trunk and opened it.

Carla guided me to the back of the car and said, "get in."

I knew, way down deep, that I had been drugged. I knew also, that I might be in some serious trouble here. But I got into the trunk. I had to bring my knees up to fit but I didn't mind.

The lid shut and I was in dark. I realized I was crying but even that seemed okay.

I slept.

I woke, feeling something at my neck. I was still weak and groggy, having trouble focusing my thoughts.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," I heard a voice I vaguely recognized, "the fucking smell. He pissed and shit."

"Come on, boy," I heard as strong hands pulled at me.

I managed to get my hands under me before my cheek was torn on the edge of the trunk, and got out.

I almost fell when my feet hit the ground.

"Get those nasty pants off," Carla said, "it's not like you'll be needing them, and Christ, you stink."

When I hesitated it felt like my head was being blown off, like my throat was being torn out, like I was on fire from the shoulders up.

I screamed and reached up, finding a collar on my neck, clawing for some sort of release, but I couldn't find one.

When I pain stopped I was on my hands and knees, a puddle of puke between my hands, thick strings of snot and saliva hanging from my nose and mouth. I was gasping, trying to breathe.

I felt a foot kick my hip and I rolled over, trying to protect myself.

"Now get out of those stinking fucking clothes," she said.

My fingers were trembling so bad I had trouble with the buttons but at least she didn't torture me anymore.

I threw up again as I was getting my shirt unbuttoned but it was ruined anyway.

I looked up and she wasn't cute now. It was the eyes. She looked feral, like she wanted to bite me right in the jugular vein or something.

She rolled her wrist, her forefinger pointing, making the universal "hurry up" gesture.

I fell on my ass while I was trying to get my shoes off.

"Are you stalling?" she asked.

"No," I said quickly, working on the button and zipper of the jeans. As I pushed them down, sodden with piss and heavy with shit, I wished the jeans weren't quite so tight.

But I got them off and then stood, naked.

"Here boy," she said, exactly as if she was calling a dog.

When I hesitated my head exploded again and I screamed.

I ran to her, well, a stumbling, shambling motion, but as close to a run as I could manage.

"Good boy," she said when I got to her.

"Heel," she said, and I followed her.

She led me to a shabby outbuilding, told me to stand, and hosed me down with a hose hooked to a faucet sticking out of the ground. It was cold and I yelled, but at least the shit was off of my ass.

"Take these," she said as I stood there, trembling.

She had three pills in her hand.

"What are they?" I asked.

And my throat was being torn out again. I could barely hear her over the sound of my own voice.

"Boy," she as saying, "you need to learn your place and I'm the one who's appointed as your teacher."

I have no idea how long she left the collar operating. Probably no more than a minute. But to me, it was a measurable fraction of eternity.

I was on my knees, begging her to quit when she finally did.

"Do you understand me?" she asked.

I nodded and felt a zap from the collar, and cried out.

"Answer me when I ask you a question," she said.

"Do you understand me?" she said.

"Yes," I said. Well, I croaked. My throat was raw.

"Now take the pills," she snapped.

So I took them. I had no water so I dry swallowed.

I was surprised to feel my dick get hard.

"Just so you know," she said, "something to keep you hard, something to knock off a few dozen IQ points, and a little LSD just for fun."

She looked me up and down.

"Oh yeah," she said, flashing that feral grin, "mom's gonna love you. Now, one more little thing."

She reached into the pocket of her cargo pants and pulled something out. She crooked her finger, beckoning me, and I took the step to close the distance between us.

She had a brass circle, looking like one of those hose clamps you see on, well, hoses. She pinched the little tabs, forcing it open, slid it down the length of my shaft, and let it close at the base of my erection. There was a lock built into it and she locked it with a tiny key.

I gasped. It hurt. But I didn't dare protest.

"If you're a good boy you'll be allowed to pee," she said, giggling, then added, "follow me."

Up over a little hill was a house. I almost laughed. I supposed I was still in Kentucky. It certainly looked like every image you've ever seen of a house in the hills of the Bluegrass State. The house was a white frame with a sagging front porch. There were a couple of nondescript outbuildings around. The dooryard had a few patches of grass and the obligatory dog.

On some level, I suppose the drugs were working on me, it felt perfectly natural to be walking behind her, naked, with my erection pointing straight up my body. I felt no embarrassment at all when Carla called out, "look what I brought you, mama."

The woman sitting on the front porch was obviously Carla's mom. The resemblance was unmistakable although the older woman was absolutely immense where Carla was just pleasantly plump.

"Well bring him up here, honey," the woman said with an accent so thick I had trouble following her.

Close, she was even bigger than I thought. She sat in an oversize, and VERY sturdy rocking chair. The size of the chair, though, didn't stop hip fat from bulging out between the rails holding the arms. She sat with her legs slightly spread to allow her belly to hang down. When she smiled at me one of her front teeth was missing.

"Well turn around, boy," she said, "let me see what Carla brought me."

So I did a slow turn. I couldn't see any point in trying to be modest so I just did the turn.

"Please," I said, "I really have to pee."

"Well go ahead," she said.

"I don't think I can," I said.

She giggled at that.

"Mama," Carla said, "I have class. He's all yours now but I have to run."

"Okay honey," she said, turning her head up and accepting a kiss on the cheek, "we'll be fine here."

Carla patted me on the head and said, "you be a good boy now, y'hear." I watched her go with sort of a generalized longing in my heart but nothing I really understood.

"Well boy," she said, "help me up. Let's go inside and see if you can earn the right to pee."

I helped her to stand. It took her three rocks to get up the momentum to stand, but she made it.

I was surprised to find her leading me upstairs. It was a slow, ponderous journey. She would make a couple of steps and rest. But we made it in the end and then she led me into her bedroom.

"So here's the deal boy," she said, turning and giving me that gap-toothed smile, "you make me happy and I'll unlock you and let you pee."

"Happy?" I asked although I suppose I knew.

"Yes baby, happy," she said, starting to work her dress up over her head.

"Help me, boy," she said when she got stuck.

So I helped her get the dress off. Christ, she was huge. Her big soft arms were as big around as my legs. The soft flesh of her arms hung, flabby and soft. Her belly hung down her thighs and her breasts hung to the deep crease of her navel. Her thighs were so soft and fat they rolled over her knees.

She climbed up on the bed, laid back, and panted, tired from that effort.

I suppose I knew what was coming but my need to pee was desperate by then, so I just stood and waited.

"Okay boy," she said after she had recovered. I watched, fascinated actually, as she reached down and gathered up an armload of belly fat and pulled it out of the way.

"Use that pretty mouth of yours to get me ready, boy," she said, "mama likes that."

Her pussy was hairy and red. It reminded me of my daughter's diaper rash when she was in diapers. But I HAD to go and that thought overrode everything.

As I got close the smell almost made me throw up again. There was unwashed pussy and piss and shit and unwashed sweat all together.

Like the rest of her, her pussy was fat too. The labia were so heavy they hung of their own weight. The big fat pads at the tops of her thighs spread, effectively covering it. The tops of her inner thighs were darker than the surrounding skin and when I touched them I realized they were actually callused from rubbing against each other.

I got her labia parted, the big roll of fat that was her clitoral hood lifted, and her clitoris was there, clearly in the shape of a tiny cock. I took a deep breath and kissed it, feeling her jiggle when I did. I was past the smell so I started licking.

I was surprised to realize that I WANTED to give her pleasure.

My head was rocking against her, seeking her pleasure now. My tongue was as far into her as I could get it. My fingers were pulling her open, lifting her clitoral hood, WANTING now to get as deep into her as I could.

When she came I tasted her salty snot, her natural lubricant, and urine.

God help me, I liked it.

Her fingers were in my hair, twisting, pulling, hurting, making me quit.

"Good boy," she said, "now give mama a good fuckin'."

I crawled up and slipped into her while she held her belly out of the way. She was so big that I was on my knees, my own hands buried in her belly fat for leverage, as I started a nice steady rhythm.

"Oooooooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," is the best way to write the sound she made.

I felt her cum so I stopped, liking the way her thick love honey soaked us.

When the tension left her body I started my rhythm again.

I took her through five orgasms like that before I came myself.

Well, TRIED to cum. The tight band on my cock didn't allow release. The pain was immense and I screamed again.

I felt my muscle control fail and my body try to pee. The band didn't allow that either.

"Okay, baby," and I noticed that I had moved up from "boy," "that was good so you can pee. Get off the bed and come here."

I rolled off the bed and stood by her.

She touched the tip of my cock, smelled her finger, and licked it.

"You're trying to pee now," she said. She took my hand and used my forefinger and thumb to squeeze, just below the head.

"Now you squeeze here," she said, "until you get into the backyard. Don't you be peein' on my floor."

"I won't," I said.

She reached down with the tiny key, but hesitated.

"And don't you go jackin' off now, neither," she said, "that stuff's all mine now."

"I won't," I said again, kind of dancing from foot to foot like a little boy needing to go.

She used the key and I felt the pressure release. I had to squeeze HARD to keep from peeing right there.

"Go on now, out in the back yard," she said.

I went.

I found a tree and turned loose of myself.

And I found the greatest pleasure this side of sex.

The relief was so great I cried.

I hurried back when I was done. I guess I hoped if I was a good boy she wouldn't put that thing on my cock.

I was wrong.

She put the band back on and had me fuck her again. With the relief of my bladder, my body was ready to cum and I did. Each time was more painful because I couldn't release.

Finally, she said, "That's enough."

"Here, cutey," she said, and reached down and undid the ring at the base of my erection.

"Wanna fuck me for real," she asked.

"Yes," I said, and it was true.

She smiled. "Just fuck, or would you rather make love?" she asked.

"Make love," I said, and I meant that too.

"So kiss me," she said, flashing that gap-toothed grin.

Her breath was harsh, but her lips were soft. The great soft mound of her belly felt good as I moved on top of her. As I slipped inside of her I felt like I was being engulfed by the warm softness of her.

I liked it.

When I came it was like nothing I ever imagined. The release, the relief, the sheer ecstasy, and the delightful agony went on and on as my pent-up need was finally satisfied.

I was crying when she said, "Say you love me."

I said, "I love you," and I meant THAT too.

She stroked my hair as I sobbed, my tears and snot making her neck slick and salty as I buried my face in there. The tenderness of her fingertips on my back as I cried was my undoing. I was lost and I knew it.

And I was happy.

"May I clean you up?" I asked.

She smiled and said, "of course."

I helped her to her feet, got her into the bathroom, helped her to sit on the toilet, and ran the water in the tub until it was hot.