A few words before the erotica begins: one, please note that it is a long piece. As in, long enough to surprise even me, and I’m the one who set out to write the damn thing. So just take note of that and set aside a good chunk of time in which to read it, or read it in segments. Two, if you are made at all uncomfortable by the thought of abduction scenes or anything of that sort, please do not read this piece.

If you’re still with me, then please, do enjoy this piece that was inspired by one hell of a hot dream I had a few weeks back.


Laughing and calling goodbyes to her friends and classmates, Karissa stepped from the martial arts dojo she had called her second home for years into a black night punctuated only by the sounds of traffic passing by in the street on the other side of the building. Letting her breath out into the night, she began the long walk back to her apartment, hitching her rucksack to a more comfortable position on her back. As she walked, she lifted her hair up off the back of her neck, letting the cool air move over skin both heated and dampened by her workout.

Suddenly she stopped, eyes wary as they swept over her surroundings. Goosebumps swept over her skin, prickling up the back of her neck and sweeping over her scalp as alarm bells rang in her mind. She knew as surely as if someone had shouted it that she was not alone in the dojo’s parking lot, and that whoever was there had come for her.

Quickly she set off towards the next cross street, muscular legs striding confidently in her black gi pants, hands gripped around the straps of her rucksack. She resisted the urge to glance behind her, but within heartbeats heard the telltale whisper of boots on asphalt, not far behind her and closing in. Throwing caution to the wind, she ran.

Feet pounding the ground, hair flying behind her, she soon entered the maze of streets and alleys that made up downtown. The sound of the boots, though they had picked up their pace along with hers, had faded into the blackness behind her. Slowing just enough to glance over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the empty street stretching out into the blackness. Nevertheless, she cut left onto a small side street lined with what looked like small shops or townhouses. It was too easy to be ambushed when downtown was made up of so many corners for someone to hide around.

Slowing her pace to a walk, gulping in air through her mouth in an effort to quell the fire in her lungs, she went to the first door and tried the handle. Locked. Briefly she rested her head on the carved panels of the door, succumbing only for a moment to frustration, before a flickering further down the street caught her eye. Raising her head, she noticed it came from a candle or lantern placed behind a frosted glass window two doors down. Glancing again behind her shoulder, seeing no one, she walked down the street to stand in front of the lit window. Whether the window belonged to a private residence or some sort of small shop, she couldn’t tell.

Without warning, the sound of boots echoed down to her from the main street only yards away. Her curiosity now doubly fueled by fear, she raced up the three steps to the door set in the wall by the window, frantically twisted the knob and nearly sobbed with relief when it gave way under her hand. Quickly she shouldered through the door and pushed it shut behind her, flicking the bolt above the knob home into the doorframe. Then she turned, facing the room that had become her refuge.

The glow from the window, now revealed as a old-fashioned oil lantern, surrounded her in warmth and reflected off hundreds of pieces of crystal—some rough cut geodes and some painstakingly sculpted into figurines—that were placed around the room. Another flickering glow invited her from beyond an open doorway at the back of the room; slowly she made her way toward it.

This second room was dominated by a massive carved wooden china hutch, beautiful enough on its own, but what caught Karissa’s eye the most was the display of carved wooden antique figurines it housed. The danger that she had run from almost forgotten, she slowly circled the room, reaching tentative fingertips out to brush the smooth, almost incandescent surfaces of the pieces.

Behind her she heard a floorboard creak, but by the time she has straightened back up from her inspection of one particularly gorgeous carved mirrorframe, it was too late. Large, rough hands clamped around her waist, hauling her back against an unseen body. She could feel hot breath in her ear, slithering down her neck and over her shoulder.

“Stupid little slut,” a deep voice sounded without warning in her ear. His hands tightened on her waist, pressing against her diaphragm until only taking shallow breaths wasn’t painful. “You thought you could get away. Too bad we were only just waiting for you to fall right. Into. Our. Trap.”

The man’s last four words were punctuated by him grinding her ass back against the bulge in his crotch, her feet touching the ground by only the barest tips of her toes. Almost against her will she felt a groan rumble deep in her throat as his obvious hardness pressed lewdly against her. Quickly he let go of her waist with one hand and tangled it in the hair at the base of her scalp, twining it around his fist and yanking her upper body back against his. Suddenly her eyes widened—were those breasts she felt against her back? In her confusion she froze as still as stone, only to hear him—her?—chuckle in her ear for the second time. This time the hot breath on her neck arrowed a line of corresponding heat right down to her clit, and only barely was she able to suppress an almost instinctive urge to arch herself back against this now-androgynous person holding her captive. Her mind raced, her more primal instincts screaming to be closer to her captor, her rational mind screaming to fight back, get the hell away, run!

“That’s right babygirl, daddy’s got a few surprises up her sleeves.” The hand in her hair slid over her shoulder and down her chest, gripping the fabric of her tank top and ripping it clean down the middle to expose the sports bra she wore underneath which was rudely yanked down beneath her breasts until it, too, tore away from her body. Her nipples, already traitorously tight, hardened even more as they were palmed by the chilly air. This time she couldn’t help it: her head tipped back onto her captor’s shoulder and a groan escaped into the expectant silence.

The destructive hand of her abductor was not finished. Down, further down it travelled to the drawstring that held up her gi pants, pulling it out of its tie with one crude yank and, hooking deft fingers into the waistband, tugged the pants down her hips until she stood—barely, since the woman had still not let her down enough to rest on anything but her tiptoes—entirely denuded, feeling cold air on one side of her and warm cloth and rough denim pressed up against the other. Tightly Karissa closed her eyes, trying desperately to get a grip on both sides of her: the one that wanted to sob and scream and the other that wanted to press closer, ever closer against the bulge that her rational mind realized must be a strap-on cock straining against her captor’s zipper.

Suddenly a callused palm cupped her mons, three fingers boldly spreading her labia while the fourth quested into her outer folds—folds which, Karissa was mortified to realize, were far wetter than they had any right to be. Then all thoughts were driven from her head as that finger quested right across her swollen clit, her hips involuntarily bucking back against the unknown woman’s pelvis as her hands reached out blindly, one settling to grip the woman’s muscle-corded forearm and the other reaching up to cling to the back of the woman’s neck—bare, it felt like, due to the kind of short haircut Karissa saw on most men—drawing her closer over Karissa’s shoulder. Her captor took that as an invitation to sink her teeth into the tender skin where Karissa’s neck met her shoulder, making Karissa’s breath hitch and flow out on a throaty moan.

Before the moan was even completely gone from her mouth, a hand on the back of her neck roughly shoved her down to bend from the waist and she felt her labia parted even further by something smooth, cold and impossibly hard. With a jolt she realized that her captor had undone her zipper without Karissa noticing, and was about to invade with that manmade monster she was packing in her jeans.

Without warning the woman thrust her hips brutally forward, sinking her cock to the hilt inside Karissa’s all-too-unscrupulous cunt. Karissa’s eyes flew open and, she was startled to realize, she was screaming, although she couldn’t tell if it was from terror or from the sheer, unadulterated pleasure that flooded her body as her cunt was stretched around the woman’s behemoth strap-on—the strap-on that had settled only too easily against Karissa’s G-spot. Dimly she was aware of her captor speaking to her again:

“Mmmyeah, that’s it baby, take it all in like a good little cockslut – you’ve done this before, haven’t you? Dirty whore, good little dirty whore…”

The woman, it seemed, was ready to settle in to fuck Karissa to death, or somewhere near to it. She had her death grip on Karissa’s waist again, and had hauled Karissa so far up against her body that trying to stand was a useless task—Karissa found herself hooking her calves behind the woman’s legs and just hoping it was enough to hold her up. Her captor leaned up against a counter that lined one wall of the room and, the muscles in her arms flexing, began moving Karissa up and down the cock protruding from a harness strapped around the woman’s hips. First up, up, up so that the head of the cock only barely kissed the opening of her cunt and then, grunting, she slammed the girl’s body back down to the hilt, picking up the pace until Karissa no longer felt the cold air of the room through the sweat sheening every inch of her body.

Karissa’s mind was gone now, given entirely over to the traitor inside her head who could not tell right from wrong and who only thought of such things as the surprisingly arousing combination of masculine and feminine in her captor; the way her cunt had clenched on itself when she felt both the woman’s breasts and adopted cock press against her at the same time; how even the pain of her constricted diaphragm and the oxygen-deprivation-induced throbbing in her head seemed only to echo in the throbbing of her clit…

Her captor slid one hand down from Karissa’s waist to press her fingertips into Karissa’s clit as she slammed her cock home one last time into the girl’s cunt. Karissa’s mouth opened wide in a silent scream and, in a series of shuddering waves to shame the work of Hokusai, came in a gushing torrent of release.

Her captor held her, impaled on the woman’s cock, until Karissa hung nearly limp from the woman’s hands. Then, chuckling darkly to herself, she let the girl slide limply from her hands onto the floor. There the girl sank onto knees and elbows, head hanging between her arms, until her captor knelt beside her and, gripping a fistful of Karissa’s hair in one hand, lifted Karissa’s head so that her eyes could and would rest on the woman’s other hand which was extended in front of the girl.

“Look what you did, girl,” the woman said softly, her voice still echoing in the silence of the room. “My hand is dripping wet… because of you.”

And so it was, Karissa realized as she finally managed to get her eyes to focus on the wide-palmed hand held in front of her. All the woman’s fingers and her entire palm were glistening with the evidence of Karissa’s monumental orgasm.

“Clean it,” came the deadly soft order.

Slowly, tentatively, Karissa’s mouth opened. Her tongue slid out to rest on her lower lip as her neck stretched to reach the woman’s hand, which she was clearly deliberately not moving closer to the girl’s open mouth. Rising to her hands and knees and shuffling forward, the girl finally managed to close her lips over two of the woman’s fingers, sucking them deep into her mouth and running her tongue over the woman’s flesh until she had removed all traces of her own fluids from them. She did the same to the woman’s other two fingers, then her thumb, then moved to stroke her tongue across the woman’s palm.

Smirking, the woman withdrew her palm, forcing Karissa to crawl after it. And again, just as Karissa’s tongue touched the woman’s skin, she withdrew. And again. And again, until Karissa had crawled, naked and exhausted, over the hardwood floor across most of the room, not understanding but succumbing to the singleminded drive that the woman had instilled in her to lick her own come off of the waiting hand. Finally she stopped and, gratefully, Karissa sat back on her heels to take the woman’s open hand into both of hers and run the flat of her tongue generously over its entire surface.

Then, with the smallest of sighs, she slumped forward and the world went black.


Karissa could feel only two things when her consciousness came back to her: her knees digging into a hard, cold and rough floor, and that cunt-splitting cock inside her again. Groaning both from discomfort and from the waves of pleasure washing over her, she slowly opened her eyes to take in her surroundings.

Gone was the small shop with its small back room, doubtless well-christened by the fluids that her captor had not caught in her hand. Instead now she looked around at what seemed to be some sort of gallery type of room, with a raised dais in the middle of which she and—she looked down to see if it was the same cock on which she was mounted—her captor were the only occupants. The floor digging into her knees was concrete, and although her captor was resting on some sort of pad to protect her now-fully-nude backside, Karissa’s legs were spread too far to either side of the woman’s thighs to have gained any use from it.

Around the edges of the room, many people were seated on benches, although due to the shadows she could not tell who any of them were. They seemed to speak in low voices, but were too far away for Karissa to make out what any of them said. They appeared to be watching her and her captor, perhaps commentating on the spectacle she knew she made. Karissa dismissed them easily—likely they weren’t exactly there to offer their best wishes, but with her attention inevitably drawn to the woman beneath her, she just didn’t care who may or may not be watching.

Karissa’s gaze shifted downward again. It was indeed her female-but-masculine captor beneath her, all clothes shed, hands gripping Karissa’s hips as Karissa rocked back and forth on the woman’s cock. As Karissa had dimly suspected in the back room of whatever shop she had stepped into, the woman’s hair was shorn close to her scalp but left long enough on top to fall over her forehead in a rogueish way. She was not large but looked to be solid muscle that gave way only to two small, firm breasts capped by nipples as hard as Karissa’s own.

As if with that thought she had just remembered they were there, she slid her own hands up her body to cup her own breasts, squeezing her nipples between two fingers, her head tilting back with abandon as she picked up the rhythm of her until-then-subconscious rocking on the woman’s harnessed cock. Beneath her she could hear her woman-captor growl softly in her throat as her grip on Karissa’s hips tightened, and—BZZZZZTTTTTT!

Karissa opened her eyes and, blinking a few times, focused on the ceiling fan circling lazily above her head. It was dimly lit by the dawn light, as was—she looked around—the rest of her bedroom. She sighed, slapped her alarm clock to quiet its insistent buzzing and, shaking her head to clear it of the lingering traces of the all-too-real dream, climbed out of bed to head into the shower.

A very, very cold shower.


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