|by Garden Variety|
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|© Copyright 2014 - Garden Variety - Used by permission|
|Coven Garden Variety FM+/f; bond; cartrunk; motel; outdoors; group; rope; strip; bdsm; ceremony; objectify; shave; wax; piercing; cons/reluct; X|
Cast of Characters
Lulu – Blonde, full-figured, a paid sacrificial-victim of cult
All characters were more than eighteen by the time of the story.
CAVEAT: Activities described herein may be hazardous to health, so please don’t try this at home!
Chapter 1: “Lulu”
A strange laugh rings out. I can’t see who’s laughing: It sounds mechanical, like from a machine. I know that it has to be Anne-Marie laughing. She’s driving. We’ve left the city. Different smell in the air: It’s fresh? I wear this plaid shirt partly in honor of going to the country. I am not going to return from this journey. My hands are tied behind me and connected to my tied ankles. This position makes my big boobs stand out more than usual. But no one sees my tits.
My name’s Lulu and I am in the trunk of a car! How does this happen?
As a couple, we were together about four years, and I was seventeen at the beginning. Steve is a former football hero. We got a no-fault divorce, sold our house. I don’t work, what with my half of the profit.
Ooh! There’s a bad bump. I’m not a well-protected spare tire. Anne-Marie removes it before putting me in here. Oh, her? Well, she’s a tall, thin brunette, not bad-looking, not fleshy like me. She is a witch. Wants a sacrifice for her coven: I’m depressed so I apply. We’re on our way to the woods. I’m helpless but I know where I’m going.
…For some reason I’ve leaned back on my arms, hung my head forward to protect from hitting against anything hard. As though I care, if I got banged on my head now!
My car stops, trunk opens up: Light! “What size bra?” Asks silhouetted Anne-Marie. This is a personal question she shouldn’t ask! Since she’s paid me two hundred and fifty bucks, I reply: “I got a 40D on: Which works without exact-fit. Cup-size is at least one size too small and the width’s an inch too big”
Undoes my hogtie, removes rope, connecting my hands to my feet. I feel a little less helpless.
“Oh, thank you.” She helps me to stand: Yanks my legs around and outside the trunk-lip, removes my leg ties and the rope on my wrists. I feel free! We ride in the front seat together like friends for a quarter-mile. She pulls up at a small, semi-hidden resort.
Anne-Marie says “Let’s go get checked in.” We go into the fishing-cabin-motel-office of “Leaping Lures”.
She signs for us both, “A. Tomson and Lulu.”
“You’re Lulu?” Asks the thin, bald desk man. I nod. He checks Anne-Marie’s license but not my I.D. Why? Because I’m a Lulu? I don’t know, but we leave after she pays like forty bucks and says, “Probably two or three nights.”
“Number four.” Says the mountain man, sliding her a key.
The cabin is creepily minimal - it’s not so dirty: Call it rustic, but it does have two bedrooms. I haven’t seen that for awhile.
…I guess I mentioned having been married. Three and a half years, and nothing much happened since, except for about three months, I’ve been sleeping a lot more. I think about dying…
“Ha, ha!” Spooky, loud, mechanical laughter. I look at Anne-Marie: She’s wearing a half-smile.
When I was a girl I was diagnosed with a heart murmur, and I’m hoping this cult’s play-sacrifice will end up being a real snuff. The money is actually unimportant, the other twelve coven-members paid fifty dollars apiece and I get five hundred bucks total for being the victim.
Some of the others are here, Jo-Anne, who has nice brown hair with a fair streak in it…dyed?
Bob says, “Would you lie on it to see if you fit?”
I know: It’s force of habit, I’m taught to be modest, keep my legs together even when I’m little and have nothing to show. I let Jo-Anne tie my ankles to the corners of the wood-frame. I’m awful open. The two medical-men [?] Freddy and Harry near and laughingly touch my massive thighs, bra-covered heavy tits and barely-visible, inviting, chubby, jasper-hinting, panties-clad pussy. These two docs ain’t gay!
Soon it starts to get dark. Each of the coven cuts a thick strand of my long blonde hair, high as the bottom of my ears. Did I mention my hair’s bright yellow? And about eighteen inches long.
…It’ll never grow in! Only a girl with a future cares about how her hair looks.
Bob holds the mirror for her to cut out her hair, says: “Our Lulu’s inner thighs haven’t been whipped.”
Jo-Anne takes care of this seeming omission, striking my thighs in tender places, at least three times each. Doesn’t hurt much. Her hair’s only six inches long. It doesn’t make a very useful whip.
They untie me to strip me naked, my huge, pink-tipped boobs fall out mightily! Then they re-tie me.
Anne-Marie says some gobbledygook which to them is prayer. This chant is repeated by pacing cultists.
Bring hot bowls of beans and rice, which they lay on my belly! This burns and is more sharply-painful than the haircut, stripping or whipping!
Docs Freddy and Harry offer me a hunk of money for sex. I say ‘I’m sorry,’ but that isn’t in the deal.
I am a bit sad at having to say ‘no’ to them: They’re clean-looking medical men: One, fattish and one, too-thin, but you expect that of doctors. Why stay in shape?
You medical-fellows need a live girl to fuck, I should have said, not me, a walking-cadaver! I have absolutely no human-feeling left in me: I’m empty!
We go to the cabin. I take a long bath while Anne-Marie visits Jo-Anne: Hanky-panky there?
In the tub, I amuse myself by staring at my Lady Wick shaver and thinking of cutting my wrists…It’s an awfully-small razor? Did Marat die in his bath this way? No, a girl stabbed him. I don’t have a big knife. What about Chatterton the plagiarist? There’s a painting, “The Death of Chatterton” showing him lying half-on and half-off a bed. But was it a slashed-wrists deal or did he hang himself? I’m not schooled enough in suicide? Why don’t they teach important things in school anyway? What bullshit I learned!
In the glass, I look at my hair. I’ve had worse haircuts from pros: At least my sunshiny-hair is the same length all around. Though I don’t know when I’ve last had it quite this short.
…My sweet neck looks long for once. Rope-able? …No, the coven gets their sacrifice! Ha, ha! I give our cabin my own raucous, sinister laugh.
[The Next Day, Halloween Morning]
Certain things bug me after breakfast: Bob and Dick want to look over my body in close-up.
Say they’re ‘objective like the doctors so don’t worry’! They’re ‘examining’ – feeling-up, I’d say – my giant boobs with sculpted pink nipples; my fair, pillar thighs. Rubbing my fat, blonde-furred pussy. ‘Inspecting’ my heavy, completely-round ass; poking my two holes.
Bob says “Try this on!” It’s a heavy, long-line, leather bra. I know now why Anne-Marie asked my size, this is a 39DD, which is a closer-fit than the 40D size. Wherever did they get it? It has holes in the top and strings hanging below, which Dick shows are used as a crotch-rope, holding the two sides of my pussy open! Strings spread my thick nether lips, brought back up the crack of my behind, tie to eyelets in the long-line bottom of the bra-back. Bob takes a leather string and threads it through the holes in my top, his face very close to mine! He could shave closer. Ties my wrists behind: Hurts but so what!
Dick loops both leathers’ ends to a ceiling light-fixture, without tying it off, near-suspending me, on my tip-toes, by my tits and pussy!
The fixture wobbles, creaks crankily: Not meant for holding my big body! I’ve never been a lightweight…
Dick says, “A try-out, only.” He undoes the loosely-tied ropes.
Bob says, “It’ll work.”
Chapter 3: “Shaved”
After lunch, there’s another of these bizarre prayer-meetings. I get to be tied up on the wood-frame in my bra and panties.
It’s sunny but it’s cool! Summer is over, even here in the South. I hear geese honk!
Cultists put their hot food bowls on my belly again and I howl! “Owwww!”
“Shut up!” Says Jo-Anne.
“Unless you want to be gagged!” Adds my tall, thin, dark, bossy, roommate Anne-Marie.
“Oh, no…It’s all right but couldn’t you put down a napkin or something in-between?”
It doesn’t seem much to ask, but of course, they want the victim to suffer. So nobody offers anything.
[Some time later.]
Feel like they used me and I’m a disposable, forgettable object, for a good while, few men look me over.
Freddy and Harry poke my pink pussy, nipples and glowing-white thighs saying, “Too good to waste.”
Bob and Dick want to shave me: Everybody gathers around. They use foam and a razor.
Anne-Marie oversees setting a big star-shaped sign up over the campground. Points lifting one end to her help, four of the coven-members.
Anne-Marie pacing around me in a circle, chanting and mumbling witch-prayers.
Jo-Anne saying, “Not a virgin but not too shabby…”
The gay guys are gentle and don’t cut me. All my blonde pussy-fur is gone! Bob stretches me open and Dick plucks a few stray hairs in cracks. This hurts a lot. And lasts forever…continuous yelps of sharp hurt.
Dick plucks a half-dozen hairs in each of the two places; plucks a lot more near my pussy’s inner-lips!
‘Good thing I’ve never been especially hairy!’
Chapter 4: Piercing”
It gets dark.
I can’t hardly distinguish anyone, but I know it’s Bob and Dick fitting my leather vest-bra on, tying my hands behind and hanging me, because they rehearsed it. It’s the pentagram-flagged tree they’re using, subbing for the light-fixture which didn’t stand up to the work earlier in my cabin. Each ankle is tied and the rope-end goes behind the tree-trunk to my other ankle, separating my legs.
My foolish heart is pounding… ‘I’m victimized, alone in a mob, helpless! And my newly-naked pussy: Cold, spread-open, stretching!’
Anne-Marie is approaching with a steaming pot. Hope she isn’t going to put that on me! I haven’t been burned yet acting as a table, but I’ve been lucky. She’s dips a brush into the hot pot: It’s red wax!
Paints my belly thoroughly with red wax. Stings awfully! ‘If I had a home, I’d want to go there now!’
Jo-Anne is peeling the wax off, muttering some weird tongue. She and Anne-Marie smilingly paint hot, red wax on my armpits, ass and thighs: Using yellow wax on my pussy and asshole.
“Ye-oww!” An objective idea forms from my silly brain: Tough to remove wax from nooks?
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Waxing-on is a little worse than peeling-off. I get excited toward the end of the yellow-wax part, in a wave, too-much sensory-stimulation? But it hurts too much to come. An empty-insides anti-climax. They are letting me down. In more ways than one!
I do feel strained, mostly my squashed tits and cut, bare pussy. –The long-line bra-base helps with a waist-support, because I’m stretched under my ribs too. ‘That’s a really good thing because I can hold myself with my fat belly, ribs and hips better than my tits and pussy. Not at all for rough work, only for babies and love… My taut tits, pussy nudge: Luckily I can almost stand on my tip-toes when I remember.’
Taking off my bra-vest. I see a couple, no two couples, working each other’s bodies, through and inside shrouds, both pairs stop when I’m released, moved, but one couple stays lying in a pile near the woods.
Tying me to the wood-frame. I look up to see the big star-shaped Devil-worshipper sign over my tormentors’ avid, lusty faces inside shrouds. Unsympathetic. More prayers.
Dripping red, vertical lines from my slightly-flattened tits down to my rounded belly.
Dick shakes his punch-tool to clear it: Gobbets of reddish, bloody tissue fall out:
Suddenly Bob is clamping my pussy-lips. “Please not there…A very bad idea! Too vulnerable! …No!”
“Aie!” “Aie!” “Aie!” “Aie!” “Aie!” “Aie!” It adds up to: Bob and Dick the piercing-experts punch three times each through my pussy-lips.
They hate pussies because they don’t have any?
More blood-runnels down my overweight thighs and my perfectly-round butt. I feel each rivulet, hear my spilled-blood-drops dripping onto the grass.
Something cool – an antiseptic goop? – is oozed on all my piercings. Doctor Freddy pushes dumb-bells through my nipples and all six of my pussy-lip punctures.
Doctor Harry clamps my clit! Worst punch yet, deflating my almost-orgasm, of minutes ago!
“Ye-owww!” Vaguely I wonder if I might’ve offended the doctors by rejecting their play-for-pay deal?
Harry is sticking another gooey, gooped dumb-bell through my clit! Blood glistens red on his plastic-coated hands, his shroud-sleeves: Brownish-red puddles, splashes, spotches and dribbles everywhere.
“That’s all now, Honey”, says Freddy: Hazy, floating, soft-focus face, meaningless-medical-reassurance, …Am I losing it? I’m telling myself: They’re a type of doctor, …interns, …nurses, …respiratory-specialists?
Tall, shrouded Anne-Marie and her assistant-preacher Jo-Anne come up praying, holding big candles.
If I survive this sacrifice, I’m trying living again because it’s easier than dying…It’s got to be!
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