Among the Missing - Chapter 8
Story codes: m/f, bd, cons
Among The Missing 8
By
Rubberwolf
Anns earlier synopsis about a long night were to prove correct. She had lost track of the length of time that she had spent in the box. Her arms and legs ached from the cramped position and tight bondage. Her hair hurt. She was hot and sweaty. She had also begun to drift mentally. She was in a black world with no stimulation, no noise, no breeze upon her skin, apart from the air that she drew in through her mouth or that occasionally wafted onto her exposed pussy. Ann was in that place where imagination and reality collide. A place where her fate had been sealed and because she could do nothing about it, had already accepted the reality of her situation. This was, as far as Ann knew, subland.
Ann was bought out of her mental stupor when something touched her pussy. Having been without contact, or stimulation, for so long, or so Ann felt, the sudden probing caused her to start, or at least twitch, within her prison. The thing was soft and wet and it was probing her intimate areas. Not a finger. But perhaps. Which was precisely the moment that she felt the warm breath upon her sensitive lips and she knew that Dave was gently touching, not licking her pussy, but touching her with his tongue.
All of Anns concentration now centred on a few square inches of flesh as Dave began to probe and lick in earnest. A sharp nip on her erect bud forced her to jump and scream within her prison, but soon this changed to a moan as the tongue continued to probe and titillate until she was soaking wet and she felt the orgasm build within her. All of a sudden she was shaking and struggling with her bonds as a gigantic orgasm rolled over her. Ann returned to reality gasping as stars raced across her vision. But, despite the noise and violence of her climax, the tongue continued its questing torment. Again and again her reality was torn asunder as violent orgasm compacted on top of violent orgasm until all sense of place and reality disappeared. Which was then that Dave replaced his probing tongue with his rigid cock.
The time for fore play and petting had passed and Ann, despite her aroused condition, grunted as Dave, without ceremony thrust his cock deep into her, forcing another stiff cry from her lips. Before she could recover from this intrusion Dave began to pump. Forwards and backwards forwards and backwards, until she could take no more and another orgasm rocked her tiny universe. Dave, feeling the orgasm, did not allow his pace to slacken at all and, after a few moments, actually increased his speed until Ann was caught in the throws of one gigantic, continuous orgasm that could only find release in the long, continuous, primal scream that escaped from her mouth as a single, long, note.
Ann was so wrapped up in her orgasm that she barely noticed Dave cum, or start to pull out. It was only the final pop, as Daves cock was pulled clear of her Pussy that Ann dreamily realised that Dave had finished. She did not have long to mourn however, as Dave walked around to the front of the box and thrust his cock into Anns mouth. Ann did not need a degree in biology to know what Dave wanted and so, once she had recovered from the intrusion, set about cleaning and sucking, using her tongue to make sure she did a really proper job. Eventually, Dave was clean and had started to deflate. Ann felt his cock withdraw with a feeling of great reluctance as she was left alone, with her memories, cum in her sopping wet pussy and down her throat. Sub land beckoned and Ann submitted willingly, her earlier aches forgotten.
After a while Ann’s mental wanderings were again brought back to the present. This time, however, it was not a probing tongue that dragged her back to reality, but an aching bladder. Ann squirmed within her prison, trying to make herself more comfortable. After all, she would not be in here for much longer. But after a few minutes the building pressure signalled that she would need help and so she called for Dave.
“Ave. Ave. I ant oo oos ee athoom.”
After waiting for several moments, she tried again. This time she was a little more urgent. But still no response from Dave. Finally she screamed and shuffled about her prison, which only seemed to make her condition worse. Dave did not come. Perhaps he had gone out, or was deeply asleep. Whatever the reason, Ann realised that her aching bladder would not wait and that relief was not coming. After debating with herself and calling for help one last time, although this does not describe the desperate sob which escaped her lips, Ann did something that she had not done since nursery school.
Rather than having to lie in a wet puddle, Ann found that she was still dry.
“Oh well, it’s Daves carpet and his problem. He should not have left me here for so long,” the now greatly relieved and surprisingly blasé Ann reflected.
Unbeknown to her, Dave had mounted a small splash plate and a funnel over the rear of the box, which he simply removed when he required access. This ensured that all such waste was directed down towards a waiting bucket. Ann however, did not know this as she once again drifted off away from the present reality.
Ann was not sure how long she remained imprisoned. Time and space became meaningless. Even her own limbs lost their feeling. She was a hot, sweaty body. Merged with the box, she had become a fuck toy for her master. Dave visited her several times during her imprisonment. On the second occasion he used a finger to excite her before entering her. But by the third time all foreplay was dispensed with and the first that Ann knew of Daves presence was when she felt something cold and wet smeared over her pussy before Dave entered her in one strong, single, thrust. Once he had used her he withdrew and again shoved his cock into her second hole for cleaning. Ann recognised the taste of KY jelly mingled with her juices and Daves cum.
Several more times she felt Dave lubricate her, before forcing his member into her. As well as losing all sense of time and space, she had also lost her identity. She had become Fuckbox. Little more than a receptacle for her masters lust.
Ann drifted lost in her prison which denied all sight, sound and feeling, apart from that which her master chose to give her until she herd a sound that she did not recognise. It filled her ears with a hissing noise and she felt movement as the back holding her began to lessen its pressure on her and she was lying on the bottom of the box. Shooting pain in her eyes announced that the box had been opened and that she was once again exposed to the light. Hands fiddled and pulled and at last she felt herself lifted from the box and laid on the bed. Ann stared mutely at the head board and fingers worked at her bonds. At las she was free, lying naked on her back and staring at the ceiling as Dave vigorously rubbed her limbs.
Sharp pain erupted through her long forgotten limbs as blood rushed back into hands, feet and fingers and Ann screamed as reality returned to her world and she sobbed uncontrollably as she fiercely hugged her former gaoler and tormentor.
It took another hour, two coffees and a bacon sandwich before Ann felt relatively human again. She had, she discovered, been in the box for two days. However, apart from using her, Dave had been busy. He had managed to research the island and had not only found a place to stay, but had also managed to book rooms on line. He had also managed to download some of the local brochures. Until she had to travel to the island, she had little to do and so, after returning to her apartment, she updated her client via e-mail, forwarding a copy back to the office. Her in box had the usual messages from the office and of course her mother.
It was nearly Christmas. Had she got all of her presents? Was she coming over for Christmas dinner? Would she be bringing a friend. After all, they were not getting any younger and it would be nice to be able to share the festivities with grandchildren. Oh and you never call. Ann cursed. Most self respecting women of her mothers age shied away from the internet and e-mail. They could be kept at arms length by the wonders of answer machines. Unfortunately Anns’ mother had embraced both technologies. Cursing again, Ann sent a quick reply before setting off. There were still a few presents to get and she did not have a great deal of time for shopping. Not if she was to get everything wrapped and posted before she left for the island.
Shopping, two weeks before the festive season, in a busy town centre is usually best contemplated while holding a spiked base ball bat and wearing body armour. Ann had neither. But she did have two things going for her. Firstly, it was a week day. Secondly, she was a veteran of several January sales. Even so, several hours later, Ann staggered through her front door, laden with presents and looking as though she had just spent the day running a marathon, while boxing Tyson.
Most athletes will tell you that, when working for long periods of time, it is important to keep the fluids up. They might also mutter something about replacing electrolytes, so that your muscles do not cramp and eating things like high energy bars to keep you going.
Anybody who has every fought their way through a January sale, or attempted to get any presents, remotely suitable, two weeks before Christmas, will also have a dietary plan. Anns involved plenty of coffee, with the occasional munch on something deep fried and covered in chocolate.
After collapsing onto her sofa and depositing the shopping on the floor, Ann set about fixing tea and wrapping presents. Two hours later, Ann was refuelled on a particularly tasteless microwave meal. Surrounded by discarded wrapping paper tubes, spare address labels and wrapped presents. By way of celebration she was now holding a tall mug of drinking chocolate, topped off with marsh mallows, whipped cream and a crushed Flake bar.
The following morning she packed her suit cases, took her parcels to the Post office and set off to pick up Dave and head for the Island.
