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Breaking Brittany
1: The Break-In
2: Breaking In
3: Broken In
1 – The Break-In
With one final jab of the paperclip, the lock opened.
Vince eased the door open and peered through the crack. The front foyer was dark. He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him.
The soles of his boots thudded softly against the hard wood floor as Vince crossed the foyer into the dining room and, seeing no light, moved to the living room.
Still nothing. He headed upstairs.
The door to the master bedroom was ajar. Vince creaked the door, looked inside, found an empty bed. It was neatly made.
He continued down the hall, following the thin strip of yellow light on the floor. As he neared the strip, he detected a faint sound floating through the wall: FSSSSH.
Popping the door open, Vince peered inside. Against the opposite wall sat a bed, dotted with two velvet pillows sitting atop a crisp, tight white sheet. A computer hummed, its screen saver reading ‘BRITTANY!’ in bold, rainbow-colored letters.
Vince crouched, watching and waiting.
Brittany gazed at the last streams of lathery white shampoo tracing their way down the curves and swells of her body, and turned the faucet off.
She stepped out amidst clouds of billowing steam and wrapped a towel around herself. Facing the sink, she flossed and brushed, gargled and combed. When she went to spit, she noticed the empty bottle of brown dye in the trash and glanced at her hair. Wet, it looked almost black.
The clothes that Brittany had selected for the evening sat on the lid of the toilet. She hung up the towel and collected her attire, stepping into a pair of panties and pulling a t-shirt over her head. She sat down to pull on her socks and slippers, then returned to the sink to give her hair one last brushing, exited the bathroom.
Brittany yawned as she flipped off the bathroom light, and paused in the doorway. The calendar between the door to the bathroom and the door to the hallway, which was ajar, still read May. She paused to change it.
A gust of cool, dry air crept in through the cracked door. Brittany shuddered. Goosebumps coursed up her spine. She glanced out into the dark hallway, pausing for a moment, and then went about flipping the page to read June.
Turning away from the calendar, Brittany strolled to the computer, rising to her tiptoes and bending over the back of the chair. She closed out the open windows and shut the machine down.
The bags under Brittany’s eyes grew heavy as she gazed at her pillow. Approaching her bed, Brittany shut off her bedside light and collapsed atop the sheets, nuzzling her pillow and falling asleep almost immediately.
The squeaking of the door as Vince opened it was muted by the rustling of the spring breeze coursing through the trees outside the bedroom window. He crossed the bedroom, the coil of rope in his hand bumping his thigh with every step, a fresh roll of duct tape sitting heavy in his pocket.
Brittany lay sprawled across her bed, the moon shining in on her like a spotlight. Her panties glowed silver and her hair, still damp, lay across the pillow like a shimmering cape. The pale undersides of her upturned feet were a stark contrast to her tanned calves. Brittany’s shirt clung to her abdomen like a second skin, outlining the contours of her shoulder blades.
Vince looked at the clock beside Brittany’s bed, the digits glowing red on her face. It read 11:59. Vince leaned over, the hilt of a hunting knife glinting in the moonlight, and grabbed a handful of Brittany’s hair and yanked, dragging her out from under the safety of her sheet.
The girl went crashing face-first to the carpet. Vince pounced, dropping his knee against her spine. A discombobulated slur of alarmed squeals escaped Brittany’s lips. Her arms flailed for a moment, and then she pressed her palms against the floor in an effort to do a push-up and dislodge him.
Seizing Brittany’s hands, Vince and yanked them behind her back and crossed her wrists in the small of her back to tie them. Brittany looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed and desperate for an explanation.
Vince pulled the duct tape from his pocket and pulled the end free, yanking the sticky side over her lips and winding it around her head until at least a dozen layers covered her mouth. Moving to her kicking feet, he tied her ankles and then stood, watching Brittany flop on the floor before him like a fish out of water.
“MMMMPH! MMM-MMM-MMMM! MMMMMMMPH!”
Grabbing the knot between Brittany’s ankles, Vince lifted her feet and dragged her from the bedroom on her back, towing her down the stairs and into the foyer. He leaned down and collected Brittany in his arms, tossed her over his shoulder and then carried her out into the warm spring evening.
The trunk was open. Vince bent over, dropped Brittany inside, and slammed the lid. Rounding the car, Vince hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine, released the parking brake, and started off down the road.
***
Brittany lay in the trunk, terrified.
Her whole body was trembling and exhaustion had been replaced by pure adrenaline. She squirmed, causing the ropes to bite into her ankles and wrists.
At first, Brittany was able to keep track of the car’s turns, but soon found it impossible to tell. When the car sped up and got onto what sounded like the highway, she was completely lost.
They must have driven for an hour. After leaving the highway, the car made a series of lefts and rights as though maneuvering through a labyrinth and then traveled down a serpentine road that seemed to go on forever. Finally, they started down what must have been a dirt path, as the car rocked and rolled violently before easing to a stop. The engine died.
The trunk popped open. Brittany whimpered as she looked up and saw her kidnapper, looming over her curled form with the plump moon hanging behind him. He grabbed her feet and pulled them out, taking a moment to untie her ankles before pulling Brittany to her feet.
“Move!” Her kidnapper ordered, shoving her.
Squeaking, Brittany stumbled forward. Getting a sense of their surroundings sent icy shudders through her body. A dark, one-story house stood before them. Thick woods lined the edges of the claustrophobic circular clearing, and the scuffling of Brittany’s slippers against the rocky driveway echoed eerily in the otherwise silent night.
“I said move it!” The man shoved Brittany again. She lurched forward and moaned into the gag.
As they reached the front door, Brittany was able to make out the words on the welcome mat:
Welcome to
The Hathaways
“Get in there, girl!” Her kidnapper growled, tossing open the door.
As Brittany stepped into the pitch-black house, Mr. Hathaway grabbed the nape of her neck, his fingers firm and calloused. He kicked the door shut behind them and led Brittany into the darkness, maneuvering her around furniture and through doorways.
Mr. Hathaway stopped Brittany short and she heard a door open. Moments later, a light came to life and she found herself looking down a set of rickety wooden stairs.
“Down. Now.”
Swallowing hard, Brittany looked over her shoulder at Mr. Hathaway. “Mmmmph…”
A pair of cold, hard eyes met her imploring gaze. The fingers around her neck tightened.
“Walk down, or fall down.”
Mewling into the tape, Brittany eyed the stairs and started down. Mr. Hathaway lingered in the doorway until the undersides of Brittany’s slippers scraped the concrete floor.
She heard the door close, the lock slide into place, and a click. The basement went black. The footfalls of Mr. Hathaway’s boots on the stairs were thunderous.
Tears welled up in Brittany’s eyes. A thin sheen of perspiration coated her body, her t-shirt clinging to her abdomen. The cool, damp subterranean air caressed her slick bare legs, sending goose bumps up her calves and thighs.
Taking a few steps backward, Brittany felt her shoulder blades bump into the concrete wall. Mr. Hathaway’s footfalls were deafening now. She twisted her wrists and a surge of desperation, fear, and frustration rose in her chest. Teardrops dribbled down her duct-tape-striped cheeks and her heart machine-gunned against her ribcage.
Mr. Hathaway’s boots reached the floor. Frustrated, Brittany struggled to free her hands. The rope bit her wrists maliciously. Brittany collapsed into sobs, jerking and fighting.
A hand emerged from the darkness, closing around the collar of her shirt like a talon, and pulled her away from the wall.
Pulling from side to side, Brittany stumbled into the blackness.
“MMMMPH! MMMmm…mmmm….mmmm!”
2 – Breaking In
Holding Brittany’s shirt in a white-knuckle grip, Vince made his way to the corner of the basement and fumbled in the darkness for the chain hanging from the ceiling.
The light bulb clicked on, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, bathing the corner in a round spot of round, urine-yellow light.
Vince released Brittany and left her standing at the edge of the light while he headed into the corner. He produced a box cutter and turned back to his hostage.
Brittany lingered at the edge of the light, trembling from head to toe. Curls of matted hair clung to her forehead and her eyes were wide and bloodshot. Vince followed her gaze to the wooden bench bolted to the floor. Two chains extended from each leg on the other side with leather cuffs linked to each.
Vince’s footsteps commanded Brittany’s attention to him again. Her gaze moved from his masked face to the blade in his hand. Her eyes went wide and she took a step backward.
“STOP.”
The word cut the silence like a gunshot. Brittany jumped and froze.
Vince strolled up to Brittany and slid the blade of the knife up under her shirt, catching the tip on the fabric and slicing up to the collar. Brittany’s breasts spilled free and the torn garment slid down her arms, bunching up around her roped wrists. He withdrew and strolled around Brittany’s quivering form, eyeing her up and down.
Her breasts were the size of peaches, capped with pink areolas and adrenaline-crinkled nipples. White cotton panties clung to her hips, creeping between her thighs and accentuating the swell of her firm buttocks. Her legs were toned, defined, and the tanned flesh seemed to glow with sweat. She watched him warily, tilting her head slightly downward when Vince made eye contact. A stray strand of hair hung in front of her nose, wafting against her face with every exhalation.
“Get on your knees.”
As soon as Brittany lowered herself, Vince pushed her over the bench. Clutching the back of her neck, he reached to her bum and grabbed a handful of her panties, pulling the fabric tight into the crevice between her thighs until it ripped away.
Placing his knee against her spine, Vince untied her wrists and once the rope fell away, pulled her hands over the front of the bench. Brittany looked on with wild eyes as he collected the cuffs and secured them around her wrists.
Once Brittany realized that Vince was removing the gag, she lay still. With her head hanging over the edge of the bench, she was able to keep her neck straight while Vince unwound the tape. She groaned as the tape left her lips, and then lifted her head to look up at him.
A palm met her mouth. Vince brought his forefinger to his lips, and then stood.
* * *
For the first time during that harrowing evening, Brittany felt somewhat relieved.
Mr. Hathaway looked down on her. She’d come to realize that being uncooperative was the only thing that prompted him to be strict with her, so she gazed up at him with closed, quivering lips.
When he walked around behind her, Brittany surveyed her surroundings, starting with the cuffs. They were black leather and cut into her wrists less than the rope, and didn’t cut off her circulation. The chains were shiny and polished, tethered to the legs of the bench with bulky Master locks.
Darkness surrounded the dim sphere of light afforded by the bulb like an impenetrable wall. Judging by the cool dampness hanging in the air—and the absence of windows—Brittany figured they were completely underground.
Mr. Hathaway lifted Brittany’s feet, one at a time, to pull off her slippers and socks.
“Are you after money…?” Brittany ventured, her voice barely audible.
The underside of a slipper thwacked her bare bottom with a ‘crack!’ that echoed through the basement. Brittany yelped and then snapped her mouth shut.
Her thoughts turned to the ransom. Her father was the businessman of the family—very successful, in fact, as well as the reason for her posh house—and very well known throughout the community.
She only wished she’d listened when he suggested a home security system the prior year, even offering to pay for the installation. But Brittany—eighteen at the time and starving for independence—turned him down.
And now, here she found herself—chained and naked in a stranger’s basement.
When would Mr. Hathaway call in the ransom? Would he make the call immediately, or would he wait until morning? Brittany prayed for the former. It was cold and dark down here, and her breasts—sandwiched between her ribcage and the wood—were starting to ache. Having to sleep in this position would be hell.
Mr. Hathaway rounded Brittany’s doubled-over form again. She looked up at him, wiggling her hands and letting the chains rattle against the concrete, even going so far as to pull against them, demonstrating their effectiveness. Anything to convince him that she was immobilized—and that he could leave her to call in the ransom without worrying that she could break loose.
Instead of withdrawing and heading upstairs, Mr. Hathaway pulled off his gloves and then tugged his shirt over her head.
Brittany reexamined the situation.
Here she was in some secluded house out in the woods. She’d been bound, gagged, dragged from her home, then manhandled and stripped naked. Now she knelt in the basement, bent over—with her bottom elevated, her head hanging free—and chained to a bench.
“Oh my God…” Brittany gasped, testing the chains with more enthusiasm. Her heartbeat doubled. “Oh my God…”
Mr. Hathaway took his time, folding his shirt and setting it aside. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his drawers, releasing his straining hard-on. Pulling off his shoes, socks, and the ski mask, Mr. Hathaway collected a padded stool from the corner and set it down in front of Brittany’s head.
“Oh my God…please…”
After mounting the stool, Mr. Hathaway cupped his enormous hand under Brittany’s chin and cleared the hair from her face, giving her a straight-on view of his genitals. His bulbous cock stood fully erect, his swollen testicles lined with engorged veins. Heat emanated from between his thighs, smelling of stale sweat.
“Let me out of here, right now…please…”
Taking Brittany by the hair with one hand, Mr. Hathaway closed his fingers around the trunk of his manhood and tilted it to her lips. “Open up, baby.”
Fighting Mr. Hathaway’s grip proved impossible. “Please…” The cockhead slipped between her lips. “Don’t make me do this!”
“Open up or I’ma open it for you, girl.” Mr. Hathaway’s voice was deep, calm, and confident. His gaze was like steel as he stared down on her.
Sobbing, Brittany eased her lips open.
“Oh Guuuhd…!”
Mr. Hathaway helped himself, sliding his erection into Brittany’s mouth. The girth of his bulging shaft pulled Brittany’s lips taut. She squeezed her eyes shut as he eased his way steadily further.
“Uhhgk!” The tip of Mr. Hathaway’s cock prodded the back of her throat, sending an almost electrical jolt through her body. The chains cracked tight and Brittany kicked at the floor as he lunged in again.
“Yeah, girl…” He cooed, pressing his palms against the sides of her face to hold her head still. “You got nice, soft lips…use that tongue, baby…”
“Mmmpphr…!” Brittany gurgled, struggling to regain her composure. The chains, pulled as tight as they would allow, kept Brittany’s body pinned against the bench.
“Suck my cock good, baby, or I’ma throw it in that sweet puss’a yours…maybe that tight little ass…”
Cold, violent shudders coursed through Brittany’s body as she contemplated being fucked. Mustering her courage, she tightened her lips and cheeks around his throbbing shaft and sucked hard.
“You can do better than that, girl,” Mr. Hathaway grunted, pumping against her face once and jabbing the back of her throat again.
Gagging, Brittany tensed her body and braced her toes against the concrete, using her legs to rock back and forth. She ran her tongue across Mr. Hathaway’s cockhead, flicking back and forth against his scrotum.
Mr. Hathaway cleared Brittany’s face again. She could feel his eyes on her mouth, watching his shackled hostage fellate him. The thought of his gave her a dirty, despicable feeling—especially when she wondered if watching was contributing to the erection that Brittany had been tasked with servicing.
“That’s more like it, baby…”
Droplets of precum oozed into Brittany’s throat. The salty, bitter taste prompted her to work with renewed vigor. In a desperate effort to arouse Mr. Hathaway to the inevitable climax, Brittany gave him plenty to become aroused by. She waved her arms so the chains would clatter against the legs and threw her buttocks back and forth. In the off-chance that Mr. Hathaway was a fetishist, she bent her knees acutely to display the bottoms of her feet to him.
Something was working. Mr. Hathaway’s cock trembled and quivered in Brittany’s mouth. He started pumping his hips gently against her face, groaning softly.
Several consecutive strands of white-hot goo spurted against the back of Brittany’s throat. Mr. Hathaway’s balls slapped against her chin as he thrust forward, squirting his ejaculate into her mouth, his bum rising and falling with every spasm of his cock.
Brittany released a stifled, prolonged squeal as her mouth filled up with masculine fluid. With her lips sealed around the clutching shaft, she panicked and swallowed the bitter semen, only to have her mouth start filling up again.
Mr. Hathaway withdrew from Brittany’s mouth and exhaled.
Coughing, sputtering, and sobbing, Brittany let her head droop. Long strands of ejaculate dribbled from her mouth, collecting in a pool on the concrete below. Exhausted, Brittany collapsed over the bench, gasping for air and spitting the filthy taste from her mouth.
* * *
A soft hiss escaped the beer bottle as Vince twisted off the top.
He stood naked in the white glow of the refrigerator for a moment, tipping the beer to his lips and taking a long gulp.
Cool, dry air oozed from the fridge, feeling ice cold on his saliva-slicked cock. Just thinking about Brittany’s tanned, naked body had him semi-erect again. Taking his thick cock in his hand and stroking it gently, Vince tipped back another swig of Budweiser and started back down the stairs.
Brittany’s spirit had taken a heavy hit, but returned full-force. As Vince reached the floor, he looked at his hostage.
Brittany had risen to her tiptoes, bending her waist at a ninety-degree angle and leaving her pale bum sticking straight up. She was fiddling with the padlock keeping the chain locked to the leg.
Finishing off his beer and tossing the bottle aside, Vince walked up behind her. The bottle clattered to the concrete, sending an almost electrical jolt through Brittany’s form. She froze.
“Get them knees up on the bench, girl,” Vince commanded, cupping her bum with a hand and giving it a squeeze.
Mewling softly, Brittany complied, climbing up onto the bench. Her puss stared out at Vince from between her thighs, soft and bald and pink.
“Yeah, girl…” Vince cooed, lowering himself to his knees and leaning in to smell her crotch. Moist heat, laced with the scent of soap, shaving cream, and femininity, emanated from between her thighs. “That’s what I like to see…”
A rush of arousal coursed through Vince’s body as he pressed his lips against Brittany and slid his tongue into her channel. The sweet, syrupy taste of puss rushed into his mouth.
“Ugghhh…” Brittany gurgled. “Stop…please stop…”
The deeper Vince explored, the harder his cock became. With her head hanging as it was, Brittany was surely staring between his legs, watching him lurch back to life. Feeling her eyes on his cock had Vince fully erect once more.
Withdrawing momentarily, Vince reached to Brittany’s puss and stuck his finger in. When it came out dry—except for his own saliva—Vince leaned back in and began lapping with a little more vigor, working her a little harder. The next time he tested her, the saliva had mixed with a bit of sticky fluid.
“Oooh, baby,” Vince groaned, rising to his feet and pressing his cockhead against her lips.
“No-no-no-no-nnnnn!”
“Oh, how I love me some white puss,” Vince groaned, sliding his way into Brittany’s clutching passage. In the corners of his eyes, he could see her legs tense as she plunged all the way in. White-hot heat enveloped his cockhead. His balls flew forward, catching on the tip of her pussy and slapping into her navel.
Clutching Brittany’s hips to keep her from somersaulting over the side of the bench—accidentally or otherwise—Vince withdrew and thrust into her again, pistoning in and out of her snatch. She trembled and wriggled, choking on sobs and pleading for leniency.
After coming down her throat, the process took a little longer, but whether she knew it or not, Brittany aided immensely. She squirmed in place, rubbing her warm ass against his thighs and hips. In a desperate bid to dislodge the foreign object, Brittany’s pussy clenched and tightened constantly, providing suction unlike any other.
Vince’s balls began to roil and swell. He sped up, pumping into her faster and faster. Sobs turned to tears as his dick lurched, trembled, and exploded inside her. Arching his back, Vince tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling, his knees turning to jelly. He kept his member balls-deep inside her for a moment, letting it sputter and drain, and then withdrew. A sparkling strand of come linked Vince’s cockhead to Brittany’s puss for a moment before snapping, plopping against the back of Brittany’s thigh.
Seizing Brittany’s ankles, Vince pulled her off the bench. Her breasts went slamming to the wood, probably knocking the wind out of her. He dropped her calves and feet to the floor, and then turned toward the stairs for another beer.
* * *
Weak and sobbing, Brittany lay limp across the bench.
Her vagina felt like it was on fire. Globs of rapidly cooling ejaculate dribbled from her lips, running down her thighs. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Mr. Hathaway was done with her, she was sure of it. How could she take any more?
The padlocks were brand new and there was no way she could open them with one hand. Hell, opening them with two hands would be impossible, without a key.
Her rapist returned a few minutes later, babying a beer. He sat down on the stool before her, taking a few swigs and leering down at her. Brittany made a deliberate effort to avoid making eye-contact—or looking at his semi-hard penis, for that matter.
Thick fingers coiled around a wad of her hair and pulled her head up. Mr. Hathaway eased his hips forward, presenting his genitals once more. The juices of her rape coated the shaft and matted his pubic hair. She couldn’t bring herself to permit him access to her mouth.
He slapped her. Brittany reeled, yelping. Mr. Hathaway grabbed her hair again, wrenched her mouth close, and slapped her again when she refused.
Her face stinging, Brittany stared at the penis. When Mr. Hathaway raised his hand again, she opened her lips and lunged forward, taking him into her mouth.
Mr. Hathaway relaxed and sipped at his beer while Brittany fellated him once more. She sucked numbly. He stiffened in her mouth and, once fully erect, set the empty beer bottle aside and withdrew.
“Jus’ relax, girl,” Mr. Hathaway cooed, wandering around to her backside once more.
Brittany let her head slump, not bothering to look over her shoulder. She closed her eyes but still sensed him behind her, positioning himself. A palm fell to each side of her bum and pushed until she was bent at the waist over the bench.
“Jus’ relax, make it easy on the both of us.”
Brittany whined loudly as Vince pushed into her vagina again. He seemed to be taking his time, pushing in and out a couple of times and then withdrawing.
Try as she might, the feeling of Mr. Hathaway’s slick cockhead aligning itself with her puckered anus had Brittany’s entire body tense.
He pushed.
Stinging turned to hot, sharp pangs of pain as Mr. Hathaway eased his way into Brittany’s clutching sphincter.
Gritting her teeth, Brittany tried to endure the disgusting act. When Mr. Hathaway jerked about an inch inward, though, Brittany screamed.
“I’ll make it easy on you, girl,” Mr. Hathaway clucked. “You been a good sport.”
Mr. Hathaway jerked forward, filling Brittany’s backside all at once. Unimaginable pain shot through Brittany’s body. Her eyes rolled back in her head and, with a groaning gasp, slumped over the bench.
3 – Broken In
Vince pulled on his boxers and pants.
Brittany lay slumped over the bench. She would be out for a little while. He headed upstairs.
Collecting one last beer from the fridge, Vince took a glass down from the cupboard and filled it with water. Grabbing his camera from the table on the way by, Vince trotted back down to the basement.
Moving the stool aside, Vince lifted Brittany’s head and threw the water in her face. Brittany immediately sprung to life, blinking and sputtering. With her awake, he walked behind her and collected her severed t-shirt. Rolling up the fabric into a long strip, Vince collected Brittany’s discarded socks and rolled them into a ball.
“Open up.”
Vince pushed the socks between Brittany’s teeth and before she could spit them out, pulled the t-shirt between her teeth. Knotting it tightly, he knelt in front of her and produced the camera, yanking her upper-body up by her hair and snapping a picture before she could close her eyes.
Collecting his shirt, Vince wadded it up and wiped at Brittany’s crotch and ass, cleaning her up as best as he could manage. Then he positioned the camera between her thighs, getting a picture of her pussy and asscrack.
On the way out, Vince got one last snapshot of Brittany’s backside and then headed upstairs, closing and locking the door behind him.
Now for business. Vince turned on the computer and uploaded the pictures. Opening the picture of Brittany’s face—which also included a good view of her breasts—in Paint, he added “FOR SALE” in big red letters.
Saving the photo, he opened his email and started a new message, CC-ing everyone in the network. Although Brittany’s face was tear-streaked and red in the picture, her natural beauty was still discernable. He put this in the body of the email and made the other two attachments. Brittany’s face and breasts were her two biggest selling points. The other picture—the one taken from behind—illustrated the rest of her assets: her ass, loins, legs, and the undersides of her feet. With such a shapely, curvaceous body, Brittany would probably remain Vince’s prisoner for less than twenty-four hours.
He clicked ‘Send’ and leaned back in the chair, interlocking his fingers behind his head, and waited for the bids to start rolling in.
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