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And The Waters Ran Red

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montycrusto said:
Depends which part of Britain. We have a phrase, "Normal for Norfolk" - which means pretty much bat-shit crazy. They're a bit weird in Dorset, too. And everywhere else, come to think of it. But if she's looking out over the Irish Sea, she's probably in Wales. And they're very friendly, unless they think you're English.
Click to expand...
Crusty if you truly want authentic bat crap crazy wander among MY people north of the Border :) We toss sodding TELEGRAPH POLES in the air and call it "sport" !!!
 
4.​

I wake slowly, blinking my eyes. I am lying on my back against the burlap-covered deck of the van, naked except for my old cut offs, which are half pulled down and open in front down to my crotch, and a pair of Keds on my feet. The van seems to be standing still; we are not moving.

I have no idea how much time has passed since they tossed me in the van and drugged me. I feel groggy and my head hurts, but I raise my head slowly anyway, look about and drop back down.

I am not alone. The van is full of women, half naked, like me … all motionless … drugged. I seem to be the only one who is conscious at the moment, although some appear to be stirring a little.

I take a deep breath and prop myself up on my elbows to take a better look. It's hard to know how many of us are in here ... such a tangle of arms, legs and bodies … an undulating sea of bare skin; some pale some tanned … bits of clothing … a wrist watch … running shoes, and so on.

On one side of me lies a fat girl, flat on her back and naked except for her white panties. I remember encountering her when they threw me in the van. She was the one whose fleshy breast my face was buried in when they poked the needle into my ass.

On my left side is a lithe "dishwater" blonde girl, wearing nothing but a fashionable little brown leather mini skirt. She lies face down with arms outstretched; head turned slightly toward me. Every so often she moves a little and moans something that sounds like it's in French.

Draped across my legs with her head resting in the small of the French girl's back is the blonde that I recall seeing earlier, hunched then over by the wall of the van. Now she lies on her side, facing toward me, wearing only the bottom half of a little white string bikini ... perhaps the victim of a ‘beach abduction’ much like my own.

To the far side of the fat girl are three or four more bodies; limbs and torsos so complexly intertwined it’s difficult to separate them out. I crane my neck. Above and beyond my head are still others. The interior of the van is literally carpeted with female bodies. The air in the van is stale from so many drugged girls breathing in such a closed space. There is a distinctive smell of urine in the air too.

Outside I hear voices. I recognize Boris' heavy Slavic accent right away. He is talking to another man whose speech is refined and proper; his words are clipped and laced with a brogue that, even to my untrained American ear, identifies him as a Scotsman.

They are arguing over money. There seems to be some disagreement over the fair value of the van's human cargo. Boris is saying that the Scot's need to have so many abducted girls delivered in such a short time raises the level of risk to his organization to the point where a hefty surcharge is warranted. The Scot maintains that a deal is a deal, and balks at paying more.

There appears to be a standoff. The argument continues with voices raised. Boris is making threats. I take the opportunity to see if I can move my stiff limbs. Gently I pull one leg out from under the blonde girl. Her eyes open for a second … bright blue … then close. A soft moan escapes from her lips. I pull out the other leg, and her hand comes up to flutter over her breast. Then she is still again.

My legs now freed, I plant my feet on the decking and lift my butt, grabbing my cut offs, which are bunched down around my crotch, and pulling them up on my hips; closing and buttoning the front.

Then I sit up and begin rubbing some circulation back into my legs. I look around to see if there is any loose clothing lying around that I can put on, but no luck. I run my hands through my snarled hair and pull the partially loosened duct tape from my mouth and toss it aside.

Outside the argument has stopped. A deal has been struck. The Scotsman is shouting orders and I hear the distinctive sound of boots crunching on loose gravel. Someone is approaching the rear of the van!

I quickly decide to feign unconsciousness. I lie back down, roll on my side, pull up my knees, close my eyes and try to breathe shallowly despite a racing heart.

With a rattle and a sharp metallic bang the twin doors on the back of the van are thrown open. A rush of fresh air and bright sunlight fills the van.

Through slitted eyes I watch as two burly young men in blue coveralls begin unloading the bodies, lying them out neatly in a row on a waiting cart attached to a farm tractor.

They start on the far side of the fat girl and work their way toward me. Each girl in turn is dragged to the rear of the van, hoisted over shoulder, carried over to and then laid out on the cart. Soon the fat girl is gone, and then the blonde.

My turn next … firm grip on my ankles … flipped on my back … a tug, then a second tug … I slide along, rough burlap scratching at my back … breasts jiggling … to the edge now … hands under my arms … lifted to a sitting position. I allow my head to flop forward … don’t want them to know I am conscious.

Arms raised up … rough calloused hands pressing in on either side of my chest … hoisted upward and over a broad shoulder … bent over at waist, head flopping down, chin against his back, arms and hair loosely dangling.

Brawny arm wrapped around the back of my thighs to hold me in place … carried, draped limply over shoulder for several yards … head bouncing, arms and hair swaying about … thrown unceremoniously down on my back … hard metal surface of the cart ... banging my head … oww … involuntary groan.

I lift one knee slightly, turning my head to one side, surreptitiously opening one eye to take in a slit-eyed view of a bright blue sky, suddenly obscured by the French girl's limp body being thrown onto the cart. On my other side, the blonde stirs, poking her elbow into my side.

Jolts and vibrations follow as body after body is thrown on the cart … more moans … some of the others are starting to come around … perhaps the effect of the cool fresh air? Last ones piled on top, like cord wood … cart full … small athletic girl, wearing only a pair of blue shorts with a white sports stripe down the side, sprawled over me.

Roar of the diesel tractor starting up … shouts ... the sound of boots clambering up and on board … a jolt and a lurch … Tires turning on gravel, gathering speed.

TO BE CONTINUED
 
Last edited:
Barbaria1 said:
4.​

I wake slowly, blinking my eyes. I am lying on my back against the burlap-covered deck of the van, naked except for my old cut offs, which are half pulled down and open in front down to my crotch, and a pair of Keds on my feet. The van seems to be standing still; we are not moving.

I have no idea how much time has passed since they tossed me in the van and drugged me. I feel groggy and my head hurts, but I raise my head slowly anyway, look about and drop back down.

I am not alone. The van is full of women, half naked, like me … all motionless … drugged. I seem to be the only one who is conscious at the moment, although some appear to be stirring a little.

I take a deep breath and prop myself up on my elbows to take a better look. It's hard to know how many of us are in here ... such a tangle of arms, legs and bodies … an undulating sea of bare skin; some pale some tanned … bits of clothing … a wrist watch … running shoes, and so on.

On one side of me lies a fat girl, flat on her back and naked except for her white panties. I remember encountering her when they threw me in the van. She was the one whose fleshy breast my face was buried in when they poked the needle into my ass.

On my left side is a lithe "dishwater" blonde girl, wearing nothing but a fashionable little brown leather mini skirt. She lies face down with arms outstretched; head turned slightly toward me. Every so often she moves a little and moans something that sounds like it's in French.

Draped across my legs with her head resting in the small of the French girl's back is the blonde that I recall seeing earlier, hunched then over by the wall of the van. Now she lies on her side, facing toward me, wearing only the bottom half of a little white string bikini ... perhaps the victim of a ‘beach abduction’ much like my own.

To the far side of the fat girl are three or four more bodies; limbs and torsos so complexly intertwined it’s difficult to separate them out. I crane my neck. Above and beyond my head are still others. The interior of the van is literally carpeted with female bodies. The air in the van is stale from so many drugged girls breathing in such a closed space. There is a distinctive smell of urine in the air too.

Outside I hear voices. I recognize Boris' heavy Slavic accent right away. He is talking to another man whose speech is refined and proper; his words are clipped and laced with a brogue that, even to my untrained American ear, identifies him as a Scotsman.

They are arguing over money. There seems to be some disagreement over the fair value of the van's human cargo. Boris is saying that the Scot's need to have so many abducted girls delivered in such a short time raises the level of risk to his organization to the point where a hefty surcharge is warranted. The Scot maintains that a deal is a deal, and balks at paying more.

There appears to be a standoff. The argument continues with voices raised. Boris is making threats. I take the opportunity to see if I can move my stiff limbs. Gently I pull one leg out from under the blonde girl. Her eyes open for a second … bright blue … then close. A soft moan escapes from her lips. I pull out the other leg, and her hand comes up to flutter over her breast. Then she is still again.

My legs now freed, I plant my feet on the decking and lift my butt, grabbing my cut offs, which are bunched down around my crotch, and pulling them up on my hips; closing and buttoning the front.

Then I sit up and begin rubbing some circulation back into my legs. I look around to see if there is any loose clothing lying around that I can put on, but no luck. I run my hands through my snarled hair and pull the partially loosened duct tape from my mouth and toss it aside.

Outside the argument has stopped. A deal has been struck. The Scotsman is shouting orders and I hear the distinctive sound of boots crunching on loose gravel. Someone is approaching the rear of the van!

I quickly decide to feign unconsciousness. I lie back down, roll on my side, pull up my knees, close my eyes and try to breathe shallowly despite a racing heart.

With a rattle and a sharp metallic bang the twin doors on the back of the van are thrown open. A rush of fresh air and bright sunlight fills the van.

Through slitted eyes I watch as two burly young men in blue coveralls begin unloading the bodies, lying them out neatly in a row on a waiting cart attached to a farm tractor.

They start on the far side of the fat girl and work their way toward me. Each girl in turn is dragged to the rear of the van, hoisted over shoulder, carried over to and then laid out on the cart. Soon the fat girl is gone, and then the blonde.

My turn next … firm grip on my ankles … flipped on my back … a tug, then a second tug … I slide along, rough burlap scratching at my back … breasts jiggling … to the edge now … hands under my arms … lifted to a sitting position. I allow my head to flop forward … don’t want them to know I am conscious.

Arms raised up … rough calloused hands pressing in on either side of my chest … hoisted upward and over a broad shoulder … bent over at waist, head flopping down, chin against his back, arms and hair loosely dangling.

Brawny arm wrapped around the back of my thighs to hold me in place … carried, draped limply over shoulder for several yards … head bouncing, arms and hair swaying about … thrown unceremoniously down on my back … hard metal surface of the cart ... banging my head … oww … involuntary groan.

I lift one knee slightly, turning my head to one side, surreptitiously opening one eye to take in a slit-eyed view of a bright blue sky, suddenly obscured by the French girl's limp body being thrown onto the cart. On my other side, the blonde stirs, poking her elbow into my side.

Jolts and vibrations follow as body after body is thrown on the cart … more moans … some of the others are starting to come around … perhaps the effect of the cool fresh air? Last ones piled on top, like cord wood … cart full … small athletic girl, wearing only a pair of blue shorts with a white sports stripe down the side, sprawled over me.

Roar of the diesel tractor starting up … shouts ... the sound of boots clambering up and on board … a jolt and a lurch … Tires turning on gravel, gathering speed.

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...

"There may be troubles ahead....."
 
5.​

The cart ride from the white van lasts about 10 minutes. For the most part it is uphill and through dense forest. I look up past the face of the comatose girl sprawled on top of me, watching the patches of blue sky through the leafy canopy of overhead, fearful and unsure of whether I want the cart to ever reach its destination.

But it does. We break out of the trees and with a surge of power the tractor lugs us over a crest and onto a drive leading to a great stone high-gabled country house, covered with vines and sporting an array of fanciful brickwork chimneys. A broad, neatly manicured lawn sweeps gracefully off in all directions.

"Step to now lads. Let's get 'em all off-loaded afore they start coming to," shouts one of the coveralled men as he hops off the cart. His partner follows and two more appear to lend a hand.

The girl on top of me is lifted off and carried away. I continue to feign unconsciousness, showing no reaction to the bobbing of her head or the pull of her bare skin on mine as she is dragged the length of my body. I lie quietly and listen to the moans and groans of the others as, one by one, their bodies are slid from the cart and hauled away.

When all four of the men in coveralls are away, I decide to try to get up and possibly escape. Shakily, I prop myself on my elbows, roll toward the blonde girl on my left and struggle to get up on my hands and knees. Looking quickly around, I see two of the men hauling girls thrown over their shoulders through the double doors of what appears to be a stable, situated just off the drive and to one side of the big house.

Two others have just emerged empty-handed from the stable doorway and are returning to the cart for more. I start crawling to the edge of the cart. Seeing me, one of the coveralls calls out, "Over there! Look! One of them friggin’ bitches is up and moving." They break into a run. I slide myself off the cart just as they pull up, try to take a step and nearly fall to the ground.

One of them grabs me from behind, breaking my fall. He lifts me to my feet, pinning my arms behind my back and spinning me around ... half bent over and hair in my face ... to face his companion. I can feel his hot breath on my neck as he tightens his grip.

His companion grabs me by the chin, roughly snapping my head back and twisting it from side to side. "Now just where do you think you're going all by yourself love?” he asks in mock seriousness, leaning his face in close to mine and glaring at me fiercely.

"I dunno," I stammer, “Just thought I would take a little walk.”

Apparently the drug is far from having worn off. I am feeling a little dizzy in addition to regretting my decision to stop feigning unconsciousness and make an ill-considered break for it. I am in no shape to run and where did I think I was going to run to anyway?

“Well you thought wrong,” he sneers, moving my head back and forth with his grip on my chin.

Recovering a bit and trying to regain my composure, I decide to stall for time and ask some questions.

"What day is it?" I begin.

"And who wants to know? he laughs, "It's Friday, if it really matters to you"

Quick calculation ... If it's Friday, I must have been lying on the floor of that van for more than a day because it was Wednesday when I was abducted on the beach.

I follow up with, "What time is it?"

"Well, aren't you the little inquisitive one?" he laughs as he releases my chin and reaches out with both hands to cup, squeeze and shake my bare hanging breasts. "It's about ten in the morning"

I grimace and try to break free of his offending grasp, but his pal behind me tightens his grip on my pinioned arms and lifts me slightly off my feet. I am totally helpless and can do nothing more than turn my head away in disgust as my tormentor has his little fun pawing me.

Meanwhile the other two coveralls have come back for more girls. A minute later, one of them carries the limp form of the blonde past me, her white bikini covered rump high over his shoulder and long golden tresses trailing and swaying back and forth . Right behind, comes the French girl on her way to being deposited in the stable.

"Where are we? I ask, feeling more anxious than ever.

"Oh, don't press your luck, sweetie. I can't tell you ‘cause that's a big dark secret. You're not to know, and even if you did, it wouldn't do you any good 'cause you won't ever be able to tell anyone."

After pinching, and giving both my tumescent nipples a hard twist, which causes me to yelp in pain, he lets go and orders the guy behind me to get me into the stable. My arms are released and I am spun around to face in the direction of the stable door. A hard shove between the shoulder blades propels me forward.

Reaching the doorway I step inside, peering into the relative gloom of the stable interior. As my eyes adjust, I take in the scene. What were once horses stalls have been converted to spaces closed in with iron grill work ... cages really ... perhaps a dozen or more of them along one side of the building.

Inside the cages, mostly lying unconscious or asleep on the straw covered floor or squatting on their haunches with a vacant look on their faces, are dozens of naked or half-naked young women, all apparently in some state of having been drugged and brought here against their will.

A commotion behind me causes me to turn around. Male laughter rings out. The fat girl comes crawling through the doorway on her hands and knees. One of the coveralls is driving her along with a long supple switch. Her white panties are gone.

She crawls past me, turning her head to catch my eye just as the switch, with a sharp swish and smack, leaves a fresh mark on her already reddened, broad quivering backside. She squeals, reaches briefly for her stinging ass with one hand, and then speeds forward through an open cage door and collapses face down on the straw.

Another shove in the back and I fly forward through the same opening, landing square on top of her, the wind temporarily knocked out of me. The iron bar door swings shut behind me with a loud metallic clang. One of the coveralls slams a bolt home, turns and walks away.

I roll slowly off the fat girl, sit up and take stock of the situation. In addition to myself and the fat girl, who has turned half on her side and is gingerly massaging the angry red stripes on her ass, three others from the van are in here with us ... the blonde, sprawled out on her back nearby and stirring slightly ... the French girl sitting by herself over in the corner, rubbing her eyes and murmuring softly to herself under her breath... and the small girl with the athletic build lying face down at my feet.

The others in the cage appear to been here for some time and are eyeing the newcomers curiously. One of them ... dark-haired, young looking, topless, and wearing a pair of flared-leg, hip-hugging jeans ... gets up slowly, comes over beside me, cocks her head and then sits down.

"Hi-ya" she says. "Where ya from? Been here two days myself. I'm Irish."

TO BE CONTINUED
 
Last edited:
Barbaria1 said:
5.​

The cart ride from the white van lasts about 10 minutes. For the most part it is uphill and through dense forest. I look up past the face of the comatose girl sprawled on top of me, watching the patches of blue sky through the leafy canopy of overhead, fearful and unsure of whether I want the cart to ever reach its destination.

But it does. We break out of the trees and with a surge of power the tractor lugs us over a crest and onto a drive leading to a great stone high-gabled country house, covered with vines and sporting an array of fanciful brickwork chimneys. A broad, neatly manicured lawn sweeps gracefully off in all directions.

"Step to now lads. Let's get 'em all off-loaded afore they start coming to," shouts one of the coveralled men as he hops off the cart. His partner follows and two more appear to lend a hand.

The girl on top of me is lifted off and carried away. I continue to feign unconsciousness, showing no reaction to the bobbing of her head or the pull of her bare skin on mine as she is dragged the length of my body. I lie quietly and listen to the moans and groans of the others as, one by one, their bodies are slid from the cart and hauled away.

When all four of the men in coveralls are away, I decide to try to get up and possibly escape. Shakily, I prop myself on my elbows, roll toward the blonde girl on my left and struggle to get up on my hands and knees. Looking quickly around, I see two of the men hauling girls thrown over their shoulders through the double doors of what appears to be a stable, situated just off the drive and to one side of the big house.

Two others have just emerged empty-handed from the stable doorway and are returning to the cart for more. I start crawling to the edge of the cart. Seeing me, one of the coveralls calls out, "Over there! Look! One of them friggin’ bitches is up and moving." They break into a run. I slide myself off the cart just as they pull up, try to take a step and nearly fall to the ground.

One of them grabs me from behind, breaking my fall. He lifts me to my feet, pinning my arms behind my back and spinning me around ... half bent over and hair in my face ... to face his companion. I can feel his hot breath on my neck as he tightens his grip.

His companion grabs me by the chin, roughly snapping my head back and twisting it from side to side. "Now just where do you think you're going all by yourself love?” he asks in mock seriousness, leaning his face in close to mine and glaring at me fiercely.

"I dunno," I stammer, “Just thought I would take a little walk.”

Apparently the drug is far from having worn off. I am feeling a little dizzy in addition to regretting my decision to stop feigning unconsciousness and make an ill-considered break for it. I am in no shape to run and where did I think I was going to run to anyway?

“Well you thought wrong,” he sneers, moving my head back and forth with his grip on my chin.

Recovering a bit and trying to regain my composure, I decide to stall for time and ask some questions.

"What day is it?" I begin.

"And who wants to know? he laughs, "It's Friday, if it really matters to you"

Quick calculation ... If it's Friday, I must have been lying on the floor of that van for more than a day because it was Wednesday when I was abducted on the beach.

I follow up with, "What time is it?"

"Well, aren't you the little inquisitive one?" he laughs as he releases my chin and reaches out with both hands to cup, squeeze and shake my bare hanging breasts. "It's about ten in the morning"

I grimace and try to break free of his offending grasp, but his pal behind me tightens his grip on my pinioned arms and lifts me slightly off my feet. I am totally helpless and can do nothing more than turn my head away in disgust as my tormentor has his little fun pawing me.

Meanwhile the other two coveralls have come back for more girls. A minute later, one of them carries the limp form of the blonde past me, her white bikini covered rump high over his shoulder and long golden tresses trailing and swaying back and forth . Right behind, comes the French girl on her way to being deposited in the stable.

"Where are we? I ask, feeling more anxious than ever.

"Oh, don't press your luck, sweetie. I can't tell you ‘cause that's a big dark secret. You're not to know, and even if you did, it wouldn't do you any good 'cause you won't ever be able to tell anyone."

After pinching, and giving both my tumescent nipples a hard twist, which causes me to yelp in pain, he lets go and orders the guy behind me to get me into the stable. My arms are released and I am spun around to face in the direction of the stable door. A hard shove between the shoulder blades propels me forward.

Reaching the doorway I step inside, peering into the relative gloom of the stable interior. As my eyes adjust, I take in the scene. What were once horses stalls have been converted to spaces closed in with iron grill work ... cages really ... perhaps a dozen or more of them along one side of the building.

Inside the cages, mostly lying unconscious or asleep on the straw covered floor or squatting on their haunches with a vacant look on their faces, are dozens of naked or half-naked young women, all apparently in some state of having been drugged and brought here against their will.

A commotion behind me causes me to turn around. Male laughter rings out. The fat girl comes crawling through the doorway on her hands and knees. One of the coveralls is driving her along with a long supple switch. Her white panties are gone.

She crawls past me, turning her head to catch my eye just as the switch, with a sharp swish and smack, leaves a fresh mark on her already reddened, broad quivering backside. She squeals, reaches briefly for her stinging ass with one hand, and then speeds forward through an open cage door and collapses face down on the straw.

Another shove in the back and I fly forward through the same opening, landing square on top of her, the wind temporarily knocked out of me. The iron bar door swings shut behind me with a loud metallic clang. One of the coveralls slams a bolt home, turns and walks away.

I roll slowly off the fat girl, sit up and take stock of the situation. In addition to myself and the fat girl, who has turned half on her side and is gingerly massaging the angry red stripes on her ass, three others from the van are in here with us ... the blonde, sprawled out on her back nearby and stirring slightly ... the French girl sitting by herself over in the corner, rubbing her eyes and murmuring softly to herself under her breath... and the small girl with the athletic build lying face down at my feet.

The others in the cage appear to been here for some time and are eyeing the newcomers curiously. One of them ... dark-haired, young looking, topless, and wearing a pair of flared-leg, hip-hugging jeans ... gets up slowly, comes over beside me, cocks her head and then sits down.

"Hi-ya" she says. "Where ya from? Been here two days myself. I'm Irish."

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...
WOOHOO! NAKED WITH BARB! YAY! PUSH OVER GIRLS!!!!
 
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