Author's Note:A young biker, not completely on the right side of the law, finds an unbelievable situation in the wheatfields of Kansas.


"Some people worry about The End of the Dream. All I cared about was the Dream of the End." Anonymous - WWII concentration camp survivor.

I had been an outdoors type all my life. Given any set of mountains or wilderness, I could survive most comfortably with just a knife as a tool. Some of that was learned in childhood in the wilds of West Virginia, the rest with the Special Forces in the US Army.

My mistake here, was that I forgot that there wasn't a lot of wilderness in the heart of Kansas. In fact, the entire state seem to be one great big wheat field. And I mean great big. From the place where I was hiding in the stalks of wheat, all I could see from horizon to horizon was... more wheat. Far off to the north was a bump in the distance that might be a farm house. What the heck, that was as good a destination as any.

My current circumstances had come about due to a misunderstanding with a shopkeeper over who owned the money in his safe. Fortunately, I managed to exit the back of the building before his twelve gauge friend got his two cents worth in. Tearing out of town in the middle of the night on my hog got me about thirty miles away before an encounter with an animal ended with me in the ditch and my cycle out of order.

The flatness of the prairie did have one advantage. I could see for miles down the absolutely straight road and estimated that the sheriff's car with the flashing lights gave me time to hide. I rolled my rig off the road and into the stands of grain for about a hundred feet before I gave out. There was no chance of being seen, at night, in this vast sea of bread makin's so I stood and watched as the car flew past the place that I had exited the road.

The front tire was flat, and useless on a highway, but I cranked the machine and headed slowly further into the field at a walking pace. The tire was disintegrating when I came to a small water course where the wheat wasn't planted. I shut it off, pulled out my heavy jacket, and lay down for some sleep.

Morning showed that I was in a very shallow dry creek, with a few scrub trees. I found a good spot to lay the cycle over, then covered it with some of the sparse brush I found. Maybe it would be a while before anyone found it.

Now I was looking over the vast distance to what I thought was a building on the horizon. Taking my bundle of hard rations and water bottle out of my saddlebags, I started the long walk.

Hours later, I was finally approaching the farm house. Actually, it was an entire farm establishment - a large house, out buildings of all kinds, and a very large barn. As I knelt in the grass, I wondered just what my plans were. Just up and stealing a car or truck probably wouldn't fly. Long before I got off the interminable straight country road, the sheriff would be waiting at the next town. The owners would have plenty of time to call ahead in either direction. Besides, there was the problem of taking the car in the first place - this was a rural part of America, where even grandmothers were armed.

My life after the Army wasn't exactly lived on the right side of the law, but while I never had a problem with sharing the wealth of others, I never harmed anyone physically. And I certainly never carried a firearm. That was a good way to turn a couple of month's sentence into hard time up the river with cell mates who weren't quite as sociable as I am.

Patience I learned in the Army, so I just sat and observed. The sun was hot, but after a couple of tours in the Middle East, it was more like a balmy day to me. Hours went by, then finally a truck drove up to the house and a fairly large man got out and entered the house. The main thing I was looking for was a dog or dogs. I didn't see or hear any so far.

Slowly, I began to make my way around until the large barn was between me and the house. Then I began my approach. At about a hundred feet away, I stopped for a while and observed again. Finally, I saw the truck drive away again, probably after the guy had lunch. So, the man of the house was gone, but that left the wife and an unknown number of kids.

Moving up to the back of the barn, the rear access door was latched, but my hunting knife made short work of that. I wasn't a farm boy, but the inside didn't look any out of the ordinary. A tractor, innumerable unknown farm devices lay around, along with barrels, buckets, cans and lumber. In short, a lot of farmer stuff. There was a ladder leading to the second floor. I quickly climbed and found myself in a room with lots of hay bales, covering about a third of the back of the loft.

But now I had access to the opened window at the front - just an open hole with wooden shutters, now open. I had a full view of the house and the road and since the land was so flat, I could see practically forever. Unfortunately, except for a couple of more bumps on the horizon, I could see nothing further up the road but more road and more wheat. I wondered just how far the next town was and if I could walk it. The main problem would be water, the lesser one would be food. I had enough to eat sparingly for two or three days and I could get water out of the hydrant that I could see in the yard, but it would take several gallons to allow me to cover the distances that I could view from up here.

I sat down and relaxed on some hay to where I could see the house. So far I had seen no indication of the wife. Or anybody else, for that matter. Kids might be in school, but surely someone would eventually come out of the house.

They didn't. Later in the evening the truck drove back up, parked, and I barely heard the front door slam as I assumed the man entered. Then, suddenly he came out the back door and beelined for the barn.

I had previously made myself a small hiding place behind some bales high in the pile to the back. This was also situated to where I could look down the length of the loft and out the window. I heard the barn door open and shut. I waited.

And waited. And waited some more. What the hell? What would the farmer be doing down below that was so quiet? And so long? I slowly stepped down, very carefully testing to make sure that boards didn't creak. Eventually, I made it to the trap door and ladder and very slowly looked over the edge. I didn't see him in the view I had. I moved around to get a view from all four edges of the barn floor. He wasn't there - anywhere. What the fuck? I had heard him enter, but not leave. He must have opened the barn door, changed his mind and went back into the house, letting the door slam and making me believe that he had entered.

I resumed my seat on the bales of hay looking out over the house. Fortunately, I had seen nor heard no dog, so when night fell, I could start exploring. Maybe I could find a bicycle. It was about an hour to full dark, so I would...

Suddenly, I heard a noise below. I froze, not daring to walk across the creaky wooden floor. Then I heard the barn door open and shut, and saw a man, looking to be about thirty or fortyish, heading for the back door of the house. What the shit? What was he doing down below for three hours, and just where was he doing it? Not long after that, I heard the truck start up and then saw it heading down the driveway for the road.

It wasn't long before dark and I had no flashlight, so I needed to explore while I had light. Once again, I looked around the floor of the barn. It was baffling - there was absolutely nothing to explain what he was doing down here all that time. I knew he wasn't working on the tractor. It still a thick layer of untouched dust all over it. Besides, I would have easily have heard any kind of mechanical work. I gave it up for now.

Back at the barn door, I inched it open and inspected the house. In the gathering darkness, I could see no lights. Well, I had to do something and hiding in a barn from then on was not an option. I went into the back yard, quietly closing the barn door behind me and openly walked around to the front of the house.

On the porch, I knocked on the door. Then again. And again. Nothing.

My hunch was correct - well, at least apparently. The man lived alone - a widower or divorcee, I assumed. My other indication that I had seen that day was the lack of another vehicle on the property. In this day and age, very few wives don't have cars.

The door was locked, but that only took a second to fix. Entering the house, I quickly looked from room to room. It was just a farm house. A very nice one, to be sure - obviously the owner made some serious money with his crops. There was a rack of firearms in the den that I ignored. Glancing down the driveway from time to time, I finally came to the kitchen.

I pulled a large pitcher with a lid from the back of a shelf from where I hoped it wouldn't be missed. As it was filling with water, I filled a plastic sack with various food items, never taking more than one of each from the fridge or the pantry - a can of sausages, a single package of crackers, several cans of beans and other staples, a spare salt shaker, and like items. The sack and the full water pitcher I set at the back door. Then went back to exploring.

Finally, I carried the items to the barn, then began to walk rapidly around the area in the fading light. No bicycle. Damn. In fact, nothing but various farm utensils. But nothing that was going to get me down the road. Well, there was, but escaping on a five mile per hour tractor was probably a bad idea. Apparently I was going to have to walk out.

Back in the barn, I hid my rations upstairs, and settled in to watch for the man to return. He did in about an hour. I would get some sleep when I saw him turn in. One thing I learned in the war, was to always store up your sleep when you could - it might be a long time till the next set of z's.

I lay down and reviewed my situation. It could be worse. I could be in the sheriff's lockup eating crap and waiting for some two bit judge to lecture me on how important he was in relation to me. At least now I had food and water for a considerable time so I...

I saw the back door of the house open and the man made the beeline to the barn. I immediately moved over to the trapdoor where I could look down. It was almost pitch black so there was no chance of his seeing me overhead. Suddenly, a dim light was turned on down below, and I moved back so that just my eyes were looking over the edge. I watched as he walked over toward a workbench, knelt down, and pulled open a trapdoor. I could see a ladder leading down into... where? Holy shit!

He descended the ladder, and closed the trap behind him. Now it looked just like some random piece of wood laying amongst other similar pieces strewn all over.

Well, well, I thought. This had to be a clandestine meth lab, or equivalent. I couldn't think of any other reason for the hidden... whatever it was. Well, actually I could. A counterfeiting racket? Opium den? A place where he changed into and wore women's underwear? Nope. The odds where greatly on it being a manufactory of crank, speed, chalk, hydro - whatever you wanted to call it. I never touched the stuff, or any of the recreational crap - life is too short as it is.

However. Where there is illegal stash, there is money. Tomorrow would tell. I quietly went to my hidy-hole and lay down. I lay on my stomach, just to make sure that I didn't snore if I fell asleep before the guy left the underground hole.

The next morning, after a not so delicious breakfast of water, soda crackers, and pork'n'beans, I waited, looking at the house. Soon after sun-up, he again entered the barn, and I guess, the underground whatever it was, for an hour or so. I didn't watch, this time. Then he got back in his truck and headed down the road. I assume that he was driving to a remote section of his fields to plow or fertilize or whatever it is that farmers do.

When his truck disappeared from view, I climbed down, and quietly opened the trap door. I listened for a few minutes, and looked down. I could see nothing but about a twelve foot ladder, and a small area no more than six by six feet. Well, this is it. If he came back early, things were probably going to get exciting.

At the base of the ladder, a passageway only big enough for a man to stand in and walk, went toward the house and down at a slight angle. A single dim bulb every twenty feet or so was all the illumination that was available. I started down the tunnel kind of wishing that I had retrieved one of the rifles in the house, first.

The tunnel flattened out and ahead I could see a much brighter illumination. The actual room, or whatever it was must be directly under the house. There was no door - the tunnel just suddenly widened into a very large room, probably thirty feet square and with a high ceiling. A few steel poles in two rows helped hold up the concrete ceiling. The room was furnished. A kitchen on one wall, a bed, an open air bathroom and shower. And other furniture that wasn't quite figureoutable. But that wasn't what caught my attention.

A woman was sitting in the middle of the room. All right. Sitting wasn't exactly the correct term. She was buck naked, and tied to a, well... a contraption. A steel pole came out of the floor that had a member apparently welded to it to make a cross. Lower down, two other steel members came out level with the floor, but at about a forty five degree angle to the cross member.

The woman's arms were stretched sideways on either side and attached to the cross member with two sets of... clamps? straps?... on each arm. I couldn't exactly see from my distance. Her legs were bent at the knees and widely spread in front of her. Like her arms, they were also attached at the ankles to the steel. Her butt was at least three and a half feet off the floor and under it on the floor was a large plastic bucket. Her forehead had a strap around it that apparently held it fast to the vertical pole. She was about as spread as a woman can be. Certainly, everything she had was in full view. Normally, I would have enjoyed the sight, but for now, the unexpected shock of the situation prevented any erotic feelings from appearing.

Her eyes were wide open and even from my distance I could see that she was staring at me. She might have screamed except that she appeared to be holding a large rubber ball in her mouth.

Totally shocked, I looked around for anyone else in the room. But there was no one.

What the fuck do I do now, I wondered? Were these two playing sex games? Was she a real prisoner? A kidnappee? If the first instance was correct, then as soon as the guy came home for lunch and his nooner, the game was up and I needed to be way out of Dodge by then. If she was here against her will, would she be more afraid of me than her captors? I knew I should have never left the West Virginian mountains. Flatlanders are just too strange.

First, I began to inspect the place. On the far wall was another tunnel, apparently. I quickly moved to look down it. It wouldn't go into the house, otherwise why would he bother to use the entrance in the barn? Quickly moving down it, after about ten feet or so it ended in another room. On either side of the passageway were two more apparently identical rooms. Probably about fifteen feet square and with a much lower ceilings. These were storage rooms. One had canned food and the other two just had... stuff. I didn't bother to take an inventory.

Somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to make an underground kingdom. Was it something for some long gone criminal enterprise? Surely it wasn't built just to hold one woman.

Back in what I considered the main room, I inspected the woman from behind. From the droop of her tits and what I could see of her body, she was in her thirties. Not bad looking, either. But she was permanently trussed up. Without the keys to several locks, nobody was getting her loose without major work with a hacksaw - and that would take hours. Her head wouldn't move from side to side to look around, but that didn't stop her from trying. She was also trying to speak around the big ball in her mouth but all that was coming out was nonsense syllables. At least that was removable. It was held in with a velcro elastic strap leading behind the steel pole that her head was strapped to.

I reached up and unzipped the velcro, then pulled the ball out of her mouth. As I walked around to the front of her, she called out, almost panicky, "Who are you?" Her eyes were still wide and staring at me.

I decided on the short version for explanations. "Just a passerby, as it were," I answered. "Just one question first, is this a sex game, or are you tied up for real?"

I'm not sure she was paying attention. "Please let me loose, Mister," she begged. "I'll pay you anything you want." However, that sort of answered the question. But, looking at the arrangement that attached her to the pole, it was not as easy as that.

"Ma'am. Do you know where the keys are?" I examined the fasteners up close, and my first impression was correct - she wasn't coming loose without the padlocks being removed. And... Up close, she became quite interesting. It had been quite a while since I had a woman, and this one was leaving nothing hidden. With her arms straight out to her sides, nothing got in the way of viewing her nice titties. And with her legs raised and at maximum spread, her pussy was wide open and airing out nicely. My look-see session was interrupted with her reply.

"No. He carries them with him." She had noticed my examination, and began to worry, I assume. "Please don't hurt me."

I wasn't exactly what society considered a model citizen, but I always considered females to have other uses than as objects to be damaged. "Relax, Ma'am. I admit that I am not all that nice of a person, but I don't usually rape women." I also was never into the tie-them-up scene, but I had to admit that the unexpected display was very nice. I quickly walked around the room looking for anything that might help. Shortly, I knew that she was going to stay spread - there wasn't even a screwdriver laying around.

Back in front of her, I said. "I'm sorry, but there aren't any tools down here." Come to think of it, I remembered that the workbench up stairs was empty of tools also - at least on top. "What the hell is going on here?"

Most women would not be in a mood for conversation when they were splayed out at maximum view for a sudden stranger, but this one didn't have a lot of choice. I suddenly noticed that she had red whelps on her legs and thighs - obviously, beatings were part of the game, also. I continued, "I need to know what is the deal, here. If you and he are playing at sex games, I will need to leave before he gets back. If you have been kidnapped and he finds that I have been her, there is a good chance that he will panic and dispose of your body somewhere. But," I added, "if you want me gone, just say so and I'm out of here."

That finally broke through to her. "No! Please don't leave. You're the only chance I have to escape from him." I spread my hands, and looked inquiringly at her, waiting for more information. "He's my husband. Three years ago I caught him in the panties of a young female down at the granary and left him. My mistake was, that I came back not long after and demanded a divorce and half of what we owned. The next morning when I woke up, I was down here in this old fallout shelter and chained to the wall."

"You've been here for three years?," I asked with incredulity. "Nobody reported you missing?"

She would have hung her head if it could have been moved. "I told all my friends that I was leaving the son-of-a-bitch and moving back to Arkansas. I guess they thought I did just that." Then she became more serious. "Look. All you have to do is go into town and report this to the sheriff. Please!"

Hmmmm. That presented a problem in itself - one that she didn't know about. "Sorry. I can't do that."

That wasn't a piece of information that she wanted to here. "You won't help me?"

"You don't understand. The reason that I'm here is because the sheriff is looking for me for a... well... a problem that I had in town. Besides, I don't have a car or any transportation." At the look of disbelief, I filled in some more. "The story is too long to tell now, but I walked here through a million miles of wheat just looking for a way to get out of the state. This is as far as I got."

"But..." she started. I interrupted her.

"No, let me continue. If he comes back and finds me here, there is going to be a fight. If he has kept you here for three years as a prisoner, then he's looking at hard time for the rest of his life and he has nothing to lose. I'm going to try to help you, and try to get myself out of this fix also, but for now you are going to have to play along with the idea that this isn't happening. If you tell him about me, and I am not here, then you are probably dead and buried in some wheatfield. Understand?" She nodded.

"Hang on for a minute." Like she was going somewhere. I went back up the corridor, then up the ladder to the barn floor. Looking out a crack in the boards, I could see that he was not back yet. I didn't expect him before lunch, but based on exactly one day's observation, that was definitely not a firm guarantee. Looking around the barn, I selected an axe handle for a weapon, just in case it came to that, then went back down the ladder. I stopped in the corridor where I could see into the room before she knew I was back. She was pretty, spread out in all directions, and definitely female. I could feel certain stirrings beginning to rise in my groin.

Walking down the other corridor to one of the rooms with miscellaneous stuff, I looked around for a hiding place. It wasn't hard to make one behind some old furniture. I needed to be able to react instantly in the case of being discovered so I couldn't just crouch behind something. I moved some stuff out from a corner where I could stand and observe through an opening, but still be able to jump out if necessary. I left the axe handle there.

Back in the main room, I stopped in front of her and said. "Ok, speak softly. We need to hear when the trap door opens. That will give a few seconds to get your gag back in and me hidden." I sat down in a chair to the side of her so as to be able to see both her and he corridor. "Are you strapped to this thing every day??

"No. Only every few days. Sometimes it is on that rack over there..." Her eyes went to the left. "Sometimes to those chains behind me..." She looked ahead. "Or on that table, or those stocks. But, yes, everyday I am spread out on something."

"Even at night?"

"No. At night I am chained to that bed behind me. Usually with my wrists hooked behind my back."

I looked over at the small kitchen area. "What do you eat? And when?"

She made a wry face. "In the morning and evening. I get cold gruel, usually oatmeal or soggy cereal. Sometimes he pisses or shits in it. God, would give anything for a hamburger and french fries!" She was almost crying. "Usually, he eats dinner on that table in front of me. But I never get any of it."

Sitting in my chair, her bare pussy was just below the level of my head. It was nice looking and my cock was responding to it. "I assume that the usual reason for your being chained up is sex?"

"Yes. Usually at noon and always at night. He'll be in here at lunch. He'll fuck me right here standing up, and then walk back out. At night, he plays around. If you're still here, you will know when it starts when you hear me screaming."

"Screaming?"

"Yes. He likes the whip." Her eyes went right. I turned around and for the first time noticed a variety of whips and canes on the wall.

Son of a bitch, I said under my breath.

"Over there are the other toys. Nipple clamps, ass spreaders, throat feeders. The worst is when he ties a plastic bag over my head until I pass out." She paused for a minute. "Well, maybe it isn't the worst. That rack over there will stretch me until I think I am going to die. Sometimes I pass out from screaming."

After some more conversation, that was both tillitating and horrifying, I looked at my watch. It was getting close to the time that he returned yesterday.

"We had better get you ready. He should be back soon." I reached for the ball gag, and began to strap it behind the pole.

Before I placed it in her mouth, she pleaded. "Please mister. Get me out of here. You can have any part of me for as long as you want if you just get me free from him."

"We'll talk more this afternoon. Open up." She opened her mouth wide and I let the elastic pull the ball in. Standing up, I put the chair back where I had originally found it and looked around for any incriminating evidence. Jesus H. Keerist! I had left the lights on in the back corridor. I hurried back and shut them off, then went up the ladder and sat down to where I could see into the front yard.

About a half hour later, the truck started up the driveway. I immediately went down the hole, shutting the trap behind me. I nodded to her as I passed, then went down the back corridor to pick up my axe handle. I had decided not to hide in the room behind anything. If things went south, I didn't want anything to get in the way of action. I just stood in one of the doorways to where I could look up the corridor into the main room. From this vantage point, I couldn't see her, but I could watch the entrance to the room of the exit hallway for his entry.

Sure enough, in a very short while I heard the trap door slam down. I started counting seconds until he appeared. That was good to know. In case we were surprised by him coming down unexpectedly, there were about fifteen seconds between the trap closing and his appearing in the room. More than enough time for me to exit and hide.

He was about her age - thirtyfiveish, or so - medium build but getting a little on the chunky side. I was considerably younger than he, and in much better shape, but unless he had also been through special forces training - unlikely - I would have no problem handling him if things got physical. Unless he got suspicious and came down with a shotgun, I added. Still, I wanted to avoid that. A dead farmer would vastly complicate my life. Especially, since the sheriff would immediately connect his missing fugitive with the crime.

He passed out of view. The hallway I was in was dark, so I slowly ooched along one wall until the angle allowed me to see the woman and him. Just like she said, he wasted no time. He was standing in front of her with his pants around his ankles, and his rod furiously pounding in and out of her pussy. His fingers were busy with her nipples, and hard enough that I could hear her trying to scream around the gag.

It wasn't long before he blew a load into her. After a few moments of relaxing, he withdrew, reached down and pulled up his pants, then took a boob in each hand and slapped them together a couple of times. "Thanks again, bitch," he said. He reached under the table and bought out a short three legged stool and set it between her legs. Climbing on it, facing her, he reached down and unzipped the gag. Apparently, she was well trained on what to do, since she immediately took his still erect dong in her mouth.

In the back of my mind was the thought that this must be one horny stud if he thinks he can get off again just minutes after pumping out a load. No way. She must be cleaning him up, I decided. Then as I saw her throat move, I realized that he was pissing in her mouth and she was swallowing it. Shortly, he stepped down, pushed the ball back in her mouth and crossed the velcro ends.

With that he turned and left the room. The entire performance only took a few minutes.

I heard the trap close, waited a few minutes, then re-entered the main room. Obviously she was still as I had left her, except now for having cum dripping out of her hole. I removed the gag, and asked, "Where does he go all day?"

She worked her jaws for a few moments, then asked. "What is the date?" I told her. "Then he's getting ready for the harvest. Probably bossing either the harvesters or the rakers. What are you going to do?"

First, I put the ball gag on the floor in front of her. "If he comes back before I do, this ball just came loose. Understand?" She nodded.

What was I going to do about her situation, is what she meant - not mine, of which she knew nothing. "Let me look around." Back up the ladder I went. Now I knew that I probably had all afternoon before he came back. I started looking for his tools. There were none in the barn. I next started on the other much smaller buildings. One had junk. Another was the well house. Still another was filled to the top with cloth sacks. What the hell. A farm with no tools? How could that be? Back down the hole I went.

Over at her steel cross, I examined the locks and chains again. Shit. The locks were labeled as case hardened, which meant that a hacksaw was almost useless. Probably the chain was also. Not for any reason of security against a mere woman. Far lighter chains would keep her totally secure. They were either all he had to use at the time, or he got off by thinking of her being restrained in almost uncuttable bonds.

"Where does he keep his tools?", I asked. "I can't even find a screwdriver."

"He has a ton of them on the red dually."

"I haven't seen a red truck. Just a white half tonner."

She swore. "Shit. It has to be with the combines for the season."

"How far is the nearest town to the north?" I asked. Obviously, I wasn't going south back to where my current troubles began.

"About thirty miles," she answered. Well, that took care of the idea of walking to the hardware store.

I sat down in the chair without moving it. The view was really erotic, even with it being so serious. "Doesn't that position cramp after being in it all day?"

"Some," she answered. "Back in the days when I was first chained up, I thought I would die before evening. I couldn't feel my arms or legs by mid afternoon. After a few weeks, I gradually got used to it." She grimaced, "It isn't as bad now as the plug in my ass. I never get used to it, especially since he always makes it bigger."

I stooped down in front of her, but all I could see was the crack of her split pussy, and a small shelf that she was sitting on. I moved around back and from the side could see something that apparently stuck up into her asshole. It wasn't going to come out - with her body strapped to the pole there was no way to lift her up. "Holy fuck. How big is it?"

"See that set on the wall?" Her eyes moved to the right, toward the whips. On a shelf was a series of conical looking plastic shapes, from about an inch wide to massive thing about five inches across. About half way down the shelf was a space, obviously for an intermediate size. Looking at the shapes on both sides of the missing item, I could estimate its size - about three inches across.

My jaw dropping, I looked back at her. "That thing is up your asshole?" How the hell would something that big fit?

All she said, was "Yes."

I turned around to look at the wall closely for the first time. There where all kinds of weird gadgets on the shelves. I was never into the tie up and torture scene, so most of them were strange to me. Many, I couldn't even imagine how they might be used. The dildos I recognized, of course - there must have been two dozen. But the suction cups, tubes with squeeze bulbs, metal rings and hooks of all kinds - what the hell did those fit? Some items had wires, so apparently they used electricity for something - vibrators, I supposed.

I sat back down. "Does he ever leave you unchained?"

"No. Never." She was calmer now. "In fact, he will put that chain behind me around my neck before he releases me from here."

"And then?" I was trying to determine the best time to try to break her loose.

"Well, tonight he will probably come down and eat in front of me. Then some torture just for fun. In this position, it is usually that nipple stretcher." I got up and looked on the wall. "No, further down. More." I was pointing. "Up. There. That one."

I picked up a strange device and walked over to the front of the woman. A thought hit me. "By the way. What's your name?"

"Susan."

'Hi. I'm Jerry." I held the device up. "This is a nipple stretcher?" It is hard to describe. There was a polished wooden bar, about a foot long, flat and thin. In the direct center was a eight inch long steel bar with threads, ending in a large rubber pad on one end and a knob on the other. At the ends of the wood bar were eye hooks. That was it. How it stretched nipples was beyond me. I looked at it for a few more minutes, puzzling.

She spoke up. "See the rubber pad? Set it between my breasts with the little hooks over my nipples." I held it up hesitantly as she said, "Now imagine that two strings have been tied to my nipples and then to the hooks. Right?" I nodded. "Now if you turn the screw with that knob, it will begin to push against my chest and start pulling the nipples outward. Simple as that."

I pulled it away, still looking at it. "This is supposed to be a fun sex toy?," I asked as I put it back on the shelf.

"It is for him. If you're here tonight, you'll be able to tell how much I enjoy it from the screams. Usually, he stops before I pass out from the pain."

I sat back down, thinking. "Is there a neighbor nearby that might have tools?"

She tried to shake her head. "No. The closest is an old woman. She won't have anything. Any others are miles away."

"How far is the place where your husband is working?"

"Who knows," she said. "He could be anywhere in a fifty mile radius. He also rents his machines out to other farmers or the co-op."

Shit. This had to have a solution. The rifles in the house. Could I use one to shoot the locks off without wasting her? Probably a bad idea. Any gun powerful to unhinge a case hardened lock would be highly dangerous to use in a concrete room without some kind of shield. Besides, there was the danger of only being half done when he came back. Then it would get back to the problem of one of us expiring. Him, I was pretty sure, but I would still be involved in a problem that would be very sticky. Me a fugitive and with a dead body.

She suddenly grimaced. "What's wrong," I asked.

She wiggled a leg. "Just a cramp." She looked down with her eyes only. "Will you massage it?"

Interesting. Was this a come on, or was she really hurting? It occurred to me that I was the first person that she had a normal interaction with in three years, if her story was the truth. She was probably enjoying the company, now that the shock of my appearance had worn off. I reached over with both hands and enveloped her thigh. "Here?"

"A little higher. There. Squeeze it. Hard."

I squeezed and pulled and kneaded for a while. Then shifted to the other thigh. She felt good, but for me it wasn't an erotic state of affairs. This was a really strange situation I had gotten into, and I would probably eventually enjoy the body in front of me. But not now. Too much was happening and eventually one of the happenstances was going to wind up with violence, probably. We continued to talk as I worked her legs and arms, always staying away from anything personal. Finally, I picked up the ball gag, stood up and said, "It's getting pretty close to the time he came back yesterday. We need to get ready." She opened her mouth in agreement, and I refastened the gag on her.

Back up the stairs I went and sat in my watching position. About sundown, he drove up, but stayed in the house a while. Finally, he started across the back yard and I immediately headed up the ladder to the loft. Hours later, he came back up and went into the house. She had said that sometimes he came back down during the night, so I decided to sleep in my hay for the night. I was a sound sleeper and there was too much chance of my waking up downstairs and finding him standing over me with a gun. Or not waking up at all.

Sleep wasn't a problem for a while. All I could do was lay back and think. Of what I had found. What had happened. What I was going to do. There were all kind of scenarios that I could think of.

First, I shoot the guy, take his keys, release her and we hot foot out of town. But this is harvest season and he would be missed by early the next day. We're caught in a stolen truck of the deceased man. Does she explain how I rescued her from a dastardly husband who had horribly tortured her? Or does she claim that I killed her husband, then kidnapped her? That might be too tempting - she not only gets rid of a husband she hates, but now has the farm to herself, lock, stock and barrel. Meanwhile, I get strapped down on a table and injected with state approved bye-bye juice.

Ok, second scenario. I walk the long distance to town, avoid the cops who were told to look out for a young stranger who tried to crack a safe, then find a phone somewhere - a problem in itself, since pay phones have almost totally disappeared. I call 911, somehow, and claim that I know of a woman being held as slave down the road. From the looks of the size of the farm, the guy is rich and probably is buddy-buddy with the local law officers. They all have a good laugh at the crank call, then he goes back underground, tortures her to death for real, then buries the evidence somewhere in a zillion square miles of farmland.

Well, how about a third idea? Late tonight, I cut his phone line, hot wire the truck, and hot foot out of the state. From there I can write a detailed letter to several agencies to get her free. One problem, where is his cell phone that he is going to be using the instant that he hears the truck start up? Once again, I am back in a small room somewhere being asked questions that I don't want to answer.

Ok, how about this? If I were to... Oh, fuck this. There has to be an answer somewhere.

My training came back. When you are in a life threatening situation, or even one that might get you life, don't just rush out shouting and shooting. Just relax until you have situational awareness. Gather all the intel you can, then calmly and cooly come up with a plan.

Morning. I watched him disappear down the same road again, then went to check on Susan. Entering the room, the pole with the cross member was empty. This time she was chained spread eagled standing up in the middle of the room. Two chains from rings in the concrete ceiling held her arms up at an angle on each side, and two shorter ones to rings in the floor kept her legs at maximum spread. But this time she was wearing some kind of mask.

I walked up to examine her and realized that the mask was actually a leather hood that covered her entire head. There was a hole in the back where her hair exited, but no holes for either ears or eyes. The place where her mouth would be had a round hole about an inch across and inside her mouth was what appeared to be one of those wiffle balls that golfers use to practice with. That is, it was plastic and full of holes. I assume this was how she was breathing, since there were no holes for her nose either. A ring on the top of the head was connected tautly to another and lighter chain directly overhead. I wondered if I could put the whole contraption back on if I took it off. Then as I walked behind her, the question became academic.

The entire apparatus was locked on with three small padlocks down the back of her head and behind her neck.

That settled that. I was on my own today. We were not going to do any conversing while that mask was on. I wondered if she could even hear.

Not shouting, but with some volume, I placed my mouth near her ear and said, "It's me, Jerry. I'm still around." Her head tried to move, but all it could do was turn slightly side to side. "Do you hear me? If so, wiggle your fingers." I looked up to see her fingers move for a few seconds. "This thing is locked on and I can't get it off, but I will be around somewhere. I'm not leaving you. Understand?"

Wiggle, wiggle.

Well, now what? No since in staying down here. Upstairs I might run across a hammer or something. The rest of the morning I spent exploring the house and the entire grounds. There were no tools, period. I assumed that it was deliberate - that he didn't want anyone who might have found the dungeon, to be able to free the captive. I also noticed that there was no phone in the house. That was interesting, but didn't quite know what it meant.

Hours later, I was like a castaway on a desert island. I couldn't get off. Noon came and went, and the husband didn't. I assumed that the absence was work related, but it upset my schedule. He could arrive at any time, or not at all. I finally went back into the barn, laid down and relaxed. I still didn't have a plan.

Late that evening, I went down to check on Susan. To no surprise, she was exactly as I left her. I let her know I was still here, then sat down and looked. By now the shock of my situation was over, and after two days was becoming almost normal. Now I was seated, looking at a very desirable female, totally naked and completely open for my inspection. What the heck, since she couldn't see, hear or talk, I might as well pass some time by looking even if I couldn't touch. I stooped down and enjoyed a long look at her very desirable pussy, now spread open enough that I could see the clit, her peehole and the love tunnel, now partially open. Standing up, inspecting her tits passed some time. They were nice, probably C's or so, drooping somewhat - probably because she hadn't worn any support for three years. From behind she was nice also. I expected to see a gaping hole in her buttcheeks from the huge plugs that she had to wear, but it was just a normal ass dimple like any other girl's.

By now, my cock was standing at attention and ready to go, but I was hesitant to just take the woman, even though she desperately needed and wanted my help. But, a sudden plan for tomorrow made me smile.

Creak... Thump... The trap door. I immediately removed myself to a far back room and barely looked around the corner. With the usual delay, he walked into the room. Immediately, he stripped down to the buff. He appeared to be normal, ordinary sized cock and balls. Quite a bit of flab for someone who worked outside all day, but maybe he just supervised.

I could see the action from my peeking around the corner of the room and down the corridor. This time she was chained directly inline with the passageway. I heard some crockery clank - apparently he was fixing some food.

In a moment, he walked back into view and up to her, and loudly said, "Hello, bitch. Your favorite hubby is here." He grabbed a hand full of tittie and massaged for a minute. Then the other hand reached behind her and did something I couldn't see. "This has been a good day. We got all of Childresse's grain siloed. Tomorrow is Barker's turn." Back to the kitchen for a second, then... "We sure could use some help this year, but I guess you would rather just stand around than work in the hot sun." Clink, clink went some plates. "I'm in a good mood. While we wait for dinner, I'll give you the choice of entertainment. Do you want ole Betsy, or the Snicker Snake?" He waited for a moment, but all the reply she could make was a low moan through the gag.

"The Snake you say? Ok, good choice." I could see her trying to shake her head, and all the while keening through the gag.

He walked out of sight over to the wall and then came back into view with what looked like a bull whip. Holy shit! With a flip of his wrist he wrapped it around her back, just below the shoulder blades. He didn't use his full strength, by far - that thing would cut her to ribbons if used at full bore - but it still made a loud crack as it hit. I could see her writhe in the chains, her legs and arms straining at the restraints, and her hands now made into rock hard fists.

I almost jumped out at the first crack, and only barely kept myself out of sight. Tie up and torture games were one thing, but this was real. I told myself that she had been putting up with this for three years - a few more days wouldn't make any difference and would give us a chance to turn the tables.

Nonetheless, the guy had no idea just how close he came to being strangled with his own whip.

About ten lashes later, which I watched, both horrified and fascinated, she was no longer responding and was hanging by her wrists. At least with what little limpness she could have while stretched taut between the ceiling and the floor.

He put the whip up, did something in the kitchen, then walked back to her. He pinched and pulled and fingered for a while, then finally set something on the table - soup, I think. He sat down and ate for a while, reading a paper while she still just hung there. After a while, he finished, cleaned up and walked behind her. He reached around and grabbed both tits, then stooped a little, wiggled his hips, and finally entered her asshole from behind. Unlike the previous exhibition that I had seen, this time he was in no hurry. Eventually, he pumped his load up her chute, then walked to his clothes and pulled out a large set of keys.

Ah. That is where they are kept. Ok, now we are getting somewhere.

First, he stooped down and unlocked one of her ankles. Then he picked up the end of of what Susan called her "sleep chain," wrapped it around her neck and secured it with the lock that he had just taken from her ankle. Then the other ankle and both wrists were released. He held onto her to keep her from falling, then sat her in the chair at the table.

The three little locks on her mask were taken off, and then the leather mask itself. Immediately, the little plastic golf ball was spit out and she sat there gasping for breath. Immediately, he grabbed her by the hair, pulled her head down to his shit smeared dick, and she commenced to swallow it. She moved her head back and forth to allow her mouth and tongue to clean it, then he held her motionless while he emptied his bladder into her again.

Finally, he reached around, picked up a bowl and set it on the table. "Eat and wash." Then grabbed his clothes off the floor and left, holding them.

I didn't want to make an appearance for fear that she might break down, so I just stood and watched. She spooned something from the bowl to her mouth for a while, then disappeared from my vision. I heard water running for a short time, then silence.

In about fifteen minutes, he reappeared, fully clothed, did something out of my vision, and left again. This time he was only down here about two minutes.

After listening for the trap to shut, and waiting for a few minutes more, I slowly walked out into the room. Susan was laying on the bed, on her stomach, with her wrists in large metal cuffs behind her back - and hooked together. Her back wasn't cut, but it had vivid red horizontal stripes up and down like a technicolored zebra skin. Then I noticed that between them were older marks of the whip.

She didn't hear or see me as I stood there and looked. I was trying to decide if I was going to nail the son-of-a-bitch up by his balls, or cut them off first and stuff them in his mouth before nailing him to the sunny side of the barn by his hands, feet and ears.

I went to the ladder, climbed and slowly lifted the trap door to see if the coast was clear. It was, and I popped up into the barn. It was nighttime with a partial moon as I looked out the barn door at the house. He was still up, since there were a couple of light on - probably tired from the days work. What I needed was his keys, but not yet since I didn't know how to escape from this island in the middle of a wheat ocean. Stealing the truck would be hard to...

Wait a minute. I could see the truck in the moonlight and it wasn't his little half ton pickup. It was too dark to see colors, but it must be the red dually she spoke of - with TOOLS! I moved across the yard slowly, watching the windows, but fairly safe in the darkness. As I got closer, I could see that the truck was not a dually, but instead was a full sized long bed dump truck of some kind. What the fuck?

The logo on the door said Tenneson Co-Op. Shit. It was a grain truck. He must have driven it home after the picking or harvesting or combining stopped - whatever it is called - intending to deliver it in the morning. Shit again, no tools. The keys were the only option, still. I kept looking, and finally found a working flashlight - my first good luck since this weird adventure started.

Suddenly, the back door opened and he stepped out onto the back porch. I tensed, but was safe in the shadows, so I just watched. He was saying something but I couldn't make out what it was. What the hell? Who the fuck was he talking to? Was he on a cell phone? He moved up to the porch railing and stood there, still talking. I couldn't quite make out what he was holding... Ah, it was a bottle and the guy was plastered - talking to and answering himself. Then I realized that he was pissing off the porch.

I sat down by the barn, in the cool night, and thought. A glimmer of a plan began to form. It had some holes, but at least it offered more than just growing old here sitting in a barn. But I needed some more information.

After an hour or so, all the lights went out in the house and I returned to the underground dungeon - dungeon is what I was thinking of it being. She was still laying there, but this time had her eyes open and saw me come in. She sat up, for some reason seemingly happy to see me. I don't know why. All I had done to date was watch her get the crap beat out of her without doing anything to help.

"Oh god," she almost cried. "You're still here. I was afraid you had left." Me, I added the missing word. I sat down beside her and she leaned against me. "Hold me, please." Oh shit, now what. She couldn't possibly want sex after that episode. Maybe this was just a girl needing assurance thing - I didn't know. All of my experience with women consisted of laying on them for a while, then getting up and leaving.

"Look, I can see that he beat the crap out of you, but I need to ask you something." I was kind of ashamed and didn't want to admit that I stood by and watched the beating. "He's driving a big long dump truck full of grain. At least, that's what he drove home with. Where will he take that in the morning?"

She looked at me for a moment, then asked, "Do you know whose truck it is?"

I thought for a moment. "It had something Co-op on the door. Tenahaw or..."

"Tenneson?"

"Yes," I answered. "That was it."

"Ok, then he will drive it to the co-op in Tenneson, dump it, and drive back to the field."

"Which way is Tenneson and how far?"

She scooted her butt back on the narrow bed to lean against the wall. Hard to do with your hands fastened behind you. "It's north. About thirty miles."

"Hmmmm. How big is it? Do you know if it has a tire store?"

"It's a small city. I don't remember how big, but it has a couple of tire shops. I've hauled lots of farm equipment there to get re-tired."

"How often does he get drunk?" This info would make a big difference in my plans.

"He drinks all the time, some nights more than others. Sometimes he comes down her totally smashed, but I don't mind since on those nights he is usually to wasted to do anything to me."

I stood up. "Ok, I've got a lot to do before morning. And if it works, I probably won't be back before tomorrow night.

I started rapidly walking through the wheat toward the direction that I had first come. I knew that my bike was at least several miles away, in a gentle draw with scrub brush about a mile off the road. I would have the moon for two or three more hours, which helped a lot. I knew how to navigate at night. First I picked a star, low on the southeast horizon in the direction I wanted to go, then headed for it.

Hours later, I could still see the silhouette of the house on the horizon, but it wasn't small enough yet. I sure hoped that creek went clear across the field and I didn't miss it and walk on through wheat for the rest of my life.

About midnight, I finally stumbled into the shallow draw. I had no idea which way my bike was, so by default I just turned toward the road. Now I was using the flashlight sparingly as I walked. I lucked up for the second time that night. In about fifteen minutes I came to the cycle. I had tools in the saddlebags to to maintenance on a cycle, but unfortunately none to break hardened chain or locks. Shortly, I had the front wheel off, picked up the heavy sob, and angled for the road. I would make much better time walking on asphalt than through crops. When I hit the road, I set the wheel down, rested for a few minutes, then picked it up and took off north toward the house.

About three AM, I pulled into the driveway, pretty well exhausted. But I wasn't though for the night. First I needed to rest a bit, so I walked around the passenger side mirror of the truck. Hoping it wouldn't break, I grabbed hold and tried to rotate it. No luck. Using the shielded flashlight, I located the proper nuts, then with my crescent wrench, loosened them enough to rotate the mirror out of alignment. Then I tightened it back up.

Next, I climbed up onto the trailer at the far back with my cycle wheel, and put it under the canvas tarp. Now I just had to wait for morning. Pushing some of the grain out of the way, I lay down just low enough below the sides not to be seen from the ground. Shortly, dead tired, I was asleep.

Something woke me. It was barely light, and fortunately I had the presence of mind not to sit up and look around. I heard various doors slam as he apparently went around his morning chores. Finally, I felt the truck shake as he cranked the diesel, and shortly we were heading down the driveway. I was watching for the turn onto the highway - if it wasn't north, I was getting off. But it was.

We had the road to ourselves and I looked for things to identify my position when I returned. There wasn't much but the ever-present wheat. A few houses, but they were few and far between. I don't think we met a single vehicle on the road. Certainly, nothing came up behind us.

Eventually, I saw evidence of a town ahead. More houses, the road widened. I got ready to dismount the truck as soon as it stopped for a light. I was hoping to not have a car following us so I didn't have an audience, but I would do what I had to do. Finally we were in the downtown area. She told me the co-op was on the railroad tracks near the middle of the city, so we were probably close. The truck pulled up for a traffic light, and I climbed over the passenger side of the dump bed, grabbed my wheel, and dropped to the ground. Since I had changed the angle of the mirror on this side, I hoped that he didn't see me drop off. Just in case of watchers with curiosity, I turned around and gave the truck cab a thumbs up, as though the ride was planned.

Now I just needed to find a cycle shop, or at least a tire dealer. I walked into a service station on the corner and asked to borrow a phone book so I could find a motorcycle dealer. The young kid at the register already knew. Shortly, I was walking down the road following his instructions. Eventually, I came to a small cycle dealer, asked for the service manager and delivered my wheel for rubber replacement.

Since I had all day, I casually asked about a shop that might sell used bicycles. The manager gave me directions to a couple of places that might have some. I walked through town looking around and enjoying myself. The last couple of days with the chained woman almost seemed like a dream. At least now I could have a real meal. Plus I needed to purchase a few things for a plan that I was developing.

I found an old used coaster bike at the local Salvation Army store and bought it cheap once I determined that it worked. Cheap was good, since I didn't have a huge amount of money on me. Now I could move around town much faster. I found a local hardware store, but didn't want to ask the clerks about what I was really trying to find - a tool that would cut case hardened locks and chain. I didn't want them wondering what a stranger in town wanted to cut locks for. The only thing they had were some high speed rotary tools that were out of my price range. Besides the new tire, my remaining money was needed for gasoline and food.

After lunch, my wheel and new tire were ready. I paid for it and walked back to the vacant lot where I had left the bike. Using a couple of bungie cords, I tied the wheel to the panel over the back wheel. It was an awkward and heavy load for a bike, but it only needed to make one trip. Now, I wondered how to get out of town without anyone seeing the strange sight of a person on a bike hauling a big motorcycle wheel on the road south - a straight road that had almost nothing before the next town but a few farms.

Maybe I was being paranoid, but I just didn't want to chance it. Since it was going to be a long night again, I found some shade that was out of sight of any passersby, and took a nap. The sun was close to the horizon when I woke, and I walked down the road to a hamburger joint and filled up again. When it was close to full dark, I began to walk the bike down the street toward the road south. Finally, I got on and began to pedal.

The town was behind me, the road was totally dark, but the moon was up and I did fine. I had about thirty miles to go so I just set a steady pace and cruised on. Fortunately the road was absolutely flat and straight, so it wasn't long before I found the speed that was most sustainable by me. Of course, tomorrow my legs were going to a mass of sore muscles, but this was the only way to get back that I could think of.

Hitchhiking would definitely put me in somebody's memory, especially when I asked to be let out somewhere on this empty road. I would have to explain the reason for the motorcycle tire, and it was too soon after a guy blasted out of the next town, and on this same road, on a hog with the sheriff close behind. I didn't want to spend the money on a taxi, assuming that the little town had one, and it would have the same problem of the driver remembering the guy with the tire.

I met or was overtaken by a few cars early on, and as the night progressed they became fewer and fewer. As soon as the lights began to get close, I would just wheel off the road into the fields. On this road there was no shoulder - the crop was planted right up to the pavement. It was easy to hide.

About midnight I came to the farmhouse and kept going. Several miles further on, I slowed down and started to look for the small stack of cans that I had marked my earlier exit with. I had no problem finding the marker, but soon realized that you can't ride a bicycle through a thick wheat field.

So I walked the bike the mile to where my hog was laying. In about an hour, I was in business again. I felt great - no longer castaway in this huge sea of grain. In a couple of hours this place could be a hundred miles and a weird memory behind me.

But first, I had something to do.

One thing a hog isn't, and that is quiet. I couldn't motor up to the farmhouse. Even if he was drunk, as he apparently was every evening, the sound from the muffler would probably wake him up. I motored slowly back to the road, with my jacket over the headlamp. I looked both ways - no lights even in the far distance. Of course, it was about 3 am so I didn't expect any. I headed for the farmhouse and as I got closer I cranked it up to about seventy, then cut the engine and coasted to a few hundred yards from the house. Then I wheeled it into the field about fifty feet, trying not to make too obvious a path through the grain, and laid it over.

If they started cutting here in the next week or so, I would have to find a different hiding place, but for now it would do. Then I walked back to the barn, went upstairs and collapsed.

I didn't wake up till mid morning. Sure enough, I was starting to feel the thirty miles of bicycle pedaling, but at least I had caught up some on my sleep. I looked out to make sure that the driveway was empty of trucks, the headed down the two ladders. I wondered how she would be displayed today.

Wow. This time she was on a small square table, on her back with her legs raised, knees bent, spread wide and ankles fastened to the top of two steel posts at the corners of one end. Fastened with the same locks, of course. Her arms were even with her head and fastened to the table in shackles. There was a steel band around her neck that was also locked to the table. This time, EVERYTHING she had was showing. The effect was erotic beyond belief and my rod immediately responded. Before entering her line of vision, I reached down and adjusted it to the least visible position.

He had apparently taken the opportunity to shave her in that position. I could see some razor nicks on around and above her pussy. At least I didn't see any new whip marks, although since she was laying on her back, I could have missed dozens of them. I walked up and removed the ball gag, again setting it on the floor under her in the hope that he would think the velco came loose.

"Good morning," I said, sounding like an idiot. Again, she was happy to see me for some reason. Probably because I was the only person she had seen in three years who wasn't carrying a whip.

"Jerry!" she exclaimed. God, I keep thinking that you will just leave me here. All I can think of when that bastard leaves is whether you will come back in the door."

I was still looking up and down at this woman who was displayed for maximum access by anyone who came along. I needed to get my mind off of the sight and back on the problem. But, female that she was, she immediately knew what I was thinking.

Coyly, she said, "What you see is what you get. I don't have anything to hide from you." She looked at me, judging how I was taking in the view. She rattled her bonds, as if trying to get loose. "If you see anything you like, all you have to do is take it. In fact, if you put my gag back in, I can't even complain."

Holy shit on a shingle. She was asking me to do her, right there, right now. Was it because she actually wanted sex? More probably, she wanted me to become interested in her and as a result, get her the hell out of here. I was sorely tempted, but it was too close to noon and the SOB might walk in at any moment.

I reached down and picked up the ball gag and her eyes lit up as I reinstalled it. I reached over and pinched a titty nipple, hard enough to make her yelp around the gag, then leaned over and kissed her on the other one - the first time I had touched her intimately since I had found her. "You wait here, OK?" I said. "Don't go anywhere."

I went back to the loft to await the man.

He came home for his lunch and his nooner right on time, but he didn't stay downstairs much longer than to just unload his nuts quickly. Then he was off again.

I watched him disappear in the distance, then immediately set off for his kitchen. I grabbed a pan, set it on a burner of the stove, and began to build a meal. I knew from the other day that he had the ingredients for what I wanted. As soon as I had it made, I cleaned up everything, wiped the counter down and even took the used paper towels with me. I left the back door open so that the smell in the kitchen would air out.

Back in the dungeon, I walked over to Susan. In this set of restraints, she could move her head around to follow me. "Do you mind if I eat? I've been up all night working on our escape." I brought my hand up from below the table, looked at the big hamburger that I had made, then took a huge bite. Her eyes widened as she saw what it was, then began to make the most pitiful sounds around the gag.

"eeeeeeasee. eeeeease." She tried to lift her head up, but the throat band stopped her.

"I can't understand a word you are saying. Tell me again."

"eeeease iiiiiibbb eeee uuuumm."

I knew full well what she was saying, but I replied. "Are you asking me if it is good. Yes it is." More pitiful sounds.

I decided that any further play was getting into the major cruelty stage, so I reached over and took her gag loose.

"Please, Jerry. Let me have a bite. God, you can't imagine how I have been craving real food for years."

"Not so fast," I replied. "I seem to remember you saying that you would give anything for a hamburger." I looked up and down her spread out body. "What do you have to offer?"

She was getting desperate as I seemed to be eating the sandwich up. "Anything you see here. Use my pussy. My asshole. I'll suck you off. Anything! Please!"

I put my finger on her stomach, then moved it slowly up to her breasts, then down almost to her crack. "So, if I give you my lunch, then I can have anything here I see whenever I want it?"

"YES! YES! Anything!"

"As often as I want?"

"YES! Day and night! Anytime! Pleeaseee!"

Enough joking. Besides I didn't want her meal to get cold. I picked up another plate and set it on her stomach. "I made one especially for you." I held it to her mouth and she tore into it like a shark on a feeding frenzy. I grabbed both sides of her jaw with my free hand. "Slow down. We have plenty of time and you are probably going to chuck it all back up if you inhale it so fast. Understand?"

She nodded and began to chew more slowly.

I'm not that great of a cook, but she almost looked like she was in a permanent state of orgasm as she chewed. I bent a straw so that she could suck on a cold can of coke. Once again, her face showed to be in the throes of a foodgasm. Even though I got her to slow down, it didn't last long. I sat back and finished mine and just watched a woman who was totally contented. A women who was a genuine slave, with real lashes on her body, and stretched out like a victim in the Spanish inquisition. All of this forgotten because of an amateur built hamburger.

I collected the paper plates, napkins and the coke cans, put them in a bag and immediately took them upstairs and buried them behind the barn. I looked around - nothing coming up the road, but I didn't expect him for hours yet. My almost completed plan required two things - his driving another grain truck home for the night, and his tying one on again the same night.

Back in the dungeon, she was waiting for me. "Ok, it's your turn," she said.

"My turn for what?" I really didn't know what she was talking about.

"I ate your hamburger, you get to use my body." A matter of fact statement - like announcing that she was going to the grocery store.

She was serious. "Whoa, I was just having some fun at your expense. You don't owe me anything."

"Oh no!" she said, adamantly. "We made a deal!" She rattled the chains on her ankles. "Now decide what hole you want to use and get started." She looked up and down, mostly down as far as her head and eyes would tilt. "You aren't gay. I can see that from here. And no normal straight man can stand in front of a spread woman and not want her."

It wasn't that I didn't like the idea. In fact, like she noticed, my dong was overjoyed at the idea. And normally, at that kind of invitation, I would already be pumping her. But in the circumstances, I didn't want to put myself in the same class as her son-of-a-bitch husband - her soon to be EX husband if my plan went right.

She changed her tack. "Please?"

What the hell. I moved to her side and tweaked a nipple. She made little yelp. Then, cupping a tittie, I said, "Can I play with these?" She nodded, but was quiet. On finger slowly traced down her body, around her navel, then a little lower until it went over the hill from where we could see. "Uh-oh," I said with a frown.

"What's wrong," she asked anxiously.

I furrowed my brows. "I think something is broken." I moved my finger a little further along to a little bump that I could feel. I twiddled it. "Yep, I can definitely feel a crack down there." As my finger moved, she drew in a sudden breath.

"It isn't broken. It's working fine. I can feel it."

I moved closer to her face as my finger kept going. I rolled my eyes up as my finger explored. "Hmmm. I wonder where that leads?" I asked as the digit entered her twat.

She was breathing harder now. "Paradise, maybe?" she guessed.

"Could be." Further on I came to her taint. I pinched it. "I wonder what that is. Doesn't seem to have a purpose."

"Yes it does," she giggled, wiggling her rear. "Without that, it would be one big hole."

"You mean there is another one down there somewhere?" Further on, my finger entered her dark rear channel. "By god, you're right. Another one." I wiggled it a round a bit. It was definitely much looser than any other woman's asshole that I had ever probed - obviously a result of the massive plugs that he stuck in her from time to time.

I frowned again. "I wonder which path would be the best one to explore?"

Still squirming as my thumb took over the massage of her clit, she offered, "A brave adventurer never leaves any path unexplored."

"Well, I can't tell just by feeling. I better check them out up close." I moved around to the end of the table. Wow, she was as spread as a woman could possible be. Her entire pussy was wide open. Even the inner lips were parted, giving a view of a partially open hole. Her little clit button was also in the clear. I moved closer and took it gently between my teeth.

I was alway good at cunninglis, and I enjoyed it - that fact made me very popular with some part time girlfriends. I used to use the word on my buddies. Only a few knew what the word meant. I began to massage it with my teeth and tongue. Every now and then my tongue would travel down the slit and then back up. It wasn't long before she was rattling her chains and pulling on her shackles for real - no come-on play this time. My two fingers began to probe the two side-by-side holes, which apparently added to her discomfort, since she continued to pull and wiggle, obviously trying to escape from her bonds.

Eventually, she went over the edge with a massive shudder and a too loud squeal.

After letting her relax, and waiting for the post-orgasm muscle spasms to end, I stood up, unbelted my pants, and stepped up to her and announced, "My turn." She just smiled and waited. I slowly entered her pussy, and it felt wonderful, but I was never in one that didn't. I kept my feet on the floor, but bent my body so that I was partially laying on her, supported by my elbows in such a way as to let my hands have free reign of her titties. Face to face, I said, "You're right. That path does feel pretty good. I moved my face down wondering if she would kiss.

That question was answered immediately as her tongue began to explore my mouth. In these circumstances, and given the length of time since I had had a woman, or even pulled my pud myself, I knew that I wasn't going to last long. And I didn't, but it felt good anyway. I lay on her for a few minutes, kissed her shortly again, then stood up and pulled out.

I pulled my pants up, walked over to the commode and stripped off a couple of feet of toilet paper. Then, stooping down in front of her pussy, I cleaned her up throughly. She jumped at the touch. "What are you doing," she asked.

I looked at her over her stomach and replied. "If your beloved comes down here in the next half hour and finds fresh jism running out of his slave's cunt, you are probably going to be asked some questions the hard way. Relax."

Shortly, I moved around to her side, sat down on the chair and leaned over to her. "Thank you. That was really good." I tweaked a nipple again. "But, there are still lots of places I haven't explored."

"Explore all you want and any time you feel the... need for adventure," she said with a smile. "But, if you get me out of here, we can really explore unknown places."

I sat up. "Ok, pussy time is over. Let me tell you my plan. If you don't like it or what will happen to him, now is the time to let me know."

For a couple of hours, we talked. The only problem she had with my idea, was that it didn't end up with her husband in a pot of oil, slowly being heated over a fire. Preferably with his balls already cut off.

I rehearsed what she was to do, in the case that the plan worked. There wouldn't be much time for us to get clear, so we had to be fast and decisive in our actions. If worse came to worse, I could just motor to another city, pawn something of his, buy a diamond rotary cutter, and free her. But this way, she might just be repaid for the three years of torment.

I was upstairs when he came home for the night - in his little truck. So, the plan was off for tonight. The next day, she was in vertical stocks. Two steel poles were bolted to the floor about four feet apart. At the bottom was a set of thick wooden stocks holding her feet widely apart, and at neck level was another set holding her wrists and her neck. Again, they were closed with the same locks.

This was a wooden set of restraints, and I could have cut through them with a saw except that her neck chain was still on and locked. Besides, we were playing for bigger stakes than just freedom for her. Fortunately, he was apparently too tired to play torture games, so all she had to do was stand there all day in relative comfort. She didn't even have a gag. I enjoyed using her butthole from behind while playing with her jugs and the front of her slit. She did too.

The next day was the same. His personal truck. She was stretched on her back in a rack. At lunch he rotated the capstan to tighten the ropes till she screamed bloody murder. Again, it was all I could do to keep from snapping his neck. Fortunately, after making her suck him off, he loosened them before he left for the rest of the day. No sex today for us. She was too wrung out from the pain.

Damn it. Still the same truck. Now he had apparently gone completely around the horn. She was back in the pole gadget that I had first seen her in. I have to say, I enjoyed it. She was easy to fuck standing up spread like that. And her twat was easy to access with my mouth. Given the circumstances, it was a fairly enjoyable day for us.

Finally, two days later, he showed up in the, or a, grain truck. But, my high hopes were dashed when I discovered that it was empty. Shit! Now they were working on his fields. Far in the distance I could see machines going back and forth. Soon, I was going to have to move my hog to somewhere.

The next day, we were back to his little truck again. I settled into my hidyhole for the night, then suddenly heard another truck. Looking out the upstairs window - actually, it was just an opening with a solid door - I saw, not one grain truck, but two pull into the driveway. And they were full, if the bulging tarps on top were good indications. I watched as the two drivers got out, then went into the house. Shortly, all three came out, got into his truck and drove off.

Obviously, he was taking them home for the night. They would be back in the morning to drive them off.

It was showtime.

I waited for night. This time, when he went into the dungeon for his evening torture fix, I immediately entered his house. I knew that he would have the all important set of keys with him, but I was looking for some more. Sure enough, on the dining room table were two sets - the keys to the two trucks. I grabbed them both, being very careful not to leave fingerprints on anything. If all went well, foul play wouldn't be suspected, but you can't be to careful. In his bedroom, his wallet was laying on the dresser. I opened it and took out about half the money, which later turned out to be about three hundred dollars. We might need that for gas in our getaway. My stash was getting low and she had no money at all. We didn't even know where her purse might be after all these years.

From his gun display, I took a revolver and a holster belt. I didn't bother to see if it was loaded.

I put on the blue shirt I had bought in town, and the hat also. It was a bus driver's hat, but it looked official - especially in the dark and to a drunk.

At the closest truck, I tied a rope to a certain handle, then pulled the tailgate latches open. The pressure of the wheat pushed them out somewhat and a gush of grain poured to the ground. I was hoping it wouldn't be an avalanche. Fortunately, it slowed to a trickle then stopped. I tried the keys in both ignitions to make sure which one was which.

Now the hope was that he did his usual nighttime drinking.

Eventually, his fun was over and he came out and back to the house. Now I had to risk it and watch him as best I could through various windows. I was relieved to see him carry a bottle and a glass to the living room as he sat down to watch TV. By ten o'clock, he had gone though about half the bottle. That much would have totally stonkered me, but I knew that for an experienced drinker, it probably wouldn't have him falling down drunk.

Now it was waiting time. As I crouched there in the dark, I was reminded of certain ambuscades that I had been on in the Middle East. There also, it was nighttime, the plan was solid, we hoped, and also depended on the other side to do the same thing again.

Finally, the lights went out. I waited for thirty minutes. I wanted him not only drunk, but groggy from interrupted sleep. I stood up, gave myself the age-old war cry, "This is it" and opened the cab on the first truck. Reaching in, I switched on the ignition, hit the glo-plug button, counted to ten, and engaged the starter. Being a fairly modern truck, it fired immediately. Loud, being a diesel, but it might not have wakened him in his condition.

I ran to the front door, rang the doorbell, and knocked loudly on the wood. Nothing. Then again. A light turned on. Watching through the window for movement, I finally saw some, then shouted, "Mister Harris, this is the sheriff's department." I hoped that would keep him from opening the door with a shotgun in his hand.

Then I heard, "Who did you say?"

"Sheriff's department. Deputy Wilson." Just a name I made up right then. He opened the door and saw a young man in a blue uniform, sort of, with a gun belt and a tall policeman type hat. "Ah, Mister Harris," I began urgently. "I'm Deputy Wilson. We need your help!"

He stepped out onto the porch unsteadily, and said, "What's happening."

I turned around an apparently peered into the night. Then facing him, I said in a low voice, "We think that a gang is going to hijack your trucks tonight. They want them to use to transport pot over the border. Can you help us?"

Even if he had been a lot less drunk that he actually was, it would be unlikely that he would have turned down a request for help from the law. As it was, he was more than willing to give assistance. "Y..yes, certainly. What do you want me to do?"

I went on with my total bullshit story. "We have men all up and down the road, but I need you to point out which direction your harvesting equipment is. They'll be coming from that direction." Why? I asked myself. Beats the hell out of me, I answered - I just need him to go over to the trucks. I shut off the internal monolog with an effort.

"Ok, follow me and keep quiet and low." I half crouched as I moved down the steps toward the drive way. Looking around, I could see that he followed, also crouching to keep from being seen by unknown eyes. Actually, not only unknown, but non-existing. He followed me until we stopped at the tail-end of the closest truck. As we waited, I decided that he must be fairly drunk for real - he wasn't even curious, or didn't notice, the truck engine running, even though the keys were supposedly on his dining room table.

I spun around, and crouched. "What's that, John?" I said in a loud whisper to a nonexistent comrade. Then, "Ok, got it." I turned to the SOB and said, "Someone is coming. Get down on the ground." I flopped down on my stomach to show him what was needed. We both lay prone and looking into the darkness.

Ok, this was the payoff. If I fucked up here, then they would find both of us in the morning. I reached up and took hold of the rope that I had tied to the dump handle earlier. And pulled...

I heard the hydraulics whine as the dump bed began to rise. As soon as wheat started to fall out of the tailgate, I stood up and planted a foot squarely in his back to prevent him from rising. The wheat began to flow rapidly, then suddenly an avalanche of grain poured out. It was up to my knees before I could react and jump away. I hit the ground, rolled to get my feet under me, then jumped as hard as I could. As I rolled to a stop, I could see a ten foot high pile of grain and it was still flowing out of the bed.

In seconds, the flow had stopped and several tons of wheat lay in a pile on the ground.

I ran into the house, up to his bedroom, making sure that I left no fingerprints anywhere. The all important set of keys was on the dresser. Grabbing them, I headed for the dungeon.

She was asleep, having no idea that this was D-Day. I yelled her awake, then unlocked the chain from around her neck, then her wrists from behind her back. For the first time in three years, she was unrestrained.

"This is it," I said urgently. "Get up and let's go. Remember your part of the plan." Almost unbelievingly she followed me up the hall to the ladder. Up we went, making sure to close the trap behind us. For good measure, I dumped several bales of hay over it.

She was supposed to go into the house, see if any of her old clothes were still there, and if not put some of his on. Anything, but hurry. Meanwhile, I ran down the road to where my cycle was hidden, lifted it up, cranked it and roared up to the house. Inside, she was crying buckets, but had managed to put on a shirt and pants - both far too large. She looked like a refugee from a rummage sale, but we could fix that down the road.

"Lets go," I insisted. "When the sun comes up, we need to be far over the horizon." I had bought a map in town, and had committed it to memory. I knew exactly which horizon I was heading for. At my still running cycle, I put her in the old used helmet that I had also bought in town, planted her on the rear seat, jumped on myself, and roared north down the road.

When we came to the city that I had visited, I made sure to drive through slowly and not attract attention, then on the other side, went back to seventy again. Finally, we hit the Interstate and headed east at full legal speed. By sunup we were most of the way across Kansas. By noon we were in Arkansas, stopping only twice for some really fast food and once for some real clothes for her. By now I was beat and needed to rest before I had an accident. Since we didn't have a credit card between us, I had to pick a fleabag hotel, but we didn't care.

We lay down on the bed and she cried herself to sleep.

In the morning, she was still halfway in shock, but was still crying intermittent happy tears. We enjoyed each other sexually for a while, then checked out and continued on, but at a much less breakneck speed. Later that day we came to our destination - her widowed aunt. I was introduced as a nice young man who rescued her niece when her car was wrecked in another state. As they talked, with Susan trying to maintain the air of just being a normal female, rather than one who just escaped from a torture dungeon, I announced that I would go and find myself a hotel. Her aunt would have none of it - nothing was too good for a young man who helped her niece in time of need. I was given a spare bedroom for now.

The entire reason that we were here was that her Aunt was a known relation that Susan was known to have visited during their separation - one that would be called in an emergency involving Susan, as the authorities tried to find her. Sure enough, on the second day after we arrived, the phone rang. Shortly, her Aunt entered the room with a stricken expression. Apparently, there had been an industrial accident involving her husband. Susan took the phone and listened. After hanging it up, she informed us that apparently he had gotten drunk and somehow had been killed by some machinery.

I told both of them that I was at loose ends at the moment, and I would be glad to take her home, if she could show me the way. Both she and her Aunt were very grateful.

A year later.

I am a hired hand on a large wheat farm. The work is easy, the pay is good and the benefits are unbelievable, if exhausting. My boss, a woman, took over the operation when her husband was killed in some kind of accident, and is now the sole owner of one of the largest farms in the state of Kansas. I just fell into the job by accident, sort of. Because she is a widow, living alone on a very lonely stretch of road in the middle of unbelievably vast grain fields, she asked if I would use one of the bedrooms in the house as my quarters. Just so as to have a man around for emergencies. What the heck, I decided to say yes.

My boss was giving orders. Or trying to, but not having much luck since she was stretched out wide on a table, with her legs high and spread, and her wrists and neck in shackles. And she was naked, which didn't lend much to her authority. Being sort of a rebel type toward taking orders, I decided to cut them off at their source by inserting a large ball gag in her mouth.

I sat in a chair between her legs trying to make a decision. There were two paths I could explore, and I couldn't decide on which one. So I filled in the time by inspecting each one at length with my fingers - or sometimes with my tongue. By now, I could tell that my boss was about to get really unhappy with my lollygagging around, instead of getting down to work. But, boss or no boss, on occasion a man has to demonstrate the difference between a man and a woman. Sometimes I took a whip off the wall and popped her good with it. Not enough to cause damage, of course, but enough to sting. Usually that was all that was needed to quiet her down and make her apologize profusely.

This was the off season in the grain business - after the harvest but before planting time - but oddly enough, as the boss began to have more free time during these periods, the she just kept me busier than ever.