Carrie finds herself tied to a tree in the woods late at night...
The moon hung low and cold over the dense pines, casting jagged silver streaks through the branches. Carrie’s wrists burned where the rough rope bit into her skin, looped tight around the thick trunk of an old oak. Her ankles were bound separately to lower roots, forsing her legs apart just enough that the night air licked cruelly between her thighs. She was in her bikini that she was wearing earlier in the day before she was taken and left here shivering, goosebumps tight across her pale skin. At thirty-two she still carried the soft curve of a woman who’d borne children and then starved herself back into jeans that hugged her ass, but tonight none of that mattered. Tonight she was meat.
She didn’t scream anymore. The first man—the one who’d dragged her from the side of the road after her car broke down—had clamped a hand over her mouth until she understood that noise only made things worse. Now she breathed in shallow, ragged bursts, blonde hair plastered to her sweat-damp neck, blue eyes wide and glassy.
Footsteps crunched on the leaves.
The first stranger didn’t speak. He was middle-aged, balding, wearing a fleece jacket that smelled faintly of motor oil and beer. He stopped a few feet away, the tore off her bikini and stared at her small breasts rising and falling, at the dark, pebbled nipples already stiff from cold and fear. His gaze dropped to the dark triangle of hair between her legs—untrimmed, unapologetic, the kind of bush most women her age had long since shaved away. He liked that. She could tell by the way his breathing changed.
He stepped forward, unzipped, pulled out a cock already half-hard and thick. No preamble. He pressed the blunt head against her dry slit, rubbed once, twice, smearing pre-cum into the coarse curls. Carrie whimpered, hips jerking uselessly against the ropes. He pushed in anyway—slow at first, savoring the resistance, then harder until he bottomed out with a grunt. Her body stretched around him, inner walls fluttering in protest. He fucked her like he was angry at her for existing: short, brutal strokes that slapped wetly against her thighs. Her small tits jiggled with each thrust; dark nipples scraped against the bark every time he drove deep.
He came fast—too fast—spilling hot and thick inside her with a low groan. Pulled out before he was even soft, wiped his softening dick on her thigh, zipped up, and walked away without a word. Semen immediately began to leak out of her, glistening in the moonlight as it slid down the inside of her leg and soaked into the dirt.
Minutes later, another set of footsteps.
This one was younger—maybe early twenties, hoodie up, hands shoved in pockets until he saw her. His eyes lit up like he’d won something. He didn’t bother with his jeans; just shoved them down to mid-thigh, cock springing free, already leaking. He grabbed her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, and lined up. One hard shove and he was buried to the root. Carrie gasped, head knocking back against the tree. He was longer than the first, thinner, and he fucked with quick, rabbit-like pumps, chasing his own pleasure. Her clit—swollen despite everything—rubbed against his pubic bone on every upstroke. She hated the way her body responded, the shameful coil of heat building low in her belly.
He lasted longer than the first. When he came he pulled out at the last second, painting thick white ropes across her hairy mound and lower stomach. Some landed on the dark curls, clinging like dew. He laughed under his breath—short, mean—and left.
The third man arrived while the second man’s cum was still warm on her skin.
He was older, heavier, bearded. He didn’t rush. He knelt first, face level with her cunt, and inhaled deeply. Then his tongue—broad, wet—dragged up through the sticky mess of two other men, parting her folds, tasting everything they’d left behind. Carrie’s thighs trembled. She tried to close her legs; the ropes held her open. He ate her like a starving man, sucking her clit, lapping at the leaking hole until her hips bucked ....... When she was dripping again—her own slick mixing with strangers’ cum—he stood, thick cock in hand, and pushed inside in one long, slow slide.
He fucked her deep and deliberate, grinding against her clit with every roll of his hips. His beard scratched her neck as he leaned in, breath hot against her ear. “You’re soaking, slut,” he muttered. “Fucking dripping for it.”
She came then—shamefully, violently—walls spasming around him, a broken sob tearing from her throat. He didn’t stop. He kept going until he flooded her again, adding his load to the mess already inside her, then pulled out and watched it drip in thick strands to the forest floor.
They kept coming.
A trucker with callused hands who bent her forward as much as the ropes allowed and took her from behind, grunting about how tight her ass looked (though he never touched it). A quiet man in his forties who jerked himself off against her thigh until he painted her hip, never even entering her. Two friends who arrived together—one fucked her mouth while the other used her cunt, swapping halfway through so they could both finish inside her pussy.
By the time the sky began to lighten at the edges, Carrie was a wreck. Cum streaked her thighs, matted her pubic hair into sticky clumps, dried in crusty patches on her stomach and tits. Her cunt was swollen, red, gaping slightly when no one was inside her. Rope burns circled her wrists and ankles like red bracelets. Her blonde hair hung in damp tangles.
She didn’t move when the last man left.
She just hung there, breathing, leaking, waiting for dawn—or for the next set of footsteps.
The woods stayed quiet.
For now.
The moon hung low and cold over the dense pines, casting jagged silver streaks through the branches. Carrie’s wrists burned where the rough rope bit into her skin, looped tight around the thick trunk of an old oak. Her ankles were bound separately to lower roots, forsing her legs apart just enough that the night air licked cruelly between her thighs. She was in her bikini that she was wearing earlier in the day before she was taken and left here shivering, goosebumps tight across her pale skin. At thirty-two she still carried the soft curve of a woman who’d borne children and then starved herself back into jeans that hugged her ass, but tonight none of that mattered. Tonight she was meat.
She didn’t scream anymore. The first man—the one who’d dragged her from the side of the road after her car broke down—had clamped a hand over her mouth until she understood that noise only made things worse. Now she breathed in shallow, ragged bursts, blonde hair plastered to her sweat-damp neck, blue eyes wide and glassy.
Footsteps crunched on the leaves.
The first stranger didn’t speak. He was middle-aged, balding, wearing a fleece jacket that smelled faintly of motor oil and beer. He stopped a few feet away, the tore off her bikini and stared at her small breasts rising and falling, at the dark, pebbled nipples already stiff from cold and fear. His gaze dropped to the dark triangle of hair between her legs—untrimmed, unapologetic, the kind of bush most women her age had long since shaved away. He liked that. She could tell by the way his breathing changed.
He stepped forward, unzipped, pulled out a cock already half-hard and thick. No preamble. He pressed the blunt head against her dry slit, rubbed once, twice, smearing pre-cum into the coarse curls. Carrie whimpered, hips jerking uselessly against the ropes. He pushed in anyway—slow at first, savoring the resistance, then harder until he bottomed out with a grunt. Her body stretched around him, inner walls fluttering in protest. He fucked her like he was angry at her for existing: short, brutal strokes that slapped wetly against her thighs. Her small tits jiggled with each thrust; dark nipples scraped against the bark every time he drove deep.
He came fast—too fast—spilling hot and thick inside her with a low groan. Pulled out before he was even soft, wiped his softening dick on her thigh, zipped up, and walked away without a word. Semen immediately began to leak out of her, glistening in the moonlight as it slid down the inside of her leg and soaked into the dirt.
Minutes later, another set of footsteps.
This one was younger—maybe early twenties, hoodie up, hands shoved in pockets until he saw her. His eyes lit up like he’d won something. He didn’t bother with his jeans; just shoved them down to mid-thigh, cock springing free, already leaking. He grabbed her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, and lined up. One hard shove and he was buried to the root. Carrie gasped, head knocking back against the tree. He was longer than the first, thinner, and he fucked with quick, rabbit-like pumps, chasing his own pleasure. Her clit—swollen despite everything—rubbed against his pubic bone on every upstroke. She hated the way her body responded, the shameful coil of heat building low in her belly.
He lasted longer than the first. When he came he pulled out at the last second, painting thick white ropes across her hairy mound and lower stomach. Some landed on the dark curls, clinging like dew. He laughed under his breath—short, mean—and left.
The third man arrived while the second man’s cum was still warm on her skin.
He was older, heavier, bearded. He didn’t rush. He knelt first, face level with her cunt, and inhaled deeply. Then his tongue—broad, wet—dragged up through the sticky mess of two other men, parting her folds, tasting everything they’d left behind. Carrie’s thighs trembled. She tried to close her legs; the ropes held her open. He ate her like a starving man, sucking her clit, lapping at the leaking hole until her hips bucked ....... When she was dripping again—her own slick mixing with strangers’ cum—he stood, thick cock in hand, and pushed inside in one long, slow slide.
He fucked her deep and deliberate, grinding against her clit with every roll of his hips. His beard scratched her neck as he leaned in, breath hot against her ear. “You’re soaking, slut,” he muttered. “Fucking dripping for it.”
She came then—shamefully, violently—walls spasming around him, a broken sob tearing from her throat. He didn’t stop. He kept going until he flooded her again, adding his load to the mess already inside her, then pulled out and watched it drip in thick strands to the forest floor.
They kept coming.
A trucker with callused hands who bent her forward as much as the ropes allowed and took her from behind, grunting about how tight her ass looked (though he never touched it). A quiet man in his forties who jerked himself off against her thigh until he painted her hip, never even entering her. Two friends who arrived together—one fucked her mouth while the other used her cunt, swapping halfway through so they could both finish inside her pussy.
By the time the sky began to lighten at the edges, Carrie was a wreck. Cum streaked her thighs, matted her pubic hair into sticky clumps, dried in crusty patches on her stomach and tits. Her cunt was swollen, red, gaping slightly when no one was inside her. Rope burns circled her wrists and ankles like red bracelets. Her blonde hair hung in damp tangles.
She didn’t move when the last man left.
She just hung there, breathing, leaking, waiting for dawn—or for the next set of footsteps.
The woods stayed quiet.
For now.
