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Jon Smithie



I am often inspired by stories (as with King Diocletian’s “Miss Berkeley’s Voyage” inspiring my own “Mina Berkeley’s Voyage,”) to add a sequel or to take a story in a different direction. In mainstream movies and books this can be, and usually is, a simple and inconsequential scene, or not particularly graphic, but is to me highly suggestive. That was the case with a two part miniseries I watched way back in 2009 called “Meteor.” I was inspired by a scene from the mini series that is pretty much a throwaway, and wrote an expanded version filtered through my own perverted imagination. That's why I think of my version as "Meatier."

The back story involves Imogene, a beautiful young scientist who has calculated that a meteor will impact earth and create an extinction event.

Through various plot contrivances involving dangers and high drama, including Imogene being kidnapped by desperadoes in a Mexican jail, (which oddly enough, was a more suggestive and graphic scene than the one that did get to me) she finds herself alone on a dusty, back of beyond road. In order to save the world she must relay her calculations to the military. To do so she desperately needs to find a phone.

She comes upon a convenience store, outside of which two men are unloading supplies from a jeep. One is young with blond frizzy hair, the other middle aged, a hard looking man wearing a wife beater, a sleeveless open shirt, and a camouflage cap.

"Fifty dollars," he says, when she asks to use the phone.

"That's ridiculous!" she sputters, and explains that she is a scientist who must contact the authorities immediately with critical info . . . He gives her a blank stare.

Angry, frustrated, she turns away, pulls a Glock from her waistband, spins back around and points it at the stubborn redneck.

There is a tense stand off. Then the young man, who’s eased himself out of the picture yells "Drop it!" He's pointing an AK at her. A cynical smile plays across the face of the redneck as Imogene leans over to put her gun on the ground.

In the movie the young man yells "Now go!" or some such foolishness and she scampers off down the road, but what if the scene had played out more like . . . this. . .

"Don't shoot me!" Imogene cries, "Please, I'll go!"

"Stay right where you are! Put your hands up!"

The older man approaches her and picks up the Glock. He waves the barrel at her. "Put that down!" he says, indicating the laptop she holds in her hand.

"You don't understand!" she says, "This computer has my critical targeting algorithms! I have to get to the Air Force Base! Please! We're all going to die!"

"Put it down, now!"

She complies, setting the toughbook carefully on the hood of the jeep. Before she can talk sense to him he says;

"One hand. Take off your shirt."

This is the second time today a man has told her to take her shirt off.


"You don't ask me questions. I want to see if you're carrying other weapons."

"I'm not"

"Let's see. Take off the shirt. One handed."

Grateful that she'd worn the camisole top over her bra, she delicately undoes the one button holding the shirt closed and shrugs out of it.

"Hands up, and turn around. George!" he yells at the younger man, throwing the shirt at him. "Check the pockets. And get the cuffs."

"Alright" he says to Imogene. "Turn towards me. Keep your hands up."

He looks her up and down. She is one hot little bitch, he thinks, with a college kind of pretty, a pretty that comes of good family and wealth. He could tell in the tone of her voice that she is used to getting everything she wants. She thinks she can get away with anything. He has no doubt that city boys probably go right along giving her whatever she wants too. God, what a great rack.

"One handed," he says. "Undo your trousers and step out of 'em"

"What! I'm not the Terminator! I don't have another gun! I don't have a knife! For God's sake will you get it through your head this is an emergency! I only need to use your phone!"

"I don't appreciate your tone, Miss, and if you don't get out of those trousers I will shoot you dead here and now."

After the day she's had Imogene isn't frightened as much as frustrated and angry at this redneck asshole who's delaying the only chance the world has to survive. For a moment she almost says fuck it, and reaches for the computer to walk away, but another look into the hard face of the man makes her hesitate. If she dies, if the data and calculations in the toughbook are destroyed or lost here, then humankind has no chance.

She reaches down with one hand and unsnaps and unzips her jeans. She draws first her right leg and then her left leg out of the jeans.

"I'm sorry I pulled a gun on you," Imogene says. "But please, hear me out. You have to understand how important this is. This is bigger than you or me. There's a meteor that's going to collide with the earth. It could wipe us all out. You, me, your son. Please, you have to help me. I wouldn't have hurt you, I couldn't have. Please."

"Step back," he says. He picks up her trousers and throws them sideways to where George was. "George!" he yells, "hurry up!" Then he wags the barrel of the Glock at her. "Take off that top"

Imogene swallows her fear. She has been in some really tough situations today and she's gone about as far as she's willing to go. She shakes her head. "No."

The sound of the gun going off makes her jump and scream.

"Do it!"

Off comes the camisole top. She huddles in her underwear, holding her arms over her full breasts. She wishes she'd worn a bra with more coverage.

"Get on the ground, face down."

As she complies she looks up to see George returning. He has a pair of handcuffs.

"Hands behind your back."

Rather than simply cuffing her wrists behind her he twists her arms behind her and cuffs her wrist in a reverse prayer.

"Oh, they're too tight!" she cries. "That hurts! Let me go! Let me go, damn you!" She wails.

The redneck, Albert, pulls the young woman to her feet. "Shut your mouth," he says. "Or I'll really give you something to squawk about. Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to call the Sheriff. He's going to come and arrest you and haul your ass off to jail. In the meantime I'm going to make you regret you ever pulled a gun on me."

"The Sheriff's dead," Imogene says. "He was trying to get me to the Air Force Base when the car crashed. Don't you get it? In a few hours, there won't be any law, no civilization, no nothing!"

"Well, then, I guess we'll have to provide our own law. And right now you're under arrest."

Albert pulls her along to a large outbuilding where he keeps a Dodge Charger he's restoring, an old tractor that doesn't run anymore and miscellaneous farm equipment and building materials. He pulls Imogene to the back of the barn, and pushes her against a post.

"George, I want you to uncuff her. And you," he says to Imogene, "you're going to reach around behind the post. We're going to cuff you to the post. You aren't going anywhere for a while."

"You're making a terrible mistake." She says. Her eyes are wet with tears. Please, please I beg you, try to understand. . ."

"If you don't shut up we'll gag you. I just can't take anymore of your mouth."

George has been staring at the young woman's body. He's never seen anything so fine. Not in real life. In porn, yeah. But not in real life. And not handcuffed. Not in a bra that's a little too small for what it's trying to contain, and hip hugger panties. In bondage porn, yeah. And yes, he does know the difference between fantasy and reality. And this smoking little bitch, sweating and crying and now handcuffed to the post, she's as real as it gets.

Albert eyes George's crotch. "Don't get ideas boy," he says

"It's real, its happening." Imogene says desperately. "Look up in the sky. See for yourself. You have TV here, don't you? You have radio up here, don't you, you have newspapers, you can read? If you don't believe me, you can check for yourself. People are dying out there!"

"George," Albert says, "Go get me a couple a rags, should be some over by the Dodge."

"Please," the young woman says. "My name is Imogene. I'm a scientist, an expert in meteor trajectories. You have to help me."

George comes back with the rags. Albert takes one that is oil stained and dirty and rolls it up in a tight ball. "Open your mouth."

"No. No, you can't."

"I told you I've had all the shit I'm going to take from you. Open wide or I hurt you."

Then suddenly he punches her in the belly and jerks back on her hair. He jams the large wad in her mouth and holds her mouth closed as she gags and mewls. When she settles down a bit he twists another rag in into a narrow strip and pushes it between her teeth, cinching it tight in back of her neck..

"Maybe that'll keep you quiet."

George and Albert stand back from the helplessly struggling young woman. George and Albert are not father and son. George works for Albert at the store, but they are not really employee and employer either. George had started working for Albert a year ago, and Albert let him because he didn't have to pay him. George worked for ho hos and hamburgers, and mainly to get out of his house, where his father, when he was around, abused him. Eventually he just stayed at the store, and his parents didn't seem to miss him. There is another benefit. George's mother, when she wasn't drunk, had objected to his bondage porn collection. She said it was sick. Albert didn't. He had a collection of his own.

"Uh, Albert," George asks, "What's the Sheriff going to say?"

"If what she says is right, there won't be a Sheriff. Anyway, she pulled down on me, she deserves what she's getting."

"You believe her?"

Albert shrugs.

"Haven't I always said something like this had to happen? I always thought it was going to be terrorists or liberals. 'Course, maybe this meteor crap is just a cover story. Anyway, we're ready, so bring it on, is what I say."


Marla Sokoloff as ImogeneView attachment 925991

Imogene offers money for the phone call. View attachment 925994 Not enough. A phone call today is $50.

Imogene pulls a gun. View attachment 925990

"Drop it!" View attachment 925992

You've messed with the wrong redneck.
View attachment 925989

View attachment 925993 Imogene earlier that day, escaping from a Mexican jail. Don't ask. It's just been one of those days. But it's gonna get worse.
I always wondered how these people show a perfect makeup in the middle of the desert at very hot days and escaping from Mexican jails. I myself look in less dramatic cases as if I just came out of Stalingrad. So If I would be one of the rednecks I would have emidiately shot her thinking it is an alien, so no torture, no cruckifixation, or what that is man!

Jon Smithie

I always wondered how these people show a perfect makeup in the middle of the desert at very hot days and escaping from Mexican jails. I myself look in less dramatic cases as if I just came out of Stalingrad. So If I would be one of the rednecks I would have emidiately shot her thinking it is an alien, so no torture, no cruckifixation, or what that is man!
Funny you should mention her makeup. I mentioned it myself in the introduction when I first posted this on another website years ago. But hey, movie women go to the gym, go swimming, and to bed with perfect makeup. They always find a parking spot in front of the store and never have to wait in lines. But after all, Imogene has been through a kidnapping, a couple of small meteor impacts, and a car crash or two, so she does have a couple of dirt smudges on her face. As I said, it's been a tough day.


Funny you should mention her makeup. I mentioned it myself in the introduction when I first posted this on another website years ago. But hey, movie women go to the gym, go swimming, and to bed with perfect makeup. They always find a parking spot in front of the store and never have to wait in lines. But after all, Imogene has been through a kidnapping, a couple of small meteor impacts, and a car crash or two, so she does have a couple of dirt smudges on her face. As I said, it's been a tough day.
That is one of the funny things seen in movies and actually I also enjoy watching movies for their grotesque and dadaist displaymenst. Think just how most Hollywood actors always end up in bed wearing underwear to cover the delicate parts, just hilarious. Or the fact that the good guys always hit and the bad guys always miss in shootings: That is such a fun!

Jon Smithie

That is one of the funny things seen in movies and actually I also enjoy watching movies for their grotesque and dadaist displaymenst. Think just how most Hollywood actors always end up in bed wearing underwear to cover the delicate parts, just hilarious. Or the fact that the good guys always hit and the bad guys always miss in shootings: That is such a fun!
Lol. Don't get me started! I have a background in the military and health care so my particular favorites are war movies and medical dramas. They can be completely laughable, or at least they are now, now that I've torn all my hair out watching them.


Lol. Don't get me started! I have a background in the military and health care so my particular favorites are war movies and medical dramas. They can be completely laughable, or at least they are now, now that I've torn all my hair out watching them.
Yes me was long time working with mortars in my countries army, so I always get thrightend when they appear! A big compliment to the makers of "The Pacific" in that respect. The funny thing is, when I saw footage from Vietnam war, I discovered the same bad acting at the mortar. Guns ar e a big problem in movies and TV series, I think NCIS did first a good job, but later it worsened.


Rebel Leader
Staff member
This could only happen in Arkansas!

Really well done, Smithie. A great addition to the “scenes we would have liked to have seen” genre . Anxious to read Moore!


This could only happen in Arkansas!

Really well done, Smithie. A great addition to the “scenes we would have liked to have seen” genre . Anxious to read Moore!
Hm..... We became a little off-topic, but I might be able to bring some slightly changed memories of my military time into the subject, but was crucifixion happening in Vietnam war, so we would be back again.



Jon Smithie

Hm..... We became a little off-topic, but I might be able to bring some slightly changed memories of my military time into the subject, but was crucifixion happening in Vietnam war, so we would be back again.
We did go a little off topic, but I started the topic, so I won't get offended. I do feel I should give you a bit of a spoiler alert though, dfg, if your main erotic interest is crucifixion, then you will be disappointed in the story. However, this is one of the darkest and most sadistic stories that I've written, so Imogene does get put through the mill.


We did go a little off topic, but I started the topic, so I won't get offended. I do feel I should give you a bit of a spoiler alert though, dfg, if your main erotic interest is crucifixion, then you will be disappointed in the story. However, this is one of the darkest and most sadistic stories that I've written, so Imogene does get put through the mill.
I am here for learning for my stories, so do not worry.

Jon Smithie

Meatier (cont.)

"Do you want me to finish unloading the jeep?" George asks.

"In a minute. In a minute. Don't you think she looks a little too comfortable?"

"What do you mean?"

"Get the hammer and some nails. I'll show you."

Imogene has desperately been trying to keep her composure, but she is now in extreme fear, both for herself and for the world. The gag is gritty with old dirt and smells and tastes of oil. She'd almost thrown up several times, knowing if she did so, she could easily aspirate vomit. She doesn't want to die like that. She has to stay strong, but she is nearly panicking. She grunts and mewls at the two men, pleading with her wet, teary eyes.

When George brings the hammer and nails, Albert tells him, "I'm going to pull her arms up behind her. When I've got 'em up as high as I want, you pound in a nail, and we'll hook the cuffs over it."

George nods nervously.

Albert takes the girls handcuffed hands, then pauses. "Wait a minute."

He brings over a cinder block and places it at the base of the post. "Stand up on that, girl," he says, helping Imogene up on the block.

"Okay," he says, slowly pulling Imogene's wrists up. She begins to grunt with the strain in her shoulders as Albert lifts her wrists and arms higher behind her. She has to thrust her chest out to counteract the growing strain. He hauls her wrists up higher, until they are even with her shoulders. She cries out through her gag, protesting the fire in her shoulders.

"Right about there," Albert says.

George pounds in a nail, and Albert hooks the chain of the handcuffs over it.

"That should do it."

They both step back.

Imogene is sweating profusely in pain and fear. Her hair is now matted and plastered to her face. It's hot in the barn, and that and fear and exertion have made her sweat profusely. The tops of her breasts jiggle with each breath, each movement, each shift of her torso. Tears stream down her face. She pleads with her eyes and her muffled voice.

Slowly Albert pulls the cinder block away. Toes scrabble desperately for the ground as the block moves. She grunts in fear and then pain as the shoulders take even greater strain. She stands on tiptoe now, breath coming in grunts, fast, nostrils flaring, trying to accommodate the increasing strain.

"Okay," Albert says, slapping George on the shoulder. "Now let's finish unloading the jeep."

The two men work for an hour, neither mentioning the young woman stripped to her underwear and secured painfully to a post in the barn. Frequently they pause and look up as more and more streaks of meteors crease the blue of the sky. Now and again they feel the earth tremble with distant impacts.

"Maybe the bitch is right, Albert."

"Don't call her a bitch. She's a prisoner."

George was aware that Albert could be a little strange about things. He liked order and control. The store was always organized and neat. It had to be just so. And he'd heard Albert refer to women, especially his ex, as cunts and whores and bitches, so he was a little tender that Albert corrected him. But he never talked back to Albert. Albert could be hard and cold, but the man had never lied to him.

"I was just wondering if I could take another look at the prisoner."

Albert nods. "I guess we ought to check on her."

The young woman's body is streaked with sweat. She is groaning. She is no longer on her tiptoes. Her feet cramped within half an hour and she is now flatfoot. She is twisting and writhing, trying however she can to relieve the pressure and strain on her shoulders. But the constant writhing only causes greater pain. She sees the two men and cries out to them through her gag, incoherently pleading and begging.

"George, go find an eye bolt and some rope"

George runs to the store. They have a small selection of hardware, screws and nails and such in assorted sizes. And eye bolts. He gets a large one and grabs a coil of sisal rope and hurries back to the barn.

Meanwhile Albert traces little droplets of sweat down the young woman's chest. The bra cups are wet with perspiration, and her nipples show through. He hefts the soft fullness of the round breast and thumbs the nipple through the nylon of the bra. He looks in her eyes. She has wide, green eyes. He is aroused like he's never been before. Suddenly he realizes that's exactly what she wants. He steps away from her. Like all women, all she wants is to weaken him.

Albert takes the eye bolt when George brings it and starts it in the post with the hammer and screws it in. It's a little above the nail that hooks her cuffs.

"What you going to do, Albert?" George asks.

Albert ties a loop of the coarse sisal around Imogene's right ankle, and snakes the free end through the eye bolt. Then he hoists her leg up behind her, and ties off the rope when her ankle nearly reaches the eye bolt.

Imogene screams as her hip and knee is twisted up. She wails piteously into the gag. Her breasts tremble as she tries to catch her breath in the strained position.

"Thought she still looked a little too comfortable," Albert says.

George's breathing comes quick and shallow. Every time he sees this girl it's like a new revelation. Like his lust is being taken to a higher level. He takes Albert aside. He doesn't want the young woman to hear.

"Could we, you know, fuck her sometime"? George asks.

"She's a prisoner."

"I know that, sure, but can we?"

"We got to try her first, then sentence her."

"Sentence her?" George asks.

"And then punish her."

"Looks like she's getting punished pretty good right now."

"That's just payback for pointing the gun at me. It's not official. She'll be tried for trying steal from us, and threatening us. She could have killed me. She's got to be punished for that. Let's leave her like this for awhile, get some stuff done in case it is the End Times. We got no time to waste. Christ could be comin’ to judge the world, and we still got to judge her."

The few radio and TV stations they pull in tell a story of death raining down on the world. Millions are dying. Civilization is collapsing. For Albert, it is a dream come true.

George and Albert dynamite the access road to their little convenience store. In the past only vacationers drove the narrow scenic route from one resort area to another or an airman thinking it was a shortcut to the base. There would be no vacationers now, and anyone else coming that way would have to negotiate a draw filled with rocks and boulders. They are effectively cut off. Even so, they shutter the windows of the store and lay out loaded guns in strategic places. If anyone comes looking for trouble they will find it here.

By evening they find no radio stations. The horizon in the direction of the big cities glows with lurid light that suggests fire, not streetlamps and buildings.

"We'd better go check on our prisoner," Albert says.

The lingerie clad girl is laved with sweat, the muscles of her arms and legs strained. Her cuffed hands and bound foot are purple. As they watch she weakly tries to stand on tiptoe to take some pressure off her hips and arms, but she doesn't have the strength. Her eyes are open and staring. Her breath comes in gasps. Albert unties her ankle and uncuffs her, George supports her as she drops from the post, feeling her breasts as he helps her to the ground. Albert pulls the gag off, reaching in quickly to snatch out the thick wet wad of rag in her mouth. "Get her some water," Albert says. "Bring her clothes too."

"You letting her go?"

"Just do what I tell you."

The bra and panties are wet, and outline her nipples and vulva as though she were nude. He hands her the camisole top and helps her put it on, as she can't lift her arms after the long severe strain on her shoulders. She manages to struggle into her jeans and her shirt. They give her water. Imogene drinks like one lost in the desert. She rinses her mouth again and again to wash away the taste of the rag.

"Please, please, let me go," she finally speaks with a raspy, hoarse voice.

In answer, Albert wraps a length of chain around her waist, closing the loop with a padlock. He locks the other end to the post.

"We'll give you food and water and let you rest. Looks like you were right. The world's coming to an end. Just be glad you didn't get to the base. You're safer here."

She looks at two men. "Please, I just want to go home."

"Well, with no law about, I guess that makes me the sheriff and the judge and the prosecuting attorney. We've still got to have a trial."

Imogene has never been very good at talking her way out of scrapes. She's always assumed that people act rationally, according to the evidence. And looking from one man to the other, they seem rational. So why won't they let her go? It's a disconnect. She doesn't know what to say.

"We'll leave water here for you, and food. I got to warn you though, If you try to escape, or if you yell for help, not that anyone's coming, but if you yell, you go right back on the post. Understand?"

She nods, terrified of the threat.

"You're in a lot of trouble but you'll get a fair trial. I may be strict, but I'm fair. I'll get you a sleeping bag out here. If you got to relieve yourself do it on the other side of the post, and we'll bury it in the morning. Or better yet, George'll get you a bucket. Just pretend you're in jail, only the food's better."

When they leave the barn, George asks, "You serious about this trial?"

"Absolutely. No matter how bad things get, a man's got a right to a fair trial. Same as free speech and guns."

"What happens after the trial?"

Albert shrugs and licks his lips. "If she's found guilty, then we can't exactly keep her chained to the post, so we'll have to go back to what they did in the old days. Corporal punishment. Like whipping. Or branding. I'm going to make her a brank.

"A brank?"

"You know, an iron gag with the strips that go over the head and around the side. Something that pinches the tongue, and holds the mouth wide open, or a spiked iron ball that goes in the mouth. They used those on women who nagged and gossiped. I'd like to put one on her. She's a real little know- it- all, isn't she?"

A meteor streaks across the darkening sky.

"Do you really think the world's coming to an end?" George asks for what seems to Albert the umpteenth time.

"I think it's just beginning." Albert says

Jon Smithie

Meatier (cont.)

Imogene had not slept much. The ache in her shoulders and the pain in her swollen and bruised wrists, the hard ground and the chain wrapped around her waist conspired to keep her tossing and turning on the sleeping bag. They'd left her alone, for which, shivering as she thought of the possibilities, she was grateful. Added to all this she had felt the impacts, the earthquakes and aftershocks as pieces of the meteor tore into the earth like huge, hyper- velocity bullets. She was surprised she was still alive when she woke up after brief, troubled sleep. She assumed they had launched the nuclear arsenal, but at best that would only break the meteor up and spread out the destruction. She wanted to get to her toughbook, but the two men had denied her that, and she had been too afraid, and in too much pain to argue. There must be some factors she was unaware of. Her calculations had been quite clear, regardless of the different values of the unknowns she'd plugged into the formula.

She had no idea what time it was, they'd taken her watch too. She heard occasional hammering outside, and wondered what they were building. The young man, his name was George, had brought her breakfast and more water. She'd tried to make eye contact with him, to talk to him like one human to another. You had to make a connection with terrorists or hostage takers, she knew, and thee young man seemed much more impressionable than Albert. But she couldn't help the look of contempt and revulsion she gave him when she caught him eyeing her chest.

He caught the look, and it pissed him off. She was a prisoner after all. Nothing but a fucking criminal.

"Took yourself a pretty good shit, looks like." He said, looking down in the pail. He scooped up some dirt and threw it in. "I bet you thought yours wouldn't stink. Guess you were wrong."

He squatted down next to her. "Guess you were wrong about the world coming to an end too."

Imogene sat up. "George, have you heard anything?" You had to use their names a lot. People wanted to hear their names.

"We got some news last night over the radio. Seems the government is smarter than you give 'em credit. They sent oil drillers up. Can you believe it, a bunch of fucking roughnecks? They drilled a hole in the meteor, and stuck a bomb in it, and blew it up. But some big chunks hit, I guess. Everything and everyone on every fucking coast in the world is gone, and they say we'll have a few years of bad weather, and what they call the inferstructure is all to hell. They say don't rely on medical or police or fire services. Some General somewhere has declared martial law. Albert thinks it's all a conspiracy. Speaking of which you best be thinking what to say at your trial. Albert's not too happy about you nearly shooting him."

So there'd been another program, she thought. There'd been a Plan B. No, she realized. She was Plan B. The thought was bitterly disappointing. So the good news was the world was not coming to an end. The bad news; she was being held captive by psycho rednecks and no one knew or could help her. She buried her face in her hands.

George reached out and patted her shoulder

She jerked away. "Don't touch me!" she yelled.

George jumped. His fists balled up he wanted to hit her so bad. He wanted to show her who's boss. "Fucking bitch," he said. He kicked some dirt at her and left.

"Oh, shit," She thought. So much for getting the captors on your side.

When George came back some time later he was holding the handcuffs.

"Time for your trial. I'm going to put these on you and take off the chain. You resist or make trouble, I'll smack you. Turn over."

"George, you don't have to do this," Imogene said as she turned on her stomach. "What's the point of all this? Just let me go, that's all I ask,"

"Hands behind you."

"Please, George, not too tight, my wrists really hurt."

He snapped the cuffs on tight and pulled her to her feet. He didn't say anything; his face was set hard as he brought her along.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, George. I'm just scared, that's all. Can't we be friends?"

George snorted. "Albert said you'd say something like that. Like you want to be my friend only so long as I can do something for you. Maybe a little later you can be my friend, and do a little something for me."

Imogene's stomach turned over. There it was, it was on the table now, and she didn't want to look at it. Her mouth was dry, and she felt herself breathing fast. Reality hit her like a fist. These were the men who hung her up on a post and left her to suffer for hours. What else were they capable of? She was going to have to stay cool.

There was a dark overcast, and gusting winds. Imogene thought she smelled smoke of the fires that must be raging wherever the meteors had struck land. And it was hot as hell.

George led her through the store to a door in the back. He rapped on it and walked in. Albert was seated behind a desk. He had a long sleeved shirt on. His hands were clasped over a sheet of paper in front of him. The paper and his hands was all that was on the desk.

"I've drawn up the charges. You will be able to speak in your own defense, but if you talk rudely, or talk out of turn I'll hold you in contempt. You understand?"

Imogene wanted to scream at him, that he was insane, that this was crazy. "Just look outside!" she wanted to shout.

She swallowed her anger.

"Yes, I understand."

"You'll address me as "Your Honor."

She licked her lips, not sure whether she was going to laugh or cry. "Yes, Your Honor."

"First charge; Assault with a Deadly Weapon, in that you pointed a gun at me and could have killed me. How do you plead?"

"Yes, Your Honor, I'm deeply and truly sorry about that. But Your Honor, try to understand the pressure I was under. I thought my calculations were critical to the survival of the world. I had to call the Air Force Base immediately as we were running out of time."

"So you admit to the charge."

She paused, realizing how idiotic it would be to argue the point. "Yes, Your Honor, I throw myself on the mercy of the court, hoping that Your Honor will take full cognizance of the situation."

Albert frowned. "Yeah, I'll take full cognizance, all right." He nodded, and made a check on the paper in front of him.

"Second Charge: Attempted Theft. How do you plead?

"I don't understand the charge Your Honor."

"I told you the price of the phone call, and you tried to take it by force. That's attempted theft of goods and services."

Her temper flared. A fifty cent phone call and he was charging fifty dollars. She took a breath.

"I plead guilty, Your Honor, and make the same plea that the court will understand my motive was to save lives, and avoid the destruction of the fuck. . . I mean of the world, Your Honor."

"I won't stand for bad language. That's your only warning." Albert made another check. Albert could feel a righteous anger starting to rise in him.

"Third Charge: Resisting Arrest. How do you plead?"

"Your Honor, I plead not guilty. I did everything you told me to. Excuse me; I did everything Your Honor told me too. I took off my shirt, and my pants, and I lay down on the ground and Your Honor handcuffed me. How is that resisting arrest?"

"You didn't obey immediately. I had to hold a gun on you, and then fire a round off. And when I took you to the barn you were pulling and pushing like you were trying to escape." Albert thought a moment. "But I'm going to find you guilty of the lesser charge of disorderly conduct."

Albert scratched through a line on the paper and wrote something else, then made a check..

"Fourth Charge: Indecent Exposure. How do you plead?

Imogene's jaw dropped. "What the hell are you talking about? I was wearing clothes for god's sake, you're the one took them off me, so if you consider making a woman strip to her underwear indecent then charge your own damn self!"

"I'm holding you in contempt." Albert said. "Keep talking and I'll gag you."

Fear flared up in Imogene's stomach, realizing she'd stepped over the line. She couldn't afford to get angry.

Albert continued, "Of course I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the way you were dressed when you came up to the store. Your shirt was almost completely unbuttoned, and you were showing a good bit of cleavage. I'll demonstrate. George, unbutton her shirt."

George didn't need to be told twice. He held Imogene's arms with one hand and unbuttoned her shirt with the other.

"That's enough," Albert said, when he reached her waist. "now lean forward."

George didn't wait for her to comply. He twisted her hair in his hand, and pulled up on her arms, bending her forward over the desk. Albert reached a finger into the deep V of her camisole top, and pulled down on her bra.

"There, I can see all the way to China. I find you guilty."

"Oh, you bastards," Imogene cried. "You lousy redneck bastards! The world is dying and all you think about is my cleavage? This is all bullshit! Get a life; get a reality check you stupid fucks!"

Albert rocketed out of the chair and punched her in the jaw. Imogene fell heavily to the floor.

"Pick her up," Albert said. "I find you guilty of the charges against you. Let's put this cunt where she deserves to be!"

Imogene was stunned by the blow and couldn't struggle as George and Albert pulled her along. They each had an armpit and dragged her face up between the store and an outbuilding to a graveled open space. There was a dumpster against the cinderblock wall of the store and in the middle of the space, a set of stocks. Albert and George had made them from landscape timbers. Two five foot lengths had been stacked and joined on one end with a large hinge and the other end with a hasp. Two holes had been drilled through the joints in the timbers to secure the ankles. In front of this was a two by four set on edge in brackets a foot or so off the ground.

The two men dropped Imogene in front of the stocks. They spun her around so her feet pointed to the stocks. Imogene grunted in surprise and alarm as her head began to clear. Each man grabbed an ankle, and pulled her legs apart to set each ankle over the half circle in the lower timber. Albert dropped the upper timber over her ankles, and secured the hasp. Just like that Imogene was trapped in the stocks. They pulled Imogene up to sit on the edge of the two by four. She cried out in pain when they lifted her, for the fire in her shoulders had only smoldered when they dragged her semiconscious body, and now flared up, a reminder of her time on the post.

The two by four had been arranged so that her butt was centered on it with her legs slightly bent. Albert checked the handcuffs to make sure they weren't too tight.

"This is what they used for jail back in the old days," Albert said. "Lots of towns would just leave the criminal in the stocks both as jail and punishment. But you will be punished to the full extent of the law."

Imogene winced as Albert grabbed her chin, examining the swelling where he'd hit her. "I could've broke your jaw," he said. "Good thing I can control my temper. Since I owe you for running your mouth, I'm making a brank that will shut you up. George, you get started on the post holes." Albert walked away.

Imogene pleaded, begging George to let her go. She started crying. and then vomited miserably between her knees. She wiped her mouth on her jeans. She looked up at George. "George," she said, "Could you get me some water?"

George's arms crossed over his chest. "Not so high and mighty now, are you? I guess you're used to men waiting on you, but now you got to ask "please," or I don't do shit."

"Please George, may I have some water. Please."

"Sure," George said. "Be right back."

And he was. Carrying a bucket of water. Without saying a word he dumped the bucket over her head.

He laughed mirthlessly as she spluttered and coughed.

"Albert told me that when a criminal was put in the stocks, the town people could pretty much do whatever they wanted to her." He emphasized the gender. "Townspeople could pelt her with rotten fruit, dead cats, rocks. Shit like that. Matter of fact they might dump piss or shit over her. I guess it depended on what the person in the stocks had done. If she'd done something real bad, then the townspeople would do bad shit to her. They might start by tearing all her clothes off."

Imogene sat on the beam, shivering despite the heat of the day, her clothes and hair soaked.

"I'll make you a deal," he continued. "I'll take off the cuffs. And I'll give you a drink of water. But you got to take off all your clothes."


This story is taking a very exciting turn Jon.

I'm glad you're also a fan of stress positions. Perhaps you're aware of the thread I started a year or two ago called "Stress Positions?" If not, you might want to check that out.
I visited the thread. There's a photoset that helped me to visualize the condition Janine was left in "And the truth shall set you free". I'm keeping a small hope in you finishing that one too.

Jon Smithie

Meatier (cont.)

Note: I've decided to just go ahead and post the rest of the story, since I tend to forget to keep to a schedule.

Down deep, Imogene knew it would come to this. She knew now that this young man was going to rape her, both men were, that's really what it was about.

Then it struck her. This was her chance. In order to remove her jeans and panties he would have to open the stocks. With her hands uncuffed, she might have a chance to surprise him. She'd taken self defense classes. She knew what to do. She had to make her move. Who was she trying to kid? Things were going to escalate if she didn't get away. She had to take a chance. She had no choice.

"Alright, take my handcuffs off." She said, forcing herself to look in his eyes. He smirked and produced a key and went around behind her. The cuffs fell away.

"Now you take off your shirt and your bra."

It was harder than she thought. She tried to smooth her breathing. She visualized the attack. As soon as he lifted the timber and pulled off her jeans she would jerk her ankles out and run. Within a few feet she would spin and hit him as hard as she could in the crotch. He wouldn't be expecting her to try to escape while naked, or to stop and attack him once she started running. She had to time it just right, she had to spin and kick and let him run right into it. If she could put him down quick and run like hell into the trees, before Albert came back, there was a chance she could get away. She was picturing this, focusing on it more intensely than anything else in her life as she removed her wet clothing and handed them to George. She held her arms over her breasts and hunched down. Now he would have to open the stocks.

Instead he dropped her clothes in a pile over the vomit. He stepped on them, using her clothes to soak up the mess, tamping them down with his foot.

"Now your jeans and panties."

She had to lean back and bare her breasts to him to unbutton and unzip her jeans.

"That's alright," she thought desperately, "give him an eyeful."

She pushed the jeans down as far as she could. She had to wriggle on one butt cheek and then the other to pull the jeans down her legs. Then the same with her panties.

George watched the performance intently. He'd never seen such full, perfect breasts. His erection felt like a baseball bat. When she covered her nipples the soft round breasts bulged against her delicate, slender arms, pushing the flesh of the pale mounds together, emphasizing her cleavage. With her other hand she covered the dark triangle of pubic hair

Imogene glanced up at George. She could see what was in his eyes. He jerked the jeans and panties roughly down her spread thighs. She was nearly breathless with anticipation and fear. He would have to open the stocks now. She didn't dare speak; her heart pounded as she made herself ready.

He pulled a folding knife from a clip on his belt and flipped it open with a practiced twist of his wrist. He slashed the jeans and panties from her legs.

She was appalled at her stupidity. She was a rocket scientist, but she hadn't seen this. Now she could do nothing. She was nearly sick again. She didn't believe for a moment that he had anticipated her plan; he'd just wanted to show her his knife.

He scooped up the small pile of clothes and threw it in the bucket.

"Now I'll go get you a drink."

He returned with the bucket brim full. He held it up to her lips. She saw that her clothes were still in the bucket, and bits of dirt, gravel and vomit swirled in the water.

She turned her face away. "George, please,"

"Now you don't want a drink? After I went to the trouble?"

He tipped the bucket over her, holding up only when the rags of her clothes threatened to slop out. Imogene sputtered and cried.

"What you doing there George?" Albert yelled. His boots crunched in the gravel. Imogene gave him a pleading look over her shoulder as he approached. He was carrying a board with some holes in it.

"You said people did stuff to a criminal in the stocks."

"Yeah, I said that. I see you took off her handcuffs, and a few other things besides."

George relaxed. Albert wasn't mad at him. Even though he hadn't started on the post holes yet.

"She wanted a drink of water. I gave her one."

Albert gave Imogene a looking over. Women liked to show themselves off to men, with their soft breasts and thighs and long hair. He was not affected by her nakedness. If she was humiliated, that was part of the punishment. He nodded. "I was thinking she'd be a little too comfortable. Help me put this yoke on her."

Albert leaned the board against himself. It was a thick heavy board, about four feet long and had three holes, one large, and a smaller one on either side of the larger hole. Like the stocks, it was split through the holes. It had a hinge on one end and a hasp on the other. Imogene's heart sank.

"Now we're going to put this on you, and you better not resist. Understand?"

Imogene nodded.

Still stunned from her miscalculation with the escape plan she didn't resist as they opened the board, and trapped her neck and wrists in it, and locked it. The board was heavy and pressed her butt down insistently on the two by four. It was already uncomfortable sitting on the two inch edge of the beam. She knew soon she would be miserably uncomfortable. As soon as she determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry again, her chest shuddered and her throat tightened and she wept unrestrainedly.

"Please, please let me go! What do you want? I haven't done anything to deserve this!' She pleaded.

"Sentencing is tomorrow," Albert said. "George, get to digging. I want to get the frame up this afternoon."

"It's awful hard to dig post holes in this ground, Albert."

"Then you better get started. I got to finish up with the brank. That's a complicated piece of welding."

Albert returned to his work, and George fetched a shovel, a pick and a post hole digger from the barn and set to work.

It would have been slow work anyway, for the ground was dry hardpan, but George stopped every few minutes, sometimes between strokes of the pickax to stare at the naked young woman in the stocks. He hadn't worked very long when he decided he deserved a break.

Imogene saw what was in his eyes and tried to steel herself. She'd quickly recovered from her despair when they'd locked the yoke on her and now she was determined to survive. Whatever it took, she decided. She would survive.

He grabbed her breasts and squeezed hard, twisting and kneading the soft flesh. He twisted and pulled on her nipples. He ran his hands between her legs, spreading her labia and penetrating her with his fingers. She rode it out, eyes closed, face grimacing in disgust and pain.

"You'd like me to fuck you, wouldn't you bitch? You'd like that wouldn't you?" He grabbed her hair and looked in her eyes. "I want you to suck me off." He said.

"Let me take you to bed," Imogene said. "Wouldn't you like that? It'd be good for both of us. Just take this board off me, and let me out of these stocks. I promise I'll fuck you like there's no tomorrow."

George's eyes were bright with lust. For a moment, she thought he might go for it. "First you give me a blow job. Then we see what happens. If you do good, I'll take the yoke off you, get you a drink of water."

George jerked his trousers down, after a quick glance at the barn. He didn't think Albert would approve, but his lust overrode his caution.

His penis was at her lips, and she opened her mouth and took him in. He couldn't thrust all the way in because of the yoke. She tried to lick and suck the head of his dick, but her mouth was dry, and he was too eager, violently thrusting. She scraped him with her teeth

"Bitch!" he yelled and pushed her over backwards. The yoke slammed into the back of her neck as it hit the ground. He jerked himself off over her, grunting like an animal in rut. Within a few seconds she felt the drops of his spunk splatting on her belly.

"You bit me, you bitch." He said. "I'm going to pay you back for that."

Imogene tried to sit up but the yoke was too heavy. She would have been flat on her back but for the two by four digging into her butt.

"George, I didn't mean to!" she yelled. He pulled his knife and flicked it open.

"Payback," he said.

She lost sight of him as he stepped behind the stocks and kneeled in front of her feet. But she felt the flat blade of the knife and the sharp point as he pressed it up and down over the soles of her feet.

"George!" she screamed in panic, "I didn't mean to I swear it, Oh please don't hurt me!"

George liked the sound of her panicked shouts. He liked the fear he heard in her voice. He put away his folding knife, and reached into his pocket for the smaller Swiss army knife. He picked among the blades for the nail file, and finding it, flicked it open. He wanted something fairly dull. He felt his dick getting hard again.

He held her right foot firmly, and pushed the nail file under the nail of her big toe.

She shrieked. She writhed and twisted as the pain mounted. "No, no no no please oh please stop stop STOP!" Her pleas ended in screams as he rocked the blade gently back and forth under the toenail.

George found himself breathing hard and sweating like he'd run five miles. This was the most aroused he'd ever been.

She was breathing raggedly with pain, mixing mumbled pleas with tears as he pulled her back up to sit on the beam.

"Stop your whining," he said. "I didn't hurt you that bad. I could do a lot worse. You got ten toes." She shivered as he ran the flat of the blade up and down her back. That was his joke. She didn't know it was just a toenail file.

"Not like I'm flaying you alive, or anything." He closed the blade and put it back in his pocket. "Indians used to flay people alive. Cut the skin and then strip it off inch by inch. Now that's supposed to hurt real bad."

He gripped both breasts again and twisted hard, pinching her nipples with all his force. Her keening wail told him she was really feeling it. George felt like he could tear her tits right off her with his bare hands.

"Fuck!" he said. He stepped away and watched her mauled tits heave with her shuddering breaths. He twisted her nose and pulled her face up.

"This time you'd better do right, or God help you, 'cause I won't."

He didn't even look for Albert. He took his trousers down and pushed his rampant organ into her mouth. It didn't take long before George spasmed into her mouth. It wasn't so much this time. He hated he'd jerked off over her, because now he didn't have so much of a load. But there'd be more. Soon.

Having discharged his lust and sadism for the moment, George looked down on the miserable woman. She looked like she'd been sucking on a lemon. As he watched she weakly spat out his seed. Most of it dribbled onto the yoke, and dripped slowly to the ground.

"Not too bad," he said, as though he were an expert. "You'll get better."

Imogene eyed George with a primal, animal fear as he walked away. She'd never known pain or humiliation like she'd just experienced. Had never believed that such things could happen, certainly not to her. She choked on sperm and despair, and wept again. Her toe and ass both throbbed, and there was nothing she could do about either.

He returned to his hole digging.

He worked for an hour or so and strolled over to her. He made a show of sucking on a bottle of water.

"George, how long are you going to leave me like this?"

"All night. Didn't Albert tell you? This isn't part of the punishment, this is just where we're going to keep you now."

Imogene choked on despair. Tears sprang to her eyes. All night? Her ass was hurting.

"I'll give you a drink if you give me a kiss."

She thought he meant another blowjob. It didn't matter, she was so thirsty. "Okay. But my lips are so dry. I'd like the drink first."

He obliged her, tilting the bottle briefly into her mouth.

Jon Smithie

Meatier (cont.)

He'd meant a real kiss. He bent down to her awkwardly, one hand on the back of her neck, tilting her face up. He crushed his lips against hers, then explored her mouth with his tongue. His breath was awful and he stank. She closed her eyes and tried not to gag.

Albert came up behind him and smacked him in the head. "What the hell you doing?"


"Don't you see, boy, that's what she wants!"

He pulled her hair back and showed them both a metal and leather contraption. "This is a brank," he said, then addressing her, "This is for mouthing off to me, and talking disrespectfully. Don't fight me." The thing reminded her of nothing so much as a baseball catcher's mask, only without any padding.

Her eyes teared helplessly. She opened her mouth at his order. "Wider," he said.

He put the headgear over her face, strapping it loosely at the back of her head. Then he inserted a wide metal hook that fit over her top two teeth in the middle of her mouth and one that fit over her lower teeth. As he tightened and adjusted straps her jaws were slowly pulled open, wider and wider. She thrashed her head in the confines of the yoke. George held the yoke still. When Albert was satisfied that the headgear was on tight enough, and her jaws were splayed open wide enough, he pushed a couple of narrow metal plates, about the size of tongue depressors, into her gaping mouth. He forced them to the back of her mouth, slipping one above, and one below her tongue. With a piece of dirty rag he grabbed the tip of her tongue and pulled. Imogene's eyes widened "Unnnh, unnnh unnnh!" She grunted in protest. He had George screw down the wing nuts on either side of the metal tongue depressors, pinching and trapping her tongue. He then secured the tongue clamps to either side of the metal framework on her head.

"Damn, Albert," George said, "I think she's sticking her tongue out at us."

"Watch your language. You know," Albert said, "Sometimes with a mouthy woman, they'd pull the tongue out as far as they could and nail it to the yoke." Albert pinched the tip of her obscenely protruding tongue. "Let's get the frame put up."

Albert and George finished digging the post holes together; Albert complained that George hadn't gotten very far with the work. George explained that he'd been "distracted."

When they were finished digging they laid out a couple of long thick posts in front of the holes, and with a chainsaw Albert cut tenons in the ends and miters into a heavy crosspiece and fitted it on the posts. Albert hung a winch from the middle of the crosspiece. Then, together, they lifted the frame and let it slide into the holes.

Until that moment Imogene had not really understood what they were building and why. She was consumed with her own discomfort and suffering, but when she saw the frame her heart sank. The frame was for her. They were going to hang her.

The men tamped dirt and rocks into the post holes until Albert was satisfied that it was solid. They walked into the store. When they came back out in a few minutes George had a Dr. Pepper in one hand an unpleasant grin on his face. Albert was sipping a beer and looking her over with his cold eyes.

"You know, there's just nothing like a cold drink on a hot day." George said. "We got electricity, you know. The rest of the world might be going dark but we got the generators and the propane to last years. Like one?" he asked, holding up the soda.

She knew what was coming. Sure enough, George poured it over her head. It fizzed as it ran over her face and into her mouth, it was sweet and sticky, and salty with sweat.

George laughed. "Good thing we got lots of soda. I found something special for you." He held up a cockroach. He dangled it over her face, then dropped it on her tongue. The insect scampered into her mouth.

. Imogene went ballistic. She hated and feared bugs. She bucked and twisted in panicked desperation. Her breasts wiggled and jounced, her legs thrashed in the close confinement of the stocks. "Unnnh, unnnh, unnnh!" she screamed. Her eyes were bright and bulging in terror as the insect tried to escape into the cavern of her gaping mouth. Both men jumped at her as she lost her balance and nearly fell over backward. They held her upright and observed her agonized struggle with rapt attention. Soon the cockroach decided to try its luck in the opposite direction. It crawled out the young woman's mouth. George saw it making its escape and snatched it off Imogene's face. He crushed it and smeared its remains over her lips and tongue.

"That was cool!" George said. "I guess she don't like bugs much."

"I got to do something about her falling over." Albert said. "I don't want her hurting herself."

"Only we should be able to hurt her." George said.

Albert walked away and returned in a few minutes with a couple of eye bolts and a length of chain. He secured a length of chain from the yoke to the stocks.

"There," he said. "Now at least she can't fall over."

For Imogene the next few hours were an eternity. George made her life a living hell through the afternoon. He would disappear into the store for a time, have some food, check the TV and radio stations, and drink some soda. But he would return with some refinement to increase her torment. At different times George dropped a spider in her mouth, another cockroach, dirt and gravel. Her jaws, splayed open as they were, throbbed and ached. She had a splitting headache from the pressure of the headgear, and the corners of her mouth was cracking and bleeding. Her tongue was swollen and dry, her thirst enormous. Her butt throbbed as well, for she'd been sitting on the narrow beam for hours. Her shoulders ached from the weight of the yoke. It was hot, and sweat matted her hair, and ran down into her eyes, stinging and burning. The moisture of her sweat and the dried sugar in the soda George had poured over her attracted flies, first houseflies and gnats, which buzzed around her head and then confidently lighted around her eyes, and mouth, exploring her ears and nostrils as well. In her desperate shrugging to throw them off she nearly lost her balance several times. the horseflies and deerflies found her. Their bites were like being pinched with needle nosed pliers. All she could do is wave her hands, shrug her shoulders, and twist her body. All of which chafed her and exhausted her further.

George loved torturing her feet. That and the bugs really seemed to drive her crazy. It was while he was scraping the bottoms of her feet with the nail file that he thought of a way to hold the feet completely still. He got some large steel staples used to pin wire on fences, and hammered them around her big toes, pinning both to the wood. George used the nail file on the soles of her now motionless feet. Then he thought of a lighter, and, getting one from the store, amused himself by running the flame up and down over her feet, not to seriously burn her, but to see her body twist and jiggle in the restraints, the bright, agonized eyes blinking in pain and panic.

Sometimes he'd just watch the flies and gnats crawling over her face, into her mouth and nose and ears. George particularly hated deer flies and horse flies. He told her so, because he could see they were biting her. She had pissed, he could smell it on the gravel in front of her, and see the stain on the two by four. The flies liked the smell. He saw them lighting on the gravel, on the beam, and in her pubic hair. That gave George another idea..

He ran to the store to get a jar of honey.

"What now?" Albert asked him. Albert had watched the younger man torment the prisoner, and that was all well and good, but like TV it could become an addiction. And Albert was thinking maybe George had spent enough time on the girl for one day.

"Old Indian trick," George said. "Thought I'd smear some honey in her pussy, maybe get some ants and more bugs in on the action."

"George," Albert replied, "I think she's had enough for now. You're going to wear her out and she won't stand up to her punishment."

"Shit Albert, she's strong. I won't hurt her too bad, I'm just fucking with her."

"What I say about language? Leave her alone for awhile. Put the jar back. Go take a look around the rock fall, see if there's any tracks."


"Tire tracks, dammit, human tracks, bear tracks, whatever. Just scout around a little."

"I'll need the AK."

"No you won't; I don't want you shooting at anything. Just go on, take a look around. If you see anything, you come right back."

He watched George stalk off down the road, and went to check on the girl.

Her back was pink from sunburn. Although the sky was overcast, he knew you could still get sunburn if you were out long enough, and her skin was pale anyway. Lines of sweat and dirt were etched down her back. He saw her sway gently side to side and then twitch violently as a horsefly bit her on the shoulder. She had to be exhausted.

He unbuckled the straps of the brank behind her head, and then unscrewed the wing nuts on the tongue clamps.

"I'm going to take this thing off of you, and give you some water. Don't give me any lip or it goes right back on."

He pulled off the brank, and then the yoke. Her arms fell to her sides. He dropped a bottle of water into her hands. She clutched it, opened it and poured some water in her mouth, swirling it, and spitting it back out. He saw that her lips were cracked, and the corners of her mouth were smeared with blood. She put the bottle to her lips and poured it down her throat.

"Moa," she croaked, her swollen tongue making it hard to pronounce words clearly.

It angered him that the first thing she said was a demand. But that was typical of such women; no gratitude. "That's all you get for now. Tomorrow I'll pass sentence and you'll be punished.

. "I been punithed enough!" Imogene cried "Le me go! I beg you! Wha you wan fum me?"

Albert set his jaw. He pulled the handcuffs from his belt, pulled her arms behind her, and clicked them loosely around her wrists. Without a word more he walked away.

He didn't need to explain himself to a criminal.

Meatier Part Three: The Sentence

By Jon Smithie

Imogene wept brokenly. She couldn't bear the thought of sitting on the narrow beam until next morning. Just that alone would have been torture enough, but the threat of whatever torments the two men still had in mind for her, the insects relentlessly buzzing around her head, and finally the cramps that had started tearing into her calf muscles from her painfully flexed feet from where George had nailed the staples around her big toes�it was all unbearable. Her jaws, her butt, her feet and calves throbbed, and any time she moved a bolt of pain shot through her. She couldn't relieve her discomfort by adjusting her position, but she couldn't sit still either.

George returned from his scouting mission around dusk. Imogene heard the two talking inside the store, heard the clink of dishes and silverware when they had dinner farther back where she supposed the kitchen was. She heard Albert's voice low, mumbling some rhythmic chant as he said grace. For them, it seemed to her, other than the unseasonable heat and the cloud cover from a rain of meteors that had overturned civilization, and except for a naked young woman sitting in the stocks, it was a day like any other.

She was wrong about that. After listening to apocalyptic radio reports Albert was feeling like the chosen weapon of an angry God, the only man justified in his righteousness. He reminded George again and again how he, Albert, had said this was inevitable.

"You can't mock God," he said. "You can't mock Him. For those who mock God, they will be sent fire from the sky." Albert stabbed a finger at George. "Write that down."

Albert told George after dinner, "We've got to get rid of those magazines. I've been a sinner with those magazines. All our thoughts from now on have got to be righteous thoughts. How can we work God's will if our thoughts are full of sin?"

George got away from Albert as soon as he could, and strolled out to visit with Imogene. His thoughts were full of sin, and for the first time in his life he didn't really care what Albert thought about it. She was all he had thought of on his scout. He'd never walked so far with such a boner. His balls hurt. But it was a good kind of hurt, because he knew how to make it better.

He came up behind her and leaned his forearms on her shoulders,

She groaned in misery as his weight pressed her into the beam.

"I'm thinking maybe I can visit a little later, when Albert's asleep. Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, if we found a way to pass the night together. Might be kind of boring out here all by yourself."

"Yes," Imogene said. She could feel his erection as he leaned on her. She tried to enunciate carefully with her swollen tongue and cracked lips. "Yes, George, I would like that. Only could you loosen my feet, please, George, I'm getting cramps in my legs."

George massaged her calves, and slid his hands down the insides of her thighs. They were so soft and silken. He would have liked to stand there and rub her legs if he hadn't wanted to fuck her so bad. "You'll just have to wait for me awhile. Albert doesn't want me messing with you so much. But don't worry, when Albert falls asleep tonight I'll come back. You make sure your pussy's nice and wet. I'll give you a drink of water. Maybe I'll even take off your handcuffs, and let you out of the stocks."

That was a lie. Albert had the keys to the handcuffs and the stocks, and George wasn't going to risk getting them. But he liked saying it, just to see that gleam of hope flash in her eyes. And he might actually bring her some water. She looked pretty thirsty. Mostly she looked naked.

"George!" Albert shouted from the store. "Come on in here! It's getting late."

"Just between you and me," he whispered to Imogene, "I think he's getting a little crazy. The world's fucked. Why shouldn't we?"

He came to her later that night. His need was so great she could almost smell the rut on him. He gave her a bottle of water and dropped his trousers. She sucked the water bottle down greedily in one swig, knowing she didn't have a lot of time. He'd brought a blanket. He spread it in front and behind her, more for his knees than her back, lifted her off the beam and moved it away. He put his hand on her chest and pushed her down. There wasn't a lot of room between her crotch and the stocks, but he had enough. He grabbed her ass cheeks, slid his knees a little closer and impaled himself in her dry pussy. It hurt both of them. Imogene gasped as he thrust, but George was way too far gone in lust to stop. In his excitement he came just a little, and that lubricated him enough to ignore the burn. He fucked her like a wild man. He leaned back, jerking her up on his knees, using strength he didn't know he had. He buried his hands in her large breasts, mercilessly gripping and twisting the soft flesh, practically lifting her torso off the ground by her tits. She cried out in agony as he raped and abused her. His animal grunts became louder and more explosive as he thrust urgently into her. With a final long drawn out grunt he came, shooting his load into her slit. His pelvis rocked with the aftershocks of his orgasm. His grip loosened on her breasts and he leaned back slack jawed as his penis softened and drained the last of its load of come.

As George leaned back Imogene saw a dark figure looming over them. Suddenly George grunted in pain as Albert kicked him off Imogene.
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