Taken by the Huntresses

on a country road, two dominant women stalk me. they overpower me and tie me, throw me into a van and take me to a remote cottage

The headlights cut through the darkness, throwing long shadows across the gravel road. I knew I shouldn’t have taken the shortcut, but the GPS swore it was faster. Now, standing there with the engine dead and my phone useless, I heard the crunch of boots behind me. Two women stepped into the glow of my hazard lights—tall, leather-clad, their smiles sharp as knives. The blonde cracked her knuckles. The brunette twirled a coil of rope between her fingers. "Lost?" the blonde purred. Before I could answer, the brunette lunged. Her knee slammed into my gut, knocking the air from my lungs. I hit the dirt, gasping, as they pinned me—one twisting my arms behind my back, the other looping rope around my wrists with practiced efficiency. "Struggle and it’ll hurt worse," the blonde warned, her knee pressing into my spine. The ropes bit into my skin as they cinched tighter, my wrists bound, then my ankles. A rag stuffed into my mouth muffled my protests. The van door slid open. Hands grabbed me, tossed me inside. The engine roared to life. "Don’t worry," the brunette murmured, stroking my thigh as we sped into the night. "We’re just getting started."

The van jolts to a stop, gravel crunching under the tires. The door slides open, and cold night air hits my bare legs as they drag me out. The cottage looms ahead—wooden, isolated, a single dim light burning in the window. The blonde yanks me forward by the rope around my wrists, her grip unrelenting. The brunette follows close behind, her fingers tracing the nape of my neck. "Inside," she murmurs, her breath hot against my ear. The door creaks open. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the hardwood floor. They shove me onto a threadbare rug, my bound ankles making me stumble. The blonde pulls a knife from her belt, the blade glinting. "Clothes off," she orders, pressing the cold steel against my shirt. I flinch as she slices through the fabric, the razor edge just skimming my skin. The brunette kneels beside me, her hands sliding under the ruined fabric, peeling it away. The knife moves lower—my jeans split open with a single flick of her wrist. "Better," the brunette purrs, her nails raking down my chest as the last shreds of clothing fall away. The blonde grabs my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. "Now the real fun begins." The brunette reaches for another coil of rope, her smile dark. "Hold still."

The blonde drags me toward the sawhorse, her fingers digging into my shoulder. The rough wood scrapes against my thighs as she forces me over it, my chest pressed flat against the beam. The brunette loops fresh rope around my ankles, yanking them apart and securing each to the legs of the sawhorse. The coarse fibers bite into my skin as she tightens the knots, leaving me spread wide, my ass fully exposed to the firelight. "Perfect," the blonde murmurs, running her palm over my bare ass before delivering a sharp slap. The sting blooms hot, and I jerk against the ropes. The brunette leans in, her lips brushing the shell of my ear. "You’re going to count every one." Another slap lands—harder this time—her fingers leaving red marks. The blonde chuckles, circling me like a predator. "One," I grit out, my voice strained. The brunette’s fingers trail down my spine, nails scraping lightly before she grabs a handful of rope from the floor. "Good boy. Now let’s see how long you last." The blonde’s hand cracks down again. "Two." The ropes hold me immobile, every muscle taut as they take their time. The firelight dances across my skin, shadows deepening with every strike. The brunette’s breath ghosts over my ass as she kneels behind me. "Keep counting."

The blonde’s hand strikes again—sharp, deliberate—and my hips jerk against the sawhorse. The heat lingers, pulsing in time with my ragged breaths. "Three," I choke out, fingers clawing at the rough wood beneath me. The brunette’s fingers slide between my thighs, teasing the sensitive skin there before curling into a fist and yanking my hips higher. "Louder," she demands, her free hand tracing the curve of my ass, fingertips pressing into the fresh welts. The blonde’s palm lands with a wet smack—four—and I arch, the ropes creaking as I strain against them. The brunette leans in, her teeth grazing the back of my thigh. "You sound so pretty when you beg," she murmurs, her tongue flicking over the stinging skin. The blonde grabs a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back. "Five." Her other hand slips between my legs, fingers dragging over my cock, already hard and leaking. The brunette laughs, low and wicked, as she knots another length of rope around my waist, cinching it tight. "Think he can take ten?" The blonde’s grip tightens. "Let’s find out." Her hand swings down—six—and my vision whites out for a second, my groan muffled against the wood. The brunette’s nails dig into my hips, holding me steady. "Don’t forget to count."

The blonde steps away, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she retrieves something from the shadows. The brunette keeps me pinned, her fingers tracing lazy circles over the throbbing heat of my ass. When the blonde returns, she drags the flat of the paddle down my spine—cold, smooth wood contrasting sharply with my burning skin. "Seven," she purrs, tapping it lightly against my cheek. The first swing cracks through the room, sharper than her hand, the impact radiating deep into my muscles. My back bows, a ragged "seven!" tearing from my throat. The brunette hums, gripping my hips tighter. "Good. But we’re just warming up." The paddle lands again—eight—and my knees buckle, the ropes the only thing keeping me upright. The blonde exhales, slow and satisfied, as she runs her fingers over the fresh marks. "Look at him shake." The brunette leans down, her breath hot against my ear. "Nine’s going to hurt." She’s right. The paddle strikes lower, right where my ass meets thigh, and I shout—half pain, half pleasure—as my cock twitches against the sawhorse. The blonde laughs, pressing the paddle against my parted lips. "Taste it," she orders. I lick the wood, salty with sweat, before she pulls away. "Ten." The final blow lands dead center, and I come undone, my groan muffled against the rope biting into my waist. The brunette strokes my hair, whispering praise as the blonde drops the paddle with a clatter. "Now," she murmurs, "let’s see what else you can take."

The brunette’s fingers tighten in my hair, yanking my head back further as the blonde steps between my spread legs. She drags the tip of the strap along my cock, already slick with pre-come, before pressing it lower—firm against my entrance. "Breathe," the brunette orders, her nails digging into my scalp. The blonde pushes in slow, relentless, the stretch burning in the best way. My hips jerk, but the ropes hold me still, forcing me to take every inch. She pauses when she’s fully seated, her palm smacking my ass once—sharp—just to hear me gasp. Then she starts moving. Hard, deep thrusts that punch the air from my lungs. The brunette leans down, her teeth sinking into my shoulder as she murmurs, "Count them." I choke out numbers between ragged breaths—eleven, twelve—each thrust driving me harder against the sawhorse. The blonde’s grip on my hips is brutal, her rhythm punishing, and when she curls her fingers around my cock, I nearly sob. The brunette laughs, twisting my hair tighter. "Come for us," she demands. I do—violently—my vision whiting out as the blonde fucks me through it, her pace never slowing. "Good boy," the blonde purrs, finally stilling. "Now, let’s try that again."

The blonde pulls out with a slow, deliberate drag, leaving me clenching around nothing. The brunette releases my hair, trailing her fingers down my spine—each touch electric against the welts. "Again?" she muses, circling the blonde. "Or should we make him beg first?" The blonde unhooks the strap, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. She kneels behind me, her breath hot against my sore skin. Her tongue swipes over the marks, wet and teasing, before her teeth sink into the curve of my ass. I groan, hips jerking against the ropes. "Patience," the brunette chides, stepping into view. She grips my chin, forcing my gaze up as she unbuttons her blouse. "You don’t get to decide how this ends." The blonde’s fingers replace her mouth, pressing inside me without warning—two, then three—stretching me wider. She crooks them just right, and my cock twitches, still oversensitive. The brunette smirks, palming herself through lace. "Watch," she orders, pushing the fabric aside. Her fingers glide over her clit, slow and slick, as the blonde fucks me with her hand. The rhythm is merciless, every thrust hitting that spot that makes my thighs tremble. "Close already?" the blonde taunts, twisting her wrist. The brunette moans, her hips rolling. "Come with me," she demands. I do—helpless—as she does, my vision fracturing all over again. The blonde withdraws her fingers, smearing my release across my thigh. "Good," she murmurs. "But we’re not done." The brunette leans in, her lips brushing my ear. "Next time, you’ll take us both."

The blonde rises, her fingers still glistening as she drags them down my spine. The brunette steps back, shrugging off her blouse completely, her nipples pebbled tight against the lace of her bra. "Turn him over," she says, her voice low. The blonde loosens the ropes just enough to flip me onto my back, the sawhorse pressing into my shoulders. She secures my wrists above my head, the rough hemp biting into my skin. The brunette climbs onto the sawhorse, straddling my face, her thighs framing my vision. "Open," she commands, pressing her lace-covered cunt to my mouth. I groan, my tongue dragging against the damp fabric. She grinds down, the heat and musk of her overwhelming as the blonde kneels between my legs again. The brunette peels the lace aside, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Lick. Like you mean it." I obey, my tongue circling her clit as the blonde’s fingers push back inside me—deeper this time, her thumb pressing against my perineum. The dual sensation is dizzying, the brunette’s hips rolling against my mouth while the blonde fucks me with her hand. The brunette gasps, her thighs tightening. "Fuck—yes—just like that." The blonde’s free hand wraps around my cock, stroking in time with her thrusts. "Think you can come again?" she taunts, her fingers curling just right. I whimper against the brunette’s cunt, my hips bucking helplessly. The brunette laughs, grinding harder. "Good boy." The blonde’s pace quickens, her grip tightening. "Now." I come with a muffled cry, my body seizing as the brunette rides my face through her own climax, her thighs trembling. The blonde withdraws her fingers slowly, smirking as she licks them clean. "Told you we weren’t done." The brunette slides off me, her fingers tracing my swollen lips. "Next time," she whispers, "we won’t stop at two."