Trapped By The Man-Bear

In the next instant, Mister Hendricks kicked off his shoes, pants and shorts. His cock stood out like a pale club, jutting out from under his shirt. As he turned and took the couple steps back to the chair, Darcy could see it bob and sway as he walked. The big ball sack also swayed beneath it.

He came around to the side of the chair, leaned over and grabbed her. Darcy felt a strange thrill, feeling his physical strength, feeling herself lifted and turned as if she were no more than a rag doll.

He could break me in half if he wanted, she thought. The thought was strangely thrilling.

Mister Hendricks dragged her agonizingly tender ass up over the thickly padded arm of the couch and then flipped her over onto her stomach. Her legs hung over the side of the chair, presenting her up-thrust backside to his rutting cock.

He reached down and tugged her spank-reddened thighs apart, exposing the moist inlet of her pussy, matted with the down of her juice-soaked pale pubic fur.

She braced herself, holding her breath as he spread her pussy lips with his fingers, reaching up inside her. A few seconds later she felt the broad head of his cock rubbing up against her. He stroked his cock head up and down across her damp pussy lips as she gasped in pleasure and then he pressed in.

Darcy felt herself being spread like never before as Mister Hendricks' cock pushed deep inside. Her internal muscles squeezed reflexively as the shaft penetrated three inches, four inches – as far as her fingers ever reached. Then five inches, six inches.

She let out a gasp as he pulled himself out almost all the way, leaving only the head of his cock just inside the portals of her inner lips. Then he grabbed her around the hips and rammed forward. Darcy screamed as she felt herself impaled, filled up beyond anything she'd ever known. His hips slapped up against her red, spanked ass. The steel-wool mass of his pubic hair ground against her pussy lips as he reached the very limits of her clenching passage.

He didn't give her any time to get used to his presence inside her. He pulled out at once, almost all the way, and thrust back in, Darcy let out a high-pitched squeal of pain.

He began to fuck her the way he'd spanked her—hard, relentlessly, with all of his might, pistoning his powerful cock to the very depths of her quivering pussy channel, his huge ball sack slapping hard against her love lips at each inward thrust.

Darcy felt the thrusting like a relentless piston, like the machines she'd seen on the factory floor, hard, relentless, mechanical, thrusting hard up inside her body, over and over, stretching her insides, churning up pain and pleasure in ways that she'd never imagined before. Everything that she'd done with Bobby, her first time with him, all the countless times that she'd played with herself, bringing herself to climax using her fingers, using the handle of a hairbrush, it all now seemed like a prelude to this—

The real thing. Real fucking by a real man. Darcy felt utterly helpless—no, she was utterly helpless. He can do anything he wants to me, she thought, and the thought sent shivers of fear and of sexual delight coursing through her trembling body.

Bracing herself against the arm of the chair with one elbow she lifted herself up slightly and reached for one of her breasts with her free hand. Her tits were wobbling back and forth at each powerful thrust. She had to fumble to find the erect nipple. She started pinching it.

Suddenly, she felt Mister Hendricks' hand tangle in her hair, arching her back, pulling her body up toward him. She could feel her hair pins go flying as she felt herself slip back slightly on the arm of the chair, impaling herself even deeper on his up-thrusting cock. She let out a shriek of pain and delight.

He reached around, swatting her hand away from her breast. An instant later she felt his calloused thumb and forefinger close around her nipple, squeezing it, flattening it, twisting it like a vice, pinching it harder than she'd ever felt.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!!! Harder, harder, harder. Hurt me harder. Harder. The other one, the other one, sir, please, sir! Harder! Hurt me, hurt! Ahhhh!!!"

He'd let go of her hair and taken her other nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezing them both at once, twisting them both, pinching and pulling on the flesh of her nipples as if he were trying to squeeze them off, sending spasms of pain coursing through her body, down to her pussy, where her internal muscles grabbed at the thrusting cock, urging it to ram into her all the harder.

And then she felt herself pushed over the edge into climax, her whole body shaking wildly. She flung her legs back around his hips, pulling herself against his thrusting cock as her pussy went into wild spasms of delight.

But even as she felt the overwhelming wave of passion fade, Mister Hendricks kept fucking her, relentlessly, his thrusting now an even greater agony of overwhelming seething sensations.

"No, no, wait, wait, wait, I can't—I can't, I can't stand it—Oh, God, Oh God—"

He let go of her nipples and she fell flat across the chair but he didn't stop fucking her. He grabbed her around the hips and started yanking her ass back hard against his cock. She could hear the wet sticky sound of his hard thrusting member as she struggling for breath.

He started to pinch her hips and spank-reddened ass as he fucked her, digging his fingernails in hard, then moving his fingers down toward the sensitive flesh of her lower thighs, drawing fresh screams of pain from her, working her relentlessly until she achieved her second screaming climax.

And still he wasn't through. How long could he continue? How long had he been fucking her? An hour? A day? Forever? Her whole exhausted body was dripping with sweat. A tendril of spittle dripped from her open gasping mouth. And she know that her own pussy juices must be trickling from her the other gaping mouth of her pussy, the mouth that was now spread wider than it had ever been before, as it swallowed and disgorged that huge impaling organ.

Then his big hands moved back across her sore reddened ass cheeks, moving down across them, squeezing them, spreading them. She winced in pain, though it was minor compared to what had come before.

Then Darcy felt his fingers moving down between her ass cheeks, felt one of Mister Hendricks' fingers pressing against the twitching bud of her asshole.

Before she knew what was happening, he had pushed the tip of his finger up inside her asshole. And he didn't stop. He kept pushing, even as her anal muscles clenched down in reflex, trying to push the intruding digit out.

She squirmed, shocked, not knowing quite what to do. This was something she'd literally never imagined, had never even been part of her wildest fantasies of pain and pleasure and humiliation.

And now he was doing this thing, pushing his finger up inside her bottom, deeper, now up to the second knuckle, even as her body fought against it. Now, now it was all the way up inside her sensitive rectal passage, his finger wiggling around, his rough fingernail scratching her insides. It was the dirtiest thing she'd ever imagined. And it hurt so much, so much...

She wanted to scream for him to take it out, but she realized that it wouldn't make any difference. Didn't she remember? She was helpless. He could do whatever he wanted to her. If he wanted to spank her, he could do it. If he wanted to fuck her he could do it. If he wanted to put his finger up her ass, to degrade her or humiliate her or punish her in any way he might imagine, he could do it. And even as that awareness flowed over Darcy, it turned into a kind of terrified excitement, a longing, a hunger. She felt herself starting to build once again toward climax.

Yes, she thought, I am a bad girl. I'm a dirty girl who needs to be punished. And the more I'm punished the badder I get. Oh, please, she thought, punish me and make me bad. Make me a dirty girl...

Then Mister Hendricks pulled his finger almost all the way out—and then thrust it in again, the fingernail scraping her insides. He started pushing his finger in and out of her asshole. It was as if her were fucking her backside with his finger. And the muscles of her anus were squeezing his finger tight, gripping it as it moved in out, resisting the pain. The pain, the pleasure.

It was as if she were being fucked in both her pussy and her backside, two shafts of flesh moving in and out. The huge shaft now moving faster than ever before. The huge ball sack slapping hard against her at each inward thrust. And the finger, thrusting into her asshole in time with it.

Darcy bit down into the hard leather of the chair arm, sobbing now in an excess of passion and agony. The pounding of Mister Hendricks' cock was coming so fast that the slapping against her ass made a sound like somebody whipping up frosting in a bowl. And she couldn't help but think that the thrusting of his cock must be churning her own milky juice into froth deep in the pit of her pussy channel.

Suddenly, Mister Hendricks shoved her finger all the way to the root in her asshole and jammed his hips forward. He let out a low sharp groan. Darcy could feel the huge member twitch violently inside her, could feel the sudden heat as he shot his ejaculate deep up inside her in great spurts. He pulled out a bit and shoved in hard a second time, and then a third, shooting more and more inside her.

And as he came, Darcy joined him in her third climax, her pussy clenching, milking the gismic tribute from the thrusting cock. She suddenly realized that she was screaming, dragging her fingernails across her pale breasts as she thrashed wildly in the throes of overwhelming orgasmic bliss.

Darcy could feel his gism overflowing her clenching pussy, bubbling out around his shaft, trickling down her thighs. Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably, waves of pleasure sending earthquake tremors coursing over her body.

Finally, the storm of passion gradually passed. The only sound was that heavy breathing.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Finally, Mr. Hendricks pulled his finger out of her ass. Darcy let out a little squeal, twitching in agony. He leaned forward, resting his hands on her back, his gradually softening cock still inside her.

After a moment, Darcy felt it slip out and Mr. Hendricks stood up. Without a word he leaned over and picked her up. He calmly carried her to a nearby door and took her inside.

There was a full bathroom within. He calmly sat her down on the commode while he turned on the shower and undressed. There was a closet against one wall. He opened it and took out a clean suit, then stripped off his remaining clothes.

He glanced over at her.

"I assume you don't want to get your hair wet. You can take a bath when I'm finished. There are hair pins and make up in the medicine cabinet.

He stepped into the shower, looked out at her.

"I'll be at my desk when you're finished." He pulled the shower curtain shut.

Later, when she stepped out of the bathroom, hair and make-up back in place, wearing only a towel, Mister Hendricks was, indeed at his desk. He'd gone back to studying his plans.

He looked up.

"Before you get dressed, you can use that towel to clean up my chair and the floor."

"Yes sir," she replied.

She slipped off the towel and went to the chair, toweling off the stains—sweat, spittle, a mixture of cum and pussy juice. And on the floor in front of the chair—more pussy juice from when she played with herself and a neat pair of oval spots that marked the shape of her ass cheeks. She wiped them away. She gathered up all of the fallen hair pins she could find, picked up her discarded clothing, and returned to the bathroom to discard the towel and dress.

She came out again, doing her best to smooth the wrinkles in her blouse and skirt. She crossed to Mister Hendricks' desk, her ass aching beneath her panties, her breasts sore beneath her brassiere and her asshole just plain hurting. She did her best not to show her discomfort as she walked.

She stood by the desk, waiting.

Finally, he spoke.

"Would you like a drink?"

"No sir."

He looked up. "Don't tell me you don't drink."

"I drink sir, but I don't want to have a drink if I'm going to have to type up that memo for you by tomorrow morning."

He let out a laugh that sounded like a little bark.

"All right. Those ugly stockings of yours. Is that the best you've got?"

"Yes sir."

"No nylons?"

"Can't get them. There's a war on."

"I'll get them for you. And better-looking underwear. What you've got looks like something an old granny would wear. You're working for me now. If I'm going to have you around, I need to dress you up a bit. Especially your scanties. Can't stand a girl with ugly underwear. See Barbara about your new office. You'll get more money, but you won't have much time to spend it. That's all."

"Yes sir."

She turned and left.

From that time on, her life was very different. Mister Hendricks was, if anything, even more demanding than he'd led her to believe. Often he worked seven days a week, sometimes eighteen or twenty hour days, sleeping in his office, expecting her to catch her sleep on a couch when he did (she took to keeping a change of clothes in his office along with extra underwear—lots of extra underwear).

His need for sex was just as demanding and arbitrary. She could never be sure when he'd suddenly hit that button on his desk and she's find herself flung over the side of his desk or straddling his lap, or down on her knees, his rampant cock in her mouth. What she could be sure of was that his cock would need servicing at least twice a day. If there was trouble at the plant, he'd have to work off his tension with a third go-round or even more.

Of course there was also the spanking. That was an almost-daily ritual as well. Mostly he used his hand, but sometimes he also used the flat of his belt, or even a light cane—that was the most excruciating of all. Afterward, he'd always fuck her and she'd always cum the most furiously after being caned, even though it meant she'd have a hard time sitting.

Darcy found that she had a hard time sitting most of the time, but since she soon discovered that squirming around on her aching ass translated into a tingly moistening in her cunt, it didn't really bother her.

Mister Hendricks knew a great deal about all sorts of things, from aluminum cowlings to the different shapes and varieties of women's tits, cunts and assholes and when he'd had a few drinks he would happily expound on any one of those subjects, whether it was the efficiency of airplane wings of the enormous variety to be found in women's cunts. He liked to use the word cunt—a word that Darcy had heard maybe twice in her life and always in the most vulgar school yard connotations. But since he used it, that was the word that she used, talking about her own cunt, when he decided to talk about her cunt, or cunts generally. She finally found out that the little bud of flesh was a clitoris, or clitty, or clit. She learned all the various terms from him. What cum was. What an orgasm was. What a hand job was. What a blow job was. What buggering was.

It didn't take him long to educate her in the finer points of oral sex, how to use her hands and lips and tongue to bring him to orgasm, how to take his huge cock into her mouth, even down her throat without gagging. Sometimes he would like to cum into her mouth and watch while she swallowed it down. Other times he'd enjoy pulling out and shooting his gism across her pale lightly-freckled face, into her hair, into her open mouth, across her bright-red lipsticked lips, across her questing tongue.

After a couple months, he moved on to anal sex, telling her quite casually one evening that he intended to fuck her up the ass. The prospect was terrifying, even as he methodically lubricated her rectum, but the idea of refusing Mister Hendricks never even entered her mind. How could she possibly refuse him? He was Mister Hendricks. When he told her to do something, she was supposed to do it.

The first time feeling his huge cock up her ass was agonizing beyond anything she'd felt before. She was sure that he'd torn something inside her, that she might actually be dying. And yet even as he thrust his way to climax, he'd used his thumb up inside her sopping-wet cunt to bring her to a climax so intense that she saw stars in front of her eyes, briefly dancing on the edge of unconsciousness even as she felt his organ spurt deep up inside her rectum.

After that, he fucked her up the rear at least three or four times a week.

It almost seemed as if the two were inseparable, as if she were an extra limb. Yet he barely seemed to acknowledge her, whether others were around or not. Take a memo, Miss Winston. Get the Western Dynamics File for October, Miss Winston. Bend over and spread your ass, Little Lady. Those were the two modes of address. For business, it was almost always Miss Winston. For sex it was always Little Lady. She wasn't sure if he even knee her first name was Darcy, or if he cared. As for his first name—come to think of it, she actually didn't know it, and certainly wouldn't have dared use it if she had.

Whether business or sex, it was always Mister Hendricks or Sir. Whether in the office, or down on the plant floor, or woken up in her apartment in the middle of the night to take a memo or get a file or because he was in the mood to have his cock sucked, or whether they were headed down to the little airfield to fly somewhere in his specially modified twin Beech...

Hold on. Wait a second. That's it, Darcy thought, her head aching, shifting under that weight. We were going somewhere in Mister Hendricks' twin Beech. We left this morning, heading north. It was some unplanned trip. They couldn't find Bud, the co-pilot, so Mister Hendricks decided to take her up by himself. He often did that when it was just a "short hop." It was just going to be a short hop. A few hundred miles North.

What happened then? Where were they? Where was Mister Hendricks?

That's it. They were flying north. Bright blue skies above, a big rugged wilderness of woods and jagged peaks beneath them.

Mister Hendricks had invited her up to sit in the co-pilot's seat. He'd been smiling. She'd looked down and seen that he'd unzipped his trousers, had his hard cock out. Well, it was sort of a cramped space but she'd done this sort of thing before when they'd been out driving—sucked his cock while he was driving down the road. This was sort of the same thing, she imagined.

So she'd squeezed herself down into the narrow space and taken his cock into her mouth. The thought of doing it so high up in the air, traveling at hundreds of miles an hour—or however fast a plane flew, was a bit strange, but other than that, it had seemed much like any other time she'd sucked Mister Hendricks' cock.

No, there'd been something odd. He'd started to make some odd groaning noises. Usually, he was always quiet right up until the end. She didn't know quite what it meant, whether he was enjoying it or not. Abruptly, she'd felt his cock spasm, spurt into her mouth and then—

And then, suddenly, he'd fallen forward on top of her, gone limp. His cock fell from her lips. She struggled out from under him as the airplane heeled over and started down.

As she pulled free she caught a sudden glance at Mister Hendricks' face. Mouth hanging open, eyes rolled back.

She'd never seen a dead man, but she had a terrible feeling that she was seeing one now, a man who'd been alive just a moment before but wasn't alive any more.

She barely had time to inanely shout, "Mister Hendricks!" before the plane spun full over, and she was flung up to the ceiling. She found herself staring through the cockpit window. Through it, she could see the oncoming floor of the forest below, spinning around, coming toward her hideously fast.