Loading...When you’re not too bright you have to rely more on brawn than brains. At least I do. I never had a chance to get into college; in fact I, Ryan Allison, was lucky to get out of High School. My family was poor, and I’m just OK looking as far as facial features are concerned, so all I’ve ever had going for me was a big dick and big biceps, the first genetic, the second mostly because of hard work.
I never had good enough grades to even participate in sports in High School except my fifth year (that’s right, it took me five years to graduate) when the school wrestling coach took me under his wing at the start of the school year and shamed, cajoled, and threatened me into becoming eligible for wrestling.
Since I’m six feet three and weighed two hundred sixty pounds I wrestled as a heavyweight. Despite the fact that I had never wrestled competitively before, because all my talent is in strength, once I learned a number of basic moves I got to be good enough to point me in a career path. When the state tournament came around I came in fourth in the top division of the populous state that I grew up in.
I became a body guard. Well, actually I started out as a bouncer, saved enough by living at home (and paying rent to my parents) to take a number of weapons and crowd control courses, and then got a job as a member of a team of bodyguards for a high level show business type. I moved my way up the food chain until I got to be the only bodyguard for a minor sports celebrity after beating the shit out of two guys that tried to attack my previous employer.
When the minor sports celebrity that I was working for stopped doing high profile work — that is, when he retired — I started looking around for another job. Despite the fact that I had a good resume and recommendations and almost six years’ experience (I was twenty five then) good bodyguard jobs were scare. I did find out from a headhunter who contacted me that there was one job available — one that apparently no one else wanted despite the fact that it paid twenty percent more than I had been making.
The job was being the only bodyguard for a female performer who — in all honesty — defies verbal description. Her stage name is “Vile Bitch & ½” and her real name is Carleigh Cavanaugh (although I didn’t get her last name until much later); I’ll refer to her as either “Vile Bitch” or “Carleigh,” depending upon how she’s behaving at the time.
In her act Vile Bitch sang, played electric guitar, contorted her body, rode a unicycle, made weird things appear and disappear, and performed all sorts of lewd maneuvers. Her act can best be described as a combination of black metal, grunge, bizarre magic, and Circus Soleil. Kind of a Shanklin Freak Show meets Lady Gaga meets Lady Angellyca meets Ariann Black meets Gabby Douglas (you’ll probably have to look some of those up to see who they are, but I can assure you that the combination is lethal)!
I went for an “interview,” if you can call it that, with Vile Bitch’s “manager,” and then the woman herself. The manager was a milquetoast little guy named Harold who had a good financial head on him, but was obviously completely subservient to Vile Bitch. He offered me the job after looking at my resume and talking to me for five minutes, “Subject to Carleigh’s approval, of course,” he squeaked out after making the offer
When I met Vile Bitch I tried not to laugh, cry, or gag. She was twenty years old, tall (probably six feet and with her heels on as tall as I was), thin (probably no more than 135 pounds) with big boobs, and with hair so distorted that I had no idea what color it was or even if it was real. She had tattoos over most of her visible skin except her face and neck, her eyes looked like a snake’s — no shit, they really did with thin vertical slits for pupils — and her face, even though she wasn’t dressed for a performance, had so much makeup on it that you couldn’t tell if it was good looking or not.
When Harold and I went to meet Vile Bitch she had just gotten off a stage where she had rehearsed a new five minute segment of her act. Her crew/ensemble consisted of a drummer/keyboarder, an “on-stage assistant,” two lighting guys, and two guys who handled other equipment besides lighting. The drummer/keyboarder was a short rasty Asian woman who looked like she was sixty years old, although she probably was in her twenties; the on-stage assistant was a short chubby young black woman; and the two lighting and two other guys were almost interchangeable in appearance, all young and about five feet eight inches tall and one hundred sixty pounds, except that two were white, one was black, and one was Native American. Every member of the crew/ensemble had “Vile Bitch & ½” tattooed on his or her left arm.
“Carleigh, this is Ryan Allison, who is applying for the bodyguard job and who I’d like to hire,” Harold meekly said.
“Nice to meet you, Carleigh,” I said holding out my hand.
“It’s Vile Bitch to you, bozo,” she sneered, ignoring my hand. “Are you worth a shit as a bodyguard?”
“Let’s put it this way Vile Bitch,” I snarled, “I could beat the shit out of you and your entire crew in sixty seconds flat, yet I can be as gentle as a lamb in handling people who aren’t a threat.”
“You look kinda stupid — are you?” she growled, crossing her arms.
“Why, are you some kind of fucking genius so that you think that I can’t keep up with you intellectually?” I growled back.
“So who the fuck was dimwitted enough to hire you before?” she asked with a haughty look.
“People a hell of a lot more famous and worthy of protection than a vile bitch and 1/2,” I responded, crossing my arms.
“You’ll need to get my stage name tattooed on your arm if you work for me,” she barked.
“As long as it comes off with soap and water, great, otherwise get fucked,” I snapped.
The name-calling session, masquerading as an interview, continued for another five minutes. Harold stood their completely dumbfounded without saying a word while his crew pretended not to look at us but obviously were taking everything in with grins on their faces.
Finally the “interview” concluded when Vile Bitch hissed “I’m not sure that just because you’re fat that you’re strong.”
With that I was on her in a flash, grabbed both of her knees and lifted her over my head. She obviously was strong herself because she kept her legs and torso straight as I did that, not something that most people can do. She didn’t scream, swear, yell, or make any sound at all. After I held her over my head about five seconds I let her drop, caught her, and then put her back on her feet.
When her feet hit the ground Vile Bitch pulled a small knife from her right boot, pointed the blade in my face and with a sneer said “Don’t ever fucking touch the talent.”
Without hurting her hand I immediately took the knife away from her, held the blade with the handle facing her and said “I was just answering your stupid fucking question — I have no desire to ‘touch the talent’ as you put it.”
In response to that comment I thought that I saw a small smile on her face, although I couldn’t be sure because of the makeup, but after the knife handle was pointing at her for a few seconds she took it, returned the knife to her boot, and said “OK Harold, I guess we can’t get anyone better than this dipshit, so go ahead and hire him.”
“Thanks for your glowing assessment and confidence,” I laughed. As Harold and I turned to go back to his office I could see the entire crew either chuckling or laughing. Vile Bitch saw it too and snarled “What’s so fucking funny shitheads? Get back to work!”
When we got back to Harold’s office he said “WOW; I’ve never seen anyone handle Carleigh that way before. You gave it as good as you got without getting mad or mean — I think that really impressed her.”
I laughed. “I have a thick skin and even temperament. By the way, how long did the previous bodyguard last?”
“Uh, well, uh,” he hemmed and hawed. When he saw that I was waiting for an answer he finally answered, “Three months.”
And so my life as Vile Bitch’s bodyguard got off to a roaring start.
Vile Bitch & ½ lived up to her name; she was the queen of “bitchdom!” Her interview approach with me wasn’t just an act. She was rude, callous, ill-tempered, and crass in the way that she dealt with almost everyone. The only person who could persuade her to do anything by logic was Harold. I persuaded her by brute force when I absolutely needed to for her safety despite all of her yelling and swearing that often followed.
I found the drummer/keyboarder to be a bitch too, though not on Vile Bitch’s level. The on-stage assistant and the four crew members were all nice people. They were all in awe of Vile Bitch, and even though they rarely gave her lip they weren’t as subservient as Harold. I did come to realize that it was only by being completely subservient that Harold was able to get Evil Bitch to, on occasion, do reasonable things.
I do have to say that Vile Bitch was as gifted as she was bitchy. While her act didn’t particularly appeal to me I had to admit that the woman had talent — in fact I wondered how someone twenty years old could possibly have learned, let alone have perfected, the myriad of things that she could do on stage, including magic tricks. I was blown away both by her ability and her intellect — she NEVER forgot anything, could do any calculation in her head, and was a font of knowledge in subjects that I had barely even heard of.
I was very pleased that despite her appearance she never, never, ever used any type of drug or alcohol — it was hard just to get her to take an aspirin or antihistamine. She also forbade anyone on the crew to use drugs too, although she did allow them to drink beer or wine.
Vile Bitch went on tour about two weeks after I started working for her; hardly enough time to get all security procedures in play, but I made it work. Everyone in the crew was very cooperative — except for Vile Bitch, of course, and she was the only one that actually needed protection.
The type of audience that Vile Bitch attracted was rough, loud, often high on drugs, and sometimes violent. Every venue that we went to provided security during the performance so I remained backstage to prevent anyone from approaching her there. Never having heard of her before my interview I was surprised by the large number of loyal fans that she seemed to have. She sold out small-to-medium sized venues everywhere that we went, not just in the U. S. but elsewhere in the world.
Because of the type of fans that she had, plus the neighborhoods where some of the venues were, I had more physical activity the first four months working for Vile Bitch than I had had the entire six years I had been a bodyguard before that. Even though she never complimented me, I could tell by her silence, or by her being less bitchy than normal, that she was impressed by the way that I handled bad situations. I always gave the potential perpetrators a chance to back down, but if they didn’t I rendered them incapacitated within seconds, including a few guys my size. Despite the Kevlar vest that I always wore when working I did get two minor knife cuts in my side where the vest didn’t cover, and a bruise on my left cheek, but nothing serious. Vile Bitch even seemed to be concerned about my injuries — as much concern as she was capable of expressing, anyway.
I only needed to pull my gun, a Beretta Px4 Storm Compact with 12 rounds of .40 S&W bullets in the clip (which gun I often carried even where it was illegal), three times. I used it only once when some asshole in Mexico yelling a religious saying pulled a gun and pointed it at Vile Bitch. The Mexican venue was so bad that when I shot that fucker in the shoulder it didn’t even warrant a visit by the cops; the venue’s security just dumped the bleeding guy in an alley and confiscated his gun.
After three and a half months on tour we returned to Vile Bitch’s city of residence — Las Vegas — to rest up and perfect some new things that she wanted to try in her act. After about a week Harold informed me of where we were touring next.
“We’re going, in order, to Germany, the Netherlands, Poland, Hungary, and Russia, with the final performance in the Russian province of Dagestan,” he told me, handing me a set of plans on all of the venues in each place. “All the venues, including five in Russia and two each in Poland and Germany, are sold out,” he proudly proclaimed.
I’m no expert on current affairs, but I had heard of Dagestan. “Uh, Harold, why in the hell are we going to Dagestan? That is one of the most dangerous places on earth — there’s a fucking rebellion there, suicide bombers, the whole shebang!”
“Well, Ryan,” he meekly replied, “didn’t you know that Carleigh was born in Dagestan.”
“I hate to tell you Harold, but ‘Carleigh Cavanaugh’ is not a Dagestanian name,” I replied.
“Yeah, well her birth father was a Russian politician there. He was killed by Islamic extremists and her Austrian/Russian ancestry mother moved to the U. S. when Carleigh was three. Eighteen months after Carleigh’s Mom got to the U. S. she married an American named James Cavanaugh and he adopted Carleigh. She had her first name legally changed to Carleigh and her middle name to what had been her first name, Svetlana,” Harold responded. “Carleigh speaks fluent Russian and a little Dargi — a dialect spoken by about 500,000 in the Caucuses.”
“All news to me,” I said as I shrugged my shoulders. “That still doesn’t make it safe to go to Dagestan.”
“Well the Russian government has promised to provide extra security,” Harold winced.
“Why in the hell would it do that?” I asked.
“Because Carleigh has been very outspoken against the extremists in Dagestan, especially about the Muslim insurgents who are trying to establish an Islamic state. The Russian government appreciates her willingness to publicly express her views,” he acknowledged in a quiet voice.
“What?” I shouted.
“Here,” Harold replied, reaching into his desk and pulling out a folder of press clippings relating to Dagestan.
When I read the press clippings over I couldn’t fucking believe some of the things that Vile Bitch had said. Her mother had apparently really poisoned her outlook, and being the gross outspoken person that Vile Bitch was her comments were beyond inflammatory; those that were in English. I got the feelings that the ones in Russian were even worse.
“We can’t go there,” I said with a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach.
“You’ll have to talk to Carleigh about that,” Harold whined.
I had three very unpleasant conversations with Vile Bitch over the next week. Some of the mildest things that she called me were “pussy,” “wimp,” and “faggot.” I assured her that we both would end up dead and demanded that she buy a $1,000,000 life insurance policy for me, naming my parents as beneficiaries. To my surprise she actually did that; whether it was because she valued me as her bodyguard or knew that she couldn’t get someone else, I don’t know; but she bought the policy.
I made several preparations for the trip to Dagestan. I was told that Russian officials would allow me to bring a handgun into Russia (although I used a cheap one, in case it was confiscated, not my Berretta), but that there would be no way to get one into Dagestan because sophisticated metal detectors would be utilized at the border crossing or airport. Therefore I had a local shop with a 3D printer print out a high quality plastic gun — not strictly legal, but they were willing to do it for twice the normal cost for a device that size.
The only metal parts necessary to make my plastic gun operational were two springs. I left the gun unassembled with different components in different pieces of luggage, and separate from the springs. I hid the bullets in one of the weird devices that Vile Bitch uses in her act.
I was told that the gun could be counted on to fire six shots. After that it was problematic. I never tested the gun because I didn’t want to use up one or more of the shots, or provide gun shot residue on the parts.
I also got a cell phone that I was assured would work in Dagestan. I also talked Harold into getting for me, and letting me bring into Dagestan, the equivalent of $5,000 in Russian rubles.
The tour went very well; the crowds were enthusiastic and the grosser that Vile Bitch got the better they seemed to like it. I only had to handle one thug each in Poland and Germany. In Russia the government officials were true to their word and let me keep my metal, less expensive, handgun, and they provided good security so in the big Russian cities things were easier for me than normal. Then came the dreaded Dagestan province venue.
There is no doubt that Islamic separatists knew that Vile Bitch was coming. In fact the electronic chatter was so bad that even the Russians tried to talk her out of going. Of course Vile Bitch never relented — what a surprise. As soon as I arrived in Dagestan I assembled my plastic gun, retrieved the bullets and inserted them, and checked to see that my cell phone worked — it did — and put the rubles in a money belt around my waist.
Security was really tight for Vile Bitch’s concert in Dagestan. The venue was swept by dogs before hand — and two improvised explosives were located and disarmed. Also metal detectors and hand searches were used for all 5,000 plus fans who packed the venue. Aside from a few unruly people, who obviously were protestors, not fans, that Russian security handled, everything went well and Vile Bitch got numerous raucous standing ovations (actually since no one ever seemed to sit during the entire performance I guess that she just got ovations).
When we went to our hotel for the night I actually started to hope that things were going to be OK. I did spend the night in Vile Bitch’s suite that night because she had a bedroom and bath separate from an anteroom and second bath. I slept on a couch in the anteroom with my plastic gun under my pillow. A Russian cop was outside our door the entire night.
Things changed the next day.
Fortunately the rest of the crew left Dagestan without incident, on an early morning flight with all of Vile Bitch’s equipment in a separate cargo plane. Vile Bitch remained behind to do some public appearances that the Russians had requested, during which, in her fluent Russian, she blasted the idea of an Islamic state in her own inimical way.
We left for the airport for our early evening flight in a caravan of three vehicles. I was not looking forward to our flight — being cooped up with Vile Bitch on a plane would be horrible — normally Harold sat next to her, but he had left. In our middle car there were two Russian cops in the front seat with Vile Bitch and me in the back. There was a lead car with two cops, and a trailing car also with two cops. At one isolated stretch of road the front car blew up.
The trailing car was peppered with automatic weapons fire. The cop driving our car was trying to turn around when he was shot in the head and died instantly. With the car at a stop the other cop got out with his AK-47 blazing. I pushed Vile Bitch onto the floor of the back seat, and put my body over her. The gunfire stopped in a few minutes and shortly after that both back doors of our car flew open and several guys who looked like they were straight out of an Al Qaeda training video pointed guns at us. The spoke to us in a language that I didn’t recognize, but assumed was Dargi since Vile Bitch obviously understood the jist of it.
“Get your fat ass off of me, they want us out of the car,” she told me in her normal bitchy way.
It was clear that the terrorists, Islamic separatists, whatever you want to call them — terrorists works for me — wanted Vile Bitch alive, and apparently thought that I might be useful to them too. They never even bothered to search me, although they did run a wand — obviously some sort of metal detector — over both of us, and handcuffed our hands behind our backs with plastic cuffs. Then after yelling some more gibberish they pushed us back into the back seat of the same car, and tossed the dead driver onto the ground.
“They told us to shut the fuck up — not talk to each other,” Vile Bitch sneered with a defiant look.
One of the guys slapped her, obviously because she had said something to me, and she snapped back at him, likely informing him — and I’m sure with Dargi expletives — that she was just telling me not to say anything because I didn’t understand their stupid fucking language. The guy looked like he would slap her again, but for some reason changed his mind. Two terrorists got in the front seat of our car and we started to drive away into the foothills.
The ride was rough. There was a Jeep in front of us, and an old pickup in back, each with three or four terrorists in them. I knew that I couldn’t let them get us to their camp, and was about to break off the window handle and see if I could expose a sharp edge to cut the plastic cuffs off with when Vile Bitch elbowed me. I forgot that she was a magician — or at least that she did magic tricks, of sorts, as part of her act. She was loose from her cuffs and was motioning for me to move my hands over to hers, one of which held a pin. While looking straight ahead and never moving her hands in front of her she soon had my cuffs off too. Because of the rough ride the guys in front never noticed anything.
I carefully watched the road to see if there was a good location for an escape. In a desolate area we got a break. The pickup truck behind us honked, and our driver stopped.
Someone from the pickup truck walked up to the driver’s window of our car and chatted for a while; then he got in the front seat of our vehicle and we took off again, with the pickup left behind. Vile Bitch mouthed “Mechanical trouble” to me.
When we got to a bend in the road where the lead Jeep was out of site I took out my plastic gun and shot the two front seat passengers in the head. I put the gun to the head of the driver and told Vile Bitch to tell him to stop — I guess she did because he did. Once the vehicle was motionless I shot the driver in the head.
The gun wasn’t the quietest in the world. When we heard the distinctive sounds of activity both in front and in back of us, I grabbed one of the AK-47s and an extra clip from one of the dead terrorists, grabbed Vile Bitch by the hand, and took off into the dense forest lining the road. Smart woman that she is, while I was picking up the AK-47 and extra clip Vile Bitch grabbed her backpack out of the trunk, flipped off her high heels and pulled a pair of sandals out of the backpack and put them on.
We moved wordlessly through the forest for hours, until it was so dark that it was dangerous. We moved away from civilization because we expected the terrorists to think that we went the other way.
When we stopped, Vile Bitch pulled some power bars out of her backpack and started munching. “Are you going to offer me one Vile Bitch?” I asked, trying to be polite.
“These are for me, asshole,” she snarled while continuing eating.
I grabbed one from her hand and put the whole thing in my mouth. “Keep your fucking hands off my stuff,” she yelled.
“Listen, Vile Bitch. I’m going to tell you this once — and once only. We are in a dangerous survival situation. We’re going to have to work together, share everything — including the $5,000 worth of rubles in my money belt — and lay low, without any yelling, if we are to have any chance to survive. Do you realize what’s in store for you if these terrorists get you to their camp? You can’t be that fucking stupid not to know, can you? Especially after your expletive filled tirades against their cause, making you look like a fucking Russian government puppet,” I said in a firm but calm voice.
She said nothing, but obviously her wheels were turning. I continued: “Until we get back home — certainly a long shot at best — I am not taking orders from you. Our situation, being one of survival, is where I have the expertise, and the weapon. We will consult about what to do, but ultimately you will follow my lead.”
“Or what, dipshit,” she snarled.
“Or I’ll go off on my own and let you fend for yourself. Or better yet,” I continued with a diabolical grin, “I’ll exchange you for my freedom — I’m sure that the terrorists would love that deal. I’m not the one that called Mohammed names, like you did.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she spit.
“Don’t be sure of that,” I snapped. “Now what do you have in your backpack. Even though it’s summer we could get cold tonight.”
Vile Bitch had some clothes in her backpack, along with the power bars, and a dopp kit. Obviously the clothes didn’t fit me, but I put some over me, she put some on, and we wordlessly survived the night without too much discomfort.
I actually convinced Vile Bitch, although she had a number of profanity-laced retorts during our “discussion,” that we needed to find a sympathetic household, buy some different clothes and food from them, and that she needed to change her appearance drastically since she stood out like a turd in a swimming pool. That’s when I found out that her bizarre “coiffure” was a wig interwoven with her real hair. I cut her wig off using the small scissors in her dopp kit. Then she left me for about a half hour while she washed all of the makeup off her face, using a facial brush, and facial cream, from her dopp kit, at a stream that we had come across. She threw away her normal outfit and put on a jogging suit from her backpack.
When she returned from the stream I almost didn’t recognize her. Despite her chopped hair she looked like a real human being. In fact, like a very attractive female human. When I said “Wow, you look nice,” her reply was typical crude Vile Bitch — “Fuck you! Keep your dick in your pants.”
When she made that comment I thought for a second — and then decided that before we made it back I would likely fuck her!
It took another full day, at which point we were both hungry, before we found what we were looking for. A Russian family living out in the middle of nowhere willing to sell us clothes and food. The woman of the family also cut Vile Bitch’s hair evenly so that she looked completely human.
Vile Bitch wanted to stay with the family for several days but I told her that I wasn’t 100% sold on their trustworthiness. Even though they didn’t know who we were they were suspicious, and maybe they thought they’d get a bonanza by advising others of our whereabouts. Therefore in the middle of the second night I woke Vile Bitch up and got her to come outside. All of our food, a blanket, and extra clothing were packed in her backpack and a duffle bag that I had purchased from the family and which also included my plastic gun and the AK-47 with extra clip.
Vile Bitch didn’t agree with my decision to leave. When she spat some profanities at me and then turned to go back into the house I grabbed her from behind with my hand over her mouth, gagged her, tied her hands together, and her feet together, slung her over my right shoulder, and carried the two bags in my left hand. Seeing how she had gotten out of the plastic cuffs in the car I wasn’t sure that her hands and feet would stay tied too long, so I hurried through the woods as best I could.
When I sensed her hands getting free I stopped. It was in a small rise, with lots of pine needles on the ground. I held her freed hands with one of mine while I spread a tarp out — from the duffle bag — on the pine needles. With her feet still tied I sat her down on it, pulled down her gag, and listened to a long string of invectives from her before I’d had enough.
Finally I put my hand over her mouth, avoiding getting bitten, and pulled her back into my chest while I had my free arm around her neck.
“This is the last time I’m telling you, Vile Bitch. I’m in charge of getting us out of here; when it comes to our safety you’ll do as I say. I’m not taking orders from you until we get back home, and at the rate you’re going we never will,” I whispered into her ear.
When I released her mouth she said “Fuck you,” and tried to wiggle free. I turned her on her stomach and held her hands above her head, pulled her pants down, and started spanking her. She tried her best to get free and swore a blue streak, but didn’t scream. When I stopped and asked “Are you ready to do as I say?”
She retorted “Is that all you got, dickless?”
With that I moved my hand back toward her bare ass, but because she was squirming around my fingers came into contact with her pussy. It was soaking wet, and not from sweat or environmental moisture.
With that I got incredibly hard — I hadn’t been laid in weeks, and unless Vile Bitch had something going on that she could have kept secret from her entire crew, she hadn’t been either.
“Why are you wet, Vile Bitch?” I asked her while maintaining two fingers in contact with her pussy.
“Because you make me sick you fucking asshole,” she shot back, squirming even more.
In a nanosecond my lust overcame me. I didn’t really have any time for rational thought to interfere with my lust, but I do remember all of “we’re probably gonna die anyway; she is so fucking hot; she needs to be punished; she’s asking for it; I should jettison this fucking job, anyway,” running through my mind, probably with dozens of other sound bites that I can’t remember.
While holding down her ass with my right hand, I undid my belt and pulled down my pants with my left hand — hard to do since my dick was so hard and straight that I almost couldn’t get my boxers past it with just one hand. Vile Bitch figured out what I was doing and started swearing at me at an even higher level than before, and squirmed even more. While she is athletic and strong for her size I weigh twice as much, am three times as strong, and I was even more motivated than she was.
Once my cock was ready I fingered her pussy some more, found her clit and began gently massaging it. Gently handling her clit was hard to do given her level of writhe. Interspersed with her swearing and thrashing were moans, especially once I started on her clit. I thought that she was ready, and I knew that I was, so I lifted up her crotch area with my left hand, moved her thighs apart as far as I could considering that her feet were still tied loosely together, and shoved my cock all the way into her pussy in one thrust.
Vile Bitch let out a low growl once I was buried in her tight pussy — and I mean tight. It had to be more than her feet being loosely tied together — she had one snug cunt, there! Then began the most memorable sex of my life.
Vile Bitch continued to swear under her breath and twist and buck her pelvis. However, whether intentionally or not, her crotch action was turning me on more than I ever had been before. Once she started squeezing her pc muscles I completely lost it, and at first was chastising myself for coming too early, because despite how I despised Vile Bitch I strangely wanted her to really enjoy it. Not to worry — I had so much cum saved up that I probably squirted into her ten times, and about halfway through she started having the mother of all orgasms. Everything from her low groans, squeaks, and convulsions told me that this was the hardest anyone had ever orgasmed in my experience.
Once I stopped cumming and she stopped spasmming I stayed inside her as we both groaned. I didn’t pull out until I was completely flaccid. As soon as I removed my arm from holding up her waist she collapsed and just lay there. I lay right beside her. I must have fallen asleep or passed out because the next thing that I knew Vile Bitch was poking me in the ribs and saying “Get up asshole — I thought that you wanted to get away from the comfortable cabin that we were sleeping in.”
Vile Bitch was now fully dressed, the restraints on her hands and feet were gone, everything was packed up, and she was ready to go. “Get your little dick back in your pants too; I don’t want to have to look at that ugly thing.”
Despite her words she was not just looking at my dick, but staring at it. Her pussy juice was caked on it, and it was half hard. One thing that I was certain of is that it wasn’t “little” because the size of my cock was one of only a few things that I had going for me.
I woke up quickly, pulled up my pants, fastened my belt, picked up the duffle bag, and started walking off.
“Aren’t you bringing the backpack?” she snarled.
“You carry it, Vile Bitch; I’m not your pack animal,” I shot back.
“I’d think that the least you could do after raping me is to carry my pack, shithead,” she snapped.
“You weren’t that good,” I shot back, then started walking away and said “Are you coming?” Of course the “you weren’t that good” comment was the most ridiculous thing that I had ever said in my life. She was a so much better fuck than any other woman that I had ever been with that no comparison was even legitimately possible.
Surprising me, Vile Bitch caught up to me, knapsack on her back, and initiated as rational a conversation as we had ever had. She was asking all sorts of questions about what I thought we should do, what our chances were of getting out, was anyone looking for us, etc. We actually made eye contact a few times and I suddenly realized — she didn’t look like a serpent any more! She had beautiful normal blue eyes, not green and brown eyes with thin vertical pupils. I stopped cold and stared at her.
“Uh, Vile Bitch…” I started to say.
“You can call me Carleigh if I can call you Ryan,” she interrupted.
“You don’t want to call me shithead or asshole?” I asked with a smile.
“No — rapist maybe — but not those names. Please call me Carleigh and I’ll call you Ryan,” she replied.
Her use of the word “please” so startled me that I almost didn’t remember what I was going to say. I’m sure that I stood there with my mouth open for a good twenty seconds before I remembered.
“Uh, OK; well Carleigh, why do your eyes not look like a snake’s?” I asked.
“Oh; well while you were sleeping, or passed out, after raping me I took out my contacts. They were starting to bother me anyway with all the pollen in the woods,” she nonchalantly replied.
“You wear contacts?” I asked, incredulous, since I had never seen her without snake’s eyes.
“Yes; part of my act. I don’t need them to improve my eyesight — its 20-20. They’re called ‘Cobra Eye’ contacts. I have many pairs of them, and usually only take them out when I sleep.”
“Oh,” I said — then feeling the need to say something more, and really believing it, I replied “Well your blue eyes are beautiful.”
I knew as soon as I said that she would come back with some demeaning comment. I almost fainted in shock when she smiled, said “Thanks,” and then started talking about some ideas that she had about how to get back to civilization.
We walked most of the day, taking a five minute break every hour. During the breaks we actually chatted — almost like normal people. Periodically I would try my cell phone, but there was no reception anywhere we went that day — not surprising considering the remote mountain terrain — and I didn’t leave the phone on long because I wanted to save the battery.
By the time that darkness enveloped our campsite, where we shared some of the food we had purchased from the people at the cabin we had stayed at, I was having a difficult time getting comfortable because my cock was rock hard. As much as I hated to admit it I was so turned on by Carleigh that all that I could really concentrate on was how to get my cock back into her cozy pussy. I really didn’t want to force myself on her again, but was coming to the conclusion that I might have to when she surprised me for about the tenth time that day.
“Say, Ryan. I’m still pissed at you for raping me, but do you think that you could fuck me without raping me? I’ve been horny lately and I think that you have a decent cock. No strings, or anything — just sex.” Those words actually came out of her mouth. I sat there dumbfounded while she stared at me with an expectant look on her face. I decided to have some fun before my fun.
“I don’t know, Carleigh. You kind of insulted me by calling my cock little and ugly. I don’t know if I can get it up,” I replied trying to keep a straight face.
Carleigh laughed. “You know damn well that your cock isn’t little or ugly — and as for not being able to get it up, what has been tenting your pants virtually the entire day? Including now!”
I was busted.
I moved toward her and took her into my arms. We gently kissed as she undid my pants and I took off her top.
Her tits rendered me speechless. They were magnificent. While too big for her thin body they were perfectly shaped and had just enough sag to demonstrate that they were natural. After I played with them for a while she got down on her knees, pulled my pants and shorts down, and started sucking my dick. I continued to play with her tits as she did so. I didn’t want to waste even one load, however, so I lifted her up, broke away, spread the tarp on a bed of pine needles, got the blanket we had purchased out of the duffle bag, and removed the rest of my clothes. She was already naked.
I lay her down on the tarp and proceeded to lick her clit, finger her labia with one hand, and penetrate her and stroke her G-spot with the other. After she had two significant orgasms I thought that she was ready — and I certainly was. I spread her thighs, put her heels on my shoulders, penetrated her, and started to bang the shit out of her.
Carleigh clawed my back, bit my shoulder, bucked her pelvis up and down, and alternately swore, yelped, and moaned. When she could tell that I was almost there she squeezed her pc muscles and we both came — violently. If we had been on a bed we probably would have broken it. It was a long time before my dick became flaccid and popped out of her — perhaps because the entire time I was stroking or sucking her luscious melons.
When we lay side-by-side, with the blanket over us, and I had almost fallen into a very satisfying slumber when Carleigh lifted up one of my eyelids. “Did you really mean it when you said that I wasn’t that good?” she asked — seemingly real.
“You’re not serious, are you?” I chuckled. By the expectant look on her face I thought that she might be. “If you are serious, you have to be the least intuitive person on the planet. My two fucks with you were the best sexual experiences of my life,” I replied with a grin.
“You mean one rape and one fuck, don’t you?” she grinned back. Then she buried her head on my chest and we soon both fell asleep.
Carleigh woke me up the next morning fondling my cock. “Let’s take a quick dip in the stream then have some fun,” she giggled.
The stream was cold, but bearable. We washed each other’s backs and tended to our own “equipment” and then ran back to the tarp and blanket. After we warmed each other up by snuggling together she started stroking my cock again, I stroked her pussy, soon we were in a sixty nine with her on top, and soon after that she was riding me like I was a prize bull. I fondled her tits as I bucked upwardly and we had the third, mammoth, essentially simultaneous orgasm in a row.
Once we started walking after breakfast — with me carrying both the knapsack and the duffle bag, I couldn’t help myself — I felt the best that I ever had in my life. I felt even better when we stopped for lunch.
“Say Ryan; before we eat, let me ask you something,” Carleigh said with a smile.
“Sure — what’s up?” I replied with my own smile.
“You know, the ground is hard on my back and knees when we fuck. Is it the same for you?” she asked, with an even bigger smile.
After a pause I replied, “Well….uh….yes; but that doesn’t mean that I want to give it up.”
“Who said anything about giving it up? What’s wrong with doing it standing up, or you sitting down and me sitting on you?” she asked with a devilish grin.
I smiled as she shed her clothes then walked over to a tree, bent over, spread her thighs apart, and supported herself with her hands on the tree. She giggled with her head upside down between her legs, the mottled sunlight penetrating the forest canopy reflecting off of her moist pussy.
I’m not that stupid; I was over there in a flash gently stroking her glistening pussy as I dropped and stepped out of my pants. I held her hips tightly as I penetrated her, and stroked in and out, leisurely at first and then hard. I saw her start rubbing her clit with one hand as she started chanting “Oh yes, oh yes, oh fucking yes,” and I grabbed one of her flopping boobs with one of my hands while holding onto her hip with the other. Her pussy was at exactly the right height for my dick to rub her G-spot with every stroke.
This time she came so hard that I had to hold her up to keep her from falling. By the time that I came she had climaxed three times, and we both fell to our knees. When I pulled out she turned and faced me and we both started chuckling.
“I came three fucking times, Ryan, you animal,” she giggled; “and why did you let me fall to the ground? You were supposed to hold me up.”
“My knees buckled,” I chortled. “You sucked me dry — you’re the animal, Carleigh, remember — the ‘Bitch.'”
Carleigh actually laughed out loud then gave me a passionate kiss on the lips.
What followed was the most sexually fulfilling time of my life. For the next ten days Carleigh was pleasant, smiley, forthright, humorous — and most of all sexually provocative. We fucked at least twice every day and I ate her out at least once every day too. She did give me a blowjob once but I was more interested in saving all of my jism for her pussy.
As the ten days went along she also got more beautiful. Without makeup, and once her hair recovered completely from the wig weave she had had for more than a year without relief, and with her sparkling blue eyes, she looked fantastic. I didn’t fall in love with her, because I was certain that at any time she could return to her Vile Bitch persona — but I sure was head-over-heels in lust with her, and enjoyed her company.
In those ten days we had re-supplied our food stocks, and purchased a few other things that we needed — including a pair of binoculars — from two other remote Russian families. From the last family we got directions to a Russian town — one not sympathetic to the Islamic separatists.
With the binoculars we scoped out the town from an overlooking wooded ridge. We concurred that it was safe. When we walked into the town one of the first things that we noticed was a newspaper — only a couple of days old — with a large photo of Vile Bitch and a small photo of me on the front page. Carleigh read the article, chuckled, and gave me a summary.
“There is an all out effort by the Russian Government to find us. They are certain that we are being held by Islamic separatists, but are encouraged that they found three dead ones in the car that we were in. Harold has returned to Dagestan and is coordinating information from the Russian Government and people back home. We’re a big deal,” she laughed. Then she got this quizzical look on her face and chuckled “This will really pump up my video sales — in fact I’ll bet they’re already through the roof!”
I smiled. “If everyone is so frantic we should probably call someone right away.”
Carleigh got this really quizzical look on her face. “OK — if your phone is working let’s call Harold so that he’s relieved. But wouldn’t you like an entire day together in a hotel room, with a bathtub and a bed? Once we get back to the States our relationship is going to go back to the way that it was.”
I already knew our fuck fest wouldn’t continue once we got home. I nodded, and handed Carleigh my phone. “Let’s find a hotel first,” she said.
There was one hotel in town. We looked at the rooms. Most were second class but they did have what passed for a “penthouse,” with a large tub and shower, a big bed, and clean sheets and towels. After talking with the management in Russian she turned to me and said “The penthouse is seven thousand rubles, roughly $200, for two nights. Am I worth that for one last night and day of fun?”
I laughed out loud at the diabolical look on her face, more than the question, pulled five thousand rubles from my money belt and handed it over. “Give me three thousand more,” she said, so I did, and she handed it to the manager after giving him quick instructions in her fluent Russian. The manager handed her two plastic packages each containing a razor and some other items.
As we walked the three flights up to our room — no elevator — I asked “What was the other three thousand for?”
“For the plastic packages, room service when we want to eat, and to be sure that no one disturbs us for any reason; just a knock on the door when they bring us the food. We’re going to really, really enjoy each other,” she snickered.
In the room I went to shave my thirteen day growth of beard while Carleigh called Harold on the phone. I was just finishing up when she came into the bathroom, naked, after finishing her call to Harold. “What’s up?” I asked, not looking her in the eye but at her spectacular boobs.
“Harold thinks that we should go to the authorities here in town immediately, but he’s willing to go along with my desires. He didn’t really ask for an explanation. I promised him that at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon that we’d go to the local police station. He confirmed that my video sales have skyrocketed,” she chirped.
“How about a shower?” I asked, dropping my pants. She smiled, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me.
The shower was big enough to fuck in, so of course we did, with me holding her up by her ass with her arms tightly around my neck and her luscious boobs pushed into my chest. We were happy campers as we dried off.
“Say, Ryan; look at all this stubble on my legs and crotch, huh. Thirteen days without shaving is a long time — gross, isn’t it?” she said.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that your body could ever be described as ‘gross’ even if your act is,” I snickered.
After giving me a playful punch in my arm with a teasing look she continued. “Would you mind shaving me?”
I laughed then said “I’d pay a year’s salary to be able to do that.”
“Well get out the razor and shaving cream from my bag,” she said as she ran a little warm water in the tub and then sat down in it.
I was very careful, and had a great deal of fun!
We stayed naked while we ate dinner, then gave each other a massage. I gave her one first, then her me. When she finished she whispered in my ear “You know as fantastic as the sex has been with you the first time was the best. I’ve decided that if you want any more sex before three tomorrow afternoon you’re going to have to take it; I’m not giving it up.”
With that she got up, got dressed in the most conservative outfit that she had and then snipped “Get off the bed asshole; you’re sleeping on the couch and I don’t want your stink messing up the sheets for me.”
Since I’m not the smartest or most perceptive guy in the world, at first I was non-plussed, especially when she poked me in the ribs hard as she repeated “Get the fuck off, shithead!” Then I thought back on our first time — as great as the sex had been since then, I had to admit that the first time was my best sexual experience ever too.
I got up off the bed with kind of a hang-dog look, like I was going to comply, and picked up a few articles of clothing as she snarled “And cover up your ugly body too, I can’t stand the sight of it.”
Once I had the correct articles of clothing in my hands I whirled around, grabbed her from behind and got her in a choke hold. I forced her down onto the bed and put my knee in her back as I tied a gag over her mouth. She was writhing, screaming into the gag, and trying her best to hit or kick me as I held her hands together and tied them together, and then to the metal headboard of the bed; not an easy thing to do since she was flailing and kicking, including landing a few significant blows to my legs and chest.
Once her arms were secure I literally ripped her top and bra off as she certainly appeared to be trying to break the headboard apart while she continued to kick. I then lay across her stomach and pulled her pants down around her ankles to mitigate her kicks, and then tied her ankles loosely together, and then using her torn bra I tied one ankle to the metal footboard of the bed.
By that time my cock was rock hard with excitement and her pussy was leaking. I straddled her and needed to use my hands to help bury my cock in her pussy because in the position she was in it was so tight. Also, it didn’t help that she undulated her body so ferociously that I was trying to hit a moving target. After a couple of minutes I wore her down, then completely buried my joy stick and started pumping while pinching her nipples.
Carleigh — now once again Vile Bitch but without the makeup and costume — kept moving around. Since my cock was now fully buried in her cunt, however, every movement sent an electric charge throughout my entire body. Once she had her first orgasm she couldn’t really move any more, although she did weakly contract her pc muscles. When I deposited a full load she had a second, completely debilitating, orgasm. I had to roll off to the side to keep from crushing her I felt so weak.
For the next eighteen hours I kept her tied up, allowing her up only to go to the bathroom and shower, although I kept a tight hold on her at all times. I did remove her gag to let her drink and eat at breakfast time, but once she started spewing invectives I gagged her again.
I fucked her four times in total, counting the episode in the shower, my most orgasms in a short period of time in my life. In addition I sucked her tits or licked her pussy almost the entire time that I wasn’t fucking her. She constantly fought and moved whenever I fucked her, or even licked her, and unless I was careful about pinning down or tying up a limb she would smack me with it. Not only my cock and tongue, but my entire body, was so sore by the time that it was two o’clock in the afternoon I groaned with each movement.
At two o’clock I untied her. She was almost comatose at the time, and had bruises on a number of parts of her body. She just groaned as I removed her gag. “We only have an hour before the time you promised Harold that we’d turn ourselves in,” I told her.
“Oh, shit…” she moaned. “I feel like I’ve been fucked once and raped three times; oh wait, I have,” she said, breaking into a big grin.
We took a warm shower together, washing all of the cum and sweat off each other, but no sex — our mating parts were so sore that there was no possibility of that. We ate a late lunch, drank about a liter of sparkling water each, and then got dressed. Just before we left our room Carleigh put her arms around my neck, stared into my eyes, and said “Thanks,” then gave me a big kiss.
After we broke our hold I said “Thank you,” then pinched her ass.
“No PDA, Ryan– got it?” she giggled.
“Hell, I wouldn’t want anyone to get the idea that I enjoyed being with you,” I snickered, getting me a playful poke in the ribs.
When we got to the police station at 3:15 at first the cops didn’t believe us. My photo looked pretty much like me now that I had shaved — although I had lost about fifteen pounds so my face was gaunt. Carleigh, however, looked absolutely nothing like the photo that they had of Vile Bitch & ½ so despite Carleigh’s gabber they were skeptical.
Finally Carleigh cleared an area in the police station and a cappella sang one of her most famous songs, complete with gross movements although since she had regular clothes on the effect was — thankfully — mitigated. I don’t think that the cop’s zippers would have survived if she had been dressed as Vile Bitch.
After a ten second shocked delay when she concluded her performance the cops laughed, cheered, clapped, and hugged both Carleigh and me. The cops made a call to the general — yes a real general, the Russians weren’t messing around — in charge of the search for us.
The word got around the town quickly. I think that the town’s population was about 5,000, and I wouldn’t be surprised if at one time or another everyone there came by the local school were the police brought us to ask for Carleigh’s autograph, or just to gawk. Carleigh gleefully signed at least five hundred autographs including a good dozen jackets of her video. She was especially pleased to sign those and chat with their owners. Of course I didn’t understand a word that they said.
I just stood next to Carleigh and smiled — that is until she turned to me and said “These kids,” pointing to three little boys, probably eight to ten years old, “want the ‘Big Man’s’ autograph. Here’s a pen, I’ll get another one.” I probably signed three dozen autographs myself, the first and only time in my life I’ve been asked to do that.
General Orlov himself arrived in a helicopter with a complete entourage, and diplomatically broke up the love fest between Carleigh and the townspeople. The police, general, and every minor politician and dignitary in the area, had their photo taken with Carleigh. Then the general shooed everyone else out of the school and started debriefing Carleigh and me.
The general himself, along with two of his aides, talked to Carleigh in Russian. Two other aides who spoke English — one of them better than I do — interviewed me. The general had a big dinner spread brought in, and we continued to talk through dinner and afterwards. With one of the general’s aides I went to our hotel and retrieved the AK-47 and clip and gave them to the aide, and then returned to the school.
When one of the aides brought out a bottle of slivovitz I knew that we were done with the questioning.
Even Carleigh had a few slips of slivovitz — I know that she was just being polite because she absolutely never drank — when the general proposed a toast. After a couple of drinks the general came over to me and gave me a big hug and chattered a long string of Russian words. The translator smiled and said “General Orlov says that he is honored to make your acquaintance and wishes that you could join the Russian Special Forces; that you are a hero to all Russians.”
“Please tell General Orlov that I am honored and humbled by his kind words,” I replied with a grin.
Since thirty Russian soldiers had arrived by land by 8:00 p.m. General Orlov decided that it would be OK for Carleigh and me to spend the night in the hotel, with two soldiers posted outside our door and ten in the hotel lobby, to prevent anyone from bothering us. He flew back to his headquarters but promised to send a helicopter for us the next day to fly us to an airfield, and from there by military jet to Moscow.
When we got back to our room I asked Carleigh “What did you tell General Orlov about me? He gave me a hug and said some flattering things.”
Carleigh put her arms around my neck, softly kissed me on the lips, and said “I told him that you’re not as weak and inconsequential as you look,” then smiled and gave me another kiss.
“Thanks,” I smirked and gave her a kiss.
We fell asleep in each other’s arms, totally wasted. No sex — we were both still way too sore — but we did shower together the next morning and I sucked her tits while she fondled my balls.
The trip to Moscow was about 1100 miles as the crow flies. After a nice breakfast we were whisked by helicopter to a military air field and from there we each rode in a different jet fighter so that we landed in Moscow within two hours of when we boarded the helicopter. We were treated like royalty the entire way and shockingly were transported from the military air field in a motorcade to the Premier’s office.
Carleigh chatted away with the Premier and his staff while I just smiled, shook hands, and constantly said “Spasibo (Спасибо),” that is “Thank You.”
After meeting with the press (Russian and International) for two hours we had a State Dinner, for which we were provided formal clothing. By the time that it was over we were ready to turn in. We were given complementary separate, but connecting, rooms in the nicest hotel in Moscow. As soon as I got into my room I heard a knock on the connecting door, opened my side of it, and Carleigh came in. “We need one last fuck; actually, I wonder if you’d make love to me,” she said with the first demure look I had ever seen on her face.
Our slow, deliberate, sexual encounter that night was close to making love, far different than the last three times that we had fucked, but almost as enjoyable, and a lot less taxing on our bodies. Carleigh returned to her room early in the morning and we locked the connecting doors.
Our little journey almost doubled Vile Bitch’s popularity. While she was concerned that people seeing what she actually looked like would turn off her hard core fans, the numerous photos of her published in the International Press seemed to increase the air of mystery about her, and her videos were either flying off the shelves, or being downloaded, at four times the pre-journey rate.
Alas, as Carleigh had warned me, when we got back to the States she turned into Vile Bitch & ½ again, both in appearance and attitude. She did give me a $50,000 bonus, but aside from that I was treated no differently than before. While I had convinced myself that I could turn back into just being a bodyguard that wasn’t realistic because even though I never was actually in love with Carleigh, I was passionately in lust with her, now even her Vile Bitch & ½ persona.
After her next tour, when she had a chance to get another bodyguard, I gave her one month’s notice then quit. The only thing she ever said to me about it was a phone call when she simply mumbled “I understand; maybe our paths will cross again,” then hung up.
The notoriety associated with my little expedition with Carleigh made it pretty easy to get a new job. In fact, I got a job as an instructor in an academy for bodyguards. I took that over other options because it had fairly regular hours, predictable vacations, and though not as lucrative as working for Vile Bitch, decent money. It even allowed me to date, although I never found anyone that could hold a candle to Carleigh’s sex appeal.
A week before the one year anniversary of when Carleigh and I were taken captive I got a call from Vile Bitch herself. There was no bullshit.
“Hi, Ryan, this is Carleigh.”
“Hi Carleigh — you’re not calling me as Vile Bitch?”
“No, just as plain ole Carleigh.”
“It’s really nice to hear from you; I hope that things are going well.”
“My two new bodyguards aren’t as good as you were, but I’m making scads of money.”
“Great,” I chuckled.
“I’ll get right to the point, Ryan. Next week is the one year anniversary of our little outdoors experience. I’d like to celebrate it by taking you to Hawaii for a week — all expenses paid, just you and me,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Can you get the time off, and more importantly do you want to come?”
I laughed. “If I can’t get the time off I’ll quit — and as for whether I want to come, does the Pope poop in the woods?”
*
Alright, so I mixed my metaphors. I wasn’t thinking straight with the memories of our last time together hijacking my brain. So sue me!