*This is a long work of fiction, inspired by my fantasies while working as a rural doctor in a small village. The character is based on myself, thus the 1st person. Please pay attention to the tags, and enjoy!*
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
The afternoon breeze was always soothing to the mind, carrying with it scents of pine, thyme and mountain flowers, along with the occasional whiff of anything the grandmas around were cooking for dinner. Despite the relatively high altitude, the village’s proximity to the sea ensured mild winters and enabled me to savour the air and the last glimpses of the setting sun from the small balcony of my office with just my white doctor’s coat as an outer layer.
My small rural clinic was on the village’s main road, which was lined with beautiful stone houses with red sloped roofs, wooden window frames and tiny balconies, like mine. It was really close to my rented house, and just a stone’s throw away from the central square with its handful of quaint cafes and taverns under the shade of big plane trees. As the village was built on the side of the mountain, from one part of the square one could drink their coffee gazing down to the valley and all the way to the sea, a pleasure that even I as a city girl could definitely enjoy. It was such a shame that the back of the clinic building faced a tiny, tiny alley – a path, really- and another house, instead of being open to the same vista.
The street was empty that evening; it often was on weekdays like this, when the village’s few under-70s had either work or school in the mornings, and the weather was a bit too chilly to hang around in the square for long. I was thinking about closing up and going home, where I planned to crank up the heating, have a long shower, eat some leftover stew, masturbate and sleep a good 8 hours until I come back. I packed up my laptop in my office and closed up the balcony doors and shutters, then moved downstairs to the ground floor where the main part of the clinic was.
Well, “main part” is a bit too generous; the whole affair consisted of a tiny waiting room and a slightly larger exam room with the standard clinic apparatus: an exam bed, some old cabinets with an assortment of tools and medicines, a few rather old but surprisingly working pieces of equipment and a desk that was way too shabby, hence why I had chosen the spacey room upstairs as my main working office.
As I was making sure the medicine cabinets were locked, I heard a ding from the waiting room; someone had opened the main entrance. *Fucking people, it’s almost 7PM, what could be so urgent? It better not be some sore throat or any bullshit–*
A knock on the inner door. “Come in”, I said as I sighed and let my laptop bag slide off my shoulder. The head of a man in his late 50s came inquisitively through the opened door. “May I come in, doctor?” *I just said you could.* ”Yes of course”, I said, putting on my best customer service voice and smiling underneath my mask, even though I was everything but smiling inside.
He walked in and shut the door behind himself. He was dressed in standard farmer attire, and it seemed funny to me that we were so in contrast with one another, yet almost stereotypes of our jobs; his vest to my coat, his flannel to my beige wool sweater, his muddy jeans to my black chinos, his rugged work boots to my spotless heeled ones. His eyes darted around the room nervously and he had a certain…stiffness in his body movements. *Could be in pain. Maybe he does have something after all.*
“Hi George”, I said to him. I had put in the effort to learn as many of the inhabitants by name as I could; it wasn’t hard, and it made work easier and more rewarding, mostly in the form of old patients who were so impressed with the kindness of the young doctor that felt the need to bring her way too much homemade food at every visit.
“Hi doctor”, the older orange farmer said. “Sorry to come by so late but… I have some chest pain that just isn’t going away, and I can feel it up to my chin”.
*Oh damn, heart attack.* “Sit down on the bed and take off your vest and shirt, I’m going to have to check your heart a bit”. He removed his vest and left it on the desk while I got my stethoscope out of my bag, but he didn’t sit down. “I hope I didn’t mess up your plans for the night doc”, he said. I sighed. “I had nothing planned, George, no worries… Sit down please, we have to do this”.
He stood there, looking at me, a bit unnervingly. “Could you get my glasses from my vest please? I’m at a loss without them”. *Then why did you take the damn things off?* I moved back to the desk and shuffled through the pockets. “They’re not here, are you sure you hav–”
His rough hands grabbed me so quickly that, for a moment, I was surprised by his nimbleness. One hand closed up my mouth and the other pushed me on the desk hard, hurting my thighs where they met its edge. I could only let out a sort of shrieking sound, made by the sudden rush of air into my nose.
*What the fuck?!*
I swung my arm back violently, but couldn’t reach him with enough strength to knock him away. I tried kicking back as he grunted “Stay still, whore!”; the first kick missed him, but the second one landed on his shin and made him moan in pain. He punched the back of my head, momentarily disorienting me. I grabbed his vest and swung it backwards, but he was pushing me so hard on the desk that he had me bent over, unable to make contact with him. He kicked my legs away from one another and put his body in between them, so I couldn’t kick him again.
*Fucking pig! Fucking piece of shit!* Some of my inner curses made it into voice, but none made it into words through my closed mouth. His hands and arms were too strong after decades of menial work. I felt sick to my stomach as his groin touched my butt.
“You and I are going to have so much fun you little bitch, if only you stay still”, he hissed close to my ear. He let my mouth go, and I let out a scream for a fraction of a second, before something was suddenly wrapped tight around my throat and pulled from behind, compressing my trachea and my carotids and not letting any air – or voice – escape. I felt it with my fingers; it was my stethoscope, my beautiful and expensive crimson stethoscope, that I had had since my first year of med school. I tried to slip my fingers underneath the elastic tube, but to no avail. It was deeply embedded into my soft throat, even if almost a centimetre thick, an indication of how strongly he was pulling on it.
I could only let out a series of strangling sounds, some *acks* together with some *icks*, while my panicking mind was trying to figure out a way out of this entanglement and failing spectacularly. I felt my head ready to explode, choked out by the very instrument that had helped me diagnose a not inconsiderable number of patients. The irony was not lost on me, as my brain used up the last of its oxygen supply and my eyelids fluttered, covered my green eyes and closed, letting me collapse unconscious on the desk.
—
George decreased the pressure on her throat. He let Lia go and her limp body instantly slid down the desk and on the floor. He had wondered if she’d piss herself when she’d faint, but that didn’t seem to be the case. He opened the door hesitantly and peeked into the waiting room. No one. A quick search into her bag unveiled a keyring with 7 keys and a cute bear charm, although the cuteness was lost on him. He swiftly locked the front entrance and switched off most lights. Then, he took out a rag from his vest pocket and stuffed it into Lia’s mouth, which he then covered with some tape.
After taping her ankles and wrists together, he unlocked the back door leading from the examination room straight into the narrow back alley. He knew the older residents in the surrounding houses weren’t likely to be out and about, and he was right. The farmer needed less than a minute to pull the young girl outside, lock the door again and then carry her to his waiting truck at the end of the alley, and none was the wiser. For anyone that would pass the clinic, the doctor’s day was done, and she was already at home, showering, eating and sleeping.
—
When I came to, I immediately wondered if it was the stench that woke me up. A strong smell of earth and rot, bitter and acidic at once had overcome my nose. I woke up with a gasp, feeling consciousness rush back to my tingling body and my very sore neck. I couldn’t move a lot, as I found my wrists and ankles bound. I could recognise I was on a truck bed, trembling from the cold air, but couldn’t tell where I was. *Big structure, metal roof above me, yellow lights… Bad smell… Maybe a barn? Or a warehouse?*
I attempted to scream, but the first try was unsuccessful, as my throat was too abused from my stethoscope earlier. The second time, I managed to let out a hoarse but loud cry. “Help! Please help me! Someone!”
“Oh shut up, you cow”, George moaned, almost annoyed, as he opened up the hatch. “Nobody will hear you anyway out here”. He grabbed my hair and pulled so hard that I could almost hear my scalp stretch, and he let me fall on the soil, hurting my arm in the process.
“Oww!! Let me go motherfucker! You hurt me!”, I snarled at him angrily. “You fucking asshole! Let me–*oof!*” He kicked me in the stomach, making my protests stop. “You don’t respect your elders much, bitch”. He reached down and grabbed my hair again, dragging me away from the truck.
I looked around, screaming all the while, and thankful that my white coat was shielding my body from the rough ground. *It’s his warehouse*, I thought, noticing the piles of crates full of oranges. *That explains the smell. Rotten fruit, manure*.
He stopped and let my hair go. He used his foot to turn me on my stomach. In front of me stood a huge wall made out of stacks of wooden crates filled to the brim with the produce that the area was so well-known about. George tied a rope around each of my wrists, tight enough to make my hands numb, and pulled the ropes around some of the crate frames. He paused to threaten me to stop shouting, then removed the tape keeping my wrists together. I tried pulling on the ropes with all my strength, but I couldn’t move the tons of oranges keeping me in place. He pulled on the ropes until I was standing on my feet, snugly against and facing the wall of crates with my arms tied apart in a cross position.
“Listen George” I said with my face pressed against a bristly wooden plank, “I think we can forget what happened if you let me go. I swear I won’t press any charges as long as you leave me alone”. I tried my best to sound menacing, but that’s hard to do when you’re tied up and roughed up, and he chuckled as he heard me. He didn’t reply, just continued by removing my black boots and tying my ankles spread the same way he had done my wrists. When he was done, I was actually hovering a few centimetres above the ground, basically hanging from my ever-more-painful and stretched shoulders and wrists.
In the meanwhile, my threats had started becoming more and more pleading. “Please, man, just let me go… Just think about it, you’re not going to make it. Everyone will be looking for me. Please untie me…”
He still wouldn’t respond. I felt his coarse hands pull on the waist of my pants, then a cool metal blade touched my skin and made me shiver, as he cut down the seat and up the front of my chinos, pulling the two separated parts down to my feet. My legs and ass were suddenly exposed to the cold night air. He pulled on my red g-string panties hard, making them cut into my most sensitive parts. “You whore, you want to be called a doctor…”, he whispered to me. He cut them too and I felt them slide down my left leg.
I lowered my head. My eyes were stinging with tears unspent, that I couldn’t hold back anymore as he started groping my naked, soft ass. “Please, please don’t do this and let me go…” I pleaded, as he was playing with my fleshy cheeks and spreading them. He took his hands away, and my spirits were lifted for a moment, but then he put the scissors under my once-white coat and started cutting on my jumper. “I want to feel all of your slut body as I fuck you”, he whispered again.
That drove me over the edge, and I started thrashing against my bonds like a madwoman, crying and screaming and cursing and begging. “Let me GO, let ME GO you BASTARD! I’m not a whore I WILL KILL YOU! Let me fucking GO! Don’t touch me; don’t you TOUCH me!”
I thrashed so much and so hard that I hadn’t realised that he had completed his work, having cut up the front of my jumper, and I had been banging and scraping my naked torso against the scratchy wood. I had felt none of the scrapes and splinters; but I did freeze in place once I felt him grab my ass with both hands and get closer.
When his cock touched my asshole, my screams transitioned to a rapidly louder “No no nonoNONONO–” but as soon as his mostly dry cock head started forcing its way through my clenched hole, I couldn’t even scream. My mind said *relax*; my body wouldn’t obey, and all sense of time was lost, as I almost blacked out again. A few seconds later, when I could think again, my whole asshole was in a pain that I hadn’t felt before, as his cock was embedded deep inside me.
I started hyperventilating, my body desperately trying to control the feeling. He pulled my hair and fondled my breast with his other hand, leaning towards me and whispering in my ear: “do you like that whore? Do you like my dirty old cock in your shitter? I’m not even fully inside you whore, I bet you love this in your slutty hole”.
I felt him push more and more inside my burning hole. Then, all of a sudden, he pulled out almost all the way and pushed back inside faster, repeating it over and over until his cock was entirely inside my young asshole. I felt so sick and disgusted of his dick violating me, his calloused hands enjoying my body… And yet I could think of nothing other than the pain in my insides, his thrusts that grew more and more rapid.
My screams turned to shrieking, as he had his way with my butthole. He started slapping my thighs, banging my whole body or just my head against the crates, pinching my nipples and squeezing my throat. I had become so dizzy after the blows and pain that I couldn’t hold my head up anymore, and as I lowered it, a sour stream of puke came up my throat and down the left-hand side of my body, soiling the remains of my clothes.
A tiny bit of it ended up on his hand and enraged him. He punched my sides and kept cursing me while I was crying with ever increasing volume. “You filthy bitch, you can’t contain yourself, dirty fucking whore! I know you girls, always so uptight but look at you throwing up on your slut body…”. Suddenly, he pulled out, as abruptly as he had penetrated me, so much so that I swear I could feel my torn rectum almost prolapse out of my loosened hole.
*Where is he? Where is he??* I tried to contain my cries so as to listen for him, now out of my constrained visual field. I heard him throw something heavy – maybe metal? – on the ground, then he untied my right hand. I screamed and tried to hold myself from the wooden planks, to lessen the tension on my left arm, but when he untied that as well, I couldn’t help but fall on my back. The air was knocked out of me. *Breathe. Breathe. Calm. Breathe.*
When I gasped my first breath on the soil, I saw him approach me with a muddy, rusty pickaxe at hand. He stood over me, towering and terrible, and when I glimpsed at him through my wet eyes, I was horrified to see his cock still out of his jeans, erect and bloody, with the blood of my own asshole. He reached down and grabbed my right hand, now turned a very pale hue from being deprived of blood for so long, and he caressed it with his own. He observed my black, well-manicured fingernails in an almost religious fashion, then he put my index and middle fingers in his mouth and sucked on them.
“These hands, they haven’t worked at all”. He paused, then held my wrist against the ground and brought the pickaxe hard on it.
Once again, the pain didn’t register immediately. My first scream was mostly of horrified surprise, then as the realisation and the pain hit me, I let out more agonised squeals. He hacked two more times at my wrist, producing all manner of sick sounds as the bone and tendon were getting torn up, while I desperately tried to shove him away with my left hand; but when he did get up, he carried my severed hand along.
“WHAT HAVE YOU– OH god it hurts so… FUCK! OH MY GOD! Ah, ah, please, please… What did you do…” My voice oscillated between a whimper and a howl, as the waves of pain kept hitting me. I looked at my destroyed limb, my mind unable to comprehend the lack of a hand at the end of my forearm and the hewn mess of bone, muscle and spurting blood vessels that had taken its place. He was chuckling all the while, watching me lose it and playing with my dying hand.
“Look, look!” he said with a perverse enthusiasm, “I’ll do it again!”
And down went his dreadful tool, this time landing a couple of inches above my left ankle. Unfortunately for me, my tibia proved a bigger challenge for the old pickaxe than my wrist bones, and he needed to chop at my leg twice more until his blade cut through, against my struggling and shrieking and straining. It probably took around 5 seconds, but by the end, I couldn’t be heard shouting any more, as loud sobs were all I could muster over all the pain and the horror of seeing my leg spurting blood and my foot looking more like a prop than something that was alive just a moment earlier.
The harsh, industrial lights above me started flickering, but quickly I realised that the only flicker was in my eyes and mind, as the pain and blood loss was starting to get to me. *I have to focus.* Steeling myself, I closed my eyes and thought about my bleeding limbs. *They must be tied off soon… If we tie something tightly around them and leave for the hospital now, there’s a pretty good chance I can make it.*
I opened my eyes again and looked at George, peering over me with a hungry smile, still holding the pickaxe. “Hey… Please… Please help me stop the bleeding and drive me to the hospital and… And we’ll say you found me like that, that it was an accident… Just, just don’t leave me like that…” To my surprise, he seemed to be considering my words – or rather, my gasps interspersed with words. I focused so much on his dark face, I could almost shut out the pain for a few seconds.
“Ahh, fuck it…” he said, “I can’t drive you to the hospital but, I still have a heart. I guess I just wanted to have a bit o’ fun and it went too far.” *I can’t believe my ears!* “Look at what I’m going to do”, he continued, “I’m going to let you run for it if you promise you’ll tell everyone that you couldn’t see your attacker’s face. We have a deal?”
*Yeah, sure, old fucking piece of shit.* “Yes, yes, we have a deal! Just please let me go!”, I faked agreement, as I was already trying to stand up. *How the hell am I going to run with one leg?!* I looked to the nightly horizon up ahead; outside of the sickly warm hue of the light, beyond the open-air warehouse, there were endless orange groves and other crops. Still, some 5 kilometres away, I could see some faint lights. *I will make it there even if I have to crawl!*
George threw his tool on the ground, and barked at me. “Then run, little bitch! Run!”
I put my weight on my right hand and pushed myself on my surviving leg. Marvellously, I managed to stand up! *The body is capable of amazing things…* My success was short-lived, however, as my dizzy head couldn’t maintain balance for more than a couple of seconds, and as I instinctively put down my left foot, I fell with a sickening sound and a blast of pain. George’s laughter only made me try harder. *I’ll make it out of this GODDAMN place alive!!*
Now on all fours, I found I could actually walk on my forearms and knees relatively well. Adrenaline was still guarding me from the bulk of the pain that was sure to come, so I rushed to get away from him as quickly as possible, grunting with effort. *With these injuries, it could be an hour before I truly hurt… That is, if I can make it an hour without passing out. If I’m lucky though, I can make it to a road at least… Someone will find me there!*
Astonished, I made it out into the dark field. The glare of the lights behind me created a haunting shadow of my own four-legged body, as I did my best to ignore the stones digging themselves into my already-tortured limbs while walking through the first lines of orange trees. I could already hear my breath getting just a bit heavier; this was proving to be harder than I had thought. But I focused on the horizon only, hidden behind the bushy trees, and before long, I was far away from the warehouse enough for my frontal shadow to disappear. Only the moon was providing a pale, ambient light.
Suddenly, I felt something hit my back. Then, I felt pinned to the ground. Then, and only then, did I feel the throbbing, excruciating pain hit me. But I couldn’t scream, only took raspy, wet gasps.
I turned around as much as I could, and saw a most horrific image. My rapist was standing above me, lit abhorrently by the moonlight, and in right hand he was holding the wooden handle of the pitchfork he had just stabbed into my back, and whose tines had – judging from my breath – torn themselves through my ribs and lungs, and possibly even reached the other side.
The pain would have been enough to drive me crazy, but it wasn’t enough to keep me fully awake, as my eyelids began to flutter and I could feel a metallic taste in my mouth. I could hear myself groaning and rasping, but it was as if it wasn’t me. With a grunt of his own, George pulled at the handle and, showing the wiry strength of his old arms, lifted me slightly from the ground and started walking further into the field, dragging me like a speared fish. As his tool of horror dug deeper and deeper into my flesh, and I was drifting in and out of consciousness, I could hear him talk, almost to himself.
“You stuck-up whores, coming in from the cities… Thinking you’re all high and mighty, with your slut clothes, and your fucking degrees, thinking that white rag gives you power over folks…” He reached his destination as he let me fall back to the ground, still unable to move and only half-awake. Playing god, while we do real work so you can have food and keep fucking man after man…”
He tugged on the handle and, putting a foot on my ass, pulled hard on it until the tool was freed from my chest with a slick sound. Even at my state, I knew that the blood and outside air were rushing into my chest cavity, constricting my lungs with each breath. *He will… let me… asphyxiate…*
How many times had I treated someone with a chest wound, with pneumothorax and hemothorax, trying to stop their lungs from collapsing under the pressure that air or liquid creates around them? I never thought I’d be making the diagnosis on myself.
George turned me on my back. My once white coat (now full of dirt, holes and an expansive red stain) felt clinging on my skin, and what was worse, I could feel the burning pain on my limbs increase. Sobbing quietly, I pleaded with him. “Why, just… why… me? Please… Just help me… I’ll do… Anything, just… help me.”
His cock was still out, and still erect, maybe even more now than when he had invaded my anus. He didn’t seem to have heard me at all; he reached into his back pocket, and pulled out… my severed hand, with its manicured fingers hanging mostly limp but vaguely forming a cone shape. “Oh, look what I found here! Who knew! Want to be reunited with your beautiful hand, piggy?” He knelt on the soil, between my spread legs which I had no strength to pull together.
“Now I ain’t well-educated like your young mess of a brain right here, so I can’t sew this on. But I can definitely return it to you, you turd!” Angrily, he grabbed my left leg just inches away from the bleeding cut, and started pushing the hand into my torn asshole! My reaction, the only reaction I could muster, was to cry louder, almost hearing the echo of my hoarse voice in the middle of the valley. Any attempt to move, or push him away, was just… not happening*. I’ve lost… too much blood. Not… enough oxygen*. I was in a bad shape, and I knew it.
It took him a minute, but by the end, I could feel my raw, sore rectum completely filled in a way I had never felt before, with an object… *A sickening object…* That couldn’t be moved, no matter how much I tried to exercise my muscles, and instead almost seemed to move deeper with a mind of its own, finally meeting its mistress again. But then, while whimpering incoherently, I felt something else make its way into my battered body.
“Mmmm, fuck, that hand makes your cunt so tight little cow.” *He’s– he’s pushing his cock inside me! NO!!* I tried to shout and curse at him, however, as soon as I drew air in, a violent wet cough overtook me and spurts of blood ended on my lips and face. “Or was it that tight already? You were made to be a whore you trash”. He pushed deeper and deeper into my pussy, lubricated just with what filth was already on his penis.
A primal sense of disgust overtook me, as I saw, felt and even heard that terrible, pitiful rapist fuck my young, immaculate pussy. The feeling of his filthy, old dick buried deep in my vagina, while he kept calling me a whore, a slut, a pig, was almost unfathomably awful; had my nervous system not prevented this, I would have puked for a second time, not so much from the pain as from the seer revulsion, humiliation and dread.
*I will fucking die here. In a field. I know it.* My breaths were shallower and shallower, more tinged with blood and other fluids, and I had lost my voice. *Is it really him who is the pitiful one? You’re the one getting fucked, torn apart, in the fucking mud.*
“You enjoy this cock so much you cunt, aren’t you? You fucking piece of shit? Huh?” He groped and then slapped my breasts as the only response I could pass to him was more gurgling struggles for air. The nauseating sounds of intercourse on the damp ground – damper due to my depleting blood supply – were not enough for him, and his slapped me harder, pinching my exposed nipple and making me wince.
“See, whore, if you weren’t such a fucking snob, you would’ve stayed in your place, in the house, ready to bear some fucking kids with this humps you have. But no, you all young ones want to leave and now, we honest people have to resort to this to be able to cum in your prostitute’s holes.”
*Cum where?!?* An image was instantly formed in what of my brain was still not hypoxic, of my pussy leaking his cum, of *me* being *his wife*, or his *lover*, or at least *carrying his baby*…
With whatever strength was left in my body, I drew my free leg back and awkwardly kicked at the direction of his head, hoping that my heel cracking on his nose would be enough to compensate for the low-powered hit and allow me to at least escape that ultimate humiliation.
Alas. Apparently, my weakened body couldn’t carry out what my soul wanted, and my movement was far too slow to hold any real threat for him. Nevertheless, it did succeed in enraging him. He snatched at my right ankle while it was flying towards his face, and looked at me with burning eyes, still continuing his violation of my poor hole.
“Fucking UNGRATEFUL brat, fucking…” His right hand, holding my chopped-up leg, found its way to the amputated edge and, with a sadistic brutality, he buried his fingers in the stump, prodding and pushing at my savaged muscle, bone and tendons, sending me into a world of hurt. I shook,fiercely, with no will of my own, and let out a final, blood-curdling shriek before going into a raging coughing fit. He took both hands off my legs, which in any case didn’t contain the spirit to move anymore, and began punching me on my stomach, simultaneously pumping even harder and faster inside me.
I put up my hands to shield myself, but to no avail. He kept punching, going upwards to my chest where I felt my tits being beaten to a pulp, to the point where one of them was bleeding, and I heard the clear sound of ribs cracking. *As if my lungs aren’t dead enough.* I almost chuckled.
I had hoped, really, that he had started punching my face before cumming. But that wasn’t to be. He held my throat tight – I couldn’t defend myself in any way – and he grunted like the animal he was, pumping what I was certain was a hearty amount of sperm deep inside my raped, sore cunt. Much as I wanted to not picture that in my head, I couldn’t; it didn’t help that, as he pulled out, he grabbed my hair and lifted my head up and forwards.
“Look at that, whore. Look at that. See what you’re worth, doctor.” I did. I did look. I saw my lower body in a patch of darker soil, where my blood had enriched the ground, and from my obviously tormented bald pussy, white drops were already emerging.
That was the last thing I saw; I didn’t see his punch, landing square on my left cheek and throwing me back to the ground with a thud. I didn’t see the next four punches either, though I surely felt them. Through the buzzing in my ears, I thought I heard a wet *squelch*. After that, I didn’t feel anything at all.
—
George spent a good half hour hoeing the earth where she had been lying. With the morning watering, and the work of the next few days, her blood and the bits of flesh and brain that were left on the ground would be fertilising his fruit, with no trace to be found.
She was wrapped in a piece of sturdy, waterproof fabric he normally used to get rid of weeds. By putting the dark material over a piece of land, the sun would sanitise the soil. Now, he was using it to get rid of this particular pest. His best fuck since his favourite prostitute in the local brothel had retired.
*Nuh, she had the best pussy since that other high-born doctor gal. Oh, she was so tasty too.*
He pulled the wrapped body all the way to the warehouse. The lights were turned off now, to avoid any suspicion. He had originally planned to just carry her back there, but he had become a bit too…excited. He couldn’t be leaving behind bits of broken skull on his way. Plus, the dirty bitch had shat out her own hand. *These girls these days have no manners.*
Next to the morbid parcel he had carried, there was a huge pit of rotten produce. When disease would hit the oranges or lemons he was growing, or when the heat had become too much for them to bear, he threw them into the pit to compost and support the next year’s harvest. Already since that day’s morning he had moved the mass of fruit around so that a large, deep space was formed in the edge of the stinking pit. Her severed foot was already lying on the bottom of that gap.
He unwrapped the fabric and took a last look at her. He had wanted to take a picture of her, but he had heard of the magic they could do with computers… He wouldn’t risk it. Instead, he just pulled on the edge. Lia tumbled and turned and fell into the wet, stenching hole. Grabbing a shovel, he began the work of covering her with the rest of the rotting matter. No dog would find her scent there, and her body would be a great boost to his plants. He knew that from the previous one.
*Such a shame. So young and she had to behave like that and die like that. If only they could learn to appreciate the countryside more.*
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/x8hwtp/a_rustic_encounter_65m_26f_noncon_humiliation