Sheriff Rutman’s house was a large two-storey building near the centre of Modwina, with attractive, well-maintained lawns. When the Sheriff’s car stopped in the driveway, and the Sheriff opened his door and got out, Tayla briefly thought about making a run for it, and trying to escape this crazy town.
But she remembered the gun on the Sheriff’s belt, and decided now wasn’t the time.
Instead, she followed Rutman meekly to the door of his house, which opened as they arrived to reveal an attractive redhead in her late thirties.
“Hello, honey!” she enthused, wrapping her arms around Rutman in a hug. “Welcome home!” And then she turned to Tayla. “And you must be Tayla!” she said. “Oh, sweetie, it’s wonderful to have you! Come on in!”
It took Tayla a moment to respond, because she was stunned by the woman’s breasts. They were huge. Tayla couldn’t estimate a cup size, but each was nearly the size of the woman’s head, and distractingly round and fake. And they were exposed. The woman wore nothing but a pair of red high heels, and a red kitchen apron. The apron was bunched together in the front, so that in ran through her cleavage, with her tits in full view on either side. When she turned, her butt was exposed too.
Around the woman’s neck was a leather collar, and hanging from the collar was a dog-tag that read “Bessie”.
“This is my wife, Bessie,” said Rutman, as he led Tayla into the clean, well-maintained, comfortable domestic environment inside. He turned to the woman. “Bessie, have you got the collar?”
“Of course, honey,” said Bessie. She hurried to what appeared to be the kitchen, taking mincing steps on her preposterously high heels, and returned with a leather collar like her own. She passed it to her husband, who advanced on Tayla, clearly intending to put it on her neck.
“What is that?” asked Tayla, backing away. “I don’t need a collar.”
Rutman stepped towards Tayla – and slapped her across the face. “Thank me,” he growled.
Tayla just blinked, her face red. She didn’t think she would ever get used to being slapped.
Rutman slapped her again. “Thank me,” he said.
Tayla held her hand against her stinging cheek. She looked around for help – but Bessie showed no sign of intervening. What was with the people in this crazy town?
But she was vulnerable, and had no escape.
“Thank you for slapping me, sir,” muttered Tayla, her eyes downcast.
And before she knew it, Rutman had the collar around her neck. It fit snugly – and to her dismay she heard a sound like a lock clicking shut as he secured it behind her neck.
She also felt something poking against the skin of her neck in front – like two blunt metal nubs. She pulled at the collar, but it was a tight fit, and had no give.
There was a dogtag hanging from the front of the collar. It was blank. There was nothing on it at all.
“That’s a pet control collar,” said the Sheriff. “Pretend there’s an invisible fence around the property. If you cross that fence, the collar will give you a pretty bad shock.”
Tayla’s eyes widened. She pulled at the collar again, but it was locked firmly in place.
“Now, I’m going to go shower and change,” said the Sheriff. “Bessie, can you look after Tayla? And Tayla, I expect you to help Bessie out with the dinner.”
“Of course, honey,” said Bessie, lovingly.
And with that, the Sheriff left, climbing stairs towards the second storey.
Tayla took her chance. “Please,” she said to Bessie. “I’m not here willingly. I want to leave. I didn’t even intend to come to this town.”
“But you’re here now!” said Bessie brightly. “Clearly God had a plan for you, and for that little bundle of joy you’re carrying.” She ushered Tayla towards the kitchen.
“I don’t want it!” said Tayla. “I can’t be a mother! I’m too young! I was raped!”
“Here,” said Bessie, giving Tayla a potato peeler, and pointing her to a bowl of potatoes on the kitchen bench. “Start peeling. And I’ll tell you a story while you peel”
For lack of anything better to do, Tayla began to peel potatoes.
“Back when I was a teenager,” said Bessie, “I was a pretty sore trial on my parents. I was full of all sorts of silly notions about feminism and opportunity. I thought I was going to go to university and be a lawyer. I must have driven my poor parents round the bend with my constant harping on about women’s rights and the sins of patriarchy.” She giggled. “It’s a wonder they put up with me.”
“Anyway,” she continued, “I was at least a fairly pretty thing, so young Joseph down the road – that’s the Sheriff, sweetie – he took a shine to me, and one day he asked my parents if he could abduct and rape me. I’d been a real bitch that week, pardon my French, so my daddy said yes, and before I knew it Joseph was literally sweeping me off my feet as I came home from the shops, and I spent the next two weeks in his basement.”
“Now, we can’t be sure, because he raped me twice a day for all that time, but I like to think that he put my son Edward into me on the very first try.” She paused, and said, “You’ll meet Edward later. He works late at his job, but he said he’d be home for dinner.”
“Anyway, after that very first rape, he brought Dr Harcourt round, with the doctor’s assistants, and they upgraded my udders into these.” Bessie pointed at her cartoonishly-huge tits. “And when it was done, the doctor ejaculated on my face, and then Joseph made me look at myself in a mirror and masturbate while I repeated the words ‘women are animals’ again and again.”
Tayla felt sick. What Bessie was describing was horrible – and yet she sounded so cheerful about it.
“Oh, silly me, it’s on the wall!” said Bessie, suddenly. She pointed across the room, to where a large framed photograph hung on the wall. It showed a young Bessie – barely 19 – completely nude, and kneeling, her breasts recently enlarged. The Bessie in the photo was crying, and she had streaks of cum on her face and tits, and her fingers were desperately fucking her exposed cunt.
“Joseph took that of me during the first week,” said Bessie. “Don’t I look pretty? That’s what I saw in the mirror every day, and pretty soon it got the message through to me that I wasn’t ever going to be a lawyer. Can you imagine me in a courtroom with udders like these? The judge would laugh himself silly, and then order the jury to rape me!” She blushed – and Tayla realised that the thought of being gang-raped by a jury both embarrassed Bessie – and aroused her.
“In the second week,” continued Bessie, “Joseph started whipping my cunt with his belt before each raping. And I’ll tell you – it hurt! And then hurt more when he stuck his cock in me! I was crying fit to burst. And he told me it would keep happening until I told him that I loved him in a way that made him believe me.”
“Well, this was back before Dr Harcourt’s sleep method, so I had to learn the hard way. It took me three days to say I loved him, but he didn’t believe me, so I had to think hard about all the reasons I loved him, and how lucky I was to be given these sex-balloons for free, and how grateful I should be for all the time and attention he was giving me, and what a cunt I’d been to my parents and how I probably deserved to be whipped, and how women are animals anyway, and by the end of six days I realised how much I truly did love him – and on the seventh day I must have sounded particularly passionate, because he believed me, and asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”
She laughed. “Not that I could have said no with a baby in my belly! My parents didn’t raise me to be a disgusting unwed slut!” She suddenly stopped, realising who she was talking to. “No offense, honey,” she said, quickly. “I know you couldn’t help being a slut.”
She took the peeled potatoes from Tayla, and began slicing them, ushering Tayla to the sink to wash dishes instead.
“Anyway, I got married in front of the whole town, in a cute white thing that showed off my udders and my pussy prettily, and when I got married I took Joseph’s last name – Rutman – but also I gave up the name I’d been born with, because that girl had been a right bitch, pardon my French.”
“You changed your name?” asked Tayla.
“That’s right!” said Bessie. “When I was a teenaged bitch people called me Yvonne, but when I got married I changed my name to Bessie. That was the name of the cow my parents owned.”
Tayla couldn’t take any more of this. She put down the dish she was washing and turned to face Bessie. “How can you live like this?” she asked. “How can you be happy about this? Collared – raped – humiliated – named after an *animal* – it’s disgusting! You need help!”
“Oh, honey,” said Bessie, smiling ruefully. “That’s what I thought, in that first week after Joseph abducted me. But I came to see that this is just where I belong in the world, and exactly how I deserve to be treated.”
Then she patted Tayla gently on her belly, and said, “And don’t worry – long before you deliver this little bundle of joy, you’re going to understand that too.”