The Possession of Tyra Dove

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Tyra was in the dirty old shack. She could smell the rotting garbage outside and dressed only in her damp swimsuit, she shivered from the cold.

“Once more,” Dalton Gibbs grinned. Tyra couldn’t bring herself to look at his mocking face, or at the knife that he pointed at her chest.

Trembling, she walked barefoot over the rubble, skidding in an oil stain, remembering to keep her hands by her sides as instructed, so that he could study the curves of her slim body. When she was standing in front of him, he drew a circle in the air with the knife and for the second time, Tyra slowly turned in a circle for him.

“You’ve got a lovely little ass,” he said, as she completed the turn and then, seeing that he had now whipped his c**k out of his pants, quickly averted her eyes. “It deserves to be spanked, it’s so cute. Come down here.”

“Please don’t,” Tyra said in a barely audible whisper.

Gibbs lost his smile and raised the knife. “Don’t make me ask you again, you stuck-up little cunt!”

Tyra bit her lip and her cheeks burned as she reluctantly leaned over his lap. He smelled of dried sweat and cheap wine, and now to her total disgust, she could feel his rigid p***s under her belly.

“Push your ass out,” he said from above her, and hating herself, but fearing the shining knife more, she instantly complied, raising herself up on her toes.

She felt him grip the crotch of her swimsuit and yank it hard up between her buttocks, effectively rendering her ass bare. She braced herself, but when the first humiliating slap landed on her right cheek, her terror was accompanied by a newfound sense of outrage. How dare he? Who was this vile man to touch her flesh uninvited? She had never before experienced a feeling like this in her young life and it gave her an unexpected strength and a renewed sense of hope that she might survive this ordeal.

As the assault on her tender skin gained in intensity, Tyra screwed her eyes tightly shut and silently vowed to herself that she would not give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry…

She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness, her body sheened with sweat. As the dream began to fade, she swore she could still hear the slap, slap, of his hands on her body. Reaching down, she discovered that she had kicked her boxers off and that her lower body was now exposed. But far more shocking was the sticky dampness that she felt between her legs. Afraid she might be bleeding; she switched on the bedside lamp and examined her fingers.

Oh my God! No way!

The attack in Springfield had left Tyra with an innate distrust of all men – an understandable and common reaction according to her counselor – but as time had gone by she had tried to start dating again. However, whenever she had allowed anyone to get physically intimate, her body had refused to respond. Anything more than a kiss on the cheek had brought up that deep-seated revulsion and she would simply freeze. As a result, several attempts at developing a relationship had ended in failure. In time, Tyra had been forced to accept that her ordeal had rendered her sexually frigid.

Until now.

Images from the dream lingered in her mind, and she found herself unwillingly dragged back to that awful night again. In the weeks after her abduction, Tyra had tried to repress the horrible details, but her therapist had decided it would be better to confront them, and so gradually, over many sessions, she had tried to talk it out of her system.

Tyra had been a typically cocky nineteen year-old at the time, and although she was aware of the dangers – three girls had been sexually assaulted by Gibbs in the past month – she hadn’t been able to conceive of the possibility that it could happen to her. She had been on her way back from a swim meet, and after parting company with two team mates, had taken a short-cut back to her room. It wasn’t more than a five minute walk, but it had proven to be a terrible, life-changing mistake.

Armed with a serrated kitchen knife, Gibbs had jumped out on her and forcibly marched her to a secluded garbage dump where they would remain undisturbed for most of the night. Inside a deserted night watchman’s hut, Gibbs had gone through Tyra’s bag, and found her black one-piece swimsuit which he had then ordered her to put back on. After making her parade and pose for him for a while, he had forced her over his knee for a spanking, which was more humiliating than painful. Tyra had feared rape, but it had turned out that Gibbs preferred to get his gratification by making his victims perform revolting acts upon him. It was their shame and humiliation that aroused him.

Tyra still vividly recalled her shock at the sight of his erect p***s jutting out of his open fly. It had been her first – and still only – experience of fellatio, and she had been forced to spend a long time licking and kissing his stinking member before taking it into her mouth. As she had bobbed her head up and down, gagging at the sensation of his soft skin moving against her tongue, she had been mortified at the prospect of him ejaculating into her mouth. However, before he had been ready to come, he had pulled Tyra’s head up and forced her to milk him with her hand instead. After his hot semen had erupted over her fingers, Gibbs had then thought of something that, to the sexually naïve Tyra, had been unimaginable – he had made her massage his mess into her own hair. She still shuddered at the memory – that night she had cut her hair short and had worn it that way ever since. As a final indignity, he had ordered her to thank him with a long, lingering French kiss. Even though she hadn’t actually been raped, somehow this intimacy had seemed far worse.

Now in the glow of the lamp, she examined her own sticky fluid on her fingers, with a mixture of incredulity and horror.

Have I just been subconsciously aroused by such hideous memories?

The sound of her spanking still echoed in her ears, but as she regained full awareness, she now realized that it was not a residue from her dream, and that it was actually emanating from downstairs. She pulled her boxers back on and quietly crept to the door. Placing her ear against it, she could now hear muffled talking – a man, mostly in quiet but authoritative muted tones, and then little clipped responses from a female voice. Then more slapping, followed with high-pitched yelps.

Again, Tyra’s recent nocturnal visit to her haunted past resurfaced completely, horribly, and vividly, and for the first time in years, the scared little girl that she kept locked away inside, raised her voice.

Go back to bed. You don’t want to see this!

But, Tyra chided herself, this feeling of trepidation was merely a residue from her nightmare and it would soon fade, so she slowly turned the door handle and tip-toed out into the passageway and down the stairs. Even as she peeked around the corner, she was almost prepared for what she was about to see. Almost.

The empty room was illuminated only by the overhead bar lights and it took Tyra a moment to make sense of the contorted apparition that was shuffling around the tables. At first glance, she thought she was looking at some grotesque creature that had raised from the abandoned mine, white and puffy and quietly grunting to itself. But as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Tyra saw that it was in fact two people joined together.

Apart from his glasses, Orville Bead was naked. He had his back to Tyra so her first impression was of his fat, hairy ass. As he worked his way awkwardly between the tables, it became apparent that his round belly was resting on Maddy’s back. Maddy herself, was bent double, her hands clasping her ankles, and she was now clad only in her fishnets and pumps. Because of Orville’s excess of flesh, Tyra could not see it directly, but they were clearly coupled together, his c**k penetrating one of her rear orifices as they stumbled in unison. Head down, her breasts hanging freely, Maddy could not see where she was going, so Orville was ‘driving the train’, urging her this way and that with each thrust of his groin. And, presumably to encourage her to keep moving, he periodically administered a stinging blow across her bare back with a riding crop, leaving swollen red stripes on her skin.

Hidden in the shadows, Tyra was so shocked by this depraved scene that she remained rooted to the spot. Tyra’s first impulse was to turn on the main light and interrupt them because the girl was clearly in distress and needed assistance – or did she? After her earlier encounter with William and Julie Swagger, she was not so sure.

Immobile, she strained to decipher the stifled conversation they were having in the course of their bizarre copulation. Orville Bead’s tone was soft, almost avuncular, as he swished the crop against Maddy’s right thigh.

“Now once again, my child, we don’t have conversations with strangers, do we?”

“Uh! No, Uncle!”

“Ssh, ssh, we don’t want to wake our guest. What did she say to you again?”

Swish!

“Ah! She said she wants to help.”

“Help you? How?”

“I don’t know…”

Swish!

“Ung! I didn’t tell her anything!”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing! I swear!”

They had maneuvered their way to Tyra’s side of the room and were now so close that she literally had to hold her breath as she smelled his rank odor mixed with Maddy’s sweeter, flowery scent. Orville dropped the crop and jammed Maddy roughly over one of the small circular tables, squashing her breasts beneath her. He took hold of her hair with one hand, pulling her head back and stretching her neck muscles. His c**k, still obscured by his flab, slid unhurriedly in and out of Maddy’s body.

“Maybe another visit to the workshop will help you to remember to keep your mouth shut,” he said, his breathing becoming more labored.

“No, please! I’m telling the truth!” Maddy gasped.

“But I need... to… be… sure… ugh!” The last words were measured to match his final thrusts, and as Orville climaxed, Tyra fixed her eyes on Maddy’s white knuckles gripping the table.

As he pulled his p***s out of Maddy’s cunt, Orville turned his head in Tyra’s direction and she shrank back into the darkened hallway.

“Hello?” Orville said, squinting through his glasses. “Somebody there?”

He took a step forward and Tyra turned and fled up the stairs, just making it up to her room as the hallway light came on. She turned the lock and dived into bed, heart pounding, as moments later the floorboards creaked outside her room.

Long after the hallway light had gone out again, Tyra lay awake, involuntarily replaying the s****l display over in her mind. Maddy’s slender body doubled over, her hands grasping her ankles, the ridiculous posture as they struggled along together.

Whose idea was that? It had to be Orville’s, and like Will Swagger, he seemed to have a much younger woman to do with as he pleased. If Laurie’s story about Sadie Finch could be verified, that made at least three such dysfunctional couples in Foley. As she tried in vain to get back to sleep, Tyra wondered how many more there were.