The Goddess-Queens of Pudendor - The Abducted - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

The long, strange path that led to Taryn Campbell of Carson Springs becoming Taryn Campbell, Freewoman of Pudendor, began on a June evening at the end of my first, and it would turn out, only year of grad school. As with so many life changing events, it began in an isolated, wooded area of park land on the edge of the city, a well-known but lightly used lovers’ lane. I was there with my boyfriend at the time, Stanley.

Stanley and I made a bit of an odd couple, I’ll admit, especially when we spent an evening at one of the clubs or bars frequented by the rowdy, shallow, image conscious undergraduate crowd. Stanley was an almost stereotypical engineering student, medium height, weedy, a nerdy-dweebish guy you’d expect to be spending Saturday evening playing Dungeons and Dragons in the dorm common room.  He turned more than a few questioning heads when the frat boys and sorority girls realized he was with me.

Not to sound too conceited or anything, but I was a contender for prom queen back in high school and the only reason I didn’t get it, I still maintain, is because Sarah Smithers put out like a hooker during Fleet Week. Brown eyes, full head of copper red hair, and a face I’m told is attractive, if a little too strong featured to be traditionally pretty. My undergraduate years had been paid for by a volleyball scholarship. While I’m not as tall as some of the girls, only 5’ 10”, I’m naturally athletic, well-coordinated, and can jump like a kangaroo. And unlike most of those sexless string beans, I have a nicely filled out bust and a tight but nicely rounded butt to balance it out. Our volleyball games always drew a good, mostly male, crowd. Most people thought I was quite a catch for Stanley. But it wasn’t one sided. On his part Stanley had some appealing attributes; intelligence, wry good humor, and certain physical features not usually displayed to the casual observer, except when he wore a Speedo. And let’s just say that, as a budding engineer, he was a guy who knew what to do with a tool.

So, on the evening in question Stanley and I were celebrating the end of finals with a bit of outdoor hanky-panky.  I had a perfectly good queen sized bed in my apartment and the roomie was planning to be out all night at her own celebrations, but Stanley wanted to indulge in the thrill of sex in public. It wasn’t really my thing, but I frequently indulged him in such things, as well as his other quirks. There was a quid pro quo, of course. Stanley may not have been a notable physical specimen in most respects, but as I said he knew what to do with what nature had been generous with, including his imagination. And unlike some of my previous boyfriends he knew what a tongue could do and wasn’t afraid to do it.

Stanley was good enough I happily indulged some of his quirks, or perhaps more accurately, his kinks. He liked to try a little light bondage, spanking, and even had a little whip he mostly flourished rather than actually used for whipping. It was really mostly play acting. He’d lightly graze my ass with his whip and I’d ham it up like a good little porn actress. A few times he thought he’d really hurt me and nearly had a panic attack. Mostly I think it was the idea of it, the mighty, if short, male mastering the Amazon. But whatever, it turned him on and when we got down to the main event he really was a mighty male.

Not surprisingly, along with the usual selection of Sword and Sorcery fiction, Stanley was a fan of those dumb Gor novels. He’d started reading them, and probably masturbating to them, back in high school or maybe even junior high, and still had a row of them on his bookshelf. I’d tried to read a few of them, at his urging, but to his disappointment I never got very far before I tossed them back to him with some snippy remarks about what a waste of trees they were.

But back to the night when this journey started. We’d stopped at a favorite hangout and had some beers and burgers, then picked up a six pack and headed out to our favorite spot for outdoor play, a place we’d gone before where we could expect not to be interrupted. We did a little heavy petting to get in the mood and then to make Stanley happy and horny I let him order me into what he said were kajira slave positions. We’d done that a few times before, when we had my or his apartment to ourselves, and he much preferred that I be naked, but tonight the clothes were staying on, at least until I felt more like “fuck the world, I don’t care who sees me.” As a compromise, I let him order me to unbutton my blouse and pull down my bra cups, letting the twins spill over the tops. He liked that.

Then, telling me that a disobedient slave needed disciplining, he tied my wrists together, tossed the end of the rope over a handy branch, and raised my arms over my head. After fondling the boobies for a minute or two he undid my belt and pulled my jeans and panties down just so that my butt was exposed. He gave me a few light slaps with his hand before going back to the car to get his whip.

And then the light came on, glaring, from above us, filling a circle around us with cold, white illumination. My first thought was that it was a police helicopter and, God, was this ever going to be embarrassing. In my panic it didn’t dawn on me that there was no sound of rotors, in fact, no sound at all. With my arms raised over my head I couldn’t look up to see what was above us. I could see Stanley, though, and he had the most frightened look on his face I had ever seen. And then he took off into the dark.

“You bastard,” was the nicest thing I screamed after him. “Untie me!” And after that I don’t remember anything until I awoke on the ship.

Continued in Chapter 2