Miranda squinted for several minutes while her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. There was a bad taste in her mouth, an obvious side affect to the drug she figured was put into her drink, and her head and arms were bound in an old wooden stock she'd read about in grade school. Her legs were shackled at the ankles by cold metal bracelets connected to chains somewhere else in the room.

"If you struggle, you will only damage yourself," a gravely voice remarked.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Miranda said trying to keep her voice steady and calm.

"You may begin," the voice answered.

Miranda heard movement in the shadows that surrounded her small island of light.

"Who is out there?"

A young bald woman dressed in a white ceremonial robe and carrying a steaming bucket of soapy water approached. The woman set the bucket on the floor in front of Miranda and pulled out a purple sponge.

"Help me please!" Miranda pleaded with the woman.

"They will no listen to you," the voice responded.

"Damn you, you bastard!"

"Let us try to keep things civil Miss Peters."

"Fuck you!"

While Miranda fought with the voice, the bald woman was busy scrubbing down Miranda's oversized body, paying special attention to her pussy and ass. Miranda couldn't help letting a soft moan escape her lips as the warm water cascaded over her body.

"That's better," the voice purred.

"Fuck you!"

When the woman was finished, she toweled Miranda dry, picked up the bucket and disappeared into the shadows. A few more minutes passed before another bald woman, this time a young African, entered holding a white porcelain bowel. Like her predecessor, the woman didn't acknowledge Miranda's presence. As she approached, Miranda smelled a musky, earthy aroma.

"What is that?" Miranda asked, but the woman ignored her.

"Just some tribal oils to help lubricate you. We want to make sure you aren't damaged during the process," the voice answered.

Miranda mind raced with terror. "Lubricant," she thought, "They intend to rape me." Her eyes grew wide with fright.

"Let me out of here!" she screamed struggling to break free.

"Please settle down Miss Peters, I assure you there is no escape."

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asked, while the long slender fingers of the African probed her backside.

Miranda felt the slick excess of oil trickle down her thick, inner thighs. "Please let me go," she whimpered.

The African finished with her task, walked into the surrounding darkness and was replaced by a large, beefy man holding a gag ball. Miranda tried to keep her mouth firmly shut, but the giant simply pinched her nostrils between his massive thumb and forefinger. A few seconds without oxygen, and Miranda's mouth flew open, gasping for breath, but only finding the passage blocked by rubber and leather.

She let out a muffled protest.

"We are far away from civilization Miss Peters so no one will her your protests, however, I do find these instruments rather erotic."

"Moo Fastard!"

"Now, now Miss Peters I have already told you about your language." The voice said snapping his fingers.

A bald Asian woman appeared, a long, flat cricket board resting against her arm.

"Proceed," the voice said.

The Asian walked behind Miranda, braced her small feet into two leather straps attached to the floor, took a sumo stance and swung the flat face of the cricket bat violently against Miranda's ass.

"Moooowwwww!" Miranda screamed as the wood bit into her flesh.

The Asian repeated process a dozen more times, alternating between Miranda's buttocks with each swing.

"Is she welted?" the voice asked.

Miranda couldn't see the Asians response, but whatever it was the voice was satisfied by the result.

"You may go," the voice said dismissively. "Now we won't hear any further foul language will we Miss Peters."

With tears still streaming down her face, Miranda shook her head no.

"Good."

The bucket girl reappeared to wash Miranda's face.

"There now, do you feel better?" the voice inquired.

Miranda bopped her head yes.

"Good. You may begin stage two."

A low hum filled the room and Miranda felt her legs spread wider apart.

"It will go a lot easier if don't struggle Miss Peters," the voice warned.

The low hum grew louder until it seemed to be emanating directly behind her. For a moment nothing happened, then, Miranda felt a cold, slick metal rod pressing against her pussy. The oil the African had applied helped a little, but Miranda could still feel tiny pin-pricks of pain as the piston like movements of the metal manhood ripped her vaginal wall.

"Level two," the voice commanded.

Miranda felt the cold, stiff metal grow pleasantly warm.

"Submit to the power of my machine Miss Peters," the voice encouraged.

Miranda struggled to keep her body from responding, but it was futile. Despite the torment she was undergoing, her body responded to this metal monster in the same fashion it responded to her flesh covered lovers.

She was left to the machines unquenchable sex drive for nearly a half hour before the voice commanded it stopped.

"Did you cum Miss Peters?" the voice asked.

Miranda bobbed yes.

"Several times?"

She bobbed yes again and the machine was withdrawn, leaving Miranda's pussy feeling raw and empty.

"Good," he snapped his fingers and the bucket girl and African reappeared.

After Miranda was cleaned up and re-oiled, the voice initiate stage three.

A line of twelve muscular men marched single file into the room; each one naked except for a pair of black combat boots. There was at least one representative from every race including a pure blood Native American. An order was barked, and the men turned in unison to face Miranda. She noted the blank expressions on their faces.

"Do you have any preference Miss Peters or shall we just start at the beginning?" the voice asked.

The first man in line was a black gang member with a barbed wire tattoo across his right bicep and cock that measured in the feet. She noticed his girth and wondered how on earth that thing could fit into any woman.

"Serving seven to ten years for rape and murder, I think it would be unfair to let Jerome wait, don't you Miss Peters?"

"Left face!" someone barked. "Forward March! Left Face! March!"

The men filed passed her and into the blackness behind her. She couldn't see them, but she knew the men were lined up behind her and waiting for the order to be given.

"Proceed."

She felt a rough hand pawing at her skin. "It must be Jerome," Miranda thought. She closed her eyes and tried to brace herself, but nothing could prepare her for the searing pain that shot through her body as Jerome pushed his massive cock into her. The pressure was so overwhelming Miranda imagined being ripped in two as soon as Jerome began thrusting.

"Slowly," the voice instructed.

Jerome obeyed. His movements were slow and gentle, not violent like she had imagined. He didn't grunt or otherwise say anything that could tell Miranda how he felt, but as he quickened his pace she knew the answer. And as the first waves of his orgasm erupted inside her, the terror returned to her face.

"You'll get pregnant!" a voice inside Miranda's head screamed. It was right of course. She was almost fourteen days into her cycle, and by all accounts as fertile as a farmer's field. But, there was nothing that she could do about that now. The damage was already dripping down her leg.

She felt Jerome withdrawal and a man with a smaller cock took his place.

Nine men used Miranda, each spilling their fertile seed deep into her womb, however, when the tenth man attempt to place his cock in her ass, the voice stopped the proceedings.

"Remove him," the voice ordered.

The man was quickly and quietly removed and the last two were ordered to continue. Once they were finished, the men were marched from the room. Again Miranda was cleaned and oiled.

"By now I'm sure you realize there are billions of sperm racing towards your fertile womb," the voice taunted. "I am curious to know which ethnic ancestry your child will be. Begin phase four."

Miranda heard the hoof beats of a horse echoing off the concrete.

"You've got to be kidding," she thought to herself.

Sure enough a black stallion was positioned in front of her, a man in a tweed suit holding the reins.

"He may not be able to make you pregnant," the voice began, "But he will certainly offer an interesting obstacle for your lover's seed, don't you think?"

Miranda watched as a plump Romanian woman jerked the animal stiff, wiped her hands on her gypsy peasant blouse and nodded to the man in tweed. He took the animal around Miranda's back and the breeding began. The horse whinnied and bucked wildly, slipping out of Miranda's slick pussy a several times before a slow rhythm was established.

Almost immediately, the horse came, spilling murky white water-like liquid into his human mare. Miranda wanted to scream out as she felt a mixture of revulsion and excitement, but the gag ball prevented it. There was nothing she could do, but accept her fate and hope they killed her when it was over.

The horse lasted a good twenty minutes before it was removed from the room and the cleaning and oiling process commenced.

"Do you wonder what is going on inside of you Miss Peters? Humanity versus the animal kingdom in the eternal struggle to ensure the survival of the species, I wonder what Darwin would think of my little experiment. It would make for an interesting paper if it was possible for a horse to impregnate a human. But alias, I'll have to limit the experience to the pages of erotica instead."

The voice snapped his fingers again and the large giant of a man reappeared. This time he was holding a black velvet blindfold.

"I hate to do this Miss Peters, you have such beautiful eyes, but I would like a better look at you and I can't risk being recognized. Proceed."

The giant covered Miranda's eyes with the cloth and the room went pitch dark. She listened as someone approached.

"You are a very attractive woman, do you realize that Miss Peters? Yes sir, very attractive. I like fleshy girls, they are very Renaissance in nature. Voluptuous and sensual, I wonder what Reuben would make of you."

She felt a warm, soft hand brush against the back of her neck.

"I love the back hump of big girls most of all. Do you like your back hump Miss Peters?"

Miranda shook her head no.

"It's a shame; you have such a lovely back hump."

The voice pressed his lips against her skin, sending a tingle of excitement coursing through her.

"What the hell is the matter with me," she thought. "This man is the ring leader behind my raping and I'm gushing like a school girl."

"Are you starved for attention Miss Peters?"

Miranda shook her head no.

"I believe you are lying. You hunger for someone to appreciate you; to worship you like I worship you. Tell me do people call you names?"

Miranda shook her head no.

"You are fortunate then," the voice said. "I've seen a lot of women crumble to the pressures of society. Tummy tucks and plastic surgery. I can only hope that my little distraction will make you a stronger woman. You are a very fine breeding specimen."

A hand swatted her painfully sore rump.

"Proceed with stage four."

Miranda's head swirled around in confusion. She didn't understand why this was happening to her. What purpose was this ordeal serving and how much longer would it last?

Miranda, eyes still covered by the blind fold, couldn't see a tattooed covered man preparing an inking needle.

"I'm afraid this might sting a little," the voice cautioned.

The tattooed man drew a small Chinese symbol on the side of Miranda's right buttock, which she later found to mean ownership.

"Miss Peters, we are nearly finished here. I am going to have my assistant remove your gag ball shortly. Because I wish to avoid any unpleasant outbursts while we make our escape, you will be given a mild hallucinate. Your family will be informed of your location and along to collect you shortly. I thank you for your time and assistance. It has been most valuable. As a token of my appreciation, fifty thousand dollars is being left in a brief next to you. Do with it as you please."

The voice turned to walk away, but paused.

"Oh and as for the father of your child, I already know the answer to that question. Thank you for your time Miss Peters."