No, this narrative is not about groupie plaster castor at a glam tilt concert getting the prick and ball in adhesive plaster of a rock superstar they fucked. Nor is it about going backstage at a histrionics performance of a highly intimate turn, although factor of such drama are in this story.

It was a simple sign in the woods,"Backstage crack ”. I had cycled to the end of a woodland trail, an old rail bed, and found a logic gate blocking the track, presumably erected there by a place owner jealous of his privacy. The gate was flanked by setaceous wire fence that stretched away into the merge hardwood George Herbert Walker Bush on both sides as far as the eye could see.

However, off to the right of the gate, nailed to a sapling, was the sign :"Backstage mountain pass ”. Intriguing. Mysterious. Beside the sapling was a lead : nail down, overgrown, and covered with autumn folio, but a discernible trail. Was this another way into the private dimension of the gate possessor, a privileged initiative into a special populace buried deep in the rolling hardwood valley ? Was the"strait"like a deal pass, a gap in the ridges of land covered with timberland that ran away from the bike trail on both slope, a walk that led to something wizardly ?

It was too much for my curious nature. I mounted my bike and set off on the trail through the woodwind. For a way, it ran parallel to the barbed wire fence along the vale. But the land began to rise, and I was forced off the bike and into a immerse walk up the winding path, slipping on the wet leaves, around Tree and through disruption and over rock'n'roll covered with moss.

A convoluted descent to the valley floor led me back to the fence again, and there on the other English was a clutch of little construction. Two cabins of raspy board, one larger than the former, faced each other at slant across a flat unfastened place. Behind the buildings were two outhouses, also of rough board. Set in the mound behind the construction were broad wooden board that served as hind end. It was a little theater in the woods.

Intrigued, I leaned my bike against a Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree and took photos of the building beyond the fencing with my prison cell phone. Then I heard the voices.

I froze, listening. Men's vox, coming from up on the ridge beyond the buildings, getting louder. If I retreated up the ridge behind me, they would surely spot me. I grabbed the bike and wheeled it into a cedar brush near the fence, laying it flat in the unsounded needles on the dry land. Crouching behind an old oak at the border of the cedar copse, I could see the little construction clearly.

Into the clearing came two men carrying between them a canvas bedding like the ones used for wilderness rescue when person has broken a leg and needs to be carried out to rubber. Strapped to the litter was a missy of about 18 with long brownish wavy tomentum and dressed in a navy grim track suit of clothes. She was asleep, or unconscious mind, punishing to say which. She certainly was not moving, eyes closed, but I heard the casual groan so I knew she was alive.

"Let's get her interior and stripped,"one said."I want to do her at least twice before the sun goes down and we have to use up her cover and shit her."

"Yeah, good programme,"agreed the other one."We won't even waitress for pecker to get back."He guffawed and started to unbrace the straps that held the young woman to the litter.

I had just started to process the fact that there was another man out there, Bill, when a twig snapped behind me. I whirled around to witness the muzzle of an automatic rifle pistol pointed at my grimace. Behind the gun was the brood face of a man about my age, sixtyish, tall, well built and well dressed in out-of-door clothing, but unplayful in demeanour.

"Who are you and what are you doing here ?"he said calmly but loudly enough that the others heard. They set down the bedding and walked toward the fence.

"Who's there, handbill ?"the one asked who wasn't going to hold off for Bill.

"A snoop,"said vizor shortly and waved the gun barrelful at me, indicating I was to get up and go toward the fence where the others waited.

When I got there, I found the other two also had weapons pointed at me."okey,"said Bill."Start talking. Who are you and why are you here ? ”.

I was scared and could see no decimal point in trying to make up a narration to bluff out my way out."I'm a cyclist, out for some exercise, that's all,"I said, making eye link with notice so he could see how sincere I was."I saw that sign,"wing flip ”, and took the track just to see where it led. I didn't mean to obtrude. I was just scared when I heard you coming so I took cover."

"Why didn't you just keep riding when you heard us ?"one asked roughly.

It was a just question, and again I felt that honesty was the only way I was going to get out of this. I dug deep into my brain, took a breath, and said,"Out here in the wood, away from prying eyes, I get turned on. My libido goes into overdrive. I have all these depraved and bacchanal sex illusion about what I would do to a cleaning woman in a trivial cabin like that."I nodded to the cabin across the fence.

Federal Reserve note stared at me for a long moment, then lowered his weapon as he raised his eyebrows."Really ? ”, he said."And what, exactly, would you do to her ?"

I knew then that I was on the decently track, so I kept on being dependable."Oh, anything I wanted, I guess. I'd tie her up and fuck her, then whip her tit and kitty-cat, then fuck her again. I'd take lots of video so I could have lots of skillful wanks when I got home."

"Why don't you do that, then ?"he asked.

"Practical problem,"I answered."I don't know anyone who would help me kidnap her and I don't know what I would do with her afterward. I wouldn't want to stamp out her to exclude her up. It would be nice if she liked it and wanted to keep doing it, a kind of Mother Nature fuck bunny, but fair sex aren't built like that these days. Feminism and all that crap."

The man who was going to waitress for Bill guffawed at that and tucked his weapon into his air pocket. He was of medium height, lxv I'd guess, and somewhat overweight. His bespectacled aspect below a bald pate was jowly and his belly hung over his belt a bit. I learned later his name was Harold."A female parent Nature fuck bunny,"he repeated."I like that, card. I think this guy is OK."

The early man, rebuff of frame and also balding with a grey trimmed beard, picked up on this."I don't know, Harold. Can we trust this guy ? What do you think, Bill ?"

Bill looked at me carefully again."What's your figure ?"he asked.

"It's Phillip,"I said."I live over in Lyndhurst, and I'm a go to sleep college professor. I go out on the bike around the county because I have a heart condition and have to exercise."I scuffed in the leave of absence a bit."Besides, I like riding the bike and I like to explore new places, hidden property, only this time I got myself in a jam."I looked up at nib."What are you going to do with me ?"

pecker looked over at the other two. Harold nodded, a leer on his face. The other one with the beard frowned and shook his head slightly."Can we trust him ?"he asked.

Bill looked at me and back to Slim."I don't know,"he said slowly,"but he sounds like he could be one of us. But there's an slowly way to retrieve out. We have a muffin here now, so let's get Phillip on camera doing her, fucking her and beating her tits. Then he can't go the bull without implicating himself, can he ?"

I found later they liked calling the fille they abducted"gem ”. The muffin on the litter started to moan and seethe her eyes under the lids."She's coming out of the anaesthetic agent. We have to travel rapidly,"said Slim, whose name I found later was Alastair.

billhook turned to me."Are you in ?"he asked shortly with a maneuver stare.

"And if I don't do this ?"I asked, not really wanting to recognize the solvent.

"We'll have to deal with you, won't we ?"said Bill.

Harold on the early side of the fence scuffed the basis with his toe and said,"We've had to do it before, but it's no fun."Looking at me, he said,"If you really want to do soil clobber in the Grant Wood, show us. Now."

I nodded. I had all the solvent and all the motive I needed .