My name doesn't matter here at all. I am the last descendant of an old aristocracy is enough said and I live in a big manor built between 1120 and 1365 sitting high over a small village in the Black Forest. My main profession is adopting rich (means really rich) idiots for lots of money to give them a useless "von" in their name.

We - my male "kids" and me - are planning a gentlemens party next weekend. So I think I'd call my local flesh dealer now. He's my butcher too and he knows what steaks we like for our parties. Besides he's the pro in organizing - ummm... let's say... rape flesh with limited consent. After all we are very honorable men and it's absolutely impossible that we could kidnap somebody just right from the sidewalk. This is the job of Hans.

Ok, So I called Hans my butcher to order the steaks and sausages for twenty men plus some dog food for Peter's two labrador dogs  And some "extra spice meat" as usual.

Hans soon gets the steaks and almost everything else into his refrigeration lorry except the extra spice. Hard to find today with al those immigrants on the streets. Almost no single girls walking in the streets after dawn. Where have the good old times gone? Ok, that one will do. A black haired chubby slut just like the gentlemen prefer. Hans pulls his reefer aside and gets out. The rest is not very difficult. A short blast with the strenghthened cattle prod and the spice falls on the sidewalk. In a hurry Hans ties the feet of the spice and opens the rear door. On the ceiling there are - as in each butcher's lorry - some rows of meat hooks. Hans lifts the spice to the middle row, closes the door and drives on to the delivery place before he brings me the steaks.

When he arrives at my manor, he hands me a little sheet of paper together with the red boxes containing the meat.It almost looks as if he hands me the bill but we both know that i'ts better not to speak about the place he put extra spice. A little sheet does the same.

Ok, Hans has delvered all I hope. But he is very reliable in those things. The writing on the sheet says "L 132, bei Kilometer 13 links im Wald". Ok, I know where I have to look for my extra spice. Spice Girl he said once and I asked him if it's Baby or Scary. A scary baby and about the weight of both he ment in a laughter. Fine man.

Now it's time to check that today scary baby spice. I am here on a small country road in the Black Forest, it's almost full moon and the night is warm and quiet. Hope I don't stumble over one of those fucking roots here. Left side into the wood he told me. Can't be difficult to find. Ok, there it is. The spice is firmly tied to a tree with the arms spread by a dry branch Hans must have found somewhere on the floor.

Oh my Wotan or whoever else. I hate if he does that. But he seems to like it. These Christians. Always in their crucifiction thing. What did Jesus say on the cross? "More nails, I'm skidding". Ok, Hans doesn't take nails. He uses wet leather strips so they tighten when drying. No problem to cut away and drop them. They rot, so we are eco friendly. But it hard to estimate the breast of a Jesus style girlie. Ok, she's awake already, so I have to be careful. Once one of them hit me in the face and I had to hit back. Not a good idea to bring damaged spice to the party. The gentlemen won't pay the full sum if there are bruises.

Before the gentlemen begin (to be honest).

This one seems to be full breasted and with a very soft belly and arse. Slim slit as far as I see. Just let's take a second look on the meat. With a knife cutting dry leather strips it's no problem to cut the thin nighty Hans wrapped the spice in. He buys them at Lidl for 7,99 Euros per ten. So that's ok, she won't need it any more. Fondling the belly and breasts I can judge Hans delivered a fine spice. Slipping my hand between her legs makes her feet kicking to me. Well - they would have if even they could. Leather strips are a fine thing.

The slit is meaty and firm with a short curly bush around ist. Feels warm and - gosh, feels juicy. That spice seems to enjoy what it doesn't want to be: our rape object. But at the moment the spice does not yet know it's future. For now it's firmly tied to a tree and somebody is touching it's body like a good piece of tenderloin.

Somehow the spice seems to realize that it was kidnapped, tied to a tree in a dark wood and that the rescue it hoped for will untie it but not really for rescue. Kind of difficult thing. If I untie the spice it will not be very happy anyhow. In that way the crucifiction idea of Hans was not bad yet. Cutting the leather around the tree will do for now. If it runs away it also can try to fly with those arms on the branch. And I have to untie it to check the buttocks.

First I will cut away the fixing of the branch. Hans learned a lot not to fix the throat directly. The spice yet can move it's head but it won't choke with the drying leather strip around it's throat. Man what has happened in the past... Then I cut away the leather strips around the belly holding her to the tree, supporting her with one of my hands to her breast. Even if the spice doesn't move it would drop on it's muzzle else. Bloody noses are no sales pitch.

Before the gentlemen begin. (to be honest again)

Looking at it's ankles Hans shows me he has learned about spice meat since the one that ran away and gave me hours of funny search in a fucking dark wood and finally broke it's leg so Hans had to dispose it (don't ask me how he did. I didn't ask him either) and deliver another one at short notice. He not only tied it's legs to the tree but also hobbled it's feet. Fine work again. So I can uncut the leather strip around the tree and it's feet are still fixed together. Ok, one more slice with my knife and the spice stands in front of me - in quite a ridiculous position with that branch holding her arms spread and it's feet still tied. The spice tries now not to loose it's balance so I can take my hand off the breast and check it's ham. Really nice firm buttocks we have. A bit meaty but that will give a good hitting area later. It's not nice if after the first hard hits the pelvis bones have their coming-out between the meat.

As I felt the slit before I now feel for the second fuck hole. The spice squeaks a bit when I pound my finger into it's butthole but it also begins panting - with no pants on so I can see that the slit glistens with moisture now. That fucking spice becomes horny I guess. Heeey! Don't move. Quickly I grab the branch and prevent the spice from falling over. Was that an attempt to flee or was it just hopping onto my finger in it's anus? I have to be more careful with this, The spice could have got dents like a peach in a washing machine.

It's time to get the spice home now. Unfortunately with that full moon there will be some light somewhere on our way even it's black night here in the shady forest. I pull a hood over the spice's head and fix it with a rope around it's neck. Then click a handcuff to it's right wrist and cut the leather strings holding this arm to the branch. Goddammit, the spice now lowers both arms being happy to leave that uncomfortable position and the branch almost hit my Ferrari spectacles when it swings up as the left arm fixed to it swings down. That was not quite thoughtful. Must be more careful in future. I grab the branch again to prevent the spice from falling over another time (you know: peaches in a washer 'n stuff...) and click the handcuff to the left wrist. Fine. Now I can cut the leather strings holding the left arm to the branch. Just that moment the spice hops forward with both feet and I have to prevent it a third time from falling over. YUCK! That branch falls down and hits my foot. Good thing I'm wearing those soldier boots and not my Armani slippers. Anyway Hans found quite a good way to fasten the spice with his christian crucifiction spleen. I will learn to deal with falling branches and horny asshole-fondling-squeakers.

Next part is easy. Putting it's ankles in cuffs and cutting the last leather strip from spicey's ankles is not too difficult. A thin hard rope around it's neck over the belly and between it's legs leads to the rear over the handcuffs to the chain of the footcuffs. Fine - if the spice tries to run now it must go goose-walk or rip it's meaty pussy. I wouldn't try this, dear spice if I were you. Just walk the way I guide. Take small steps and walk slowly. There are lots of roots in the wood. If you fall flat on your face the rope will tighten up hard into your most tender part. (Hey, that's a rhyme. I am Goethe)

Back on the road it's no problem to place the spice in my Mercedes. The G-Model is quite familiar to hunters. The only problem is the way I came here. Of course I will have to take a longer detour as Hans did too when he delivered the spice. He must have had a lot of time because he wrote that he took a ride of about 200 kilometers. With his lorry that takes a lot of time. My G 63 AMG will do that faster. Anyway it's a long route to drive and a lot of gas to burn with a guzzler like that. I will have to raise my entry for the party if fuel doesn't get cheaper soon.

Casually I tell the spice that whatever its name is - now it's Threehole Twohand. Remember if you are asked later. And now let me help you to enter the load area and fix you to the floor. Putting a second load floor over the spice completes the load. No worry the spice could see anything but it could be seen if there was a police control. It's night, a showy car driving around - the cops might be interested in my driver's licence or just trying to fulfill their rate of DUI. And it look quite bad to carry this piece of meat in a car that way. They might be dumb but not that dumb.

But this night they seem to suck their thumbs or other parts of each other. I reach the motorway and let the wheels fly. Fine thing those german motorways. If you have enough power. After half an hour and about 100 kilometers later I leave the motorway and drive some nice roads through the wild before I re-enter the motorway and start the race home. Not more than ninety minutes later I can stop my car in the remise and unload the spice. Seems as if the ride stopped it a bit from being horny. Well that's a nothing to repair. I have to check if the meat was damaged on the tour anyhow. I first untie the ropes that held the spice in place and then slip my hand between it's legs. What a wonderful invention mother nature did. Slipping one finger into the slit, caressing the lustful knob above with the other and it's no problem to slip my thumb into that firm asshole again. Works. The spice becomes horny and wet again immediately. Maybe I should try to lead it by that grip to it's new rooms. No better I do not. I could slip out of that dripping hole.

Helping the spice out of the car is one thing. Securing it is another. So I put a noose like dog catchers use around it's throat and pull it tight. I have a stick now and can direct the spice wherever I want. At the moment I want it to go to the dungeon in the second basement floor. Hell knows where the spice wants to go. I am stronger and the spice is gasping a bit now. No my spice meat. That way. These stairs down and be careful. They are very old and worn. And I can't hold you if you are falling.

Reaching the lower cellars I open the old heavy steel door of the dungeons and push the spice into one of the cells. Now I can fix it with the rings at the wall and get back my cuffings and the noose stick. Here it stands. Tied to the wall with a steel ring around the waist, one steel ring around the throat and steel rings holding the spice spread eagle at wrists and ankles. The pale flesh looks nice with that hood over it's head and nothing else. We will put away the hood when fun begins and we are wearing our masks. Until then you may cry as loud as you want. Nobody will hear it. Not even in the hall. I will turn on the heating (was expensive enough to install a heating in a dungeon of a medeival manor) so you will be a nice warmed up piece of spicy meat when we have fun with our barbecue. Enjoy yourself here until then Threehole Twohand. Pity that you can't give yourself a last orgasm fixed like that. 

Slamming the door of the dungeon cell shut will leave the spice alone with it's thoughts and what I said until my guests will arrive on friday for the first fondling and washing of their extra spice meat.

(To be continued...?)