The thugs pulled the blindfold off of Holly Valentine. The reporter shook her red hair out of her eyes and took a look at her kidnappers. She didn’t recognize any of them but she did recognize the expensive shoes, the plastic looking hair and the really big flag pins on their jackets. Yeah, she knew who these guys were.
She took a look at the place they had brought her. It smelled of chicken and pickles. It was some sort of processing plant. This was new.
“Okay, I know you guys are from the SuperPac, Buying America Today, because I am writing that article about how you plan to buy Congress to allow them to let you open student debt labor prisons, but what the fuck are we doing here?”
Several of the thugs looked surprised that she had identified them. Their leader, an older gentleman with a bigger flag pin than all of them did not look surprised.
“Very good, Miss Valentine,” he said. “Despite being a member of the lamestream media, you have correctly identified us. To answer your question, we are at a Chick-Yum-E plant.”
Holly frowned and then she smiled. “I get it. I wrote an article about them last month about how they were trying to spike their pickle marinade with a chemical that attempts to destroy Homosexual DNA. They are pretty pissed with me. I guess you guys are going to kill me here to frame them. Also, it is a Sunday so you know they would be closed today.”
“Holy shit,” one of the thugs said. “How the fuck did she know all that?”
“Because she has a fucking brain,” the leader said. “Do you see the kind of shit help I have to deal with, Ms. Valentine? These Christian College graduates are the worse.”
Holly tried to look sympathetic. “Let me go and I’ll give investigate the religious college of your choice.”
The leader laughed. “I don’t think so. Put her in the pickle marinade vat. No, wait. Take off her pants and panties first.”
“Yes, sir!” one of the thugs said. The three thugs went to work. Holly didn’t resist. Her hands were tied behind her back and you could learn a lot about your kidnappers by how fast they strip you.
The first thing Holly learned is that she doubted any of these guys had ever been with a naked woman. They tried to pull her pants down before taking off her shoes first. After they corrected that mistake, they pulled off her panties. One of the thugs sniffed her panties while another thug tried to secretly sniff her ass. The third thug just stared at the thick bush of red hair between her legs.
“Should we take her shirt off too?” the panty sniffing thug asked.
The leader looked at Ms. Valentine. “It is your choice. It is not necessary because you are going to drown but I will defer to your modesty if you wish.”
“Let’s go naked,” Holly said. “The naked bodies always get the headlines in the paper.” She didn’t mention that if they were going to try to drown her, she wanted as few wet clothes weighing her down as possible.
“Hot damn,” the panty sniffing thug said. He pulled her blouse up to reveal the yellow bra holding her freckled tits. That was when they realized that her bound hands made it fucking impossible to get the shirt off of her. They still tried for a few minutes though.
“For fuck’s sake, use your knives,” the leader said. He looked at Holly with desperation in his face. “I tell you, school vouchers are going to kill the henchmen industry. These guys are stupid as shit.”
The henchmen pulled out their knives. The ass sniffer cut himself and had to use her panties as a bandage. The other two cut into her clothes with better luck. The panty sniffer cut through her bra straps and he paused to take deep a lungful of her DD cups. The other thug just stared at the freckles on her tits.
“All right assholes, get her into the pickle vat now,” the leader said.
They took her to a steel door that opened into the bottom of a large open vat. Holly judged the walls were at least thirty feet high. In the center of the vat was a metal spout pointing upwards. On either side of the spout were metal rings freshly wielded to the floor.
The leader positioned Holly so she was standing right above the spout. He then fastened metal manacles around her feet and used a padlock to secure them to the rings in the floor.
“I will explain how you will die,” the leader said. “When we leave, we turn on the marinade valve. Thousands of gallons of pickle juice will come out of this spout and fill the vat. The jet in the spout keeps the marinade moving as well as keeping you too distracted to escape. You will drown in pickle juice and Chick-Yum-E will get the blame. I will get a bonus from my bosses and might even become Attorney General. Any questions?”
“You wouldn’t be willing to tell me your name would you?” Holly asked.
The leader smiled. “No, I wouldn’t. Good-bye Ms. Valentine. Be comforted by the fact that your corpse will most likely be delicious.”
“Thanks!” Holly said cheerfully. It was always good to be polite to your kidnappers.
The thugs left and the door sealed behind the. Holly looked down at the spout. How was it supposed to distract her?
A minute later she had her answer. A powerful stream of pickle juice shot up and struck her crotch. She stumbled but the manacles held her in place. The pressure on her pussy was amazing.
“Oh, I get it now,” Holly moaned. It was like standing over the world’s best shower sex accessory.
The spout began to pulse. It still fired a steady stream of pickle juice but now the pressure was cycling through several different speeds. All of them were more distracting than the last.
“Not a bad way to die,” Holly said as her pussy was pounded with pickle juice.
“I just have no intention of dying.”
Holly twisted her wrists and tested the confines of the rope holding her hands. The dumb asses should have used handcuffs. Maybe rope was cheaper. Rightwing assassins always tried to do things on the cheap. It was all about the budget cuts with those guys.
The spout continued to pound Holly’s pussy. She caught herself bending forward a little so it would hit her clitoris. She stood back up and tried to ignore the constant stream of pickle juice hitting her sex. Escape was her priority, not getting off.
The pickle juice was already up to her knees. Damn, this vat was going to fill up fast.
Holly’s wrists contorted and twisted. Every three months, she would return to Eros University and get a refresher course on escape bondage. Houdini could learn a few things from Holly at this point. She felt the rope getting looser and looser by the second.
Holly’s pussy was getting wetter and wetter by the second as well. The high pressure stream of pickle juice was doing wonderful things to her body. Her nipples were hard enough to cut rope. Her thighs kept spreading wider for the stream. Her hips were moving back and forth against the stream as she tried to fuck the pickle juice.
“This can not be healthy for the ph balance of my pussy,” Holly thought. Maybe she would do a lifestyle article about it later.
A final twist and her hands were free of the rope. She took a moment to celebrate by stroking her pussy. The pickle stream was pretty damn good but a few strokes of her pussy pushed her over the edge. Holly climaxed and screamed her pleasure in the filling vat.
“I bet that was the first time anyone ever came in a Chick-Yum-E,” Holly said.
Now came the hard part; getting her feet free. The metal manacles were too tight to slip through and the welding job was a good one. She needed to unlock those padlocks and she needed to do it fast. The pickle juice was already to her waist.
Lucky for Holly, she never went anywhere without hiding a hairpin in her long red hair. Fuck, she even went to sleep with one. Holly pulled the hairpin out and squatted down to reach one of padlocks.
Squatting meant her pussy was closer to the spout and that became a problem in itself. The incredible sensations just intensified with proximity and her greedy sex was already sensitized from climaxing moments ago. The pressure cycled and Holly climaxed again.
“Fuck!” she yelled. Her fingers fumbled and the hairpin almost dropped from her hand.
“Get your shit together, Holly,” she said to herself. She did not want to die tasting like a Chick-Yum-E sandwich.
Holly squatted down lower. The pickle juice came over her tits and over her face. Her pussy was pressing against the spout as gallons of pickle juice came churning up. The pressure on her sex was intense and fucking hot.
She reached down to one of the padlocks. She tried to remember everything she had learned in journalism school. She tried to focus and pick the lock as fast as possible.
The spout continued its diabolical pressure. Pulses of pickle juice slammed into her pussy. A current was forming in the pickle juice and it was bouncing her heavy breasts. She was going to climax again and soon.
The padlock popped open. Holly giggled with relief and got a mouthful of pickle juice.
Holly waited a second before moving away from the spout. She was close to another orgasm. She lied to herself and reasoned that another orgasm would help her think clearer.
The wet redhead climaxed. She was smart enough to keep her mouth shut while she moaned.
Now she moved her free leg away from the spout. The wonderful pressure on her pussy was gone but she could feel the currents in the juice. Her tits bounced back and forth with the current. It would be so tempting to lean a little bit and get maybe just a little of the spout’s pressure. Surely a little stimulation wouldn’t hinder her escape?
Holly’s willpower won out and she stayed away from the spout. Without the juice fucking, the second lockpicking went much quicker. She got the padlock off in record time.
She stood up and the pickle juice was over her head. That was no problem; she would just swim.
Holly kicked her legs and was surprised by how weak her thighs were. Getting fucked by an industrial pickle juice marinade mixer was hard worked. Holly pushed through her exhaustion and swam upwards.
The worn out reporter reached the top of the vat and pulled herself up. There was some sort of landing at the top with various controls. Holly laid on the metal grating and tried to catch her breath.
She stuck a finger in her sex and then took a lick.
“Wow, he was right,” Holly said. “I do taste delicious.”