Robert Moore - Hard guys and hostages

"Close that action and you're a dead cocksucker," he said. His voice was raised to penetrate the din of screaming and the ringing in everyone's ears. But it was calm, too. There was no mistaking the earnestness in his tone.

The two men stood looking at each other for long seconds. The shotgun could only be fired after the slide was shoved forward. That would take a fraction of a second, long enough for Max to pull the trigger on his pistol. It was a tableau, a frozen, dramatic picture as the two men regarded each other coldly.

"Put the shotgun down," Max said coolly.

"It looks to me like we got a Mexican stand-off here, old buddy," said Pete.

"Not quite. All I have to do is press the trigger. Old buddy. And you'll be deader than shit. You know that, and I know it, so don't try any bluffs. Just lower the shotgun, very carefully."

Pete looked at the pistol. It hadn't moved a centimeter since coming to bear on his belly. He lowered the shotgun, pointing it at the floor. "You got me, Max. But how long you think you gonna be able to keep me?"

Max smiled, and, surprisingly, it was a friendly smile. "I won't have to keep you, Pete. You just cool off, and you'll realize I'm right."

"Bullshit. And even if I did, I don't like people pointing guns at me. Especially when they're supposed to be on my side. That really pisses me off, because I like to know which way all the guns are pointing."

"You didn't give me any choice, Pete," Max said. "I would have preferred to talk sense to you, but you weren't willing. You were ready to blow the man apart with that shotgun."

"Yeah, and I still am. I still think that's the best way to do it."

"When we were planning this thing, you agreed that I was the brains. Why don't we leave it that way." Max lowered the pistol in his hand and stuck it into the waistband of his pants. It was a casual movement, but it must have taken some thought on his part, because it reversed his position as compared with Pete's. If anyone had the edge now, it was Pete, who still had his gun in his hands at least. Pete looked at the gun and then at Max, and then he grinned.

"You got guts, Max. I'll give you that."

"It isn't guts. It's just that I know you're too smart to go breaking up the gang when we need each other to keep everyone in line." Pete shook his head in a gesture of admiration.

"I still think we oughta blow his balls off, but I'll go along with you, Max. For now."

Julie felt her knees go rubbery. The tension had been like a crouching panther, and now she felt a sudden weakness all over her body. She felt gratitude to Max, too, and even a touch of gratitude to Pete for giving in. He still looked disgruntled, as though he were choking down the gall of having been bluffed out. Julie went to him and kissed him. He jerked away for an instant, then, when he was sure what she was doing, one hand moved under her robe to slide down over her ass. Their tongues met, and she could feel the stirring in his body.

Pete broke off the kiss and looked at her strangely for a moment, puzzled at her deliberate sexual approach. Then he grasped her hand and pulled her to the hallway. Julie felt her husband's eyes boring into her back for the moment it took them to get out of sight. She wondered with a sinking feeling if they would ever be able to regain a decent marital relationship again. Then she reminded herself that the first concern was that they be alive when it was over. Then they could worry about things like loving and respecting each other. Jim should be able to understand that, she told herself, if anyone could.

Pete dragged her into the bedroom, and without pause or hesitation, yanked her robe down off her shoulders. The sleeves were still on her arms, and they pinned them to her sides. She looked at the man for an instant, helpless and a little panicky before he crushed her against him and covered her mouth with his own. His tongue moved into her month this time, as hers had moved into his in the kitchen. He held her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she made no effort to fight him. This was what she had wanted, she told herself, what she had intended, when she had set out a moment ago to take his mind off the smarting defeat he had suffered. Let him take his frustration out on her instead of her husband, or her sister, or her baby.

She could feel his gun, the pistol thrust through his pants, digging into her bare belly. It was cold and hard, and full of edges that bit her skin. She knew her hands were near the gun, and that if she tried, and if she was strong enough, and fast enough, she might be able to get it out and use it on him before he could stop her. But she couldn't be certain. And he still had the shotgun. It was in his hand, behind her now, pressing into her back. She had seen what a shotgun could do to living tissue when Jim had taken her on a duck hunt. It made her shudder to think of that gun going off in her face. She would make no grab for the pistol.

Pete broke off again, and this time he pulled the robe all the way down her arms. It ripped a little from the frantic haste of his movements, then it was off, and he dropped it on the floor. He stood back and looked her up and down, his eyes deliberately insolent. Julie stood still, suffering his gaze, letting him own her with his insolence if that was what he wanted. She couldn't deny that at the moment, for practical purposes, she was his property. Until the time came to do something about it, she was his.

"You're really something," Pete said. "You know that?"

"Thank you." Her voice was breathless, broken and uncontrolled, and he grinned at the sound of it. Then he walked to the spare bed in the corner, the one they were planning on using for Diane when she was too big for the crib, and tossed the shotgun on it. He pulled the revolver from his waistband and tossed that next to the shotgun, then turned and smiled and began to take his clothes off.

Julie walked to the double bed and sat on the edge of it, looking away from Pete. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he was stripping down to his shorts and undershirt, then to his bare skin. She swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry, and her throat constricted. Why, she wondered, wasn't it easier this time? She had thought that the thing they called rape would become easier after the first shock. But this was almost worse than the first time he had taken her, and much worse than the same thing had seemed with Max. She supposed it was because she had deliberately initiated things this time. She was wondering, now, whether it had been such a good idea, whether it had been necessary.

Well, she thought with a mental sigh, it probably didn't matter much. In the long run, she would be possessed by this man as often as he wished to take her, and she probably wouldn't be able to remember this time except as part of a hodgepodge of memories, a fuzzy blur of images of chest hair and sweaty body and hard, big cock.

Pete was completely naked now, and while he folded his pants in half he stood with his profile toward her, giving her a good look at his cock, already as hard as iron. He had a grin on his face, and he was humming a tune to himself. He looked like a man who had been separated from his wife for a while and was about to make love to her again. For a moment there seemed no malice in his demeanor. He just seemed happy, ecstatic over what he was about to do.

But then he looked at her, and she saw his eyes and shuddered. She had heard of men who liked sex only if they were forcing it on a partner who didn't want them. She didn't know whether Pete was that far out, but she had a feeling that for him sex was at least a little more interesting under those conditions. This was his heaven. He had found himself in a perfect situation, with an attractive woman at his disposal, a woman who would do anything to get rid of him, but who didn't dare to offer him resistance. A second shudder passed over Julie's body.