Robert Moore: Hard guys and hostages

Julie felt like crying, but she had cried enough tonight. There was a time to stop crying and learn to adjust to conditions. She nodded mutely, ignoring the snickers from the other two men. She kept herself from looking at Jim. He was still trussed up and in the same spot. He was looking at his own legs now, and she had the impression that he had withdrawn into his own mind a little.

Hugging the robe about her, Julie preceded Max from the kitchen to the bedroom. She turned down the bed at his command. Apparently they were to sleep together all night. She felt a weakness in her knees at the thought. The first encounter had been a brutal rape, in which she had been coerced into cooperating. This was too much like having an affair. It made bile rise in her throat to think of it, but, of course, she wasn't going to try anything. She was going to do as she was told.

She slipped under the blankets and slid over to the side of the bed against the wall. Max lay next to her, blocking her with his body. "If you have to get up for any reason during the night," he said, "you just tell me. If I catch you trying to get up while I'm sleeping, I'll slap the shit out of you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

He slipped his gun under the mattress on his side, where his weight would bear on it. As he put it there he looked at Julie meaningfully. The thought that she would make a try for the gun was such a weird thought it almost made her smile. She wouldn't know the first thing a out using it, and even if she could kill him with it, what good would it be? She wouldn't be able to get past those other two. And Max was her only protection from them.

Her belly was as tight as a drum now. She could feel the heat of his body next to her in the bed. She could feel little tickling sensations from his body hair as he moved against her in the normal course of settling down. Then he turned toward her and suddenly snapped the covers down, baring her clear to her knees. She gasped and started and lay completely still. She felt as though she would vomit from fear and embarrassment. Max grinned. "Come here," he said, holding out his arms.

It took her a moment to work up the nerve, but she slid toward him, coming to rest against his body. Their forms interlocked, and she could feel his bristly face against her cheek at the same moment that his belly, hard and muscular pressed against hers. Julie's breasts flattened against his massive chest. This was it. Now it happened again. His cock was stiff and erect against her, prodding one thigh.

Max kissed her, delving into her mouth with luxurious slowness, deliberate insolence. It was as though he were using the kiss to tell her that she was his property. His arms were around her, and his hands moved up and down her back and over her shoulders and her ass, squeezing and patting with pleasure.

It wasn't that she didn't still feel fear and disgust. She did. And it wasn't that she wouldn't have given almost anything to be able to get out of that bed, because she would have. But it was a physical sensation after all, Julie told herself, and something she couldn't help. She couldn't be blamed for that. You couldn't blame someone for a physical sensation over which she has no control.

It was a heat in her loins, a softening inside of her, as desire seeped through her body with the insistence of an underground spring finding its own path. Her thighs became warm and heavy, and she felt a weakness fill her muscles. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded.

He could tell what he was doing to her, of course. She knew that. There was no use trying to hide that from him. He was an experienced man, and he had told her that she was the type who wouldn't be able to help feeling pleasure. "A good fuck", he had called her. She had denied it then and had fought against the realization in her own mind that she was just that. But it was true. It was true, but so what? It had nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with the collection of beliefs and ideas that made up her personality. It was physical, nothing more. Any man, in these circumstances, would have been able to excite these feelings in any normal woman. It was something she couldn't help.

His hands continued their movements, slipping around to knead her breasts and slide with familiarity over her belly and down into the tangle, of hair at her cunt. She felt little thrills, little sharp pleasures that wouldn't be denied, and she tried to hide them at first, but it was no use. He was kissing her at the same time, moving his lips over her face and neck and shoulders, licking her skin with his tongue like a cat. The dampness of his spit on her was cool and exciting. Her legs writhed in a spasm of involuntary motion. Max laughed, deep in his throat, and rolled over her, pressing her to her back. She realized that her legs hall parted for him, automatically, without her knowledge. It was almost as though they had shared a bed for years. The thought hammered at Julie's mind like a horrid battering ram.

They were good together!

No. No, that couldn't be. She wouldn't accept that.

It was just a physical sensation, something she couldn't help, something that had nothing to do with her as a person.

Max took his cock in his hands and centered it on her slit. Julie closed her eyes tightly waiting for him to push in.

When be did the sensation sent a thrill over her frame, a quick fit of motion. She gasped and almost cried out.

The connection made, Max lay on her, his weight pressing her body into the mattress. Julie felt a submissive feeling that he couldn't help liking. She felt pinned down by his weight, owned by it, possessed. He was much heavier than Jim.

Oh, God, why had she thought of that?

It wasn't like it was with Jim. It wasn't something you could even compare. One was a love act, the other was rape, something she submitted to out of fear for herself and those she loved. How could you compare the two things. There just wasn't any way. She banished the thought by throwing herself completely into the sensations that were beginning to sweep over her as Max started his movements. She didn't hold back this time, as she had the first time. She let her hips have their way, moving in unison and counterpoint with Max's, and she embraced him, holding him tightly against her. There wasn't any use trying to pretend that he wasn't getting to her. He obviously knew better. And allowing the pleasures to fill her and wash through her might make it a little easier.

The pleasure, the tingling and tickling of joy in her loins grew stronger, and spread up into her ribcage and her breasts, and even in her arms, and down into her thighs and calves. Her knees locked, and her ankles tightened as she thrust her feet down and curled her toes with the power of the pleasure. Their bodies accelerated, the slapping of their bellies filling the room.

"Oh, God!" Her own voice assailed her ears, and she didn't care about it, didn't care about hiding her feelings any longer. "Oh, Jesus," she shrieked. "Yes! Oh, God, yes!"

Then it was like an explosion in her head, so powerful she lost all contact with the room and the world and anything outside of their two bodies, and the stiff organ massaging her insides with insistent force. And she felt his seed boil into her, and she bit down on his shoulder for a moment, and raked her nails across his back, and then she cried out again as the peak give way to a greater peak, an intensity she had never known before.

She lay next to him quietly, too shocked by her own reaction to his lovemaking to cry about it, even. This was more than he had expected from her, surely. It was more than she had ever had with Jim. She had to admit to herself now. She had responded to this son-of-a-bitch in a way her husband had never been able to bring about.

"You're better that I thought," Max said, stroking her thigh lightly. "I think you're better than you knew, huh?" He laughed.