F. Hemmingway - The kidnapped couple

After a few bites he said, "Peeper… how come you split off from the bunch… and came back to the village?"

Martin hadn't expected it. He was chewing a piece of meat, and his answer was low in coming. He shifted, uneasily, trying to swallow.

"God damn it… Peeper, I asked you a question?" Blackum grated, steel in his voice.

The other man gulped and sputtered, "I just wanted to see what was keeping you… Thought maybe you got busted or something!"

"That's a lie! I saw you there! You were spying on me!" Mickey roared, whirling, quickly, and hurling the full plate of stew at Peeper Martin. It hit him square in the chest, spattering messily over his leather jacket.

"Christ!" Martin yelled, as he lost his balance and fell backward. He clawed at his boot top for the razor-sharp can-opener he carried there.

Mickey reached him before he could rise, a well-aimed kick of his steel-shod boot sending the weapon spinning out of Peeper's hand. His own switchblade was out, the long blade snicking out, dangerously. He menaced the fallen man, who was now holding his wrist and moaning in pain.

"Now… start laying it on me… you bastardly son-of-a-bitch!" he snarled.

"I–I wanted to find out… why you… w-wanted to stay in the village?"

"… And did you…?"

"Y-Yes… but I–I didn't mean… any… any harm…!"

"You spill your guts to anybody?" Mickey spat out.

"No! No! I swear…!"

"Make sure you don't…! Because if you do… I'll hang you to a tree by your balls! Understand?"

"Yes…!"

"… And do you know who leads this group…?"

"You…"

"Don't forget it… Peeper! Just don't forget it… even for a minute!" he threatened, then relaxed, as he went on, "I ought to carve you up a little… but I'm not going to… yet! Your punishment's going to be clean-up… washing pots… doing laundry… and all that crap… understand?"

"That's Mama's work… God damn it!"

"… And, that's what you do!"

Martin was cowed. "Okay… Okay… you win!"

The black-bearded leader stepped back and folded his switchblade knife. There was an audible relaxation of tension among the others, who had watched, fearfully, not knowing how far Mickey would go… how violent he might become.

Terry had no idea of what had caused the trouble between the two men. She knew better than to ask. If Mickey wanted her to know… he would tell her; otherwise, there was nothing for her to do except keep her mouth shut. She moved toward the fire to ladle up another plate of stew for Mickey.

As the now undisputed leader regained his seat, leaving Peeper Martin groveling on the ground, in the mess of the stew Mickey had flung at him, he barked out, "Terry… let Peeper do that!"

Seething in his humiliation, Martin did the demeaning, servile task, spooning up a paper plate full of the food and placing it on the table before Mickey Blackum.

Then, as he ate, he told them, "We've got a little project! There's that trailer up the way… being pulled by a Mercury station wagon. We're going to watch them… and the first chance we get… we're all going to get that black-haired bitch… and…"

"Gang bang her?!" Peeper finished.

"Yeah… I might even let you in on it… if I don't slice off your cock and feed it to you… first!"

"Mickey! That's rape… maybe even kidnapping! You don't want to get busted for something like that!" It was Terry who burst in, emotionally.

"Who asked you?" Mickey grated, reaching across the table to slap her soundly. "You just stay out of this and keep your mouth shut. If you want to you can do what you want with the guy… after he's tied up… or maybe you'd like to make it with the broad?"

Terry's hand went to her face. It smarted from his slap. She didn't like his plan… but if she were to ride with Mickey… keep on being his mama… there was nothing she could do to stop him from carrying out his evil intentions.

"I'm sorry, Mickey…" she murmured.

"… And… just a reminder, Terry… that's the last time you try to interfere… understand?"

"Yes… Mickey…" God! That poor woman… whoever she is… They'll be like animals! At least… when all four of them make it with me… they don't mark me up… but a gang-bang like that… almost anything could happen…!

Feeling refreshed after her long, relaxing shower, Lois Brewster returned to the camper to discover the note from Stan telling her he had gone down to the village. It didn't disturb her, particularly, but she did wonder, idly, what it was that had made him decide to go.

She went about her preparations for their evening out, together, putting on clean, dainty underthings, fixing her blonde hair, brushing it and fixing it, lightly, with a hair spray, then she applied make-up sparingly and tastefully to enhance her own natural beauty, only. She would wear that new mini sheath she had bought a month ago, she decided. It's lucky I packed it and brought it along… just in case we might go out for an evening of fun. But, it was the fun… afterward, she was thinking about… hoping she'd be able to coax her husband, Stan, out of his shell…

Deftly, she slipped into her dress and looked at herself, critically, in the long, narrow mirror.

Yes! Everything was perfect. She was ready far in advance but perhaps, they could go out a little early for a couple of cocktails before dinner… live it up a little… relax. Stan does get to feeling… amorous when he gets just enough to drink! If I can get just enough in him… without his getting drunk…

The heavy knock at the door of the camper startled her. She had heard the crunch of a car's tires, but had ignored it, thinking perhaps it was one of the Park Rangers on an inspection tour… Or, maybe somebody gave Stan a lift from the village.

Opening the door a crack, she looked out to see Harry Williams standing there big and blocky. She knew, instantly, that he was angry. He scowled up at her, grimly.

"May I come in, Mrs. Brewster?" he asked, politely, enough. "I've got to talk to you!"

"Stan isn't here…" she said, somewhat reluctant to let him in… alone.

"I know that!" he spat. "That's what I'm here to talk to you about!"

"He's just down in the village… he should be back, pretty soon…" Lois offered.

"No! He's not in the village! I just saw him… up by the falls! Now, can I come in… because you and I've got to talk… about what he's doing… and it's got to be private. I don't think you'd want anybody else to hear… what I'm going to tell you!"

Something in his words, the look on his face and the mysterious manner of his speaking alarmed her, and against her better judgment. Lois opened the door to allow Harry Williams' huge figure to lumber into the small confines of the camper.

"Wh-What's Stan doing… that's so… so mysterious… or out of the ordinary…?" she asked, adding, "Stan doesn't ever do anything wrong… or against the law…"

The big, barrel-chested man closed the door behind him, with a bang. Turning on her, he spat, "What makes me so damned mad… is that they're both pulling the wool over our eyes… or they thought they were… until I caught them… dead to rights!"

Lois' eyes widened in further mystification. "What on earth are you talking about… and who are they…?"

"Your husband… and my wife that's who!" Harry gritted. "They're up in the canyon… above here… tearing off a piece of ass… like a couple of farm kids… out behind the barn!"

She gasped, not wanting to believe. "You m-mean… Stan… and Vivian… are… are…?" Unable to finish, she collapsed onto the bench of the breakfast nook, her face in her hands. "I–I can't believe it!"

"I saw them… with my own eyes!" he held up the binocular case. "They were down in that stream… fucking like a couple of rutting animals!"