Peter Jensen - Kidnapped bride

The seething climax seemed to go on forever, and Susan let herself be borne along, a willing victim to the torrential thrills that wracked her body and mind. Soon however, Tanya pulled away from her, breathing heavily, and sat back on her haunches.

"Oh my," she sighed luxuriously, "that sure was nice."

"Yeah, you girls did real good," Art chimed in. "Susie, you're doin' okay for a late bloomer."

The ravished young wife was unable to reply, for her brain was still reeling from the force of her shattering climax. She was roused from her stupor only when she heard the shattering of more china as Art threw the dishes that had been sitting in the sink onto the floor so that he could wash his sweaty passion-drenched body.

"Pick up a couple of bottles of Scotch and some gin," Art was saying to Tanya two hours later. "Let's have a real nice party here today."

Although Art was still naked, Tanya had dressed in tight-fitting Levi's and a snug white blouse tied just beneath her voluptuous breasts. Susan, sitting expectantly on the living room couch, wore no clothes, for her young captor had forbidden her to dress. The others stood in the front hallway, and the blonde girl clutched the keys to the captive wife's station wagon in her hand. The latter had been forced to hand them over to Tanya, under threat of harm by Art, so that his girl friend could do some shopping.

"I'll be back real soon," Tanya chirped as she went out the front door.

"Make sure of that, baby," Art called after her, "I'm thirsty as hell for some booze."

He closed the door and sauntered arrogantly into the living room, his sensual lips curled back in a cruel smile as he glanced contemptuously at the young wife whom he held prisoner in her own house.

"Don't you and your husband do any drinkin'?" he inquired. "Christ, there ain't nothin' but a little shit wine here."

"No… no we don't drink much."

"Don't fuck much either, from what I can see. Hell baby, you been squealin' like you never had it before."

Susan winced visibly as he spoke, and a wave of hatred for the brutal young man surged through her mind. Yet she knew that in a sense he had put his finger on the one real sore point between her and her husband. She had never been able to let go with Tim the way she had with Art, and even Tanya.

I'm no better than a whore now, she thought bitterly to herself, degraded like gutter trash in my own home and… and enjoying it. Oh, God yes, enjoying it. I must be sick, really sick to react this way.

"You know," she said after a long silence, "my husband could come back at any minute. What are you going to do if he does?"

"Why don't you let me worry about that, Susie? I ain't been caught yet, you know. I got a kind of instinct for that kind of thing. Besides, didn't you say he's comin' back Sunday?"

"I'm not sure… it could be any time."

"Well, then, I guess we'll just have to have as much fun as we can today. You know, make hay while the sun shines, right? Right?"

"Whatever you say." She was tired of resisting him now. There was nothing she could do until Tim returned, and she was so numbed and bewildered by the intensity of her enforced sexual experiences that she barely had even the inclination to protest any more. She was his slave, and there was no alternative but to submit to him until he left.

"Ah, that's what I like to hear, baby. You chicks are all the same. So uptight and prim until you finally get a cock inside you big enough to fuck all that bullshit right out of you. May as well make it easy on yourself." He slumped into a huge upholstered armchair and began to absently toy with his thick-fleshed cock. "I got a nice prick, don't you think? All the chicks dig it. Nice, ain't it?"

"Yes," the weary young wife said without feeling.

"You sure don't sound enthusiastic. Hell, baby, you can work up more than that, can't you? Tell me how much you like my cock. Tell me."

"I… I like it Art… I like your… your cock…"

"You like the way it worms around your cunt?" There was a strange gleam in the young man's eyes, a dangerous kind of desperation that made the young wife grow shivery and nervous. "Man, it gets so big and stiff, don't it, like a pipe, an iron pipe. Huh? Don't you think so?"

"Yes… yes Art I do…"

"What's it feel like inside you? I want to know… what's it like?"

"I… I really can't describe it, Art…"

"Sure you can… I got to know… I got to hear it… and you're gonna tell me… you got to… understand?" He reached down beside the chair where his boots stood and pulled out the switchblade, flicking it open sharply and making Susan jump anxiously on the sofa. "Come on now, tell me what it feels like…"

The young wife swallowed hard and realized fully once again that the young stranger before her was completely unbalanced. She had heard about crazy people before, but only in the movies and on television. She had never actually come face to face with someone really disturbed. But there was no question in her mind that Art was that kind of person and, if she valued her life, she had to humor him and do whatever he asked.

"It… it feels… good… it feels good inside me, Art," she said in a low voice, icy blasts of humiliation coursing through her naked young body as she struggled to get the obscene words out. "Sometimes… when you… you come into me… and it feels so… so big… it makes me feel like I'm… like I'm in the ocean… or part of the ocean… like the waves… just floating…"

"Ah, crap on that," he snorted, waving the knife menacingly, the polished blade glinting in the sunlight from the curtained windows. "Don't it make you feel dirty? Real dirty and mean? Like a slut or something?"

"Well… yes… sometimes…"

"Tell me… tell me how it makes you feel…"

"Like a… a slut… like a prostitute…"

"And you like it?"

"I… I…" She couldn't answer him. How could she admit that she enjoyed such shameful activities.

"I asked you if you liked it, bitch."

"Art… oh… God… yes… yes, I like it. Yes."

"Fine, that's just fine…" His cock, which up until that time had been in a state of semi-erection, began to stiffen into its thickly rigid fullness as they talked, and Susan realized that he had been making her speak so lewdly precisely to excite him. "You know what I like, Susie? I like chicks to suck me off. You like to suck cock?"

"I've… never…" The young wife's heart was beating like a jungle drum in her chest, and her breath came faster and faster as she struggled to tell the young drifter that she had never sucked on anyone's penis before, and had never even thought of doing such a thing. Surely he wouldn't ask her to… to do that to him! Hadn't she been degraded enough?

"Never sucked on a prick, huh? Well, it's real nice, I'm told, real nice. Looks like this is gonna be your first time."

He stood up arrogantly, his hugely distended column swaying up and down as it jutted out from his groin in eager erection. Susan knew at once that he was going to force her to take his thick penis in her mouth, and the idea made her mind reel in agonized disbelief, while her vulnerable young body pressed back into the soft upholstery of the sofa almost as if trying to disappear. Art began to move slowly toward her like a sly tomcat approaching a frightened, pinioned little bird, his tongue flicking out and running over his lips in hungry anticipation.

"Art… please… Don't make me do this…"

But the young tormentor's only reply was to laugh darkly, mockingly, at the terrified young bride. Finally he stood in front of her, his legs wide apart, his massively swollen cock pointing out at her from his loins like some obscene accusation, his bloated testicles tightening like prunes in lusty expectation.