Gregory Mason - The helpless captive

OH, God, last night. He hoped it wouldn't be too late to make up for last night!

Buddy, his partner, jolted him out of his reverie.

"Hey, come on Art. This is no time for day dreaming. We've got a hell of a lot of scouting to do. Latest word is that they're bringin' it in in a U-Haul truck trailer." He tugged at Art's sleeve.

"Hold it!" Art held up his hand. "Just let me give the little woman a call… let her know she oughta keep the bed warm tonight."

"I'll be out in the car," called Buddy, pulling the bill of his baseball hat down over his eyes, letting the door of the phone booth slide shut.

Impatiently, Art played with the change in his pocket, counting the rings, finally hanging up on the tenth one. Oh hell, she was probably out telling Helen, Bill's wife, about what a fine job her husband had done on her garden. Yeah, that's where she was; he couldn't expect her to stay home all the time.

Jim sat cross-legged staring at Kathy's sleeping form. God, but she was a pretty woman, so mature, yet soft and firm. Not at all like his own mother who always had a hard look about her from all the make up she wore to cover up her age lines. Just looking at Art's wife was making his balls ache and his stubby young cock stiffen and jerk inside his pants. Especially the way she was lying now, since Mark and Robert and he had taken off all but her undergarments while she slumbered on. He watched the moonlight slithering through the cracked open window, listened to the crickets chirping outside as he studied her magnificently rounded breasts just bursting out of the wisp of her white lace bra that set off their snowy whiteness, the soft pink flesh of her beautifully curved thighs displayed to him below the slip that had ridden up practically to her waist. Best of all was the glimpse he was getting of the narrow crotch band of soft white nylon between the limply open legs that had parted slightly in her sleep. God, it didn't even cover completely her pink little pussy, and Jim stared with lewd pleasure at the thin red patch of pubic fleece there.

"Twenty-eight years old," Jim ovalled the words with incredulity. She was breath taking, had a far better body than lots of the fourteen and even sixteen year old girls he'd been fucking. He grinned to himself and then at Mark and Robert who slumped against the wall, their heads fallen to the sides as they snored. Legs stretched out straight in front of them, they looked like two drunken soldiers with the empty whiskey bottles separating their bodies.

The leader of the gang riveted his hungry eyes on the sleeping woman, feeling a dull pounding ache coursing the length of his stubby young cock. God, but he'd like to have it up in her right now, fuck it deep inside her time after time as she moaned and thrashed and bucked under him. And begged or more, too, just like Lydia had. By God, that would he half the fun, to hear this red-headed cop's wife begging him, Jim, for more! Wouldn't that chap Art's ass!

Kathy stirred and opened her eyes. She wasn't sure of where she was at first, or who was sitting there in the middle of the room. With an angry gesture, she pulled her slip down over her naked thighs, then shot a withering look at Jim. "Do you have to stare at me? What would what your mother think if she knew you were staring at woman her age? Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" She raised up on her elbows, spitting out the words like a snake's venom.

"Must I remind you, Mrs. McGuire, that you're out here in the middle of the woods… no husband, no cops, nothing but me and my buddies. What I say goes!" He pointed to his chest, enunciating the words with care.

"This is ridiculous. You're… you're a little monster, one of those possessed children!" she screamed.

"Listen, lady, you better get used to it because I'm about ready to possess you."

"What a joke!" she countered, with an angry chuckle.

With that, Jim's hand shot out, as he lurched for the mattress, falling by her side. In the same grasp, he seized her fragile nylon panties and her slip, ripping the clothes from her, letting them fall to the floor. His hand shot out a second time; this time to tear the frail fabric of her bra from her, letting them fall to the floor. His hand shot out a across the room.

"Is that a joke?" he demanded, his voice cracking.

Kathy was too frozen to move. Mesmerized, she watched him struggle out of his own clothes. His shirt came first, joining Kathy's bra in the middle of the floor. Quickly, deftly, he unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his levis, easing them and his cotton undershorts down over his lithe hips. His tubby, fuzz-nested, cock sprang free, stiff as a pole, its swollen head oozing droplets of excited lubricating fluid. Kathy gasped in horror. Dear Lord! He was going to rape-fuck her! A young boy like this, barely out of diapers was going to shove his slender young cock up into her twenty-eight year old pussy! He couldn't. It was lewd, a moral sin, a mental sin, a degradation! What would Art say? He'd cry, he'd tear out his hair… what he had left of it… he'd die! This was the boy, the poor duped soul he was trying to save from himself.

Jim followed her glance downward as she lay, mesmerized by his jutting young cock. "What's the matter? Don't you think it can do the job?"

Kathy stiffened as Jim's hand slid down over her stomach to the gentle mound of her pelvis, then slipped between her legs to crawl with lust-provoking slowness along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. That's what he'd done with Lydia, and it worked.

Kathy gasped, trying to free herself from his lecherous, stroking fingers; even so, a tiny warming spark of unwanted pleasure burst forth in between her legs. Oh God! What if Art should find out? Huge wet tears rose to her eyes and cascaded down her face. Even if dear, good Art never knew of this debauchery, or of last night's deprivation, she would never be able to face him again, would never be able to let him make love to her, with this guilty secret on her conscience.

She began to plead pitifully with Jim. "Don't do this to me, Jim. Please. I'll do anything… ANYTHING… if only you'll let me go. I'll go to Art and explain it to him… he'll understand, he's a reasonable man… he'll let you go, let you have your marijuana. I won't tell anyone…" she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "Oh, my God! Please, let me go!"

Jim gave her a look of withering contempt as he forced her naked body back to the bed, then down upon it. In a moment he was on his knees, over her defenseless form, his hungry eyes filled with lust, his mouth twisted sadistically.

"I'll do anything…" Kathy whimpered, "… anything…" Her voice trailed off as the utter hopelessness of her situation sank in. There was nothing she could do, she knew, and tears, fresh and abundant, flowed down her pale cheeks now.

Jim bent his head to Kathy's and fixed his lips wetly on her tightly closed mouth. He forced his tongue between her futilely resisting lips, flicked it in and out, then pressed it deep into her throat. Lydia had like that, why wouldn't Kathy, too?

Kathy struggled against him until the last ounce of her strength had died away, then submitted weakly. She lay beneath him, sobbing softly as his hands roamed at will over her helpless body, stroking her neck, her throat, the soft, naked flesh of her smooth white shoulders with an expertise she wouldn't have believed possible of a young boy. They moved down and he cupped a ripe young breast in the palm of each hand, kneading and squeezing experimentally. His hot hungry lips explored her face again, his tongue sank deep into her mouth once more, teasing and tantalizingly. Then he ran it down the narrow valley between her milk white breasts. With a lewd, savage cry of youth, he fastened his teeth harshly onto the small bud of a nipple while Kathy recoiled in anguished pleasure. She began to struggle feebly again, her naked flesh squirming up against the hard lean young body that pinned her down, vainly seeking to push him away.