Gregory Mason - The helpless captive

He had to get Kathy out of there… now!

He never thought it would come to this, but there was no choice. He would have to offer himself in exchange for Kathy; there was no other way. If he died, at least he would die knowing that Kathy realized how much he cared for her. Raising the bullhorn to his trembling lips, he boomed out his offer.

Jim, on the other side of the wall, grinned triumphantly. It worked! "Okay, here's what we do… when he comes in the door Lydia, you knock him over the head with that old lamp, and Mark, you tie up his hands. Got that?"

The two compatriots in crime nodded, staring at each other wondering if it was really worth it. Wouldn't the concert be more fun then being holed up here in this stuffy old cabin taking orders from Jim?

Jim called out his offer. "We accept your offer. Come out with your hands up and enter by way of the back door."

Art turned pale and bit his lips. An explosion of amplified sound shot up from the valley and Art ducked, certain it was gun fire. He gasped, released his clutch on the tree bough and rose to his feet. He walked mechanically, lifting one foot after the other, putting it down again, lifting it. The short stretch of space seemed to expand for miles and miles. The few minutes it took seemed like light years. Halfway across he paused, taking a deep breath to regain his composure. Then he walked on once more, slowly, steadily. Kathy would be waiting for him, just inside the door. As he entered, she would be allowed to leave. She would fall on her knees, kiss his feet, begging him to let her stay. But with firm resolve he walked on.

Art heard a new command: "Come in with your back to the door." Turning, he walked on once more. He had just about reached the doorstep now… one more step, he told himself, edging backwards.

Then everything went dark.

"Jesus, I said hit him not kill him!" sputtered Jim, watching the hulk of flesh crumble to the floor to lay in the shards of broken lamp glass. A small trickle of blood oozed from Art's forehead, directly above his eye. He moaned, trying to raise to his feet, then fell limp again.

"Good shot, huh?" beamed Lydia, standing over her prey triumphantly.

"Too good," scolded Jim. "Help me drag him inside so we can tie him up."

Lydia pulled on his legs, while Jim and Mark labored over his arms and chest. A buzz of activity hung over the moaning body, all except for Kathy, who sat on the bed, smoking another of the rolled cigarettes. Kathy stared at the three youngsters, thinking what wonderful, happy children they were, working so assiduously over the body of that man who fell backwards on the step. Wondering who it was, she craned forward, crawling over the mattress on all fours. She squinted into the sun. "Art!" she tittered gleefully. "What's Art doing here?" she asked the others.

"Jesus, she is loaded," giggled Lydia, holding Art's hands secure while Mark tied a rope around his wrists.

Kathy looked at Lydia and smiled, as she inhaled deeply on the sweet-smelling tobacco. It made everything seem so beautiful, she thought, so perfect. Nothing mattered except the warm, wonderful sensation of the moment. She wanted to share in it.

Art was alert now, though a bit groggy from the blow on his head. To soothe the laceration, he tried to raise his hands to massage the bump. He tugged, and for the first moment, realized he was tied.

Kathy started to giggle. "What's the matter, Art?" she teased. "Oh, don't be such a grouch," she scolded, playfully. "This is just a game, so don't look so serious."

Art squinted against the pain, his nose wrinkling, his mouth gaping open. What was wrong with Kathy? They'd drugged her… my God, his wife was smoking pot! The little bastards, the fucking little snots! He focused on the fuzzy-lipped teenagers working at the rope behind him, at the budding breasted young girl who leered down at him, whispering obscenities in his ears, just to taunt him. They were nothing but kids!

Kathy lay back on the mattress, waggling her hand back and forth at Art. She looked up with a start of pleasure. Jim was a beautiful young boy, she thought, Lydia was beautiful, life was beautiful, and she wouldn't for a moment have changed anything. "Hi," she said, again, grinning lopsidedly, her eyes squinting slightly to focus.

Mockingly, Mark turned. "Hi!" he grinned, waving back.

Kathy squinted dreamily at the others. Art was there, too, she saw. But how marvelous that was. Everything was wonderful! Jim – and in her confused, drugged state, the memory of Jim's hands on her naked body sent her soaring – Jim was here! And Art. And Mark. And Lydia. And everybody! She puffed the cigarette again, inhaling deeply. And when Jim moved forward, walking towards the mattress, she grinned up at him and offered him her joint.

The blonde-haired leader of the gang took one long look at Art, then his wife. It was all over for him anyway… the five pounds, the accomplishments and failures of his first real job. He might as well make the best of it.

He moved forward, then sat down on the mattress, one eye on Art who sat slumped against the wall, struggling to make sense of what was transpiring. He remembered he'd come here to save his wife… but his wife was in no danger, yet.

Jim plopped down next to Kathy, pulling her brutally to him. She giggled, responded with an unearthly thrill. Her entire body tingled with anticipation of the pleasure to come when Jim fucked her again as she knew he was going to do… yes, that was the word – fucked her – just the way he had before, her mouth… her cunt.

Without a word of protest, she let Jim ease his hands under the loose cloth of the dress she was wearing, slipping it down, unbuttoning the front of it so that Kathy sat there before all the world with her lovely rounded white mounds of her breasts thrust out like twin moons, hanging suspended in the open air. There was a burst of applause from the group sitting on the floor, mingled with a groan of fury and agony from Art, and then Jim's hand slid down across the tender, pointed breasts to Kathy's slim waist, moving back and forth gently, caressing the pale skin.

Slowly, patiently, he traced the deliciously rounded orbs of her buttocks under the panties she wore, torn down the sides from his previous assault. He stroked her lightly, casually, and then the fingers found the smooth white cleft between her buttocks, traced the line of it – down, down – thrust forward between her legs, spreading them wide, found the petal-pink slit of her cuntal lips, and caressed them, too, before retreating at last.

Once again, Jim traced the thin, fuzz-lined furrow of Kathy's buttocks, moved between the rounded cheeks of her ass. This time, though, he paused at the tiny puckered opening of her anus and smilingly wormed the tip of a finger in while Kathy grunted softly in unexpected discomfort, then withdrew it quickly, with a dry little sucking sound. Art, watching a few feet away, let out a shriek that sounded like a wounded bull and then made a final, desperate attempt to break away, to rescue Kathy. The ropes held him tight.

Now Jim ripped the remains of Kathy's underwear, tearing the thin elastic bands away from her panties, they tumbled to the floor, mattress.

Across the room, Mark sucked in his breath at the sight of Kathy McGuire's nude body. My God, she was gorgeous. He'd never seen a woman with such delicacy, and such sheer beauty. She was far more beautiful than any of the girls at school. Mark smiled in appreciation. It was Jim's turn now, but his time would come.

He watched, spellbound as Jim placed his hands on the young naked wife's ripe, full breasts, pressing his thumbs and forefingers against the tiny little buds of her nipples, rolling them into a tight erection. Mark felt his prick jerk inside his pants as he anticipated his turn.