Peter Jensen - The Captive Bride

He lurched up from the bed and pressed his face against the mirror. Fritz Schneider's long hard cock looked obscenely huge as it began to wildly spew its pent-up cum deep into his wife's milking cunt.

Jack watched Schneider's sperm-inflated balls smacking hard against Becky's passionately upturned anal crevice as the last of his spurting semen drained from his jerking cock. Then he saw Becky's mouth gape open and suck on the German's tongue…

The young husband stood up from the side of the bed and quickly pulled on his pants.

"Where are you going?" Christina smiled.

"It's about time I pay a friendly visit on our next door neighbors," he said.

He went out into the hall and without pausing pushed in through the door to the adjacent room.

"What…?" Schneider exclaimed as Thompson moved rapidly across the threshold.

"Let me at her… let me at my wife," he struggled past Schneider.

"I can't let you touch your wife right now," he heard the German say in a low voice.

"What?" Thompson looked at him incredulously. "She's my wife, and I'll do what I want with her."

"Not until you cooperate with me, you won't," Schneider said, thick white cum still dripping from his deflating penis as he began dressing with his back turned to Jack. Then, he said: "I would like to make a bargain with you. That is, if you don't mind, and I'm sure you won't. To be quite blunt, I'm in the drug business, you might say I run an international pharmacy," he turned and faced the young husband. "One of my products needs immediate shipment back to the states. I've decided that you, Mr. Thompson, will be honored with the opportunity to do the job."

"So that's your racket," Jack shrugged with exasperation. He looked down at the cringing form of his wife, and said, "I should have known as much."

"You will leave here tomorrow at noon," Schneider went on. "A plane leaves Palma at five-thirty for New York. When you return your wife will be released."

"Are you crazy?"

"Business is business," the German smiled.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Two thuggish looking men entered and immediately laid hands on Thompson. There was a brief struggle, but the superior strength of three men, including Schneider, against the young husband proved to be too much.

Now the two burly men were leading Jack down the hall. The German stood over the bed looking down appreciatively at Becky. Everything so far had gone exactly as planned, but he must play his cards right if he wanted his scheme to have its desired affect on the young newlyweds.

"What – what's happened?" Becky whimpered. "Why did they take Jack away?"

Schneider had to laugh at the bride's innocence. "He'll be all right."

"I – I don't understand."

"You will… soon."

She rose up in bed, drawing the covers over her nakedly swaying breasts. "Take me home… I want to go home."

"I'm afraid that will be quite impossible, Mrs. Thompson," he said. "We're having a little party tonight, and you and your husband are both invited to attend."

Looking at this man who had done such obscene things to her helpless young body only moments before, she realized suddenly that something was terribly wrong. "Where's Jack? I want to see him. Let me see my husband," she cried, pulling the bedspread around her naked young body and dropping to her feet on the carpet.

"You'll see him when the time comes," the German smiled wickedly. "But now, we've got to prepare you for the party." He laughed dryly and added, "After all, you are the guest of honor, my dear."

Before she knew what was happening, the heavy-set German had thrown a robe around the still-dazed young blonde and was walking her down a darkened hallway. This isn't real, it must be a nightmare, she thought, noticing they were passing through a section of the house she hadn't seen before.

"Now… easy does it," Schneider said, putting his arm around her trembling shoulders.

Now they were moving down a series of stone steps into an ancient wine-cellar. The large vaulted ceilings had a spooky cathedral-like appearance, and Becky balked with fear. She ran her hand over the cold stone wall in an attempt to halt their approach to a large, dimly illuminated room that opened up only a few steps away from the staircase.

"Where are we going? Where are you taking me now?" she shuddered helplessly.

"Relax… everything's going to be all right," he said, soothingly.

"No, it isn't. It isn't going to be all right," she tried to turn around, but Schneider continued to push her forward. "Don't be afraid," Schneider urged her into the center of the room.

Torches hung from the rock walls, flickering unevenly up into the arched ceilings. She saw a huge fur-covered bed and an enormous mural depicting human figures in obscene positions of lovemaking. Schneider observed her looking at one portion of the painting, and said, "It is a great work of art."

"God, it's disgusting," she said, but still she couldn't take her eyes off the lewd copulating figures.

"Each to his own," he laughed. "One need not always judge art on the basis of beauty alone. For example, in this masterpiece, the act of love is fused into what one thinks about when one dreams. Maybe we all want to do these things, but we just won't admit it."

"I never dreamed anything like that," she shuddered.

Schneider was lost in his own thoughts for a moment. The human animal had a powerful instinct for survival, but every animal had its own limits of resistance. It would be only a matter of time before he'd be capable of discovering those limits in Becky Thompson… then, she'd be his to do with as he liked. The final arrangements for the heroin smuggling would be completed by the end of the evening, he gloated to himself, but he knew it would be wise to follow the planned outline of his scheme to the letter. If the photographs of the young bride didn't show her enjoying the final bestial violation of her voluptuous body, then the major portion of his blackmailing power over the American couple would be lost.

"Come over here, my dear," Schneider guided the young girl to the foot of the large fur-covered bed. "It's about time we began our preparations for tonight's fiesta."

Becky started when she saw another man walking heavily into the room… it was Olaf Jorgensen, the hotel clerk, whom the Scandinavian woman had warned Jack about that morning.

"God… he's…" she began when Schneider broke her off.

"I understand that you are already acquainted with Mr. Jorgensen."

"I just can't believe it," she whimpered.

"He's here to help you with the arduous proceedings that lie ahead of us this evening. He's got a streak of wildness in him and you'd be wise to act as if he were your friend… a very sensitive friend who is capable of great outbursts of violence if provoked."

The German turned and walked calmly out of the room. On an impulse, Becky cried out, but in a moment the door swung ominously shut.

"He's crazy, you know," the young blonde turned hopefully to Olaf. "We ought to get out of here at once."

"Who the hell do you think I'm working for, lady?" the heavily built man looked at her with amusement.

"You will let me go, won't you?" she said.

"Damn if I will," he said.

She began to walk away from him toward the door when she felt his hand on her shoulder. He spun the girl around and seized her by the waist, then grabbed the front of the robe and tried to open it. Her hand came up and slapped him across the face, drawing a thin scratch across his cheek.

"You shouldn't have done that. That was a very stupid thing to do," the hotel clerk said.

Withdrawing his leather belt, he stood back and lashed it across her knees. She shuddered with the pain, then felt another burning slash across her fearfully quivering thighs.