by Paul Blades
CONVICT’S
CAPTIVE
BOOK THREE
By
PAUL BLADES
Copyright©2013 Paul Blades
Dark Visions Publications
[email protected]
All characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.
CHAPTER ONE
The tall, shapely, blond woman had been dancing up a storm all night. She had partnered with just about all of the biker boys at one time or another and was downing Jack Daniels shooters like they were going out of style. She was wearing tall, black, high heeled boots with narrow, pointed toes that looked like they could punch a hole in a wall. Her stone washed, designer blue jeans were tight, showing off her rock hard rear cheeks. On top, her breasts pushed out prominently her rhinestone studded, blue denim shirt. Her straw blond hair was long and flew all about her as she laughed and hooted and hollered to the loud, twangy, boisterous country tunes. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties and gave off the impression of someone who had dressed down to seem younger and maybe a little less classy than she really was, like some 60’s cop show director’s idea of a hip, biker chick.
A heavy set, morose looking fellow was at the corner of the crowded, semi-circular bar. He wore a fractured, black leather bomber jacket over a pair of black denims with steel studs down the sides. His large, booted foot was on the gleaming brass rail at the base of the bar and he was nursing a long neck, his gnarled, meaty paw clamped around it tightly. He wore on the third finger of his right hand a prominent signet ring with a ruby red ‘R’ on it surrounded by a small, inlaid onyx chain and embedded in gold. His black beard was curly and wild. He had heavy, black eyebrows and piercing eyes.
He had been watching the blond woman all night. She really didn’t fit in. The large bar was crowded, filled with rattily dressed, hulking, bearded and tattooed men and their similarly attired, rugged looking, tattooed female companions. The décor was late log cabin. The state mandated no smoking sign was largely ignored and the place was filled with a bluish gray haze. It smelled of smoke, legal and otherwise, stale beer and sweat. A T.V. mounted from the ceiling in the corner was showing a WWF Smackdown with the sound turned off and a small crowd was attending it, rowdily encouraging their favorites and giving out raucous, loud cheers or jeers at any particularly loathsome or ungentlemanly blow.
No, the woman stood out like a sore thumb. But she was pleasant to look at and easily found partners to gavotte with as she shook what God gave her. A couple of the boys got kind of ornery, debating the fine point of whose turn it was to escort her around the crowded dance floor, but a quick look at the hard, all seeing eyes in the corner convinced the disputants to share the pleasure of the desirable woman’s company equitably.
A smaller, mouse faced man, wearing a dark green army jacket over blue jeans, stood next to the man in the corner like an acolyte, attending to his movements like an aide de camp. His long brown hair had receded somewhat, but the cut of his jib made it seem doubtful that anyone ever found any amusement in it.
At about 11:45, the taller man, after watching the woman down another shot, sharing a hoot and holler with her coterie of admirers, said something to the smaller man. The mousy fellow nodded in an understanding sort of way. He sidled off and, when the woman and a lucky companion moved off again to the dance floor, he slinked up to one of the men who had been hovering near her and whispered in his ear. The man looked over to the corner and nodded to the sullen one who lurked there. The mousy man returned to his post.
The next time the woman came to the bar for a shot, the man who had been spoken to leaned over and shouted something in her ear. She looked at him attentively and then over to the man in the corner. She gave out a luxurious smile, spreading her lips widely, revealing a large, eager looking mouth. The man who had spoken to her took hold of her arm and tugged it. She followed his lead willingly.
She was taken to the morose man’s side. He turned his back to the bar to greet her. Her escort shouted in her ear, “This here’s Ike. He’s the owner.”
The woman’s smile grew broader. She reached out her graceful hand. “Nice to meet y…,” was all she got out. The morose man’s fist lashed out like a piston and caught her just under the jaw. Her eyes rolled back, her knees gave out and she careened backwards, right into the awaiting arms of the mousy fellow. He gently lowered her to the floor and her escort quickly took hold of the sides of her shirt and tore it open, launching the ivory colored buttons around the bar. Spreading the sides, a set of wires was seen taped to her belly just under her braless, pale, lust inducing breasts. The mousy fellow gently removed it, taking care not to rattle it too much. One of the biker girls came over at Ike’s direction and she lifted her shirt, wrapped the tape around her midriff and scooted off onto the dance floor.
It had been done right there in the open. Plenty of people had seen it. Nobody gave a shit. Nobody fucked with Ike and everybody who saw the taped wires being removed from the woman’s body understood that the woman was certainly law enforcement. Most of the folks had assumed or suspected as much. Ike’s place’s reputation was well known and no unescorted female would find herself dead in there unless she were prepared to end the night giving out blowjobs in the men’s bathroom, a line out the door.
Once the wires were removed from the woman’s torso, a burly fellow, after receiving instructions from Ike, took hold of her under her arms and began to drag her towards the back door of the tavern. The mousy fellow stopped him. He reached down and tugged the fashionable black boots from the woman’s feet. He flicked open a switchblade and, after examining the heels carefully, pried one of them open. His face, normally expressionless, exhibited a flit of satisfaction. He showed his discovery to Ike who recognized immediately the GSP transponder taped to the bottom of the boot. The mousy fellow nodded to the man who had hold of the woman’s arms and he resumed dragging the unconscious woman to the back exit. Another fellow took hold of her bare feet and assisted.
There were no lights in the back of Ike’s place. The night was clouded over and the trio’s forms, scooting through the darkness, could hardly be seen. The two men brought the woman to an ancient looking Ford pickup. They lifted her up onto the bed of the truck and put her down while one of them unlocked what looked like a large, rusted, white tool box nestled up against the back of the cabin. He flipped it open.
Inside were several sets of manacles and ropes and other accouterments of submission. The woman was starting to come around and she was moaning lowly. The men went quickly to their task. She was flipped onto her belly and her wrists were fastened behind her. Her ankles were joined. One of the men took a hold of her hair and bent her head back while the other jammed a leather plug into her mouth.
At this, the woman seemed to come alive. She began to twist and turn her body and utter a panicked moan. It was all too late as the gag was fastened securely behind her head and then her ankles were affixed to her wrists.
With a ‘heave ho!’, the men lifted her body and dumped it into the tool box. She gave out a muffled, unhappy grunt as she landed. The lid was slammed down after her and locked down tightly. The men quickly jumped down off the bed of the truck and hustled to the front, getting in on either side. The engine was soon fired up and the truck slowly and quietly rolled from the back and onto the macadam on the side of the building. Once there, the lights came on and the truck drove across the parking lot out to the highway behind a pair of loud,
chopped up bikes, each ridden by a male and female passenger. The bikes roared out onto the highway, heading south. The pickup rolled out behind them and then turned north.
About a quarter mile down the road, they passed a dark brown, late model Chevy Impala parked on the side. There were two men in it. They hunkered down as the pickup passed and then sat straight again once it had gone down the road.
The men were clean cut and dressed in nearly identical business suits with narrow, featureless ties. The passenger was wearing a headset.
“I can’t make out a fucking thing in there!” he said to the driver. “It’s too fucking loud!”
“Shit, she’s probably kicking up a storm while we sit out here and pull our dicks.”
“I hate this whole operation,” the passenger replied. “I was supposed to be at my kid’s recital tonight. My wife is going to kill me.”
“I had a date. And she was hot and primed, if you know what I mean. Now I probably won’t even be able to get her to answer her phone. I mean, this broad comes in from out of district with orders on high to mount this operation. We don’t even get told what it’s all about. She’s in there drinking and dancing all night and we’re out here pulling our puds.”
The driver looked into his rear view mirror. The rear lights from the old, rattletrap pickup could still just be seen. He watched them until they faded out of sight.
“I just hope we don’t have to wait out here all night,” was what he said.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Miles away, early the next morning, in a small motel cabin high in the Ozarks, Carly lay on the bed, her legs spread wide, her breath still coming deep. The man had just finished fucking her. Her heart was beating strong and her pussy was sloshy and still vibrating. He had fucked her long and hard, starting her out bent over on her knees from behind and then, just as she was about to go over the top, flipping her over and doing her on her back. His cock plunged deep, so very deep within her that it was as if he was trying to drill a hole through her. She screamed and yelled through her gagged mouth as she came. She curled her legs around his thighs and tried to pull him deeper still. He kept going and going and she began to cry and sob, the pleasure was so intense. And when she felt his body tense, heard his grunt and moan, and he began to pound his hips into hers with strong, powerful thrusts that brought her pain, she felt like her whole body was going to be torn apart.
He did not linger long on her. He rose after a short while, leaving her like this. She didn’t dare move a muscle without his permission. So with her legs wide, her shameful, rebellious pussy, so open and so bare, lay still exposed and dilated.
But he didn’t tell her that she couldn’t close her eyes. She had them shut tight, castigating herself for the lusts that the man brought her. And, even more than that, ruing, ironically, the moment, a moment not too far away, when they would leave this cabin that had been her hothouse of passion for over 24 hours and go back out on the road to her uncertain destiny.
Yesterday had been a roller coaster ride of passion, pain, bliss, fear, desolate unhappiness and even for a brief few minutes, tender communion with the man. But mostly it had been horrid, long, lonely hours of isolation mixed in with periods of intense torment. For even when he fucked her, and her body reacted with joy and celebration of having him within her, wherever it was, her pussy, her rear and even her mouth, her mind knew how terribly wrong it was to have those feelings, so terribly, terribly wrong.
But even despite that, even despite the fact that today, while on the road at least, the man would have limited opportunities to make use of her body, even despite that, she would choose staying here and being subject to his relentless passion, his stern, cruel discipline, the denial of all of her human attributes but her ability to arouse his lusts, rather than bear the uncertainties that walking out the door which lay opposite to the bed would bring her, the door she had stared at so often yesterday hoping that by some miracle she could burst through it to rescue and safety.
She opened her eyes now and looked at it. He had uncharacteristically left her feet unlocked and if by some miracle she could open it now, she could run across the parking lot full of snow, run, run, run until she found a place of safety.
But no, she couldn’t do that, she realized. Her wrists were still locked up and crossed high upon her back, a position that had at first produced a painful, humiliating strain, but which now seemed almost normal. The rope that he had tied onto the back of her collar last night when he put her to bed was still attached to the headboard behind her. She couldn’t get to her feet even if she could somehow overcome her dreadful fear of retribution from him for even thinking of disobedience.
She bit down on her gag and a wave of bitter unhappiness went through her. There was no room for even the fantasy of escape. The man thought of everything. He left no lock unlocked, never had a moment of distraction from the infliction of his iron will upon her, never left anything to chance. He seemed never to make a mistake.
The air of unquestionable authority he had seemed so natural, as if he had been exercising it for years. She had heard a lot of things about prison, how harsh it was and everything. One thing that always amazed her was the idea that the inmates could still operate their gangs and stuff in there. That was probably where he got it from, she thought. He was a tough guy among tough guys. And he showed it in everything he did.
She could hear him now in the shower, starting off the day right. She wondered whether she would get one. She had done enough sweating and steaming yesterday. And even last night, in the middle of the night, he had awoken her and fucked her again, from behind while on her side and bent at the waist, making her cry with unhappiness and moan with pleasure. She hadn’t even known you could fuck like that, but he was able to squeeze his rigid cock into her pussy even though her thighs were jammed tight. He just had to push a little harder to get in, that’s all.
There was no way she could adequately describe what it was like to have a cock slipped inside you and not have any ability to stop it or control it. Last night as his cock rasped back and forth, she prayed and prayed and prayed for it to stop, exerted every ounce of her consciousness to will it to stop, begged and pleaded with any force that could hear her thoughts to make it stop. But it kept going on and on and on and on until her orgasm began to grow and grow and grow. It was like some wild animal had been let loose inside her and its gnawing for some reason brought her not pain, but instead, mind befogging pleasure.
It was an almost unreal sensation, as if some dark magic had been performed on her. Logic told her that she should have the ability to close the portals to her body, be able to deny admittance to anyone or anything that did not have her consent. But the raging cock dispelled that logic, revealing how powerless she really was.
And, even more than that, her brain told her that she should be able to control when she felt passion and lust and when she did not. Nobody should be able to bring her pleasure when she didn’t want it, especially a man she hated so rabidly. It would have been much more tolerable if she had felt nothing at all, if she could have deadened the nerve endings that the ruthless cock was energizing, derailed the sensations of pleasure that washed through her body, short-circuited the electrical pulses that made her whole being reverberate. It felt so wrong that she couldn’t, so unfair. It made the shame and humiliation of being used as a fucktoy so much, much worse.
She did everything she could think of to stop it, thought of mundane things, her apartment, her cat, her job, her childhood. She tried to imagine her hands, so cruelly pinioned up on her back, seizing the instrument, wringing it like a dirty dishcloth, tearing it apart, breaking its rigidity in two. But that ever sawing meat in her cunt would not relent. Little by little it would edge out whatever she had tried to put into her mind to block it and, once it had breached her defenses, the sensations that it was delivering would come roaring back far worse than ever, causing her to moan and groan and her pussy to shimmer and vibrate.
/> And when her orgasm began to loom, when it had grown inside her and was ready to burst, she cursed herself and her wantonness and then gave in, knowing that further resistance was useless, letting its tendrils of ecstatic joy stream through every ounce of her flesh.
He had fucked her slowly for a while after, desultorily, as his meat slowly diminished. And for a little while, having him softly caress the skin of her buttocks with his large, powerful hands, his warm thighs pressed against hers, felt so soothing, so right. Then, separating from her, he broke the spell. Taking hold of the hair on the back of her head, he made her straighten out and pushed her back on her belly. He refastened her collar to the headboard, caressed her possessively on the ass and thighs, and then rolled over and went back to sleep. She cried for a half hour at least until somnolence finally claimed her.
And then again, this morning. The light was barely shining in through the small gaps in the blinds. What light there was was rosy red, a reflection of the dawn’s emerging rays. She hadn’t woken when he loosened her ankles. She snapped to consciousness as he was pulling on her hips, lifting them up. His hands forced her thighs apart. She had issued a groan of protest and he slapped her ass hard, three times, making her cry out and sob. Then he insinuated two of his large, implacable fingers along her labial divide. He slid them back and forth gently and slowly, deeper and deeper while her pussy rebelliously began to lubricate. As soon as his fingers could penetrate her hole with ease, he shifted himself, brought his rigid cock to bear and entered her, making her moan.
She had tried to decipher why she was so responsive to him and those thoughts had led her down to some deep, dark places. She realized that it was not merely the sensations of his hands or lips on her flesh. Yes, they were lust inducing, brought on desire, triggered her need, but at a level that she could handle, ignore, resist. No, it was the very thought that she was helpless to oppose the otherwise offensive touching that did it. Something about being unfree to enforce the moralities that she had been taught, the very wrongness of what was happening to her, caused something in her to shift, like a switch that had been flipped. The wrongness became rightness. North became south, east became west, positive became negative. Resistance became need, revulsion became desire, shame became lust, unhappiness became pleasure so exquisite, so purely refined, that it made her feel like she was going to burst.