Convict's Captive Book 3

by Paul Blades

  “That just might be true,” Jack thought.

  “Hey, Jack,” Betty called out. “It was great to meet ya!” She stretched out a hand towards him. Jack took it and shook it. She had a grip like a man’s.

  “Next time you’re up here, you’ll have to stop by my place,” she said. “Anything you want.”

  “Thanks,” Jack replied.

  “And I’ll pay top dollar for any good pussy that comes your way. We go through ‘em pretty fast.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Jack answered.

  “Well, see ya. Maybe I’ll get down to Mexico one of these days and we can party.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to it,” Jack replied dully.

  Maureen’s eyes were brimming with tears. As Betty started to the door, Vida gave the chain a little tug. Maureen’s eyes widened and she whined and hurried off to follow, the heels of her sandals clickety clacking on the floor.

  Jack followed them to the porch. He watched them go up to a dusty, dark red El Camino. They pulled the girl up onto the bed behind the cabin and made her lie down on her belly. They used a series of straps to fasten her down and then pulled the vinyl cover over the flatbed and snapped it down all around. Betty got into the driver’s side and Vida the passenger’s. A few moments later, Betty backed the car out of the little cut out which hid all the vehicles, turned and drove away in a cloud of dust.

  There were a couple of the boys on the porch drinking beers. Jack just nodded to them and went back inside. He was putting off going up the stairs. Stitch came out of the kitchen and he gave him the keys.

  “Everybody locked down tight?” he asked Jack.

  Jack just nodded.

  “Morales will be here about 9 tonight,” he told Jack. “Dinner’ll be around 7 or so. I’m makin’ chili. We don’t feed the girls dinner on nights they’re going to travel.”

  “Okay.” Jack said automatically. He looked around for Ike. The last thing he wanted to do was to go upstairs while he was still humping away at the girl. Stitch read his mind.

  “Ike left. He said to tell you that the girl was more than all right and that he’ll try to get the 25 grand you want for her from Morales. He’ll be back later.”

  Jack didn’t know whether to be happy about the news regarding the 25 grand or not. The way he felt now, he really didn’t care.

  Stitch went back into the kitchen. One of the biker boys brought the blond haired girl down the stairs and put her in a cage. She looked worn out. Jack wondered how many guys had fucked her today. He turned and went up the stairs. He had lost the whiskey and pot high he had had and was feeling drawn and tired himself. He walked slowly up the stairs until he reached the landing and then went to the door to his room. The key was hanging on a hook outside. He took hold of it and hesitated. He didn’t know what he would find on the inside. He took a deep breath and put the key in the lock. He turned it and entered the room.

  When he flicked on the light, he saw the girl on the bed. Her hands were stretched out above her and her knees were brought up towards her chest and then tied off to the sides of the bed. She was still wearing her blindfold and her gag. He shut the door.

  The whip on the floor told Jack that she had been punished. For what, he didn’t care. He picked it up and then slipped the thongs over the girl’s belly and over her presented pudenda. A swell of anger arose in him. It was her fault that he was feeling this way, her fault that her beauty had incited Ike to want to fuck her. He envisioned in his mind the brutal biker mounted upon the girl, slipping his cock in and out of her, and her, overcome with distraught ecstasy, moaning and groaning with pleasure.

  “You fucking cunt!” he thought dismally as the ache rose inside him. An urge came over him to make the girl pay for bringing these feelings out in him. He saw himself, in his mind’s eye, belaboring her flesh with the flogger, hearing her screams and cries of pain, watching her skin get redder and redder. He had seen a long pony whip hanging on the wall. It would make long, bright red stripes on her flesh and would burn like fire. His grip tightened on the flogger. The girl was whining and crying as she experienced the leather thongs drifting across her skin. He saw a flash of red before his eyes. He planted his feet and drew the flogger back.

  And then, all his anger just went right out of him. What good would whipping the girl do now, he asked himself. It would just highlight how powerless he was. And besides, the girl wasn’t really to blame. It was himself. He was the one who had gone soft. He was the one who had lost himself in a romantic fog. What had he ever been thinking? He tossed the flogger aside.

  He was tired and wanted to rest. And he didn’t want to lie down on the bed next to the girl. If he got close to her, if he rubbed up against her naked skin, there was no telling what he would do. He didn’t want to fuck her. That was all over. But he might become so overwhelmed with emotion that he just might strangle her. Then where would he be?

  Remembering what Stitch had told him about the cage in the closet, he opened the closet door and looked inside. There was a 3’ by 3’ cage in there, just like Stitch had said.

  He went back to the bed and untied the girl’s knees. Then he unfastened her wrists from the chain at the head of the bed. The girl was crying and her flesh was hot and inviting.

  “No!” Jack said to himself. The contact with the girl was making his lusts grow. “No! I’m not going to do it!” he insisted in his mind. Fucking the girl now would make handing her off to the Mexican all that much harder.

  He made the girl roll over and connected her wrists behind her back. He took hold of her rust colored hair at the back of her head and pulled on it until she rose up onto her knees. Then he led her off the bed. He took her into the bathroom and let her pee and then brought her over to the closet. He forced her to her knees again and told her to move forward. She shuffled over to the cage. When she reached it, he pushed her head down and told her to keep going. The bottom of the cage was padded and she crept onto it. Her body just about fit inside. He shoved her until she was fully within and then closed the gate. She was sobbing.

  “Too bad!” he thought. He took a long look at her. She was trying to turn her body so that it was facing him. He heard her make a sound like she was trying to say something. He ignored it and shut the closet door. It cut off all sound.

  Kicking off his boots, he then shut off the light. There was still just a little bit of sunlight coming into the room from the gaps between the boards over the windows. It made the room look yellowish and foggy. He lay down on the bed. He could smell the odor of the girl on the sheets and the odor of semen and sweat. A wave of self-pity flowed over him. “Fuck her and fuck everybody,” he said to himself. A moment later, he was asleep.

  Carly could not stop crying. She had known it was him at the door. She would know his footfall anywhere. When he came into the room, she wanted desperately to run and hide, but, of course, she couldn’t. She knew that seeing her this way would remind him that she was now soiled goods. When he stood there and looked at her, she could feel his eyes traverse her body, looking at her sexual divide, imagining the cock of the other man piercing it, using it, soiling it.

  When she felt the thongs of the flogger drift across her belly and sex, she shivered with fear. She didn’t want another whipping. She knew that if he started beating her, that he would find it hard to stop. “Maybe that would be for the better,” she thought miserably. Maybe it would be better that she suffer physically for her sin of letting the other man have his way with her, though she could have hardly refused. The physical pain would help blot out the psychic wound.

  And now that she knew that she had been sold, that she would be departing the relative safe haven of his care, custody and control to go to some awful fate, maybe it would have been better if he had killed her. Maybe eternal sleep would be better than what she knew she would suffer, whether it was going to be at the hands of that bruiser of a lesbian who called herself Big Betty, or to a Mexican whorehouse.

  When he
had untied her knees, something inside her had begged for him to take her, yearned for him to grant her ablution for her sins, the sins of being powerless and wanton, of being helpless and fearful, of being slavish and obedient, of not being sufficiently desirable for him to assert his preeminent claim to her. But he did not plot himself between her knees. He didn’t rip out her gag and take her mouth. He didn’t take ownership of her though all of her begged that he would.

  She obediently allowed him to take her to the bathroom and pee. And even then, when they headed back towards the bed, her hopes rose. But he did not take her to the bed. He shoved her to her knees and ordered her forward. She had heard him opening the closet door and now she remembered what was in there.

  “Please don’t! Please don’t!” her mind screamed sorrowfully as she edged her way to her newest, harsh imprisonment. She wanted desperately to plead and beg with him not to put her there, not to blot her out of his presence, his vision. She broke out into sobs. When he shoved her body in, his hot hands on her flesh, and when she felt the cage door close up against her skin, she tried to turn and face him. She couldn’t hold back any longer even though she knew that speaking out to him was the gravest of sins. “…eeeeeeeeease …on’t! …eeeeeeeeeeease on’t! …eeeeeeeeeease!” she whined piteously. And then the closet door shut and she was alone.

  She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. All was lost. She cursed him, cursed everyone. Cursed the FBI who had failed to find her, cursed Randy, her boyfriend, for not saving her, cursed the world for being indifferent to her plight.

  She had already spent most of the day in darkness because of her blindfold, so it was not the darkness of her confines that oppressed her. It was knowing that he was outside, not more than three or four feet away from her, callous to her fate. It was the cold hard steel of the cage’s bars that pressed up against her skin. It was the feeling of being stored away, cut off from all contact with the world, knowing that the next time she saw the sun, she would be far beyond any help that anyone could give her.

  The gag in her mouth, she had worn that most of the day too, was an offensive reminder that her mouth was no longer her own, that strange men would use it, dozens, maybe hundreds of them. She bit down on it feverishly. She would rather die than face her fate. “Maybe if I can chew it off and swallow it I can choke to death,” she thought miserably. “Then, when he opens the door and sees me gone he’ll be sorry. They’ll all be sorry!” And she would have outsmarted them. She would have shown them that she was not powerless. She had the power to say ‘No!’ She had the power to deny them her essence. She bit down hard, hard, hard, but it was no use. She couldn’t rend the hideous object. She could do nothing. She was as powerless as a worm. They had all the power and she was helpless before them.

  There was nothing to do now but endure. But there had to be a way to recover her freedom! There had to be a way out of this! There just had to be! “Oh, please, God, let there be! Please! Please!” she thought madly. And then, hearing no answer to her prayer, she descended into a dreary, soul wrenching torpor.

  Jack awoke with a start at the knock on the door. “Dinner’s ready,” came the voice outside of it. Stitch’s voice. It had taken him a moment or two to remember where he was. The sheets were all tangled and sweaty, his smell now mixed with hers. He looked frantically around the room. Where was she? And then he remembered. He looked over at the closet door. It was silent and cold. She was behind it. She who would be lost to him forever before the day was done. He felt an urge to draw her out of her imprisonment and give her one more delirious fucking. But as he thought of it a sourness came over him. No, that would just be torturing himself, he thought. Better that she remain out of sight and, to the extent possible, out of mind, until the time came to turn her over.

  The room was swathed in only a dim light. He sat up from the bed and searched around the floor for his boots. He found them and put them on, tying them tightly. He got up and headed for the door. They key was in his pants. He took it out and unlocked it. Before he pulled it open, he took one more look at the closet door. He imagined her all scrunched up and helpless on the other side of it. Good, he thought. “That’s what you deserve.” He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

  Coming down the stairs, he saw that the black haired girl and the blond were ensconced in their cages. Their hands were bound behind them and they were wearing gags. There was the sound of a happy crowd coming through the door to the kitchen. He pushed against the swinging door and entered.

  The crew from this morning, absent Big Betty and her slave girl, were at the table along with a couple of other guys. Stitch was walking around the table ladling out steaming chili from a pot. There were crackers and bread on the table along with butter and a bottle of hot sauce. Ike, as before, was sitting at the end of the table furthest from the door. His head went up when Jack came in.

  “Sleep well?” he asked him.

  “Well enough,” Jack answered morosely.

  “Your girl sure knows how to fuck,” Ike commented. “It’s too bad we can’t keep her around here for a month or two.”

  Jack’s eyes burned and his belly tightened. There was a long, serrated knife by the loaf of bread on the table. He thought, for a moment, of thrusting it into Ike’s heart. But then Stitch nudged up beside him.

  “Have a seat, Jack,” he said, “and have something to eat.”

  Jack looked at him, remembering the talk they had had. Stitch was paused, waiting for him to take a chair.

  “Okay,” Jack said morosely. He sat between the guy they called Killer and another guy who he had seen earlier hanging around the house.

  The men laughed and jawed each other up as they ate. Someone had tapped the keg from the night before and placed it in the corner. Every once and a while, one of the men would go over to it and fill a large, glass pitcher with it and return to the table. Someone poured Jack a mug of the amber brew.

  A clock on the wall said it was 7:30. The men seemed a little edgy as the time to receive the Mexicans approached. As they finished their meals, a joint came out and was passed around. Jack had finished his second mug of ale and took a hit. The chili had been hot and delicious. He thought, for a moment, of the fact that it was too bad that Stitch was a wanted man. He could probably open up a nice Mexican restaurant and do well for himself.

  The gray haired caretaker had taken a seat across from Jack. He kept giving Jack knowing looks. At one point, Ike addressed him and asked if the “broads” downstairs were all ready for their trip. He answered affirmatively.

  To Jack he said, “The girls will be leaving tonight on the plane with Morales and his boys. You’ll be taken across in a day or two through the tunnel. You can help Stitch break in the Mexican girls Morales will drop off tonight. That should keep your mind off things.”

  “Yeah,” Jack answered dully. There was no sense fighting anything. He almost wished they would drop him off in town somewhere so he could shoot it out with the cops. He wondered if the ache he felt inside would ever go away. The joint passed his way again and he took another hit.

  When dinner was over, Jack helped Stitch clean up. The he went out to the porch to smoke a cigarette. A couple of the boys were already there. One of them had brought out a bottle of Jim Beam and Jack took a couple of tots from it as it was passed around.

  Night had fallen. It had turned a little chilly. Jack sat in a high backed deck chair and watched the stars. They were brighter than he had ever seen them. The boys were mostly silent. It was peaceful and calm. His thoughts kept going back to the girl upstairs and what a time they had had. It seemed a long time ago that they had spent the day in their snowbound cabin although it was only the day before yesterday. He thought of the way she squealed when he had first penetrated her rear entrance, the sight of her face with her lips pursed around his cock, the little strip tease he had forced her to make their first night together. He thought of the letter he had found in her purse, the one to her mother.

 
Carly, Carly, Carly. For three days he had not been able to remember her name and now he couldn’t get it out of his mind. He wondered if he would ever see her again in Mexico. That guy Morales might keep her all to himself, at least for a while. And when he got tired of her, who knew what he would do with her. He might sell her off to one of his business associates or put her to work in a whorehouse. He thought of the sight of her widespread thighs, the divide between them glistening with arousal, her eyes looking up at him imploringly, her mouth shielded by the leather of her gag, her arms bound up behind her.

  “Shit!” he exclaimed to himself. When was that Morales guy going to get here? He dreaded the moment of handing the girl over to him, watching him put his paws on her, claiming her, a toothy smile on his face, the girl cowering in fear. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” he said silently. When the bottle came around again, he took a big swig.

  “There they are,” one of the men said. Jack looked out into the desert sky. A pale form was sweeping over the darkened landscape. Off in the distance, maybe a half mile or so away, two lights appeared, marking, no doubt, the dirt runway for the low flying plane.

  Ike had wandered out onto the porch. “Billy,” he told the diminutive biker, “get the pickup up to the strip.” And to Jack he said, “Better get your piece of ass ready.”

  You could just hear the drone of the aircraft’s engine. Jack rose to his feet. He was a little unsteady. He had done a lot of drinking for a guy who never touched the stuff before he went to stir. “Maybe I’ll drink myself to death,” he thought. He turned and walked into the house.

  The two girls from the cages were outside of them now. They were kneeling in the middle of the main room, their knees spread and looks of misery emanating from their eyes. Stitch and two of the other guys were going through the door to the basement to get the four women stored there. Jack turned to ascend the stairs.

  When he reached the door to his room, he paused. Was it too late to grab the girl and make a run for it? He could steal one of the bikes outside and be off in a second. But where would he go? What would he do with her? And then he thought, “Yes, it’s too late. Too late for everything.” He had to go through with it. And, after all, wasn’t this what he had wanted, a chance to live the high life once more? The girl was his ticket to it, the price he had to pay. That’s all. And fuck her anyway.