Convict's Captive Book 1

by Paul Blades

  He scrunched his body down so that his face was level with her loins. He placed his hands on the insides of her soft, white thighs and pushed them apart. She groaned unhappily. He lowered his face, stretched out his tongue and gave her a lick, going upwards, the length of her divide.

  She issued a deep sigh. He did it again, and her hips shifted. He did it again, probing deeper this time, and wriggling it just a little and he felt her body soften and heard her breath exhale.

  That was all he needed. He kept his hands on her thighs, rubbing them softly while he serviced her crevasse. He licked up and down. He ran his tongue over her clit. He licked the sides and all the way down to the very bottom. He dragged his tongue up and buried it deep inside her now gushing tunnel. He spread his tongue wide and lapped at her love bud and then tickled the spot inside her right at the top. He got a good reaction from that so he did it a few more times. She groaned and her hips twisted. Her legs were spread widely now, of their own volition. When he began to suckle her now rigid love button, her hips rose, her back arched and she moaned deep and loud.

  “Ohhhhhhhhh, god!” Carly called out in her mind. When the man had begun to kiss her belly, she knew it would come to this. His tongue and lips were driving her mad. Without thinking about it, she had raised her knees and spread her legs as wide as they could go. It was just like last night. She wanted to drive the hungry lips and rabid tongue away from her, but she had no means to do it. It was like an evil spirit had taken possession of her down there and was burrowing deeper and deeper into her, producing agonizing, persistent, intolerable sensations of pleasure.

  She could close her legs and squeeze them tight, making his task more difficult, but he had already shown her how he dealt with resistance. She had no choice but to bear it. The tongue kept licking and prodding. The hands on her thighs, strong, hot hands with amazing sensitivity, were making her dizzy. She bit her lip. There was a part of her that wanted to just give in. “Relax and enjoy it.” That was the expression she had heard some men use. Piggish, insensitive men who had no conception of what it meant to be raped. She knew that if she didn’t fight back with all her determination and strength to resist the blandishments the man’s mouth was giving her, she would regret it later. She would be a whore then, a slut, just like her breasts had accused her of being in the mirror. She needed to preserve some of her pride even though and in spite of the fact that she knew that he efforts were doomed to failure. Just like last night, her pussy was in rebellion against its mistress. It had changed sides.

  He began to suckle on her clit again, his tongue wagging back and forth on it rapidly. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” she moaned. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!” and she hated herself for it.

  He had heard her moans and knew that he had won. It was much more than fun to have a woman in heat at your mercy. He led her up the ladder of lust, making her hips squirm and making her moan deeply, and then he eased his ministrations, letting her slide back down, hearing her groan of disappointment. Four times he brought her to the very brink of completion, four times he brought her back again. She was crying now in frustration and need. Her legs shuddered and her hips ground against his face. The taste and aroma of her arousal was engulfing him like a powerful drug. His cock was like a rock and he wanted to put it someplace warm and wet, but not just yet. He wanted to make her beg for it, to plead for it, to overcome the very lesson he had taught her about remaining silent. It would be a good lesson. He was the master of how she felt, of what she experienced, and without him, she was nothing.

  She moaned, she cried, her body twisted, turned arched. And then he heard it. It started like a hum, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” and then, like a dam bursting, she screamed, “Please! Oh, god! Please! Please let me come! Please! Ohhhhhhhhhh! Pleeeeeeeease!”

  He had been teasing her clit with his tongue, giving it little tiny flicks. He quickly sucked it into his mouth and began to pull on it, sucking at it like a tit while his tongue washed over it again and again. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” she screamed. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” She bucked and writhed and moaned and cried out. He wrapped his arms around her thighs to better control her as he continued to agitate her point of pleasure. She gave one last, long cry of ecstasy and then her body collapsed.

  He suckled and kissed at her sex while her orgasm wound down. He licked its length several times, each time receiving a nervous jolt of her body as a reward. Then he eased his mouth off of her, rearing back his head to view her body.

  Her belly and breasts were shiny with sweat. Her face was melted. Her chest was rising and falling laboriously. Her sex was unfolded widely, slick with moisture red and pink. Her little hole gaped in the middle surrounded by tender, glistening flesh. He ran his hand across her belly and it flinched in response. He brought himself to his knees between her legs. He addressed his cock to her dilated, inflamed entrance and slid himself in.

  She moaned when he entered her. It was a weak, hopeless moan of protest. But it was all about him now. He had brought her to a meek state of helpless surrender. Now, he could fuck her all day if he wanted.

  He slid himself back and forth slowly, reveling in the heat and softness on his cock. He was in no hurry. The abrasion between his rigid staff and her cavern’s warm, welcoming walls sent mellow waves of pleasure throughout his body. It was like a favorite sound, or a most delicious taste, and as long as he continued his slow and steady stroking of her cunt, he could maintain it and wallow in the pleasure it produced. He hooked his arms under her thighs and raised them, pushing her knees against her breasts and gave her long, deep, male thrusts. Her eyes were befogged, her mouth pursed, her body slick. After a while, she bit her lip and her face tensed. Her hands formed into fists in her bindings and her body began to shudder. He could feel her pussy contract on his cock. She was coming, but the rhythm of his strokes, soft, slow, tantalizing, had produced in her not the consciousness obliterating explosions she had endured moments ago, but a series of ecstatic waves that flowed through her like a mighty, but slow moving river.

  He maintained his pace for a long while, shifting rhythms, moving her legs up and down, alternating strokes. His pleasure was like an exhilarating buzzing in his brain. “This is fucking,” he thought. “This is worth the world.”

  She orgasmed again and then again, her body shuddering lightly, her eyes rolling back, her lips quivering.

  Suddenly, as if he had achieved a kind of launch velocity, he began to accelerate his thrusts. He raised her knees again and leaned over her. He took her mouth and slithered and slid his tongue over hers. Each time his cock rammed home, the girl gave out a little grunt. It got louder and louder as his motions became faster and harder. He felt his orgasm rising, rising, rising until it became the most important thing that he had ever done to achieve it. All those years of deprivation, the suffering, the lonely nights, the brutality, the cruelty, all were, for the moment, decades and eons away in the past. He was pounding away at her hips now with wild abandon. She was groaning and moaning as he kissed her, pressing her lips firmly against his. Her hips were thrusting back violently. Then, like a bull exploding from a shoot at the rodeo, his orgasm exploded. He groaned loudly. His mind became liquefied. His body felt like it was expanding to the fullness of the room. It was like he was riding that bull and it was jolting and shaking and spinning him round and round and would never stop. She was coming again too and her moans and screams permeated his consciousness like a fierce spirit, egging him on.

  And then, it began to fade. The bull slowed. Its bucking wound down. The crowd of enthusiasts that filled his mental rodeo stadium cheered and roared their approval of his prowess. To please them, he gave the girl one, two, three more mighty thrusts for their enjoyment and then was spent.

  Carly’s body would not stop spinning. She had never been fucked like that. Never. His body lay listlessly atop her. Her legs felt rubbery and weak. It was difficult to breath. Her pussy kept humming and humming. She felt like if he had gone o
n for one more minute her mind would have permanently crossed the line into dementia. He was like a devil that had captured her and filled her body and mind with insidious spells. Her feelings of utter completion and satisfaction were tainted by a despair so profound that it had permeated her very psyche. Knowing that he could do this to her, against her will, made her feel so powerless, so helpless, so shamed, that she knew her view of herself would never be the same. Her construct of pride, confidence, independence, self worth and fulfillment had been shattered into a thousand pieces that lay all about her on the bed.

  The soothing, enriching and yet passionate series of orgasm he had given her had been mesmerizing. But they were bookended by powerful, soul shattering convulsions that were now burned irremediably into her brain. She knew that the man had delivered to her an experience so powerful, so far out on the range of her conceptions, that he had redefined who and what she was. The old Carly, the one who had gotten into the car back at the gas station a little more than 12 hours ago, would not have been able to conceive of what she was feeling now. But she did not revel in her new discovery. She felt like the man had opened a part of her that should never have been revealed, that should have remained hidden, caged, bound in by the constricts of civilized society. She hated what he had done to her, even as her body lay suffused in the lingering pleasures of what he had forced out of her.

  Jack slowly came back to consciousness. Her body was hot and slick beneath him. Her chest rose and fell laboriously. He could feel the beating of her heart. His cock had slipped from its temporary and rewarding home. He slid off her. His body was filled with the torpor that follows release. He needed to sleep. He had duties to perform first though. He crawled off the bed and retrieved the instruments of the girl’s confinement. When he returned, he crossed her listless ankles and tied them off. He lay back down on the bed and presented the ball to her lips. Her eyes were closed and she did not respond. “Open your mouth,” he told her. Her eyes opened, looked at him unhappily and she complied. He pressed the ball in past her teeth. Then he lay down, his arm strewn across her body, his left leg over hers and fell asleep.

  Carly didn’t sleep. Her whole being was filled with self pity and woe. The pressure and heat of his body against hers was a forceful, undeniable reminder of her enslavement to him. She wanted to squirm out from beneath him but knew that if she waked him, he would unleash his vengeance upon her. She cried and tried to stop, but she couldn’t.

  She was able to turn her head to the other side of the room. She saw the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to 1. There were more than 5 hours until darkness. Until then, this room would remain her prison cell, no, not a prison cell, an alchemist’s chamber, one in which self respecting, independent women were turned into mere vehicles of lust. Gold turned into lead. She had never conceived that emotions could be so strong that they could permeate your whole body. The last hour or so had been the most intense experience of her life. And the day was not over. No matter where he was taking her, at least once it got dark and she was driving, she would not be a hostage to his powerful prick and his demonic designs. Until darkness, though, she would be his plaything. He would make her do anything he wanted.

  On a normal day, at this time, she would be getting ready to come back from lunch. She worked at a warehouse where they stored and shipped electronic parts. She was a picker, roving up and down the aisles selecting this and that obscure article as per the shipping order prepared by the front office. There were four girls who worked with her, Bonnie, Marylyn, Shakira and Penny. Their boss was a merry old timer named Ike, who had been with the company for over 30 years. He knew every part and exactly what it was for. He could spot a discontinued model right off and often, as he inspected their assembly of products, sent them back to get the revised version.

  Today was supposed to be inventory. February 1st. It was inventory the first of every month. She was supposed to be there at 7 instead of her usual 8:30. She knew that Ike would have been disappointed when she didn’t show up since the other girls would have to pick up the slack. And he would receive it as a personal affront. Not of his ego, because Ike was not that kind of guy, but to his friendship with her. She knew that he would have called her at home to see if maybe she was sick or had overslept. If she didn’t answer, he would call her cell phone, the same one that was lying on the side of the road 200 or so miles away from where she was now. But that’s all he would have done. He didn’t have Randy’s number, probably didn’t know he existed. And since the argument she had had with her mother last year, she never gave out her number anymore. They hadn’t spoken since.

  Randy usually called at lunch time. But he didn’t call the office. He called her cell phone. He would probably figure that she had forgotten to charge it. They didn’t have a date tonight so he wouldn’t miss her. He would be pissed though if she didn’t call and say where she was and what she was doing. He was a little jealous. She didn’t mind since he had so many positive qualities. He was generous and sensitive. He was strong, but not bullying. He was good looking, but not so much that every girl who saw him would want to steal him. He was bright, loved mushy movies, or at least, for her sake, pretended that he did. He was responsible and had a good job at the foundry that had opened last year using all the latest technology and equipment. He had a degree in engineering and knew how to program and repair the robots that did most of the work. And she loved him.

  Her tears had begun to dry up, but when she thought of how much she loved Randy and how much she missed him, she broke out in tears again. How could she ever tell him what the man had done to her? He would never understand. She didn’t understand it. If somehow she survived her ordeal, she would feel so unclean, so despoiled that she doubted she would ever be able to make love to him again. She would never want him to be where he had been. That part of her was soiled and dirty now and would never be clean.

  Then, she remembered that it was probable that she would never see Randy again anyway. This man was going to kill her. She knew that. And she despised herself for each little surrender she made to him to forestall that moment. She was such a coward! She didn’t deserve to go back to her world. She had forfeited the right to it by surrendering to this man’s will. What was the suffering of pain compared to her whole world? She should have never given in.

  She should have let him cut her throat there at the gas station, at least tried to get away. It was just when she saw that sparkling knife, his thumb picking at it, and saw his demented eyes and ferocious demeanor, she had been so filled with fright she had frozen in place. Maybe she could have gotten away. If she had run out of the car and he had missed her, he would never have taken the chance to go after her, not when he had what he wanted right there and could drive away with impunity. But her mind had ceased to function. She hadn’t had the time to weigh and sift the options. So her inner nature had taken control, she had acted like the despicable coward that she was.

  The man was snoring. He lay heavy on her body like a sack of salt. She wanted to wriggle out from under him, to throw him off. Each point of contact between their skin was a source of offensiveness to her. But she knew she couldn’t move. She remembered the slaps he had given her, the punches in the car, the threat to break every bone in her face, and she cringed in terror. She nervously tugged at her hands bound above her to the bed. Her whole body felt sick. She wanted to close her eyes and make a wish and be someplace else. Anywhere. Or if she could just melt away into oblivion under him, that would be okay. As long as she was no longer in his presence, no longer his prisoner, as she regained some measure of freedom. For under his demonic reign she had none. Not the freedom to talk, to eat like a human, to get up and walk around the room, to put her clothes on, to be free of his caresses, his terrible control, to use her hands and even the ability to pee when she wanted to. These kind of things happened to other people. Not to her! Not to her!

  Maybe he would sleep the rest of the day, she thought. Maybe he would roll over and she woul
d be able to get her feet and hands untied. If she had the opportunity now, she would run no matter what the ultimate consequence. Now that she knew that she was in a battle for possession of her soul. And he was winning.

  She eventually drifted off, not, though into real sleep, but more into semi-consciousness. Images kept floating through her mind, disquieting, disturbing images that she not quite make out. They delivered a tension that made her mind cringe.

  When he moved, she sprang back into alertness. He rolled off of her with a grunt and then stood up from the bed. He went into the bathroom and took a piss. Then he came out again and gave her a look, a look of ownership. She wanted to curl and cringe and turn her body away from him, but she dared not. She didn’t dare to move an inch. He was so big and he frightened her so. When he was done with her, he would kill her.

  He moved off. He went into the kitchen area and took the half gallon of milk from the refrigerator. He took off the cap, brought it to his lips and tilted his head back. He took a long drink, one that reminded Carly of her own thirst. With his head tilted back, facing her, his legs spread a foot apart for balance, he looked so tall. His thighs and arms were powerful. His cock hung downwards between his legs, long, soft and rubbery. She couldn’t help but stare at it, the serpent that had poisoned her. When he tilted his head back, she looked away so he wouldn’t see her staring at it and get the wrong idea.

  “Ahhhhhhhh, that was good,” he thought as he finished swallowing the milk. Fresh milk was another thing they didn’t get in prison. By the time it got to them, it was days old and bordering on if not actually sour. When he looked at the girl he saw her head turn away quickly. He chuckled to himself. He knew that she had been looking at his cock. Why else turn away so fast? Well, it was her master now and she better get used to it.