Captive Couple

by Laran Mithras

  I opened my mouth but stalled. I looked back forward. We were nearing our off ramp. I pushed it out. "Before me, did you ever trust anyone?"

  She gripped her arms together and shivered. "No."

  I knew she hadn't made friends, just like me. Had she never tried being inclusive? "Did you ever try to make friends in school?"

  She laughed bitterly. "No, why bother? No one was going to be friends with me."

  I sat stunned, steering us off the freeway.

  She said, "I actually felt as if I had friends there."

  I knew what she meant. At the biker club.

  She continued. "The ladies were so supportive. Even Big Pizza's wife..."

  I knew what she meant there, too. Big Pizza had been one of the bikers to take her. "She didn't look jealous of you?"

  "Not at all, she even hugged me." She lowered her head, her eyes distant in thought. "They offered us jobs."

  "It's so far away."

  She was quiet.

  I had made an excuse and knew it. I wasn't working and she didn't like her bosses, but her income was all we had. Our Suburban had been bought off a used car lot. Our apartment held little. And I was driving us back to hopelessness. I wanted to stomp on the brakes. My foot even came off the gas pedal. I wanted to stop the world and get off. Thank you, no, this ride isn't for me. I fought a lump in my throat.

  It took money to make money. I could open up a computer shop selling custom builds and doing repairs, but it took money to rent a place and equip it. I had built all of two computers over the past twelve months and that was nothing. Two hundred dollars each – a total of four hundred dollars in income for the year. That was my life. Shops were closing, there was no work for a free-agent repairman at any of them. Thing was, I wasn't really good at anything else.

  The internet offered nothing, unless I wanted to go into the armed forces. The local papers had nothing except for phone solicitation. I was not a phone person. I gave brief thought at times of the Walmart Center, but I didn't want graveyard shifts that would take me away from my Kristy; she was all I had.

  I sighed as we pulled into our apartment complex. "What did they offer you?"

  "Ten bucks an hour to learn bartending, twelve an hour if I'm good enough for the casino bar."

  I dropped my head onto the steering wheel painfully. "Are you kidding me?"

  She looked at me with big eyes and shook her head.

  I said incredulously. "You only get eight and a half—"

  "Bookkeeping."

  "Why don't they pay you more?"

  "Same old story; more people are filing online nowadays. Less people working, less jobs, less taxes, more companies moving overseas..."

  "Leaving the only jobs available being fast food burger-flippers for the welfare class."

  Kristy said in a desultory tone, "Bingo, baby." She got out.

  I opened the back and hauled out our two suitcases. They felt like weights of shame as we trudged up the stairs to our apartment.

  She muttered, "This doesn't feel like home."

  I felt it too. I looked around inside at our belongings. The familiarity of the couch and TV offered no comfort. The Navajo White apartment walls offered no character – not like the laughable green of the whore house kitchen. It was out before I could stop it. "What are we doing here?"

  She came to me and hugged me. "Existing. You and me."

  I dropped the suitcases and hugged her back. "I love you, Kristy."

  She looked up into my eyes, searching. "Even after what happened? I'm not...dirty or something? Broken? Stained?"

  "Shh..." I stroked her hair. "No, definitely not. Besides, only that first night was rape."

  She said against my shoulder. "Even that doesn't feel like it anymore. I don't feel broken inside."

  Memories of her closing her eyes as Dealer entered her immediately stirred me. I hardened, fast. I lifted her and moved to the bedroom.

  She gasped in surprise. "Are you sure you want to..."

  I was panting, tearing off my clothes. "Yes."

  "Even after..."

  "Yes. Especially so." My cock throbbed upward, hard after I released it. It felt fully hard and tight with strain. "Get your clothes off."

  She did so, looking at me with excited eyes, but searching all the same.

  I was impatient; I needed to be in her. To feel her pussy again. To know it was mine. I nudged her legs quickly and mounted her. I felt the warmth of her pussy and speared my shaft into her.

  She groaned out and hung onto me.

  I felt my stiffness slide easily into her velvety pussy, sinking deep. It felt the same. No little aliens in there attacked my dick. I trembled with need and began furiously hammering my cock into her. Yes, mine! Images of Dealer's cock stretching her open rampaged through my frenzy. I fucked my wife harder, deeper.

  She cried out with pleasure as I made love to her harder than I ever had before. It was as if I could fuck away the others who had been in her. The harder and faster I went, the more she was mine – the less claim they could have.

  She convulsed in orgasm after just a moment of intense pounding.

  I huffed heavily above her, not sure where I had gotten the energy to keep up this kind of pace. I pulled out and flipped her over, drawing her up for doggy. Her ass was beautiful and so smooth. I thrust my cock back into her pussy and watched my shaft slide in and out. Did they see this, too? Did they do her from behind and enjoy such a wonderful sight? Did they feel as good with their dicks in her? I groaned as my own orgasm triggered like an explosion.

  I hammered forward, driving us both down onto the bed. My wife cried out in stunned pleasure, her mouth open and gasping as I ferociously grunted and shot my seed into her. I squeezed, pushing and straining, making sure every last drop was deposited as deep as possible. I collapsed on her, gasping from the exertion.

  She mumbled a giggle under me. "Wow..."

  I let out a breathless chuckle. "Yeah, not sure what came over me. But that was great."

  "Were you thinking about them?"

  A spasm of aftershock sent another stream into her pussy. I cried out in surprise and humped my hips to make sure any more of it was fully milked out of my cock. I laughed. "Whew, yeah, I guess I was."

  CHAPTER 9

  Fear fucked everything over in my head that night and the next day. She would be going back to work tomorrow, back to her bookkeeping job as a married woman. And I would be here, alone, vainly searching the want ads online for a job that would never appear. Could I be a bouncer? Had I done well enough to impress Gripper? Dealer had said if I could impress him, he'd take me on as a bouncer. Had I impressed him enough?

  Kristy had left a slip of paper on the kitchen counter. Dealer had written the club phone number on it. I looked at it and walked away, chewing over our situation. I came back to it and walked away, the paper drawing me inexorably from across the room, only to have my fears make an excuse. I was too fat, even if I had lost a few pounds being captive. My specialty was computers. My wife's work was here. We had a place. It was a long drive.

  I stood over the paper and spread it with my fingers. "Iron Crows Motorcycle Club." The phone number tempted me.

  I turned away and paced. Gunner had said pray. How do I pray, Lord? What do I say? What do I ask for? I didn't get the feeling God was some sky-Santa, so I didn't make a list of things I wanted. I'm not sure if I'm praying right, but please help me make the right decision. A lot of things flashed through my mind at that point. Not the least of which was the rape of my wife and how it had turned into something she wanted. God surely wouldn't want that, would He?

  The fact that the gang – no, the club – did things on the very shady side of the law from time to time had me worried. They had never really said they did illegal things, only hinted at them. Had they killed the gangbanger they had pulled out of the van to throw in with the marriage pastor's body? They certainly must have killed the pastor. Was killing that way legal? I was sure it wasn't.
But the bikers had said they had the law on their side. Was that kind of vigilante justice honorable?

  I felt it was. But what about my gun? What about their guns? Hadn't Jesus said something about living by the gun and dying by the gun? I sat in my computer chair and went online. I searched up the term and also the verse. The overwhelming majority of the church sites said Jesus hated guns. But two sites had a completely different take.

  I sat forward, reading intently. I found not so much instruction from the pastor as I did in the comments section. At both sites, two different posters had laid out a far different version.

  Their take made a lot more sense. "Those who take up the sword shall die by the sword" was not something He taught as other beatitudes. It was delivered at the moment of his arrest. Surrounded by soldiers, they were doomed if they "took up the sword." This was contrasted by Jesus telling his disciples just before his death, "If you do not have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one." A sword was the latest military weapon of the time, replacing spears as a deadlier advancement.

  I sat back, feeling the very rightness of the whole argument. That made me wonder if guns weren't evil to God, was vigilante justice evil to God? The very idea that justice would be evil made me laugh out loud in our apartment.

  Kristy came out of the bedroom. "Something funny?"

  I chuckled, nodding slowly. "Yeah, something very funny." I shook my head. "Never thought of things like this." I explained to her.

  "Why are you looking up all that? I mean, I don't mind, but usually you're doing something else."

  "I was, I was pacing." I got up and went over to the counter.

  She came up beside me, seeing the slip of paper spread by my fingers.

  I said, "What does God think? About guns? About shady things that club might do in the name of justice?"

  "Maybe He doesn't." She looked up at me.

  "Oh, I think He does. I think He does." I nodded, thinking to myself. Of course He does. "I don't think I've ever met Christians like these people."

  "You think God approves of them doing things against the law?"

  "Certain things maybe. But if I recall anything from hearing about Jesus, it's that He was always against the law. Or the law against Him."

  She laughed. "Uh, yeah, you're right."

  I fiddled with the paper, remembering my dilemma on the way home. Had I not trusted anyone first? Had I not been inclusive first? At any time? What if I started right now?

  I snatched up the phone set in a trembling hand.

  She gasped, "What are you doing?" But there was a hint of hope in her question.

  I gripped the handset so hard I thought I might break the plastic. My breathing came shallow and fast. I wavered. Stop it! What do I have to lose? Just dial and find out. I took a very deep breath, but my vision swam as I tried to calm myself. I put my finger on the hang up button and held it to reset the dial tone. My breathing slowed a little and I let off the button. Then I dialed the number.

  Three rings – the number of days we were captive.

  "Clubhouse."

  I rushed, "Dealer? This is Jim Butcher."

  "Jimmy? No, this is Smiley, the club secretary. Give me a minute and I'll let him know you're calling."

  "Okay." I waited on hold. I waited some more. I began to be worried that maybe my call wasn't welcome.

  Kristy murmured, "Are you on hold or something?"

  I shrugged and nodded.

  She went around the counter and grabbed a cup for the water machine. I saw her hand shaking.

  There was a click. "Hello?"

  "Dealer?"

  "Yeah, Jimmy?"

  "Yes. I was wondering what kind of job I might get with you guys." I heard a squeak and a sigh.

  "Well, much of what we do is covered by our members and their wives..."

  I felt as if the world had fallen out from under me.

  "But you did well enough against Gripper that he thought you could learn how to be a real bouncer."

  My world stabilized. Bouncer. What a career. But I had nothing else. "I'd like to try."

  "That's quite a drive."

  "Yes, I think we would move. Kristy said she could learn bar for ten an hour?"

  He chuckled. "Both of you, huh?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You got a place out here already?"

  "I'll find one." I said it without fear of failure.

  "Get yourself a place here and present yourselves at the clubhouse. We’ll slip you into a couple positions. No guarantees, though. If you don't work out..."

  "We're good workers."

  He didn't answer right away. "Sonar tells me he'll offer you to rent his trailer. He moved out of it and it's sitting empty."

  I felt as if my chest were bursting. "That's fantastic. How much?"

  A brief pause. "Five hundred a month. It includes electricity."

  "We'll take it."

  Dealer grunted. "Great. Call us and let us know when you expect to arrive."

  "I will, thank you."

  He clicked off without saying goodbye. I replaced the handset.

  Kristy was staring at me with large eyes. "We're moving?"

  I realized I hadn't even asked her. I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I should have asked—"

  She shook her head. "No, that's okay. That's fine..." She looked around. "I would rather live up there, with them." I knew what she meant: she craved that inclusion.

  I pulled out the phone book and flipped to U-Haul.

  CHAPTER 10

  We threw away a lot of junk. Not that we had a whole lot. But it's amazing how much plastic shit piles up around the house that serves absolutely no purpose and has no value. Is it worth packing a plastic vase that once held flowers? Especially when glass vases are more attractive?

  I was ruthless. I threw away things I thought might eventually come in handy. If they weren't handy right now, why would I think they'd ever be handy? I only saved tools. Things from as small as trash bag ties to as big as sleeping bags went into the trash. We kept things necessary to live. Chapstick? Trash. Hair spray I no longer used? Trash.

  We fit all into the smallest trailer offered by U-Haul. I didn't think we'd do it, but we did. I even threw away my cheap computer desk. I'd buy a better one, not as cheap, later. With the prospect of both of us working, the hold on potentially usable items diminished. We debated the couch, and even threw that old thing away. I'd sit on the floor; I didn't care.

  I called the clubhouse on a Sunday evening. The phone rang several times and I was about to hang up when a female voice answered, sounding harried. "Clubhouse."

  "Hey, this is Jim Butcher."

  "Who?"

  "I was there a couple weeks ago. Fought Gripper—"

  "Oh, right."

  "Is Dealer available?"

  "No."

  "Okay, would you let him know I'm in town tomorrow morning?"

  She hesitated. "Sure... Writing it down. He'll get the message in the morning."

  "Great, thanks."

  She clicked off without saying goodbye.

  I turned to Kristy. "We're set."

  She was searching my eyes. "You're sure about this?"

  "Definitely. I can't find shit here for work. I've been looking for a year and a half now?"

  "You could have worked at McDonalds."

  "No way."

  "But you could have."

  I sighed. It was the lowest of lows. Despite having nothing, I considered myself better than that. "I would have rather worked at Walmart. At least they have some amount of upward potential."

  "And how far can you go as a bouncer?"

  Touche. I firmed my lips. "Bar manager. Casino manager. Those kinds of positions I could take anywhere."

  "Bar manager?"

  "Okay, maybe casino manager. But still."

  She hugged me. "I hope we're doing the right thing."

  I felt it, too. We were making a monumental shift towards something unknown. Was it a cliff? Was it the pot of gold
at the end of the rainbow? I didn't know. Neither of us did. I muttered, "Working for a biker gang..."

  She laughed. "Don't say that to them."

  "I know, I know. Motorcycle club."

  "Is there really a difference?"

  "Shades of difference? But maybe these guys are better than a gang. They keep the gangs out." I had done searches on Iron Crows and turned up nothing. But my searching turned up a lot of interesting facts. They weren't just a riding club, they were an accepted three-patch motorcycle club. The dominant 1%ers here were the Outlaws. I didn't see such a huge group letting the Iron Crows get away with three patches on their backs without making a huge stink.

  She said, "Maybe it's for a good cause."

  I barked a laugh. "Any time you keep a gang out, it's for a good cause."

  "Even if the methods are illegal?"

  I was silent on that. What was a law? A decision passed by a group of men. What if the group of men was evil? Were all laws just? I knew that was not true. When a city could fine you for watering your lawn and then fine you for not watering and allowing your lawn to die, I knew the laws were not just.

  "What are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking about lawns." I knew she wouldn't connect it and would think that I was being flippantly irrelevant. Her pout didn't disappoint. I said, "I think we're making the right move."

  Her pretty face brightened.

  ~ ~ ~

  I stopped the Suburban and its mini U-Haul trailer with temporary hitch across from the utterly non-descript clubhouse in Keystone. Four Harley's were parked out front. The parking lot of the building off to the side had been turned into a gated enclosure with a high chain link fence.

  I got out, eager for the start of a new life. I impatiently waited for my wife, then took her hand and crossed the street. Entering the unlit interior of the old whorehouse, I at first thought the place was deserted. Then my eyes adjusted.

  Two bikers were shooting pool – or had been. I recognized neither. A guy I had never seen before, who wasn't wearing a vest, was sitting on one of the couches talking to a very skinny, but pretty girl. At the bar was Grannie. Her face went from hard to soft and welcoming all in an instant. She said, "Well, lookie here." Her gray hair was free and wild; she had it clipped back the last I saw her.