Kidnapped Ch. 01

With my eyes shut, I might have believed he was shoving a wine bottle up inside me, if his cock hadn't felt so hot. When the spongy head of his tool first collided with my cervix, I cried out again (as opposed to the grunts and moans that accompanied each of his thrusts) and squirmed away from him. He held me close and smiled down at me, making me think he'd be content to use only the two thirds of himself that were already embedded in me to finish his job. Boy was I wrong.

A few short strokes to be sure that he and I were well lubed enough, and he started to pound me. What had started to be a little pleasurable became a series of short, explosive moments of pain. He hammered at me mercilessly, seeming to take pleasure in the tears that rolled from my eyes to my ears as I lay helpless. My hands gripped the edge of the table, white knuckled, not to keep myself in place, but just to have something to hold. Images of one of those pile drivers they use to sink pilings into the sand of the beach for the piers come to mind.

I don't know how long this went on. It might have been just a few minutes, or it might have been half an hour. It seemed like a week. I was unaware of anything but the pain radiating from my belly as he stretched me, forced me to accept more and more and more of him. When he stopped, his groin pressed against mine, his cock buried balls deep in me, I was sobbing. I heard a few comments of amazement from the other end of the room, where the others must have moved. I guess they got bored with my crying, because there was moaning and groaning coming from that direction. But when Jamal stopped, a couple of them commented on my ability to take the whole of him. "Told you mothers did better," was all he said, grinning, his cock filling me.

After a few moments of rest, he started to withdraw. Pulling back, and back, and back, he kept going until only his glans was still encased in my aching vaginal walls. Then, with a long, even thrust, he filled me again, all the way, and I heard myself sigh with such utter pleasure that it might have been some other woman doing it. He grinned down at me knowingly, and started to repeat the long strokes, letting me feel as his swollen cockhead slide from one end of my lengthened pussy to the other. My breathing changed, from short grunting gasps to long, deep inhalations and longer moans of ecstasy.

My pale legs lay against his chest, ankles resting on his shoulders, and my toes curling in my heels with each stroke. Slowly, very slowly, he increased his pace. I felt something like an orgasm building in my belly, but comparing what was coming to my previous expereince of a climax is like comparing Niagara to my kitchen faucet. The sensations I felt as he drove me forward were already much stronger than any orgasm I'd known before, and I knew that these were only the precursors to something totally new to me. What was approaching scared me to death. I didn't want to know what he could do to me. I knew in my gut that I'd never be the same. I was cumming, in the old sense of the word, and so I couldn't begin to resist, but in the back of my mind, I was terrified, which is probably why I was crying and groaning and laughing all at the same time.

Jamal was slamming into me now, making my breasts bounce wildly with every impact, slapping loudly against my buttocks again and again. He was grunting now, the grin still in place, but the effort causing him to sweat heavily, beads of perspiration rolling down his face, dripping down his chest. My eyes felt as though they were popping out of my head when I finally came to my new knowledge of orgasm. Holding my breath, grunting like an animal, I growled and turned bright red, my pussy setting fire to every nerve ending in my body. It was a climax I felt as much in my toes as I did in my belly. I could hardly breathe. I think I nearly passed out when, after who knows how long a fuck, Jamal's cock erupted like fucking Vesuvius inside me, spilling his hot, thick seed-bearing lava into my well fucked pussy.

There was a smattering of derisive applause as he stepped back, his cock still hard and coated with our comingled juices. He fell into his chair and pointed at himself. "Clean it." I struggled to move, but was so limp that I couldn't even sit up at first. Finally I did, leaking semen all over the table top. I slipped off the slimy surface and collapsed to the floor in front of him, licking the white goo from his ebbing shaft, his wrinkled scrotum. When I finished, I lay my head tiredly on his thigh, dazed and nearly asleep. More laughter, more sarcastic applause.

"Boss, looks like she's a good fuck. Lemme have a piece of it, huh?" I couldn't see over the table to tell who was speaking, but I was too tired to be worried about it.

"No. When she comes back, we'll talk about it. Not today. Today, I want you to take a clean car, one the police won't recognize, and drive her home. Drop her there. You, Kendra isn't it? Yeah, you. Get her dressed. Yeah, you. Just do it." He was pulling up his pants as he talked, buttoning his shirt. When he'd finished dressing, he left the room. Just left.

One of the girls, Kendra I guess, brought some tissues and let me wipe myself before she helped me step into my panties. I could feel the disappointment in the other men as I tucked my breasts into my bra and put back on my blouse and skirt. They were palpably sorry to see the "fresh meat" (I heard one of them call me that) leaving before they got a chance at me. The one Jamal had ordered to take me home took me by the arm and led me back to the garage. He put me into a jet black Mercedes and got into the driver's seat.

Not a word was spoken on the way to my house. I guess they got my address out of my purse, because he just programmed it into his guidance system and followed the map all the way to my driveway. When I got out, the sun was bright and almost directly overhead. It was barely past noon, the same day I'd been taken. I felt like I'd been gone a week.

I walked up the drive and went to my bedroom, and flopped on the bed. I woke an hour later, just in time to meet the boys as they got off the bus. Only then did I call the police to tell them I was the one who'd been taken, and that I had been released, safe. They arrived moments later, with lights flashing, but no sirens. I was glad of that, because I didn't want the boys to be scared. Richard got home a few minutes after that, in another police cruiser. I guess they went to get him.

They questioned me for a long, long time, asking me what had happened to me. I told them about being kidnapped, and about being "raped." But when they asked me for directions to the warehouse, I said I'd had a bag over my head all the way there, and all the way back. Each time they asked me to think about details I remembered, all I could tell them was that I smelled water. They seemed really frustrated. There were miles of riverfront where we might have been.

As they questioned me, Richard tried hard to be comforting, but when the female officer offered to talk me to the hospital for a rape exam, he asked another officer to take him to his car. I went alone to the Emergency Room, where another woman examined me and took samples of the fluids inside me.

When I got home, Richard was there with both the cars. The officer had taken him to get mine, too. He had a bucket of fried chicken and the boys were just finishing, getting ready for bed. I sat, stunned and silent on the sofa until they were tucked in and Richard came back to sit down. Instead of sitting beside me, he sat opposite me.

A long, long, uncomfortable silence followed. Then at last, he said something. "Are you okay."

"Yes, I think so."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Yes, he hurt me."

"Did he.... did he.. you know.. climax... inside you?"

I looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. "Did he what? Do you want to know if he came in me? What do you think? Do you think he used a fucking RUBBER? Of course he came in me. It felt like he shoved a fucking fire hose in me, okay?"

He sat there, just staring at me. I might have been a stranger for all the warmth in his gaze. After another lengthy silence, he nearly whispered, "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Did you.. you know... climax with him?" I didn't answer. I was insulted that he'd ask. Yes, I had cum, like a damned runaway freight train, but that wasn't the point. I was home. I wanted to feel Richards arms around me. I wanted not to sit there, feeling empty and confused. And all he wanted to do was ask if I had climaxed. I couldn't answer him.

"You did, didn't you? You came with him? You don't even cum for me every time, and you climaxed with a damned stranger? Oh. God."

He got up and stormed out the room. I heard the door to the guest room slam. He slept there that night.

* * * * *

Richard is still sleeping in the guest room. He won't touch me. He won't kiss me. He's Catholic, so he won't divorce me. I don't want the boys to suffer, so I won't leave him.

Every night I lay in the bed, wanting to be held, to be touched, to feel a man inside me.

After 4 months of this, I've had all I can stand, and so now I'm walking down a dark street toward a door with only a naked red bulb over it. If Richard won't touch me, I know that Jamal will.