Held Hostage Ch. 01


"I-I-I do. I do. I understand. I'll do everything you say. Anything as long as you don't kill my little baby. Just like you said. Just like you promised. But what did he do? What does he owe? Who does he owe? Who? Who?" she asked, having confirmed her assent to the terms proposed.

"What the fuck does it matter you dumb bitch? Just do as these fuckers say. Just do what they say and quit asking stupid questions about who or what I owe. I told them already. I don't gamble and I don't owe nobody a goddamn thing. Just do whatever it is these bastards want and don't do nothing stupid to piss them off. You heard them. We'll live as long as you don't act or say something stupid. Do you hear me woman? Just do as you're told or so help me God, if we live through this shit, I'll give you and the girl another beating that both of you would have wished that these pricks had killed you both instead," said the grounded and slightly wounded coach as he shouted in the general direction of his wife and the veiled man as his vision was naught because of the blindfold.

His now incensed wife angrily retorted, "Fuck you, you son of a bitch. Fuck you. I hate you. I fucking hate you, you prick. You're the reason why all of this is happening and I fucking hate you, you asshole and I hope they fucking kill you. I hope they kill you, you drunk bastard."

"Now, now you two. Just settle down. Just settle down there lady and let me get your husband back up. You two can continue your argument when we're all through here tonight. Ready coach? Okay. On three. Here we go. One-Two-Threeeeee, Uuuuuggggghhhh. Jesus Christ you're a heavy bastard. You must weigh a ton. What the hell did you eat for dinner? A horse?" he asked as he lifted the chair that held the gigantic man and repositioned it in its former place. That is, at the foot of the bed, facing the head of the king sized resting place.

"Fuck you, you prick. Why don't you just kill us all right now and get this shit over with? And get the fuck outta my house you fucking fairy. And don't forget to lock the door behind you when you leave, you pansy faggot."

"Tough words coach. Those are tough words for a man in your position. But I can tell you one thing for certain. If there's one person that will not die tonight, that person is you coach. That's right. And that's because you have a lot of debts to pay for. That means that you are guaranteed to live a little longer. I don't know how much longer, because your wife looks really pissed coach. Really, really pissed. She looks extremely angry, violent coach, rabid even. Now, I might be wrong, but I think that while some of her anger may be because of us, I think most of it is actually because of you."

"Fuck you. And fuck her too. Fuck all of you. Fuck every last one of you mother fuckers. Look. I told you already. I don't gamble and I don't have no debts. I don't owe nobody nothing. You guys made a mistake. You made a stupid mistake. Now pack your shit up, fuck off and leave us the fuck alone."

"I wish it were all that simple coach, but unfortunately it's not. It's a bit more complicated than that you bone headed simpleton. Christ, you're stupid. Hey lady, was your husband always this dumb? Huh? Was he? Tell me something coach, did you wear a helmet when you played football or did your mother drop you on your head when you were a baby?" he asked the coach mockingly.

"And look at the mess you've made. Hey everybody, did you know that the big, bad, baby gorilla pissed all over himself a few minutes ago? He did. Look. There's piss all over his legs and a big puddle over there on the carpet where he fell down."

It was true. The coach had indeed urinated all over himself and on the carpet where he fell. Whether it was from the mention of being killed by the young lunatic earlier, or because it was when he had toppled over and hit his head, no one knew the reason. Only the coach himself knew.

"Fuck you. Fuuuuuck yooooouuuuu," said the visibly embarrassed coach.

"No. Fuck you coach. Fuck you. And you know what? I'm tired of hearing all this crap from you. So here's what I'm going to do coach. I'm going to take off your blindfold and use it to gag you. That way you can watch what's going on and none of us will have to hear any more of your crap."

The man did as he said he would and the coach's sense of sight was immediately returned. With the gag placed over the captive's mouth, the only sounds that could now be made by him were animal like grunts and groans.

This accomplished, the mature gang leader sat at the foot of the bed to the left of the coach and beckoned the prisoner's wife to come closer to him, the prisoner now being to his left as well. The distance between both men probably being a yard, give or take an inch or three.

This she sheepishly did as she hesitatingly stepped forward and ended up standing directly in front of the masked man, whose head was now almost perfectly in line with her medium sized breasts. Her shackled husband seated below her, was now to her right, his head also in line with the hills protruding from his wife's upper torso.

"My God you're beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Are you scared? Yes, I know. I would be scared too. But do you remember what I said about not getting hurtr? Good. Good girl. So you understand that if you don't give any trouble, you or your daughter won't be killed? Good. Are you going to give us any trouble? You sure? You're not lying to me now are you? You promise? Do you? Do you promise not to give us any trouble and you'll do everything we say? You will? Then say it. Say it. Let me hear you say it."

"I promise. I promise you. You have my word. I'll do everything you want as long as you don't kill my baby girl. Please don't kill her. I'm begging you. She's so young. She has her whole life ahead of her. But how do I know that I can trust you? How can I trust you that you won't kill her if I do as you say?" the woman asked her abductor.

"You can't. All you have is my word. And I give you my word that no harm will come to your daughter if you do what we say. You too have my word. But, if you try to fight me, bite me, or try to escape, you also have my word that she will be killed and you will be too, either by me or by one of those two young men standing over there beside her. Do you understand? Good. So we have ourselves a deal then? Good. Then say it. Tell me that we have ourselves a deal."

"We have a deal," the much more composed woman confirmed.

"Oh mommy please don't let them kill me. Please mommy please. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Just do what they say mom. Do what they say. I don't want to die mom. I don't want to die," the young girl once again beseeched her mother.

"Don't worry baby. Mommy won't let them hurt you. I won't let them hurt you honey. I promise you sweetheart. I promise you. Mommy is going to do everything they want so they won't hurt you. Okay baby? Okay? Oh God I love you so much. I love you so much baby. I love you so, so much. Everything will be alright honey. Mommy is going to make everything all right. You'll see baby. You'll see. You promise not to hurt her if I do what you want, right? That's the deal right? That's what you said wasn't it?" she asked the disguised man sitting in front of her at the foot of her bed as she watched him removing his sneakers in toe to heel fashion.

"That's what I said lady. That's the deal. You have my word," he responded as he started removing his shirt, baring his chiseled chest to her view.

"Why are you doing this to us? What did my husband do? What debts does he have? Who does he owe?" she questioned him with an even more collected disposition.

This was quite surprising when one considers that the woman must have known that implicit in her selfless entreaty of the men not to kill her daughter, the exploitation of her body by one, two or all three of these masked strangers was a thinly veiled sexual proposition and a quite likely probability.

Whether her suggestion that she would do anything they wanted would be accepted or not, there was little doubt in her mind, even more so now that the man before her was disrobing himself.

Questions of doubt arose in her mind concerning the manner in which the impending deeds would be done, whether they would be executed by the intruders separately, simultaneously, or successively. Repeatedly was also another distinct possibility that was overlooked by her and therefore, was also unknown.

What was known however was the fact that she was willing to sacrifice herself in return for the life of her daughter as the price she was willing to pay for her husband's apparent wrong doings. Hence, the questions she had asked in her attempt to make sense out of non-sense.

"Shhhh-Shhhhh… I'm the one asking the questions here. I'm the one that's supposed to ask the questions, not you? I ask, you answer. Okay? Okay. Good. Now don't try to trick me again. You almost tricked me there. You're not going to try to trick me again by asking more questions again are you?" the now shirtless man asked.

The question was asked in a light, good natured manner with the clear intent to let the woman feel even more at ease.

"Your daughter told us that you went out with your girlfriends tonight. Did you have a good time?" he asked as he eased his buttocks off the bed and started to remove his black sweat pants.

The woman eventually nodded her head timidly in the affirmative to the question posed by the unknown stranger sitting on the bed below her, a black hand gun grasped in his right hand, though not at the moment in a threatening or menacing manner. The nakedness of his body was now fully exposed to the woman standing before him and her restrained husband sitting opposite him a little to his left.

Said nudity was partially visible to the three youngsters behind him. The two young men standing 'guard' on either side of the couple's sexually attired and alluring young daughter, took the opportunity to undress themselves as their leader had just set the example for, one which they very eagerly and feverishly followed.

The woman had taken a few seconds before she finally made the response she had given, one of apprehension and reluctant uncertainty.

"By the way, that's a very nice dress you have on. Isn't that a nice dress coach? Did you tell your wife that her dress was very nice and that she looked beautiful before she left tonight?" the man asked the captive coach, his eyes never leaving the body of the woman standing before him as he admiringly inspected her from the top of her head to the tips of her pedicured toes.

Her footwear had been removed when she first entered her house and were held in her hand as she made her customary trek to the master bedroom. They fell from her grasp when she was caught of guard and surprised by the gunman when she entered the room and his gun was staring her dead in the face. (Pun intended)

"Uuummffucckyoummmfff'" was the garbled response from the restrained man, not that the man who asked cared one bit about the prisoner's answers, as his attention was focused elsewhere.

"Did coach compliment you before you left earlier? He didn't? I wonder why? Why didn't you compliment your wife earlier tonight coach? Look at how beautiful she is," he turned askance and asked the captive man sitting in front of him slightly to his left, unlike he did before.

"Coach doesn't compliment you much does he?" returning his eyes back to those he had been staring into before, the eyes of the coach's extremely attractive wife that was standing before him handcuffed with her hands behind her back.

"Tell me pretty lady, I'm willing to bet that coach here doesn't like when you go out by yourself does he? I'll bet he gets angry and upset when you do, doesn't he? Doesn't he?"

"Ye-ye-yes he does. But I only go out once a month with my girlfriends. He never takes me out anymore like when he was courting me. He stopped taking me out as soon as we got married. Well that's not true. He considers taking us to a football game, 'going out.' And once in a while he'll take me out to a movie, but nothing I want to see. It's always a movie that he wants to see, not one I want to see," she answered. The more she talked, the more confident and self assured she grew.

"Then why do you go to a movie if you don't want to watch it?" the faceless man inquired.

"So I can get out of the house. Other than going out with my friends once a month, he won't let me go anywhere by myself."

"But why?"

"Because he doesn't want any men to look at me"

"What? That's ridiculous. That makes no sense at all. Well what about when you guys go to those football games? Or the movies? What are you telling me? Men won't look at you there? What does he think? That all the men will close their eyes?"

She giggled for a moment at the naked man's question that highlighted the absurdity of her husband's reasoning.

"I guess so. But according to him, when we go to a game, they will see him and that I had a daughter, so they wouldn't be interested in me anymore. Plus he makes us wear baseball hats and sunglasses. Oh yes, and big, baggy, loose fitting clothes."

"Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay then. You mean, like a disguise? I seeeeeeee. Okay, well what about the movies? Do you wear dark glasses to the movies too?" he asked humorously.

She giggled some more, clearly feeling more relaxed and aided by the fact that the tension in the room was clearly abating with the chuckles coming from the three other persons over by the closet as they envisaged the preposterous sight of someone wearing dark glasses in a movie theatre.

"No I-I-I don't have to wear dark glasses. The men apparently won't be able to see me in the movie theatre be-be-because, because it's dark, because it's dark" she giggled, displaying her sense of humor, even in the potentially dire circumstances such as the one she, her husband and her daughter were in.

"Hahahahahahaahaaha. I see. I see. Hahahaahahaha. The theatre is dark. It's dark in there. Hahahahahahahaahahaha. It's dark in there and the men can't see. That's right. Men can't see in the dark. Hahahahaha. Lady. you sure picked a bright one here didn't you? Hahahahahaha," her sparring partner in this good humored dialogue heartily laughed while giving his response.

This clearly was further embarrassment to the now flushed and red faced coach who could only grunt and mumble a garbled reply, no doubt laced with expletives.


"Oh-oh, coach here is getting upset for being mocked and laughed at. Doesn't feel good does it coach? Being humiliated and made fun of in front of other people? Having people laugh at your expense, especially after you've pissed all over yourself? What's the matter there big fella? Got a bladder problem too? Must be all those steroids you took," the jovial atmosphere previously evident and being enjoyed by all persons in the room, save one, being slowly curtailed by the masked man's more serious tone and the line of questioning said individual was now taking.

"So what you're really saying is that the coach here is also a jealous and possessive man too? It sounds to me like he's a very jealous and a very possessive man. Am I right coach? Sure I am, in fact, that's a sign of weakness coach. Did you know that tough guy? You're weak. That's right coach, weak. Jealousy and possessiveness are big signs of weakness," the man taunted the helpless giant.

"You're so insecure that you don't want other men to even look at your beautiful wife do you? You're so insecure that you don't want her to leave the house without you huh, you selfish bastard? Now why is that coach? Why are you so jealous and possessive? I'll tell you why coach. It's because you're fucking weak. You're weak and have a serious inferiority complex and you try to mask it by acting the way you do. Abusing and belittling everyone in your pathetic displays to show your superiority you sick fuck. Well it's time for some of your own medicine. Does coach get upset when men look at you? Does he? He gets upset when other men look at you doesn't he?" the man redirected his questions to the wife of the now violently enraged coach who could only grunt and curse incomprehensibly as he fought a fierce but frustrating fight for his freedom.

"Ye-Yes he does. He gets very upset. Very, very upset," she confirmed with a voice now lacking in self confidence and sounding like a confession marked with shame, embarrassment and low self esteem.

"Is that right? He would probably get very upset if someone were to touch you wouldn't he? Someone such as myself, if I were to touch you like this?" as he took the gun he held and started to run it suggestively up her body from where her navel would have been had it been exposed.

Her breath quickened as the man used the tip of the gun to make a dangerous trail from her stomach, then slowly, very slowly, towards her firm breasts and then as it rubbed little circles over and around her nipples through the material of her low cut dress that exposed a fair amount of skin on the part of her chest that lay bare above the last line of material that concealed her mounds.

"Yessssssss," she whispered in tense anxiety.

"Yes he would. He would get very upset if you continued to touch me like this."

The manner in which she voiced her response was ambiguous in nature and was not easily deciphered. Yes one could imagine her anxiety at having a loaded gun pointing at her as it was lightly being traced over her upper body, because it could go off and kill her. But the response also sounded as if it was made by a woman in the process of being sexually stimulated and one who was subtly encouraging, enticing, even inviting the person to continue whatever it was that was causing said arousal.

"He would probably become enraged if I reached behind you with my hand like this wouldn't he? And what do you think would happen if I found the zipper on the back of your dress? Then started pulling it down slowly, like this? Do you think he would get angry knowing that another man was undressing you in front of him like this? Pulling your zipper down inch by inch? Undressing his very attractive wife right before his eyes and knowing that he couldn't do anything about it? Do you think that he would get infuriated?" the man teased his captives. One verbally, the other physically, as he continued to use the gun on the tips of the now hardening nipples of the coach's handcuffed wife.

The woman gasped in tantalizing anticipation. She was clearly being seduced and her body was succumbing to the seducers visual, verbal and physical actions. While her husband groaned out loudly in fury, she moaned quietly in arousal.

"Oh God yesssssss. He would get so upset. Ohhhh my Godddd yesssssss. He would. He would be very, very angry if you stripped me in front of him. So, so angry. Ohhhhh myyyyy Godddddd. He would be so angry knowing that another man was undressing me in front of his eyes and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He would be so, so angry," she replied, clearly suggestive of her sexual stimulation and not so subtly demonstrating same.

The answer was given in such a manner that it indicated that she was desirous of the act to be done. Her motive for wanting same known only to herself and none other, for motives there were aplenty, but she alone knew which one was applicable to this, and her, particular situation.

"Are you sure? You mean he would get furious if your dress fell off your body and down to your ankles? Like……… THIS!!!"

And with that last pronouncement, the woman's dress fell in the blink of an eye to her ankles, exposing her bared and heaving chest for everyone present to see her full breasts in all their magnificent and mature glory.

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byCaribbeanGuy© 0 comments/ 221687 views/ 15 favorites

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