Tight Whites

When I'd seen the open backdoor as I'd passed it, I surmised that while one of the men now inside had rung the front doorbell, another broke in the back, and hadn't even bothered to close the door. I stepped in, Sig at high ready. The hallway leading to the front of the house was dark, and darkness amplifies sound. Every sound. Those I heard faintly coming from the front room and any I might make. I crept forward carefully, clearing each room I passed.

The small sounds became distinguishable as I neared the opening into the brightly lit room at the end of the hall. A boss giving his incompetent assistant instructions.

"Fuckin' hold her still, idiota."

"Hit her again, hermano. It'll quiet the puta down."

The whack was followed by a quick gasp, then a groan. Diana.

"That's better, bitch. Just relax and enjoy it." Another groan from Diana followed the sound of ripping fabric.

"Nice cunt, bitch. My cock's gonna'..."

My flying heel stomp to the side of his leering face silenced the reprobate. Either the butt of the Sig crushing his accomplice's nose into his upper palate, breaking teeth, or the follow-up to his temple, convinced him to release Diana's arms. She scurried to the side, clutching the torn garment to her as I spun 360, surveying the room for more foes.

None.

Knowing others could be close, I pulled Diana to her feet and told her we needed to get upstairs, now. I seriously tried not to look, but that ass, undulating uncovered right before my suddenly lecherous eyes as she ran up the stairs? And the touches of fur protruding in the V between her legs? Sorry. I peeked. Twice. By the time we reached to top I had retrieved my discipline, and was only looking back, covering the stairs. I ushered her into the first room on the left. Safety. Relative safety.

It must have been her daughter's bedroom, as the robe Diana quickly found in the closet was too small. Intriguing areas left exposed. As I alternated covering the door and window I saw her try to cope through the corner of my eye. She did well. Consciously controlling her breathing, looking around to confirm that this was really her house, that she was now safe, that the trauma was over.

The roar of the engine pulled me to the window. Another Nissan NV burning rubber down the street seemed to indicate that they were gone.

"Diana, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

When she didn't answer, I asked the next question, "Diana, is your daughter here?"

Her immediate sobs and lowered head answered.

"Diana, call your son. Right now. He's in danger and should immediately go hide somewhere." When it had finally dawned on my age-atrophied, addled brain, that the snatch had been intended for Diana, not me, at least a few things made sense. Diana, and her family, were at risk.

In her bedroom she retrieved her phone. The ten beeps as she dialed were followed by interminable silence. Her eyes came to mine, tortured.

Then he picked up. Relief flooded her voice.

"Hi David. I'm so sorry to call so late... No, wait, this is important. Listen to me. You must leave your dorm room, right now.... David! Listen to me! This is serious. Just get up, get dressed, take your phone and your wallet, and leave. Now. Go to the Sundown Motel, get a room, and wait for me to call.... No! This is not a joke. Please, if you love me, care for me at all, just do it.... I know you do. All right, bye. Thank you, and I'll talk to you soon. Very soon."

"Good work, Diana. I'm curious, though, why aren't you calling the police?"

"Those men, the leader, the one who was about to..." her eyes squinted, trying to blot out the memory, "he told me they already have..." Her voice was cleaved by sobs.

"They have your daughter."

"Yes..."

"And bad things will happen to her if you call the cops?"

The resurgent sobbing said yes.

We were half-way down the stairs, my comforting left arm around her and my better self striving not to be consumed by the recollection of the jiggle of her bare buttocks as she'd scampered up the stairs, when he burst in through the front door.

I'm well trained. My trigger finger stayed along the frame of the Sig that leapt out of its holster and into my hand of its own accord -- after the ten thousandth time it just happens -- and centered on his chest. Otherwise, he was dead. Two to the torso, assess, one to the head. Easy as one-two-three. But Diana's reaction -- sure, she said, "Oh, shit!" but there was a ring of familiarity in the "Oh, shit!" -- kept me from killing him.

Good thing.

Ex-husband.

"Diana! Where is Janel? Is she here?" Panic pervades his voice.

"No, they took her."

"God damn it, Di! Why weren't you here? To protect her." I realized why she loathed being called Di.

On the main floor now Diana picked up the torn nightgown and ripped panties and flung them at his head. "Evan, you're a fucking bastard! What did you do? This has to be your fault!"

"Nothing! I swear! I just got a phone call saying they had Janel. And Melody, too. No cops or else they'd kill them. I'd learn more tomorrow. On Janel's Facebook page, for God's sake. 8:00 AM. And who the fuck is this?"

"This is John. He saved me from being raped..."

"Oh shit! David! I need to call him..."

"I already did. He's fine. I told him to go immediately to a motel and hide out."

"Good thinking." Like a shape shifter, Evan transformed, suddenly assuming a loving, caring and tender guise. He put his arm around Diana and said, "Di, I'm so very sorry. We'll get through this..."

Diana angrily elbowed him in the ribs and sprang from his grasp. I put my arm around her when she leaned against me. It wasn't clear which of us Evan suggested should immediately visit Hades as he stalked off, slamming the front door.

* * *

God, it felt wonderful! My right hand was filled with the supple, succulent buttock that I had so admired. Minus the tight whites. Diana was lying half on me, head on my shoulder, left leg over mine, left breast poking its point into my chest. I feathered a kiss on her forehead and caught my breath when her thumb hit the spot as she continued lightly squeezing and stroking my limp, still oozing penis.

She seemed ready for round three. I pushed her onto her back and very slowly kissed my way down her body. She squirmed at my nips on her neck and licks on the slopes of her mounds. In the dim, nascent rosy fingers of dawn the flush on her cheeks, chest, and breasts achieved rouge. Her areolae darkened and engorged further and her nipples erected like little cocks as I sucked one bud and thrummed the other. Before switching.

When I reached her bush and spread her legs she moaned, knowing what was coming. Her pink, pouty, glistening inner lips blossomed forth like rose petals, exposing the length of her clitoris hiding in its hood, as her darker, dusky, swollen labia majora splayed wide. My involuntary moan of appreciation was rewarded by a sweet caress on my cheek. I gloried in the scent of her sex and her pheromones hastened my rising. And my tongue. As I tasted our combined juices I grabbed both glorious globes to keep her still. Diana tended to thrash about when she came. As her back arched, pushing her sex into my mouth, I knew from observing her orgasm while I'd been inside her that her mouth had formed an oval, her neck was locked back, and her eyes had progressed from opening wide, loosing focus, rolling back, finally clamping shut as the wave crashed over her.

No aphrodisiac can compare to a woman's orgasm. Except two of them. She pushed me on my back after her second, mounted me, raised her vulva high, deftly guided my penis to her, and eased down on me. My "Aaahhh" matched her "Ooohhh" and she leaned forward, took my face in her hands, smiled and kissed me gently.

Then Diana fucked me. She must have liked the pressure of my erection on the front of her vagina, as she sat up, leaned back, pulling my cock perpendicular to my body, and rode me like a rodeo queen. Her incipient orgasm made me abandon her breasts -- they bounced beautifully to and fro without my support -- to grab the ass I so loved lest she buck herself off. Once she finished gasping, thrashing, jerking and flailing, she brushed my cheek with the backs of her fingers gently and kissed me. And began screwing me again.

Diana evidently wanted me to join in the fun, and began offering encouragement, "Yes, John, come for me. Give it to me again. I want every drop. Shoot all your semen into me. Do it now." I had concerns that my forty-four year old balls would be up to the task, but Diana spurred them on. I felt fortunate she did not have a riding crop as we neared the finish line, but her hand cupping and caressing my testicles did the trick and we leapt over the last hurdle together. I surrendered to her quivering vagina as it rhythmically clenched, over and over, sucking the semen out of me yet again.

It had been a natural transition. My comforting Diana after her ex had left involved contact. Holding, stroking, reassuring. The touching seemed a welcome distraction, a way for her to keep her mind from fixating on the fear, the real terror, she felt for her daughter. One thing led to another. We made love.

Though it worked well to hold the demons at bay in the dark of night, Diana's horrible anxiety reemerged with the dawn after our third joining. We sipped at coffee and pushed pieces of the omelet I'd made around our plates as Diana logged on to Facebook, went to Janel's page, and waited.

The video was posted at precisely 8 AM. Janel looked severely stressed as she robotically delivered the words written on the paper in her hands. "I am being held by men I don't know who are forcing me to read this message. Dad, it is imperative that you vote for, to be clear, IN FAVOR OF, amendment Roman numeral four, section 3A at the meeting of the State Water Resources Control Board at 10 AM tomorrow morning. If you do not vote in favor of it, if you abstain, or should the amendment fail for any reason, you will..." Janel's voice cracked. She took a deep breath, swallowed, and continued, her voice high and quavering, "You will never see me or Melody alive again. Please Dad, do as they demand. Our lives depend on it." The video ended abruptly.

Diana knew nothing about the amendment, at least not until the video was copied before Facebook could delete it and replayed endlessly, with commentary, by every TV station in California. And on CNN, then the national networks. It became a sensation. The pundits opined that, though the amendment was somewhat controversial, support for it was widespread, with even the governor in favor. As were such strange bedfellows as the Sierra Club and the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce. This broad support, and the fact that Janel had posted the threat on her own Facebook page from an untraceable computer, left the police and FBI with virtually millions of suspects, no leads, and less than a day to solve the case.

Evan Smoltz, recently re-appointed by the governor to a second five-year term on the board, had previously expressed his opposition to the amendment and would be the deciding vote. Unless this unprecedented public extortion was successful. And how could it not be? Who could possibly blame a man for doing all he could to save the lives of his wife and daughter? How could another member of the Water Board change his or her vote and cause their deaths?

* * *

My head throbbed with each heartbeat as the first glimmer of consciousness sparked in my brain. The bright lights in front of me stung my hooded eyes and I clamped them shut again. The pain made recollection difficult, but my last memory was of stealthily creeping into the warehouse to rescue the women. Maybe not all that stealthily. I winced as I forced my eyes open. Nothing was encouraging. I was nude, tied to a chair, facing a king size bed with floodlights glaring onto it. Prospects didn't look good, for me, Janel, or Melody. Some rescue.

"Greetings, Mr. Conrad, it appears you're back among the living. Good. I was afraid Jose hit you too hard. I'm Manuel."

The man to whom the voice belonged was overtaxing a director's chair to my left. He was a big man, tall, overweight, but thick and strong. He had a large clipboard in his hand and a small Glock on his hip. A 42 or 43. Which didn't matter. Same gun, different calibers. Both deadly. "Jose, Mickey, get in here." I winced as his shout resounded in my head, fervently wishing that he would use his indoor voice.

The men who untied me also had Glocks in holsters on their hips. They handcuffed my hands behind my back, roughly walked me into a restroom, sat me on the toilet and told me I'd better piss. And drink. It was going to be long time until the next chance. As I emptied my bladder and rehydrated from the bottle Jose held for me, my memory returned.

Neither the law -- FBI, local or state cops -- nor even Pickering with his NSA connections, had come up with any leads on the kidnappers. After Evan Smoltz had capitulated, voted in favor of the amendment, and it passed, I wasn't surprised in the least when Janel and Melody Smoltz were not released two hours later. As promised. Kidnapping is a cold enterprise and dead victims can't ID suspects.

I was completely surprised when Evan Smoltz visited Diana and me four hours after the women weren't released. And confessed. The kidnapping had been a ruse, a ploy he had concocted to explain why he changed his vote. It gave him an understandable and defensible reason for his flip flop, obfuscating that he had accepted a half million dollar bride from RealCorp. Now that water was available for their new development they were going to make hundreds of millions. Evan's bookie, to whom a quarter million of his ill-gotten gains immediately went to cover his debt, had put him in touch with Manuel and his gang, who snatched the women. But, being crooks, they had the nerve to blackmail Evan once they learned about the bribe. No honor whatsoever.

Though Pickering had come up empty before, Manuel's name that Smoltz provided was key to quickly locating the warehouse where in all likelihood the women were being held. Time was critical as the deadline for the ransom payment, or the promised deaths of Janel and Melody, was that evening. The idea of my mounting a rescue mission had been inevitable. Pickering's men would take too long to arrive and for obvious reasons Evan insisted that we couldn't call the cops. Plus, he couldn't pay the ransom because he'd already paid off his bookie. Diana was consumed by fear, Evan was livid at being double crossed, and though I sensed something amiss, it seemed the only choice, the only chance the women had. So I went. And screwed up.

Once I had emptied my bladder and the water bottle, the men pulled me back into the room in which I'd awakened, sat me on the big bed, my back up against the end and handcuffed my wrists to the ornate brass headboard with my arms in crucifixion position. As they did I calculated that my strongest, sudden jerk might dislodge the ornamental brass posts to which I was cuffed, but I bided my time. The men were alert, all three were armed, and I needed much more information and a good plan before I made my move.

Manuel used his indoor voice, thankfully. "Conrad, here's the story. That fool, Smoltz, is a weasel. Says he can't pay the ransom. Can you fucking believe that? Doesn't give a shit if we kill his daughter or his wife. Maybe he wants them dead. He even called and warned us that you were coming. Sorry to keep you from rescuing the fair damsels, but, in a way you're going to do it after all. We'll keep working on Smoltz, convince him to pay up, but we sure as hell didn't sign up for murder. So what we need is some leverage, something to keep you and the women quiet, from going to the cops. You'll get the picture, hah hah."

A door opened and the two men brought in Janel and Melody. They looked surprisingly good. As they got closer I realized it was because they were heavily made up. Janel's head was down and she stumbled as the man led her in, and Melody's eyes were glassy. I recognized the signs -- both women had been drugged, probably roofies. I couldn't count on any significant help from them.

The boss continued. "Listen up, now, ladies. Unfortunately, you've seen our faces, and Smoltz has refused to pay up, so we have to either kill you or find a way to keep you from talking. I think you'll appreciate my idea. You see, we're all going to make a movie. First though, Jose, put the gag in Conrad's mouth. Mickey, if he refuses to open his mouth twist Janel's left arm."

Though she seemed stupefied, Janel whimpered when her arm was yanked back, wrist between her shoulder blades. Jose fastened the ball gag behind my head. Tight.

"Good. Now as I said, we're making a movie. You three are the stars! Here's a brief outline of the plot. Melody, Janel is your younger sister and is eager to learn all about sex. You're going to show her the ropes, using this old degenerate as the tool. He's tied up so he can't refuse. As prelude, foreplay, first you will do various things to Conrad, then Janel will do them. Monkey see, monkey do. Got it?"

Janel's bursting into tears interrupted Manuel, who seemed intent on being the director of what now was clear was to be a porn flick. Evidently Melody had been briefed on the plan, as she put her arms around Janel and said softly, "Just listen, Janel, honey. It will all be OK, I promise." Janel calmed down, but did shoot eye daggers at Manuel as he went on.

"As I was about to say, this movie will never be released. Unless one of you stupidly decides to expose our identities. It's our security, our sword of Damocles to hold over your heads, to ensure that you don't turn us in. That's all. But, Janel, you need to do what I say. If we don't have any leverage over you we will have to kill you, and everyone else. Do you understand?"

I understood. The gag was to keep me from telling the women that Manuel's story was bull. The men in the room had made no attempt to hide their faces and probably were using their real names. When we were dead it wouldn't matter. And what could be more lucrative than a porn flick starring two women whose pictures had been splashed nonstop across every television screen in North America. Though I was mystified by why Smoltz wasn't moving heaven and earth to save the women, I understood that the three men in this room stood to make a lot of money. And what kind of porn vids are the most sensational? Hmm. My musings ended when I realized Manuel had continued speaking.

"...and so, there's the plot. Melody helps Janel learn about sex, all the aspects. Don't worry. You don't need to remember anything. I'll give directions all along from behind the cameras. Just like in the opening of Chorus Line, right? Do you understand, Janel?"

Silence.

"Melody, explain to Janel that she needs to respond. Or she's going to die and get you killed, too."

Melody whispered in the girl's ear.

"Now, Janel, do you understand what is going to happen? That I'm going to tell you to do things and that you are going to do them?"

"Yeah, I understand." Janel's voice was soft, subdued, sullen.

"Excellent! All right, guys, get both cameras rolling. Good. Action."

Manuel flipped a switch on his microphone and his voice coming from the speaker was different, distorted. A voice modifier. Made sense. "Melody, take off your clothes. Let's see that voluptuous bod. No, turn towards the cameras. Good."

Melody was matter-of-fact. She sat on the end of the bed to remove her sandals. Standing, she unbuttoned her blouse, dropped it on the floor, and her large breasts jiggled, then swayed as the bra fell away and joined the blouse. She shimmied her hips as she drew her jeans down, taking her panties with them.