*** Disclaimer ***
The following story is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cheating, cuckoldry, humiliation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, NTR and possibly even a little incest. If this isn't the fetish for you, I urge you to reconsider how much time and energy you devote to this.
This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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CUCKING THE CAPTIVE CAMPERS chapter 01
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Leanne emerged from the door of the camper wearing a slight frown. She was holding her cell phone up like a talisman... as though keeping it at head height would magically bring it to life. But the signal strength was non-existent, and had been ever since the turnpike exit. The search icon spun and spun without end.
Defeated, she sighed, and tucked it back into her jeans. "You'd think," she began, failing to keep the annoyance from her voice, "That with a big cell tower by the exit ramp, there'd be a better signal out here."
Brian glanced at his wife. "That was ten miles ago, baby." Although he didn't say it, he was grateful for the lack of service out here. He wasn't sure what had gotten into Leanne, but over the past few years, she seemed to have withdrawn quite a bit. Her demeanor growing icier, and her enthusiasm for spending time together turning tepid. She'd begun to spend more and more time on her phone-- social media, silly word games, gossip. Vanity. It was all vanity-- distractions and procrastination. But it seemed to be her center of focus more and more.
Benefit of the doubt... Brian attributed that to the inevitable empty nest syndrome and midlife crisis that was only a few short weeks away.
"Exactly, ten miles is not very far," Leanne folded her arms. "This is America. We have first world technology. You'd think they'd have it all figured out."
Beside him, his son Bradley gave a final push, and the canvas tent sprang up, popping to life, full and proud. Like his father, his chubby face was flushed. Beads of sweat stood out, and he swiped his arm across his brow.
"Mom, have you ever looked at those pictures of the Earth from space at night?" Bradley asked. "Sure, there's a lot of areas that are lit up around the cities, but in between them, there's a *lot* of areas that are pitch black. That's all wilderness. If there's no lights on, what are the chances there'll be cell phone service?"
Leanne regarded her son, and although she wasn't pleased by this response, she couldn't help the daring smirk that lifted the corners over her mouth-- proud and amused, although she didn't want to be. "Oh yeah? Did you come to that conclusion all on your own? Or is that a line from a movie?"
Bradley shrugged, nonchalantly. "I read it in some book about Big Foot."
"Big Foot?" Leanne shook her head and gave her son a playful shove. "Your professors are going to have a field day with you, big guy."
Although Bradley would be going off to community college for the first time at the end of the summer, he still hadn't outgrown his boyish fixation on monster movies, slashers, and spooky lore. That was something he'd never outgrow, and Leanne sort of hoped that he never would.
In a lot of ways, Bradley looked a lot like his father (at least the way that his father had looked at age 18). They were both solid, stocky men with chubby cheeks, dark eyes, and jet-black hair. Although Bradley had inherited his mother's height, thankfully, and stood a good four inches over his father's meager 5'7" frame.
Brian had never been a tall man, but that had been okay when Leanne had first met him. When they had started dating in their senior year, Brian had much more going for him than height. He was the only kid in their graduating class who had facial hair, tattoos, and a motorcycle. His features were dark, and his manner was quiet. He was the bad-boy, and Leanne found that thrilling. More so than height, or his thick frame that could almost be mistaken for muscles. There was a danger about him. Who could possibly know what this vo-tech boy was capable of?
Turns out... not a lot. Brian was actually a gentle teddy bear. And his strong silent personality type wasn't cultivated from confidence, experience, or danger, but rather social awkwardness, and shyness. And frankly, the most exciting parts of Brian were what was on the outside... and that was only skin-deep.
She'd been hopeful that Brian would be the type of man to throw her on the back of his bike, take her wherever he wanted to go, and take *her* in any manner he wanted. She craved the thrill of being powerless to a dangerous man, who could make snap decisions on a whim.
But instead what she got was a man who was content. And that meant, she was the one to initiate excitement. She had to be the one suggesting rides to trashy biker bars, or questionable tattoo shops. She had assumed the role of the reluctant leader in this relationship, and it was not at all what she'd expected or wanted. But once she discovered that she was pregnant, it was really a moot point.
With any luck, Bradley would inherit her mother's backbone, sense of adventure, and fitness goals. While Leanne had feverishly worked to burn off her pregnancy weight, Brian had been practically sprinting in the opposite direction. His belly bulged, and his arms sagged until he'd evolved into a halfway deflated pool toy of a man.
That had been the first time Leanne started to notice what an odd couple they truly made. Both in their late thirties, Leanne was a tall girl, standing at about 5'9". Her voluminous auburn hair gave her more height-- wild and untamable, like the mane of a lioness. Her arms were dressed in tattoos (her idea in high school to emphasize that she was 'Biker Brian's bitch'). And her legs were long and smooth. Brian often joked that she was like a model in an 80's beer commercial-- complete with narrow face, strong cheekbones, and tentative smile.
Right now that small mouth was held in a tight but teasing smile. "You know we have an entire camper, right?" She mused as she watched her son put the finishing touches on his tent.
"What, and listen to you and dad hump all night? No thanks," Bradley grinned.
Brian burst out laughing. "Be realistic, we're married."
Leanne smacked her son again. "Fat chance that's happening."
"Never get married," Brian reiterated with a jovial laugh.
"Even still," Bradley replied, "College is starting soon, and I figure I better get used to having my own space."
Leanne shrugged. "If you want to sleep outside like a hobo, it's your funeral. But the woods get pretty dark at night. I better not hear 'Mom! I'm scared! There's monsters out here.'"
Bradley was momentarily confused, looking his mother up and down. And there was that cocky smirk to match hers. Cocky and confident, the way that Brian used to look in high school. "How young do you think I am? I'm taller than you, toothpick," he ruffled Leanne's hair, making her already messy style even messier.
"Toothpick?" She planted her hands on her hips. "That's it. I'm soooo messing with you tonight. You better bunker in tight, big guy, because I'm going to scare the ever-loving-shit out of you when you least expect it."
"Oh c'mon," Bradley groaned as he tossed his sleeping bag and his mp3 player into the tent. "Can't have any privacy, can I?"
Brian rolled his eyes. "Don't sneak up on the kid while he's alone, unless you want to see what he does with his socks."
"Jesus Christ, dad!" Bradley burst out laughing.
Leanne took it and ran with it. "In your socks??? Bradley! That's disgusting. Use tissues. Or, better yet, get a girlfriend."
"Oh fuck off, both of you people," Bradley gave them the finger as he retreated into his tent. This only earned harder laughter from his parents.
***
"Shut up! Shut up, you ugly bitch!" He was snarling over his shoulder as he drove. "Shut your fuckin' mouth!"
She continued to wail incoherently. A never-ending whining that reminded him of a European police siren. Little by little, he felt his nerves fraying.
When Leo McDowell had first grabbed her and (more importantly) her unremarkable sedan from the Burger King parking lot just off the turnpike, he had every intention of dumping her off the moment they'd left civilization behind, and only taking her car up into the mountains.
But bound with stolen police handcuffs in the back seat, she'd done nothing but shriek and shriek and shriek. The sound was utterly infuriating-- it needled into his brain like cracking glass. Any moment now, he would fracture.
"That's it!" He bellowed, as the trees raced by on either side. "I was going to let you go. But fuck it. You made this too easy!" He spun in his seat and aimed the pistol at the helpless woman in the back.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the gun, and she instantly ceased her insufferable screaming.
"Too late," he growled. "I'm not going to feel the least bit bad about this." And he meant it, as he glared into his hostage's eyes.
Suddenly the car bounced on uneven ground, as McDowell's momentary distraction had veered them.
He swore and faced front in time to see the trees that were rushing up at them. He spun the wheel, but the car was reluctant-- having dipped into a small rut. He yanked the wheel harder, and hit the brakes. The car overcorrected, the tires squealed, and suddenly the car lost control, lurched across the two lanes, and straight into a grove of saplings.
The woman screamed again from the back seat, but this time it went unnoticed. McDowell was also screaming. The car plunged through the thicket, and then there was a bone-jarring smash as it slammed against the base of a towering pine. The car came to an instant stop, with the shower of safety glass, and a flock of chirping birds taking sudden flight. Then the forest was silent, save for the soft hiss of a dying engine.
McDowell lifted his head from the wheel, and felt the trickle of blood. He ran his hand over his scalp, hearing the rasp of his shaved head against his calloused palm. Some glass had gashed his head, but it wasn't too bad.
He glanced over his shoulder at the woman in the back. She was shaken, and had clearly peed herself, but she was unharmed... and mercifully silent. McDowell scowled at her. "See what you made me do? Look at that. Dumb bitch," he swore as he kicked his way out of the wreck.
The car was beyond saving. The hood buckled around the tree trunk like tinfoil. But at least it was far enough off the road and into the vegetation to be hard to spot. And out here, the only thing more rare than passing motorists were police. There was simply too much wilderness to patrol.
McDowell tucked his gun into his waistband and retrieved his duffle bag from the trunk. He paused one final time and regarded the hostage. For a moment, he stood, glancing between her and the road. Finally he undid her handcuffs and nearly yanked her from the car.
He pointed to the road. "Start fuckin' walking. You look like you could use a good walk anyway. And you better forget my face, or so help me god, I'll kill you."
