Gangster Captive

Mae awoke in a daze, not at all sure where she was. The last thing she remembered was opening the door to a pair of strangers, of being grabbed and forced back against the wall, and just starting a scream when a wad of very pungent cotton was forcibly held over her mouth and nose. “Ether, it must have been ether,” she thought as she fought to clear the cobwebs from her head.

Where was she now? Out of her haze Mae recognized the crack in the ceiling overhead. She must be on her back in her own bed. She tried to swing her legs over the bed side and sit up. No way! Her ankles were tied together and then tethered to the foot board. Her wrists were likewise bound with her hands useless on her abdomen.

She was able to lift her head, however, and across the room she found her husband Jack, and her eighteen year old daughter Cindy, tied and gagged in a pair straight back chairs. Cindy was sobbing quietly. Jack was staring at her wide eyed, as if trying to tell her something, but all Mae could make out were indecipherable muffled grunts.

Mae could turn her head far enough to see the bedroom door over her left shoulder. The door opened just as she looked, and a man she had never seen before came in from the hall.

"What are you doing here? What do you want? LET US GO!"

Mae struggled against ropes that held her captive even as she screamed at the stranger. The knots were tight, and her effort was as futile as the questions she fired at the stranger.

The man brushed aside her questioning with a taunting sarcasm. "Well, good afternoon Mrs. Anderson. Did you have a nice nap? Its not polite for the hostess to fall asleep like that when she has guests."

He walked toward her as he spoke, and two other men followed him into the room. Despite her confusion, Mae was focused enough to concentrate on a description of these people. Later on that could be important.

Mae began with a head count of her enemy. There were three of them in the room, and from down the hall, she could hear other voices, and the TV. More of these people were certainly elsewhere in the house. Two of the three she could see were dressed in nondescript white T-shirts, and well worn, not very clean, denim pants.

The third man, the one who spoke to her, also wore a T-shirt and blue denim pants, but he also had on a denim jacket. Unlike his companions, however, his pants, like his jacket, were new, clean and neat, and the fade in the fabric was from the factory rather than from washing and hard wear.

Of the other two, one was very big and very black with fat Negroid lips and a thin mustache. Nothing else stood out about him as far as Mae could see, and anyway, all black men looked pretty much alike to Mae. The last man to enter the room was sandy haired, of medium height and build, undistinguished in any significant way except for the tattoo of a globe and anchor on the back of his right hand. An ex-marine, Mae wondered, or had he merely stolen the symbol to brag about his macho?

"We're going to be your guests for a while, Ms Anderson. I know we showed up on short notice. I only hope you don't mind."

Mr. denim jacket was talking again now, interrupting Mae’s inventory of her captors. Denim Jacket snickered at his sarcasm as if he had said something that was truly funny. There was not, however, anything merry in his cold ice blue eyes. In her desperation Mae lifted her head again to look to look around her. Her husband, however, could only stare back at his wife with eyes filled with desperation.

The man in the jacket was big, easily six foot four or five inches tall, maybe 260 pounds, and very muscular. Standing by her bed, he loomed over Mae the way a cruise liner would dwarf a fishing trawler. Probably a weight lifter, Mae guessed. He had a well trimmed beard, and he wore his blond hair long, just touching his shoulders. Both his beard and his heavy mane of hair were clean and neatly brushed. Altogether Mae decided his appearance was too perfect, too carefully tailored, for any reason other than to flatter his ego.

Mae could smell the heavy musky odor of a strong after shave. Why would a man with a beard use an after shave Mae wondered, and as warm as it was, why was he wearing a jacket? The perfume, and the neat clothes, the form fitting jacket despite the hot weather, and stylish hair, everything suggested to Mae that this was a man who was probably quite vain about his macho good looks. Most likely, he fancied himself a lady killer. Mae’s guess at his personality almost brought a wry smile to her lips. ‘Lady killer,’ was he? Considering the circumstances, Mae wondered at her unfortunate description.

Mae wiggled frantically on the bed trying to slide away from the reach of Mr. denim Jacket. It was fruitless. With her feet tied to the foot board, her freedom of movement was limited to her upper body only. With one hand Mr. jacket grabbed her by an upper arm, and jerked her shoulders abruptly back toward him. With the other he took a cruel hold across her cheeks, pinching them together, forcing her mouth into an unnatural pout. Mae let out a squeal through tortured lips, and tried to pull away, but it was no use. The man was bending over her now, his beard right in her face, nose to nose, as it were.

His voice had a sharp commanding edge to it as spoke.

"Listen to me lady, and listen good! You might as well get used to me because my friends and I are going to lay low here for a day or two. Your quiet little ranch will do as well as any for a hideout. Just remember that while we’re here, I’m the boss. Do as I say and you and I will get along. Getting along is important. You stay alive that way. You got that?"

He laughed at her evilly as he threw her head back onto the bed, and stood up without moving away, however.

Mae’s confusion and curiosity was greater than her fear. She wanted to know so much more than he had told her. She was crying a little now, but through the tears, she was able to fire questions at her captor.

"Who are you? What are you doing here, and why do you have us all tied up? What are you going to do with us?"

Apparently she had asked for more information than was welcome. Angrily the stranger slammed his open hand viciously against the headboard, narrowly missing her head. His other hand snaked out and grabbed her by her arm once more, but harder this time, digging his fingers through the robe into flesh and muscle. With a yank he snatched her upper body to a sitting position on the bed.

He glared fiercely at her as he shouted, "Shut the fuck up, bitch! We not playing twenty questions here. Your life depends on making me happy, and that’s all you need to know. Kapeesh? When things settle down, we’ll be moving on. Keep your mouth shut, do as you’re told, and you may even live to see us leave."

With that outburst, the threatening man once more shoved her again flat of her back on the bed. Was he really angry, or was he just trying to scare her? Mae couldn’t tell, but it was only a matter of seconds until his demeanor abruptly changed back to the sour smile with which he had entered the room. He stooped over her once more, this time resting his weight on his hands compressing the mattress on both sides of where Mae lay helpless. Seconds ticked by as he peered deeply into his captive’s eyes as if trying to read her mind. Gently, almost paternally, he reached to wipe away a tear from her cheek.

For what seemed an eternity to Mae, the two of them remained frozen that way. Eventually, however, denim jacket’s gaze shifted downward roaming over her body from head to toe in open admiration of this tall dark lovely woman that fate had delivered into his hands. Gently he unbuttoned the front of her robe and pulled the lapels apart to reveal the brief frilly nightgown underneath.

Finally he spoke again. His voice was no longer angry and hostile. Instead, his words were mockingly complimentary.

"My-oh-my little lady, don't you look nice?"

Mae closed her eyes and tried to shy away from her gawking tormentor, but the there was no place to hide. The turn of her shoulders only shifted her full breasts enticingly under her the thin nylon of her nightgown. Altho she could not bring herself look, Mae could feel his fingers as they probed down the cleft of her ample cleavage. Casually, as if it was his right to do so, his hard hands went on to feel her breasts through the nylon, and then to explore her belly and legs, also from outside her nighty.

Apparently pleased with his quick inventory, denim jacket pulled an 8 inch folding knife out of his pocket. A flick of his wrist, and the spring loaded switch blade sprang open with a ominous click. For a moment Mae was certain that he was going to cut her throat, but instead he only slashed through the ropes that anchored her bound ankles to the bed. Then powerful arms yanked her from the bed like a rag doll, and let her drop in a seated sprawl onto the floor with her back resting against the side of the bed.

Still tied hand and foot, the poor woman could only look up helplessly at the Goliath that towered over her. He stood there arrogantly, his features contorted into an ugly mocking sneer as he insolently reached down to squeeze her breast again. This time his hands were inside of her night gown

"You’ve got a lot to learn lady. See your husband over there, lookin’ daggers at me for grabbing a feel of your tits. Don’t you believe it! I used to run a whore house, and I know all about spoiled little rich boys, and how they get their rocks off. Up at the top of that list is showing off their wives’ goodies to strangers.”

Mae began to cry harder, almost wailing, but denim Jacket only grinned that evil grin and continued to taunt his helpless victim.

“You never knew that before did you Lady? Well it’s true! What do you want to bet that prissy hubby of yours is getting a hard-on right now watching me play with your boobs?”

Mae was certain that none of that was true of her Jack. There was nothing her husband could do to help her, but that certainly didn’t mean he got a thrill out of watching her body being felt and mauled by this brute. Indeed, she wished with all her heart that Jack wasn’t here to see this, any of it. If she was going to be raped, she would much prefer to deal with it on her own. She felt certain that her loving husband would understand that whatever she might be forced to do, she was only trying to save their lives. Still, she couldn’t help herself from looking over at him eyes pleading forgiveness.

Jack understood perfectly what she was trying to tell him, and he went ballistic. Tears were running down his cheeks, and he began to strain against his ropes, fighting with all his strength to free himself. Denim jacket looked over at the struggling husband, and with cold threat in his voice warned him.

"Quiet whimp, while I show your spoiled little bitch of a wife what a real man can do. Once I’ve had a woman, she never fails to beg me for more."

Mae was sitting up by now, and had just started to open her mouth in denial, when the stranger slapped her hard across her face with his open hand. The blow knocked her head against the bed sideboard, and cut her protest so short that it almost didn’t get out of her mouth at all. It was just then when a woman’s voice came from the other room. "Bart, come here! look! We're on TV."

The brazen fondling of Mae’s breasts could wait. Denim jacket and his black pal were abruptly out the door and headed for the TV set in living room. She heard denim jacket yell from the hallway for his friends to turn up the volume. The TV sound immediately went to full blast, and Mae could hear the news report quite clearly. The TV news was about a shoot out at a local bank late last night. Before they were discovered, the robbers had blown the vault, and they had eventually made off with a large but as yet unknown amount of cash and securities. A policeman and a bank guard had been killed in the exchange of gunfire. An as yet unidentified man presumed to be one of the robbers had been dropped off later at a local hospital emergency room seriously wounded, but he had died during the night.

Mae, still sprawled on the floor where her tormentor had left her, looked over at Jack and Cindy. The news on the TV hadn’t sounded very hopeful. These men were killers who had already left a trail of dead bodies behind them. In her despair, Mae thought that it was unlikely they would leave any witnesses alive at the Anderson house either.

Could she or Jack escape? It didn’t seem likely, at least not for the moment. Not only were both still tied, but even in the excitement about the TV report, the sandy haired man with the tattooed hand had stayed behind to watch over them. He meant business too. He caught Jack working to loosen the ropes that bound his hands. Mr. Tattooed Hand not only told him to stop it, he enforced his order by putting the barrel of his gun against Jack’s temple. Jack quieted under the threat, and except for the sound of Cindy’s sobs, a silence of impending doom fell over the room.

A babble voices and laughter came from the living room as the TV news report ended. The gang members were debating whether to try to hide out on the Anderson ranch, and if so, what to do with their captives. The man who had opened Mae’s robe was the one named Bart. He was apparently the gang leader, at least he was doing most of the talking, and his vote seemed to count for more than any of the others. Mae couldn’t quite make out what they decided, but she was afraid she already knew what she and her family could expect from Bart and his murderous mob.

Suddenly the loud laughter of approval rang out from the other room. A decision must have been reached because soon afterwards Bart, if that really was his name, came back into the bedroom alone.

“Well, you probably heard that, didn't you?" he asked. "It seems the heat is on big time. We will just have to stay put here for a little longer than we thought. You’ll get used to having us around. I’m for sure going to do my best to get used to you Mrs. Anderson."

With that, he began to hum sarcastically under his breath the show tune “Getting to Know You, Getting to Know You,” laughing a little at what Mae could only guess was something unpleasant he had planned for her. Clearly something was on his mind besides the obvious decision to keep on using the small Anderson ranch as his hideout. He walked up to Mr. Tattooed Hand standing guard, and under his breath, told him to “get lost.”

As Mr. tattoo hand left, Bart called out to him. "And, oh yeah, post a lookout on the porch. Tell everybody to leave me alone in here until I call for you. I'm going to be busy with a private matter."

Jack could read the evil undertone in Bart’s voice, and he caught the drift of were things would be headed from here. Again he began to struggle and squirm in his bonds, trying to yell at this Bart, but all that came through his gag was muffled moans.

Bart paid no attention to Jack or his protests, but instead he turned to Mae. “Yeah, one way or the other we're going to get really well acquainted here. The question is, how are we going to do that. Are we going to be friends?”

As he spoke, Bart shifted his eyes purposefully to where Cindy was bound hand and foot to her chair. Still in her night gown, one strap had fallen down to display a young teen breast and a pert ruby red nipple.

Then, staring back into Mae’s eyes, he asked, “How friendly are YOU going to be bitch?"

What exactly was this murderous beast hinting at Mae wondered? He was threatening her daughter to compel Mae’s cooperation, she knew that much, but what specifically was the threat? Rape? Torture? Murder? All three?

Mae remembered the news report, and she knew that whatever he was thinking, he wasn't bluffing. Killing people was certainly something this gangster had done before, and was not afraid to do again. Rape would be only hesitation step along the way, and not very important one in the larger scheme of this man’s probable criminal history.

Mae knew she had little choice but to go along with whatever he wanted of her. Still, it was worth a try to appeal to his humanity, if indeed this monster had any. Mae did her best. She began to beg and plead for she and her family to be left alone. She promised that he and his friends were welcome to stay. She and her family would not try to escape, and she vowed that even after they left, no one would ever be told they had been in their house.

“Please,” she begged, “There is no need to hurt anybody.”

Bart said nothing in response. He walked over to Cindy, and stood behind the chair she was tied to. He reached out and put one hand on her shoulders. With the other he began to play with the girl’s bare breast.

"Hiding out, cooped up this way and all, gets pretty boring. The boys and I are gonna’ need some diversion, some entertainment. You have a very pretty little daughter here, I'm sure she could help us pass the time for the next few days."

Mae screamed out her plea. "NO, LEAVE HER ALONE! LEAVE HER ALONE PLEASE!"

Cindy was crying harder now, her tears streaming down her cheeks, and soaking into the material of her gag.

"Please." Mae pleaded. "Don't do that to my Cindy, PLEASE. You can take me instead. I’ll do anything you say, I’ll give you what you want, but please don’t do anything to my daughter."

Bart backed away, and looked at Bill. "What about it hubby? Think she means it? Is she really going to do whatever I want? Do you think she is putting her cute little twat on the line because she loves her daughters, or is it because she’s hungry for some of Bart’s prime meat?"

Jack was furious, senselessly, uselessly trying to kick and scream. His ropes were cutting into his wrists and ankles, but he felt no pain above his rage and fear. Bart just laughed at Jack and his frustration.

“Oh stop your bull shit! You’re wife is one good looking piece of ass. You’ll get your rocks off watching a good looking woman like that put out, even if it is your wife.., especially because she’s your wife. And don’t worry about her, old Bart is here. She’s gonna’ have even more fun than you do. Just wait and see.”

Mae spoke up again to Bart, pleading with him.

"I beg you, please, don't make me do this. We won't do anything." Bart laughed again, and walked over to Mae’s side of the bed.

"You're wrong. You will do something.., something for me..., beg to do it in fact, Mrs. Anderson. By the way, what is your first name?"

Mae told him her name softly, so softly Bart couldn’t hear, and he repeated the question.

"Mae, my name is Mae."

He held the gun to her head. "Pretty name Mae. Well listen up Mae. Your life depends on it. If I was so disposed, we could all rape you, and your daughter too. Then, in a couple of days after we all got our rocks off good, we could shoot you all, and leave your bodies behind to rot. By the time they found you, we’d be miles away”

Bart paused to let what he had said sink in.

“Or,” he continued, “if you will be a good girl, we could work out a deal, a deal that will let you all live. You see, I don’t want my women fighting me when I fuck ‘em. Rape is not nearly so good as screwing a woman who is willing to learn. I never had a woman yet who couldn’t learn to enjoy my prick if she started out the right way, or once she learned, who didn’t want it again, even beg me for it. Willing to learn, and enthusiasm, those are the keys to what were ‘gonna’ do here.”

“You think you can be enthusiastic and willing to learn Mae? Or not? The choice is yours."

All the while Bart was talking, he was making threatening gestures, trying to raise the level of her fear. First he would press his gun barrel against Mae’s head, then he would point it at her husband, then at her daughter, and finally he would shove it tight up against her temple again. Mae was certain he was going to kill somebody in front of her just to make his point. The poor woman broke down in tears, sobbing uncontrollably.