Hostage Of My Heart Ch 03

Author's NOTE: Hostage of my Heart is a four-part series. While it's possible to read the sections out of order and not get [too] lost, there's an actual story to back up all the naughty bits, and it will be more fun if you start at the beginning!

ALSO: There's slightly more pain/humiliation in this chapter, but nothing very serious- not even nipple clamps!! (Opal might not agree with my assessment, though.)

Thanks for commenting, voting, & also for the suggestions you've been sending me. Some of them are excellent, but the story's all done! I'm just copy-editing now.

Happy Reading!

-Stefanie

-- o --

She hadn't put her clothes on, he saw with a grin, though she'd left the table and was curled in a padded chair with her knees against her chest. Sainte was almost sorry Opal hadn't disobeyed. Of course he could hit her whether she behaved herself or not, but it was more entertaining to beat a rebellious woman.

He motioned. "C'mon out, slut."

Opal clambered to her feet, reaching for the clothes she'd tucked behind her.

"Uh-uh." He stopped her. "Leave them."

Her shoulders fell, but she came to him naked and without protest. He ushered her out of the conference room and pointed to the lounge area halfway down the length of the building. "Over there."

Shivering, Opal folded her arms protectively across her chest and padded barefoot along the stone floor. The layered rugs of the lounge area were at least a relief to her feet. She stopped between a low-slung armchair and a coffee table, afraid to move.

She winced when Sainte's hands landed softly on her shoulders.

"Okay, Opal, honey. You were so good for Dick the Prick that I've decided to reward you."

She felt another movement behind her but didn't turn to look. A moment later, Bob appeared in her field of vision, rounding the big ottoman they used for coffee trays or plates of cookies at Christmastime. Her belly knotted. In the preternaturally perceptive way of a true sociopath, Sainte had ferreted out the finer points of office politics just by watching their interactions play out. Her father had always been able to do the same thing.

Sainte had seen the animosity between her and Richard, and had probably recognized her disappointment when Bob leered suggestively after watching her performance with Rand.

Opal didn't try to mask her dislike. Bob might work up the nerve to slap her under Sainte's tutelage, but she doubted his ability to do any really damage.

Sainte leaned around and laughed at her expression, draping his arm over her shoulders like a real pal. "So, Opal, let me guess... you and Gavin here had a thing?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No, never. I

thought

," she stressed the past tense, "he was a decent guy. We used to joke around and talk about his kids."

Her eyes drilled into Bob, who shifted uneasily under her disdainful stare but didn't look away.

Sainte laughed, thinking he'd made the right choice. The little slut hated Dick, too, but she would be especially galled by what was about to happen, if he'd guessed right about Bob. "Well, honey, I hate to see something like the incident this afternoon come between friends, so I'm giving you two the chance to reconcile."

Sainte pushed her down onto the ottoman and waved Bob over. "Okay, Gavin, loose the clothes."

"I want you to be nice to Gavin, Opal, if you know what I mean."

She didn't look up, so Sainte pinched her face and made her. "You understand me, slut, don't you?"

Opal answered as clearly as possible through her distorted lips. "Yes, sir."

Sainte patted her cheek a couple of times, the last pat more of a slap, and walked away. He perused the granola-heavy offerings of the centrally-located snack cart while Bob stripped and planted his feet in front of her. "Suck, slut."

She spread her legs and hauled him forward to stand between her knees without glancing at his face. His dick was half-hard and only about three inches long at the moment. She restrained a snort of derision and lifted the floppy piece of flesh to her lips. She usually liked to delay this part as much as possible, because she really enjoyed the feeling of a man hardening in her mouth, but she went directly to plan B with Bob- as fast and efficient as humanly possible. With her lips on his dick, it swelled rapidly to a respectable six-incher of about average thickness.

This was the least humiliating thing she'd done all day, Opal reflected, as she got down to sucking him off. Wondering if she could see a clock from where she sat- she bet herself it wouldn't even take five minutes- but she was afraid to provoke her captor by looking around. When Sainte put his hand on her shoulder again and pulled her away from the task, Opal was almost disappointed.

"That's a good girl." He pushed back. "Lay down for me, honey."

Opal's eyes showed her distress as she reclined on the ottoman.

Sainte walked around to approach her from behind. "Okay, Gavin, there you go. Dig in. You do eat pussy, right, Gavin?"

Bob was smiling from ear to ear as he fell to his knees between Opal's feet. "Yes, sir."

He pushed her knees apart and watched her face as his fingers explored the damp folds hidden beneath her insufficient patch of lady-fur.

Oh shit.

Opal tried not to show it, but Sainte must have seen her stiffen, because he laughed. "Opal approves of your technique, Gavin. She likes that much better than what Dick was doing."

"Just let me..." Lifting Opal's shoulders, he pulled her higher on the upholstered surface. "Just a bit more, Gavin."

Bob lifted her feet to the ottoman.

When Sainte slid her upward again, her head fell backwards off the edge. He chuckled, running his hands over her bare torso. "There we go, honey. It's time for Daddy to have some fun, too."

The eagerness underlying his announcement was the first sincere emotion she'd heard from him, and it sounded so much like something her step-father would have said that Opal almost gagged. With a set jaw and an intent frown, she wrestled her emotions into place. If she flipped out, he'd kill her. She knew that even without the gun-shot she'd heard from their supposedly sound-proof conference room. She'd scrambled off the table in a panic, afraid that Rand was dead, but Sainte's calm exit from the supply closet reassured her. Opal's guess was that Helena hadn't made it, and she dismissed the incident without further ado, sparing no sympathy for a woman willing to turn on other women in circumstances like these.

She missed what he said to Sainte over the length of her naked torso, but Bob started in on her again. She tried to ignore what he was doing, but... Opal bit back a moan. She opened her eyes to a soft pat on her cheek and lifted her head to find Sainte's penis stroking the skin beside her mouth. He was kneeling opposite Bob, staring placidly down into her eyes. "I don't think I have to mention what the rules are, do I, Opal?"

"No, sir," she murmured, turning to take him in her mouth. She'd decided hours ago to survive, and there was no point in changing her mind now.

For safety's sake, she decided not to give Sainte the abridged version of a blowjob she'd been planning for Bob. Briefly she considered pretending he was Rand, but that seemed blasphemous somehow, as though she'd be sullying a non-existent relationship with a man she barely knew. She marveled at the depth of her self-delusions and pretended instead that the cock she was guiding toward her lips belonged to Idris Elba, yet another tall, handsome, older man.

But when Opal closed her eyes and held his cock in place to swirl her tongue around the plump, firm head, someone smacked her hands away, plunging straightaway into her mouth. With that, Idris Elba vanished into the cold New Hampshire night, leaving Opal with Sainte's dick in her mouth and no fantasy to comfort her. With her head tipped backwards like that, she also had no way to control the depth of his penetration, which she supposed was the point of Sainte knocking her hands away. Opal didn't like to deep-throat, because it reminded her too much of things she'd rather forget, but she knew it wouldn't kill her.

Bob eating her out, on the other hand...

ohmigod...

she just might die from that. She couldn't tell exactly what he was doing... kissing? licking? pinching? tapping?... but it felt like a pack of elves dancing joyously around her clit. With the added stimulation of a big cock fucking her mouth, Opal lost the battle to ignore her co-worker, and she was the one who came in under five minutes. Three minutes later, she came again, as Bob knotted the two fingers inside her into impossible creations.

Sainte said something, and Bob stopped what he was doing.

Opal moaned in disappointment despite her disgust, but the sound turned to another kind of moan when she felt a cock sliding between her nether lips. Then Bob set about proving that he knew what he was doing with that, too.

Asshole.

He pushed her legs back against her ribcage, dragging her hands to her knees to hold them in place, then he played her clit like a fucking piano while he plundered her pussy like a porn star.

This time, she knew when she squirted. Her whole pussy flooded when she came, and she couldn't stop coming. Sainte plunged furiously, fucking her throat raw while he pinched her nipples ever more violently. With Bob thrusting away in her hungry cunt and all those fingers dancing on her flesh, she came and came and came, screaming around the dick in her mouth.

She didn't even have the energy to cry when they finished with her. She rolled onto her uninjured side and fell asleep right there, her come and Bob's mingling between the bare cheeks of her ass, her thighs soaked, and the taste of Sainte's semen fresh in her mouth.

She didn't wake when he threw a coverlet over her, but dragged herself to consciousness a few hours later when Sainte lifted her to lie on the floor beside him. She was too groggy to be afraid, and Sainte was completely clothed. He pulled her into the curve of his body and she fell asleep with her head pillowed on his arm, grateful for the warmth.

For the remainder of the night, he woke her every hour or so just to make her come. He guided her onto her back, pulled her leg high over his hip, and kissed her passionately while he fingered her to one orgasm after another. When the sun started to rise, he woke Bob to do her again, thinking that his assessment of Gavin had been dead-on. Bob was exactly the kind of pathetic ass-licker who liked to think of himself as a suburban sex god, someone the little wifey would brag about after PTA meetings.

Holding Opal like a lover, Sainte kissed her and played with one small, upright tit while Bob knelt over her, sucking her other nipple. When the suburban sex god entered her this time, Sainte left two fingers in her pussy. Bob fucked her, and Sainte rocked his hand, stroking her g-spot and every millimeter of the folds splayed beneath his broad, rough palm.

Opal came apart. On a purely physical level, it was the most incredible thing she'd ever felt.

In retrospect, those few hours would haunt her most persistently: Sainte's loving kisses and the gentle touch of his fingers on her flesh as she alternately cried and moaned, and he dined on her utter humiliation. She'd wondered about the difference between Sainte and her step-father, who'd found his satisfaction in whipping her bloody, and discovered that Sainte's brand of torture was worse. She writhed under his knowledgeable fingers and responded to his kisses with total, soul-destroying abandon. She was warm, gooey, pliant putty in his hands, and it killed her. That's where Sainte's hatred and sadism thrived: watching her suffer for every treacherous twitch of her body and knowing she'd never forgive herself for the pleasure she'd felt.

-- o --

The blizzard tapered off after midnight, leaving eighteen inches of pristine powder behind, but Saturday dawned bright, sunny, and warm. Sandir- the only one familiar with the area- left when the blackness of night lifted to a darker shade of grey. Despite their concern for the other hostages, Opal in particular, the men agreed that Tim and Rand would stay hidden on the lower level for as long as they could. Hopefully, Sandir would escape without pursuit, possibly without the thugs ever realizing he was gone. That would give the cops a better chance of retrieving the hostages safely.

Tim objected repeatedly, acting as though Rand and Sandir's assessment of the situation were baseless. How did they

know

the men would kill the hostages before fleeing if Sandir's escape was discovered? They couldn't

know

that. Besides, they might be able to sneak upstairs and get Opal out without anyone noticing.

Rand rolled his eyes at Tim's naiveté.

He also put a lot of effort into not saying what he really thought: that he was the one who should be panicking, not Tim. He should have known better than to let Sainte drag them away to "carry equipment." He should have seen that by choosing the three of them, Sainte was removing his strongest opposition. Rand tried not to dwell on the fact that the cold-eyed prick had also rid himself of the people most likely to defend Opal, praying that hadn't been any part of his motivation.

They'd destroyed the locking mechanism, but the boiler-room was the warmest place in the basement, so Tim and Rand hung out there, making one short foray to a bathroom on the first floor. Rand kept watch, then switched with Tim. He glanced at the mirror while washing his hands and saw that the bathroom door was closed, and Tim was gone.

"Shit." Rand swore, skipping the paper towels as he sprinted for the door.

As he left the bathroom, Rand glimpsed Tim through the long, tall window in the stair-well access door. He ran, but by the time he made it onto the stairs, Tim was already on the second-floor landing. Rand hissed his name and Tim glanced down, but he cracked the agency's back door all the same, placing an eye to the opening he'd created.

Two at a time, Rand mounted the stairs as silently as possible, but he had limited options when he arrived. Any scuffle could alert the men inside, and Rand didn't happen to have any tranquilizer darts on hand. He flattened himself against the wall and waited. Through the gap came the muffled sound of voices.

There were two points of access to the floor. The main entrance where Rand had come in Friday afternoon was about two-thirds of the way down the building, nearer to the few walled offices. The one at this end bore a metal sign: "Employee entrance". It fed arrivals into the short hallway which provided access to utility rooms, where the noisiest, most unattractive bits of the business hid.

Tim turned his head and breathed his report. "I can see a few people down by the offices, but they're facing the other direction."

"Tim—"

Tim stiffened as a door opened someplace close by.

Rand listened. Unhurried footfalls, the latch clicking shut, another door, further away, a murmured word, and quickly receding footsteps.

Tim exhaled and turned his head slightly toward Rand. "One of them gave a bunch of soda cans to someone in the supply closet, locked it again."

He'd just barely finished when another sound came from the hallway.

Tim's body became rigid, and his neck turned red.

Over the young man's outraged huffs of air, Rand detected more receding footfalls. The faint whimper which followed pierced his skull like a burning awl, and he tensed, too. When it was quiet again, Tim turned, his jaw tight and his eyes afire. "Guard. Coming out of the bathroom pulling Opal by the hair. She's completely naked."

Silently, they stared at each other for a long moment.

Rand didn't try to stop Tim when he squeezed through the gap, but caught the door before it closed and took his own turn peering through the narrow opening. Tim crept along the empty corridor, staying low and hugging the west wall as he made his way toward the open office.

With a silent curse, Rand followed.

From the end of the hall, Tim gestured for him to hurry, risking a glance to make sure no one was looking their direction. Turning right, he leaned out to check Helena's desk. From the other side of the doorway, a rifle butt rocketed downward, slamming into the back of Tim's head and knocking him bonelessly to the floor.

Rand turned on his heel... and was trapped by a guard emerging from the break-room. The guard was unprepared for the confrontation, but the scuffle for his weapon ended when the first man pressed his rifle barrel firmly between two of Rand's ribs.

-- o --

"Well, well, what have we here?" Sainte's comment made Bob look around as Rand and Tim joined the group, Rand with his fingers entwined at the back of his head and Tim's limp form being dragged by his shirt.

Opal didn't look over. She was sitting in what looked like the least comfortable office chair at any of the desks along that wall, a short-backed model with little padding in the seat. Her arms were locked around her drawn-up knees in such a way that the private places of her body were shielded from the men around her. Her face was hidden by a ripple of chestnut hair as her head hung forward.

"Opal, honey, your hero has returned."

Hesitantly, she lifted her head, and Rand stopped breathing when he saw the depth of suffering in the dark amber pools of her eyes. Emotion hit him like a hammer to the throat. They hadn't killed her spirit, he saw, but they'd hurt her badly. Whatever they'd done to her in the last fourteen hours was too much for her to bear alone.

His heart leapt from his chest, dragging his body helplessly forward. She needed him, and he went without regard for the man behind him or the weapon he held.

He felt tugging, like a tide sucking at his shoulders, holding him back, but he forged ahead ignoring it, ignoring, too, the weapons trained on him. He stopped only when a pistol appeared in his line of sight, a heavy black L-shape aimed at Opal's head. He followed the hand that held it up to the face of a man he hated more than he'd ever hated anyone.

Before that moment, Rand would have said he wasn't capable of planning and carrying out a cold-blooded murder, that he wasn't the kind of person who could live with it later. Looking at Sainte holding a gun on Opal while she sat nude, small and vulnerable and wounded by him, Rand revised his opinion: he was

absolutely

that kind of person. He'd have no problem carving this particular man into bloody slivers of flesh and bone. He could go home afterward and cook himself a nice steak dinner, and Sainte would never cross his mind again.

It took a while for his hearing to return. Sainte had been asking him a question, Rand gathered as his pulse began to slow, and his conscious mind took over.

"I said," Sainte repeated, "where the hell has Sandir hidden himself? Tell me and I won't kill the bitch."

Rand shook his head to clear it, then shook it again in reply. "He didn't make it. After he jimmied the door, he wanted us to go with him across the river, but the ice didn't look-"

Rand glanced at the younger man. "Tim thought it wasn't safe, and I wouldn't leave." He glanced at Opal before continuing. "Sandir went through the ice and we couldn't get to him."

Rand let all the sorrow he felt for Opal show on his face, and it almost worked.

"Humph." Sainte said, lowering his weapon to stare at Rand.

"Okay, Jimbo, see if you can find any tracks, and if you can, see if they start up again on the other side of the river. What's it doing out there?"

"Weather says it's supposed to make it up to high forties. It's not there yet, but it's already starting to melt. There's water flowing into the drains in the parking lot." The big man shrugged. "I'd say two, maybe three hours, we can get out of here, if we're in a four-wheel drive."