Three Can Keep A Secret Ch 01

Non-consensual force fantasy story with kidnapping and other dark deeds.

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Barney didn't mind that they were late. It was what an educated man might call appropriate or some such. He could wait as long as need be. A body learned behind bars how to pace out time without going stir crazy. Not that Barney had ever done hard time save for that one spell at that troubled teens camp his stepdaddy had sent him to as a kid. That had been a summer of pure unpleasantness until he'd shammed his way back into being a good boy eager to eat the sumbitch's shit. Not six months later his stepdaddy had gone missing while out deer hunting. Barney had learned how to walk quietly in the woods that time at the camp. His momma had kicked up a fuss making all sorts of accusations. A boy had to love his momma. But she'd always taken the sumbitch's side. So she went on a trip with no forwarding address. The cops had given him a hard time. But Barney just kept his mouth shut and listened to his court-appointed lawyer. Turned out that lawyer knew certain fine men who liked a careful young man who knew when to stay quiet.

They were the ones who owned this garage out in the boonies. Them or someone who owed them. It was out on the edge of the city hard by a train yard. The run-down factories and warehouses here were nasty enough that any homeless would much prefer a sewer grate in town rather than wander about here. State police passed through every so often on the main roads. Sometimes, there would be raids when the cops found out that a chop shop or meth lab had been set up. Otherwise, nobody bothered coming around in the dead of night unless they were suicidal. So Barney felt safe enough to have a fire going in a hobo stove made from an old coffee can. He warmed his hands over the blaze. A man needed flexible fingers for this sort of work. Gloves would slow you down. Make things awkward. Barney had once been slow on one of his first jobs of this sort. He still had a puckered dimple in his shoulder from that screw-up.

Light came through the windows. They flashed once. Barney snapped on beige rubber gloves--two nested inside each of the pair, less likely for prints to pass through--before hauling on the chain running to the garage bay door. Cold swirled in before a big, black SUV drove inside. There was some heavy bass thumping from a pricy sound system even through the thick tinted windows. The door rolled down behind it after Barney let go of the chain. He put his hands in the pockets of his coat. It was a puffy thing that wasn't his usual. But it did hide a certain bulge in the right pocket. Funky smoke escaped from the SUV when the front doors opened. What he decided to call Douchebag 1 and Douchebag 2 got out. Both were jacked-up guys barely out of their teens with dark hair. Russian "thief in law" tattoos were visible on their neck and hands. Neither had ever gotten closer to Russia than Schenectady. One of them had a god-damned Desert Eagle jammed down the front of his pants. Idjit.

Barney smiled goofily at the Douchebags. They smirked with mouths filled with gold caps. They saw what Barney wanted them to see: a hick from upstate in a cheap jacket and jeans and boots. They did step back a bit when he got up. Barney tended to loom. A face that might have been a Neanderthal's that had gotten whacked a few times with a shovel and jug ears didn't help him socially, either. But that stupid smile he slapped on his mug made sure they thought he was dumb muscle. He even added a stoop like he was nervous around them. They relaxed at that. Good. All he needed to do was get to within three feet of them. He could have done it from where he had been sitting. It was better to do it close. Almost there. Barney faked looking down like he was intimidated.

Close enough.

Barney froze when he heard drunken laughter from the back of the SUV. High heels clacked on stained concrete as two girls half-fell out of the rear passenger side door. Two girls in skintight, strapless black dresses that left little to the imagination top and bottom stumbled towards the Douchebags. He couldn't help his gaze lingering on firm tits with stiff nipples poking through spandex and toned legs going all the way up to hems that nearly showed panties. That is, if they were wearing any. Their faces were pretty rather than model-beautiful. There was just enough difference in their looks that they weren't identical. The one who wrapped her arms around Douchebag 1 had tousled golden-blonde hair. The other who leaned up against Douchebag 2 had dark-red hair. Neither couldn't have been older than eighteen. Barney gritted his teeth. Those two assholes had brought civilians to a meet. That made this a hundred times messier.

"Hey, who's this?" the blonde said in a sing song voice. "Is he joining your gang or something?"

"Bitch, I told you to stay in the fucking car." Douchebag 1 shoved her off him. "This is business. And you stay out of it."

"Hey, lay off." Douchebag 2 lifted up a vape pen to his lips. "They won't be telling anyone. Won't you?"

"Nmmm mmmm." The redhead faked twisting a key in front of her mouth. "We can keep secrets."

"I'm sure you can, ladies." Barney stepped back a bit. "But this here's what you might call a private meetin'."

"Ladies. Hah. You're great." The blonde grinned at him in a way that almost broke his heart. "Maybe we should have hooked up with--"

"You little whore, I let you into the club, drink on my tab--" Douchebag 1 seized her by the throat.

"Leave her alone!" The redhead charged over to tear the blonde out of the idjit's grip. "It's just a joke!"

"Calm down, bro, it's not worth it." Douchebag 2 held back his partner.

They weren't looking at him. Barney drew the revolver out of his pocket. It had once been a Smith & Wesson Model 10 with a four inch barrel. Six million of the things had been made in one form or another for a century. It wasn't totally clean. But the man who had given it to him for the job said that it had been owned by a civvie who had hardly fired it. Barney had taken some gunsmithing courses over the years. He had cut down the barrel to two inches, sawed off the front of the trigger guard, and bobbed the hammer spur. That had ruined both the front sight and ejector rod. Neither of which he needed for this sort of job. More work had smoothed out any snags or sharp edges. The gun came out slick as a baby dipped in butter. The foam earplugs Barney had put in earlier cut down the noise. He hated his ears ringing. The light target loads he had put into the cylinder weren't powerful. But the.38 Special wadcutters did the job when he put two each into the Douchebags' noggins.

Two pairs of eyes looked at him with numb horror as he turned his attention to them. The blonde's eyes were a lovely blue. The redhead's were green as emeralds. The redhead hugged the blonde close in an attempt to shield her. Barney's finger was already taking up the slack on the heavy double-action trigger. He figured there was four pounds on the trigger before he eased off. They stood there for what seemed ages before Barney reached with his left hand into a back pocket of his jeans. It always paid to come prepared, and they barely took any space at all. The two girls stared at the pre-looped black cable ties. A sharp command and a flick of the muzzle of the gun had them moving. Both of them kicked off their high to stand in bare feet on the cold concrete. The blonde sobbed as she turned to face the wall. The redhead kissed her cheek before turning to face the wall herself. Both of them shivered when they knelt down at his order. Trembling hands met palm to palm behind their backs.

Barney slipped the revolver into his pocket. The two girls stayed right where they were. He cinched a plasti-cuff around each pair of ankles so they couldn't run. That was the important part. He could handle them throwing hands. Neither of them tried anything funny. Cable ties bit into their wrists. Another worked up each pair of arms tightened down just above the elbows to make them touch. Quite limber, these girls. Maybe they were cheerleaders? The redhead pressed against the blonde when they heard the snap of his buck knife locking open. Both gasped when he slit through the back of one dress, then the other, before ripping them off. Peaches-and-cream skin flushed red when their near-naked bodies were revealed. All they were wearing beneath were a pair of thongs with dental floss backs that disappeared between tight asscheeks just made for squeezing and spanking. Barney was hard as rebar when he stepped in front of them.

They knelt in the simple but tight bondage as he cut strips off their ruined dresses. Then he stepped in front of the redhead. She squealed in protest when he grabbed her hair close to the scalp. He pressed the edge of the bowie-shaped blade of his knife close to one eye before tapping the fly of his jeans. Grimacing, the girl carefully took the tab of his zipper between her front teeth. His cock sprang out at attention the second the zipper was far enough down. Barney tended to go commando. More comfortable. The girl's breathing quickened at seeing the shaft before her. It was as big as the rest of him. A good seven inches of girl-fucker bobbed before her lips. He stepped back to stand between the girls. They looked confused before he gave them another order. They gulped before leaning forward to start what he liked to think of as their audition.

The two girls weren't all that good, if he was to be honest. Fear didn't make up for honest enthusiasm. But they tried. Lips kissed up and down his cock shaft as they switched between licking along it. The blonde's quivering lips pressed to the head first as she clumsily tried to roll down the foreskin with her mouth. It didn't escape his attention that both girls were rubbing their thighs together in spite of how scared they must be. Barney undid the button of his fly. His jeans slipped down enough to expose hairy balls that swing free and clear. He had to drag the redhead to get her to kiss them. He held his buck knife under the blonde's nose as a warning of what he might do to her if the redhead tried anything funny. Barney sighed in pleasure as reluctant lips and tongue bathed his stones while a clumsy tongue swirled about his cock head. He gave them little tips, like licking across the slit at the head. Each had a chance to work his cock and balls before he seized the redhead by the hair. The blonde looked at her in horror when he pumped into the girl's mouth in slow, steady thrusts. A moan that wasn't entirely fear escaped her while watching the other girl gasp for breath on his cock. With a snarl, Barney spewed a hot load down her throat with her lips planted on the base of the shaft. The redhead sobbed after he backed away.

"You both need some work," Barney said. He cleaned himself off with a scrap of dress. "But you'll do, ladies. You'll do indeed."

"Please. Let us go." The blonde shuddered. "We won't tell. We-we'll go home and forget this and this never happened oh god--"

"Now now." Barney squeezed her shoulder. "It's either this or using the last two rounds in that gun. Shame to waste such fine pussy."

"You're just going to kill us anyway," the redhead said dully. "Just get it over with, okay?"

"No! Shut up, Port!" The blonde bent down to kiss his boots. "Please please please, not like that!"

"Naw, I don't think I'll be getting rid of you so quick." Barney patted her on the top of her head. "Now, what's your name, hmmm?"

"Charlie." Blue eyes looked up at him. "Charlotte. But everyone calls me Charlie. That's Portia."

"You two sisters?" Barney asked. His hand gripped Portia by the chin to make her look up at him. "Don't look away from your master. It ain't polite."

"We're first cousins. Moms are each other's aunts." A tear trickled down one cheek. "Born on the same day, so we're almost sisters. Tuh-today was our eighteenth, Charlie wanted to have some fun downtown--"

"I'm sorry." Charlie bowed her head. "My mom was right, I'm a stupid brat and I dragged you down with me and please be gentle we might dress like sluts but we're virgin--MNMMMMMPH!"

"Glad you are, I'd have hated for those two idjits to have gotten in before me." Barney pressed the ball of spandex soaked with his seed deep into Charlie's mouth. Another strip from one of the dresses was pulled tight between her teeth, a double knot in the center to fill her mouth even more.

"Hurt me, not her." Portia shuffled on her knees to face him. "Sir--uh. Master? I can take it. Really. You can whip me and spank me and slap me--"

"Hush now." Barney tied Charlie's cleave gag firmly at the nape of her neck. He squatted before Portia. "I do admit that I'm fond of the belt on a girl's ass. Some of my stepdaddy rubbed off on me, But you're fine cunts, and it wouldn't do to lower the resale value."

"Resale--oh!" Portia gasped when gloved fingers slipped under her thong.

"This is natural." Shoot. She definitely was tight enough to be a virgin. Smooth, too. His thumb worked her clit as he probed her. "Girls get wet for rape, in my experience. Their bodies don't want it to hurt. Relax. This is the only pleasure you girls will feel from now on.."

"Mmmmmmmmm." Charlie groaned through her gag as his other hand nudged past her thong. Her hips bucked to meet his thrusting fingers. "Nnnnnnn. Mmmmggggggg."

"Good girl" Barney smiled at her, then scowled at Portia. "Work those hips too, slave. I don't want some lazy cumrag who thinks she can lie back and do nothing. Squeeze those fingers. Both of you. Or your asses are going to end up in some brothel in the Middle East where they have worse ideas than me about what to do with white Christian pussy."

The two girls became much more motivated after he said that. They were better with their cunts than their mouths. Hips pumped up and down on his fingers while they squeezed with already-tight cunts. Sobbing became panting as he rewarded them for being obedient slaves. His thumbs rocked on their hooded clits while his fingers curled within them. Barney sometimes sampled the girls of a strip club he had a piece of. Earned him good money while washing what he got on jobs like this. Every so often, one of those dancers would get into debt for one reason or another. They'd earn it off by going home with him for a playtime weekend. Banging them into submission had gotten boring the first few times. Forcing them to enjoy it was much more fun. He had had plenty of time over the years to learn how to train a reluctant girl how to cum.

Soon, Charlie and Portia were moving in synch with each other. They rose and fell at the same time as their panting grew ever more intense. The copper scent of blood was covered up by the musk of girls in heat. Training them not to cum without permission would be for later. For now, they had to learn how to fuck whenever their Master touched them. It didn't take them long for them to throw their heads back before the spasms ripped through them. They cried out together as the pleasure tore through them. Then again. And again. Barney didn't stop until they had gone off like a string of firecrackers. Maybe six times each.

Both of them stayed quiet while Barney jerked off into another scrap of dress. Portia mewled some when he shoved it into her mouth. He gagged her with a cleave gag just like Charlie's. Over their heads went the remains of their dresses. He folded them over each girl's head like a hood before tying them shut at the necks with more strips. They panicked until he gently lifted the spandex away from their noses before cutting small holes for them to breathe through. The final bit of bondage were dress scraps tied between the cable ties at their wrists and ankles. It must have been uncomfortable as all hell. But the hogtie would keep them from attracting too much attention on the ride home. Barney picked Charlie up first, throwing her over his shoulder. He gave her ass a sharp slap on each cheek before going out back. The stolen car that he'd been given was a dull as ditchwater Toyota that he'd exchange for his own pick-up stashed in a storage unit a few miles away. Charlie lay on her side when he put her in the trunk. Portia snuggled up against her when he put her in next. He listened for a minute or so after he shut the trunk. He couldn't hear much. The gags and hoods were doing their jobs.

Barney ignored the two dead idjits. Ordinarily, he'd have put the last two rounds into their chests just to be sure. The amount of red that had leaked out of what passed for their brains meant they weren't playing possum. He searched the SUV instead for any trace of the girls. He'd be as dead as the Douchebags if the people who had hired him for this thought he had allowed two witnesses to stay breathing. Their purses were in the front seat. Their phones were in the glove compartment. Barney was relieved to see that they were turned off. Either the idjits had an ounce of professionalism, or those girls were headed for a grave or a whore's life after the idjits were done with them tonight. He policed up any trace of them, including their high heels, before putting it all into a garbage bag from a pack he found left on a shelf. He tossed the back seat.

Then he picked up the two gallon gas can from where he'd hidden it in the corner.

There was a dull glow in his rear view mirror as he drove down the road from the garage. The fumes from the gasoline he'd spilled all over the idjits and the SUV--especially the back seat--must have been set off by the hobo stove he had left burning. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have bothered. Trace evidence was a lot less useful than the tv shows made it out to be. Still, you never knew if you might need some insurance. He definitely did not want the cops to lift prints or DNA or whatever of Charlie's and Portia's from the scene. He really didn't want any of his to be connected with theirs. He drove right at the speed limit on side roads. The girls didn't make a sound. He hoped it was because they were tuckered out rather than because they had choked on their gags. He only stopped once a block away from a fast food joint. The.38 went into one of the parking-lot trash cans in a wrinkled paper bag from the same chain; napkins were wadded up around it to disguise its shape. It would end up in whatever landfill buried under the rest of the trash from the joint. No gun, no way to match it to the bullets in the Douchebags' heads.

There.

Time to head home.