Frontier Justice

"I hope your good at this because his life depends on it, so if you're thinking about biting down, think again. Now open your mouth and give Mongrel the best blow job he's ever had,"

He put his hand behind her head and pulled her head into his crotch. Tears were running down her face but she opened her mouth and complied.

"You mother fucker, I screamed, you'd better hope I don't get loose because I will fucking kill you."

As the words escaped my lips I realized how impotent they were. He looked over at me smirking and continued pushing his cock into Natalie's mouth. Mercifully, if that's even a term that can be applied here, it was less than a minute before he grunted and ejaculated into her mouth.

He then leaned down putting his hand under her chin in order to pull her face up to look at him he tauntingly declared:

"Well, it wasn't the best blow job I've ever had but it's certainly the most satisfying.'

With that Natalie spit his seamen into his face. He stepped back stunned and wiped his face with the bottom of his dirty shirt. Then he reached in and grabbed her by the throat and squeezed. I saw the rage in his eyes and I thought he would either strangle her to death or beat her bloody. I had to say something, anything to distract him so in a calm but sardonic tone I said"

"Come on Sidney, what's a little cum on your face. I'm sure you've had plenty of that while you were locked up."

Thankfully he let go of Nat's throat and with the same rage in his eyes he stepped around the bed and punched me in the face. The blow momentarily dazed me and I could taste the blood leaking from my split lips. However, there was so much adrenaline coursing through my veins that it didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have.

He popped open the switch blade and again grabbing her by the hair poked the blade under her throat so that I could clearly see the indentation it was making.

"One more fucking stunt like that bitch and I'll forego the pleasure I was going to give you and cut off shit heads dick and shove it down your throat. He said it and I believed him. He was such an enraged psychopath that he was capable of anything.

He yanked her off the bed and propelled her towards the door. Apparently, the bastard came prepared because he stopped her at the threshold and while poking the blade into the small of her back, reached out into the hall way to pick up something from the floor. When he pushed her back towards the bed he was holding a clothes line that I recognized had come from my garage. I knew it was mine because of the way I had secured it, just like a dock line on a boat.

There was no doubt in my mind of what he intended to do with it. I felt so helpless that all I could do was pray for a miracle, and I did. He pushed Natalie onto the bed on her back. Taking the rope, he tied one ankle to the foot post, cut the line and went to the other side. He tied her other ankle and after roughly pulling her leg so that she was spread eagle, he secured it to the other foot post.

I had wondered why he had taped my legs and left wrist and used hand cuffs for the other. Looking around the room in desperation I saw the empty roll of duct tape lying under the drapes where he must have tossed it when it ran out. As he was tying Nat, I was yanking on my cuff, thinking maybe I could dislodge the slat it was secured to. The chair was very old and to my detriment they made furniture to last back then. However, when I looked closely at the cuff I noticed it didn't have a key hole like the standard issue police type. Rather, it had a small lever protruding from the side of each manacle.

The handcuffs looked old and I assumed that the lever was spring activated so that pushing it would release the ratchet and open the cuff. It was similar to toy handcuffs that I remember having as a kid. However, these weren't plastic and were probably used in theatrical performances or magic acts. They were designed so that the cuffed person would be able to release the cuff whether he was manacled either in front or behind his back.

After he had tied her feet he straddled her naked torso and sitting on her chest tied both wrists together, allowing a few inches of play in between. He then cut the duct tape that had been binding her wrists together. All this was done in silence since he seemed to be concentrating on his pre-conceived plan. While this was going on I was frantically trying to think of a way to depress the lever but since I'm not double jointed or was nowhere near a solid object to push against the lever, I was frustrated.

After cutting the tape he secured her right wrist with another length of rope and pulling her arms above her head loosely tied the other end to the headboard post. His reasoning was obvious. He didn't want my wife to have a free hand to attack him with and possibly scratch his eyes out.

Next, he repeated the process with her left hand and dismounted the bed. After untying his temporary knot on her right side he pulled it taught with one hand while reaching over a slicing the short rope that had been used to keep her hands immobile above her head. He then pulled the rope he was holding, taught, and retired it so that her arms were stretched tight as he fastened it securely to the bed. This left Natalie's left arm with a degree of mobility but not enough to harm her attacker. The process was repeated with the other arm which left my wife's arms and legs totally spread and completely vulnerable to his every whim.

I tried desperately not to show my fear or weakness but tears ran down my cheeks as I stared helplessly into her open vagina. I smelled it at about the same time that I noticed the spreading wet stain on the comforter as her terror caused her bladder to release.

He was walking slowly, tauntingly around the bed admiring his handiwork and Nat's naked body. When he noticed the urine stained comforter he screamed obscenities at her but managed to grip the side of the comforter and yanking it from under her, yelled:

"I'm not laying in your stink, you stupid whore."

When he regained some control over his rage he sat next to her on the bed and again began to fondle her breasts, spewing all kinds of sexual degradations. When he put his mouth on her breast I saw Natalie wince and her body jerk in response.

The look on Nat's face was of absolute defeat but having been a cop for twenty years she knew that pleading for mercy would only further fuel his sadistic lust. She just laid there, semi catatonic, staring at the ceiling with tears running down her cheeks.

"Helpless" doesn't come close to describing how I was feeling. Completely useless and emasculated would better describe my emotions.

I always worried about my wife when she was on patrol but she had a gun, mace, a partner and a radio to call for backup. Most cops go through their whole careers only seeing the aftermath of violence not experiencing violence on their person, but here was my wife, the mother of my son experiencing the worst kind of violence that one can experience, and I knew it was not over.

I continued to call him every vile word I could think of, as futile as it sounded, even to me. I was just trying to redirect his fury towards me but he only laughed mockingly as he continued his assault.

He had moved his hand between Natalie's legs and was roughly shoving his finger into her vagina as she grunted in pain. When he stopped he stood and removed his pants and shoes, leaving his socks and shirt on. He stood at the foot of the bed and faced me holding his semi erect penis pointed at my mouth.

"Maybe you'd like to suck it too, just like your cunt wife," he said as he sneered.

He moved a few inches closer to me and I was hoping that he would give me the chance to bite it off so he would bleed out after he killed us. When I didn't respond I saw the realization dawn in his eyes that if he gave me that chance he would be missing his cock. So he patted my cheek and proclaimed:

"Sit back and relax, detective. Enjoy the show. I'm sure what's her name---Oh yeah, Natalie.

I'm sure Natalie is going to enjoy it."

He climbed on top of her and without preamble jammed his penis into her. She let out a yelp at the intrusion into her dry vagina.

I guess, because he had so recently sodomized my wife his orgasm was not as quick as before. He lasted an excruciating ten minutes, interjecting his thrusts with degrading remarks and rhetorical questions, like: "that is it bitch, hump back at me; Yeah, you love it, dontcha; better than hubby, I bet; Oh yeah baby, you're nice and wet now."

I had investigated a number of sexual assault cases during my career and I knew that even such a violent, unwanted assault could result in an unwanted orgasm in the victim. My male ego hoped that wouldn't be the case with Natalie but I couldn't bear to watch, if it happened. I didn't want that memory burned into my subconscious in the event that we survived, so I either, kept my eyes shut or stared at the floor. A plan was developing in my brain but it would require the scum bag to leave the bedroom for a least a couple of minutes and I knew that possibility was slim.

Eventually I heard his grunting and labored breath and I knew that this phase of our ordeal would be over in a few seconds. When he finished he collapsed on top of Nat's bound body and briefly fondled her breasts. When he finally rolled off and stood allowing me to see his cum soaked cock. I was inexplicably drawn to look at my wife's spread open vagina and was heart sick at seeing the cum stuck in her pubic hair and the glistening remnants of his seamen, now forming a small puddle on the sheet between her legs.

Natalie was no longer crying, her eyes were open but the catatonic stare at the ceiling remained. God forgive me for the thought but I wondered if she, in fact, had orgasmed.

His fairly unimpressive dick had shrunk to almost nothing and, I assume that in order to cover his lack of further prowess, he put his jockey shorts back on. Some time during the assault when I either had my eyes closed or was focused elsewhere the little bastard had removed his grubby tee shirt but had left his dirty socks on. His ribs protruded from his boney chest and I wondered, briefly, how this, nearly emaciated little prick had managed to get my unconscious, two hundred forty pound body up the stairs.

He grinned his gap tooth smile at me and said in fake amazement:

Shit! Your old lady is nice and tight. You must have a tiny pecker, Pecker Head."

His smile disappeared and the maniacal gleam in his eyes returned as he leaned down near my face and said:

Where's your piece, Pecker Head?"

When I replied: "what piece" he wound up and slapped the side of my head on my ear. The concussion caused a blinding light behind my eyes and a loud ringing in my ear. The blow had also reopened the cuts to my lip and I once again tasted blood.

"Your gun, Shit Head, your service revolver. Where is it?" Don't play fuckin games with me or instead of giving your bitch anymore pleasure I'll start giving her some pain, until you tell me where it is."

My 9mm Glock was in the bedroom closet on a shelf behind some books, not visible at a glance. However, this might be my one chance. The chance I had vaguely formulated in my mind.

"Okay, I said, just leave her alone. It's on top of the hutch downstairs in the dining room."

He seemed satisfied that I had been cowered into telling him the truth, so he smiled and said:

"I really worked up a thirst here, bangin your old lady. She wore me out with that tight pussy of hers.

I think I need some refreshment before I flip her over and start round three. Got any cold beer downstairs?"

His maniacal grin remained frozen of his face, as he sarcastically cooed:

"Can I get you something while I'm downstairs?" He laughed loudly at his own morbid humor and headed for the door.

I was hoping he would go to look for a beer in the kitchen first but either way I would probably have a minute or less to take a shot at my plan. When I figured he was about half way down the stairs, I whispered: "Natalie? When she didn't respond but continued to stare at the ceiling, I said in a low tone:

"Nat, he went downstairs and I have a plan but it's a long shot so when you hear the chair tip over, it's just me."

I started rocking the chair from side to side knowing that I could tip it over. The problem was that I needed it to fall on the side with the handcuffs. I also knew, that no matter where he was in the house he would hear the commotion so I had to be extremely quick and extremely lucky.

As it turned out, luck was with me and with a loud thud the chair tipped over on the cuffed side. I maneuvered my hand so that the release lever was facing the floor. I pushed but nothing happened. I realized the problem immediately. I was on carpet and the release lever was being cushioned. I repositioned my body, as best I could, to put more pressure on the lever. I felt it engage and I wiggled my hand until it was free.

A man still strapped to a chair with only one free hand certainly doesn't make for a formidable challenger, even against a scrawny opponent and especially one with a knife. My adrenaline must have given me extra strength because I was able to rock the chair enough to be able to rip the heavy wooden arm off. I was still relatively immobile and there was no way that I would have enough time to undo the duct tape binding my legs and left wrist. As I heard the running footsteps I was inching my body towards the door using my forearm but still clutching my wooden club.

One thing I knew from my years of police work was that a person's shins were the most vulnerable part of the body. Even a blow to the head could be endured unless it rendered the person unconscious. Not that I would be able to get anywhere near his head in my position.

I had just managed to position myself against the wall next to the door as Sidney Meyers strode through. I hit his right shin so hard it should have broken his leg. He went down screaming but was still clutching the switch blade in his right hand, however, the knife was out of my limited reach. He was struggling to get up but while his head was still near the floor I was able to inflict two vicious blows to the back of his head. He collapsed onto his face. I wasn't sure if he was unconscious or just stunned but I only had to scoot my chair about three more feet to reach the knife.

The scum bag was starting to moan as I cut my other wrist free and then my legs. When I tried to stand I fell back onto my knees due to the limited blood flow from being bound so long. Still I was able to turn and administer another severe blow to the top of his head for insurance. Oddly enough, I hoped I hadn't killed him. A quick death would be far too merciful and my heart and mind was clouded with revenge.

As the blood returned to my lower extremities I lumbered over to Natalie and as I cut her arms free she was looking at me with a combination of fear and relief. She began to cry and as I freed her feet the cries became gut wrenching sobs. She snapped her legs shut as I tried to soothe her and convince her that everything was going to be okay. When she gained some semblance of control she gently pushed me away and ran to the bathroom. She still hadn't said a word and I was afraid that she was in shock.

I heard her vomiting for a long time and despite wanting to comfort her I knew she needed to be alone at this time. After the vomiting stopped there was a short period of silence before I heard the shower running. Nat was in the shower a very long time which gave me time to think of what my next course of action would be. The only thing I knew for sure was that this human piece of garbage lying in the doorway was never going to inflict his sociopathic savagery on another person.

It tore at my soul that this piece of shit had served only fourteen years of a twenty- five to life sentence even though he had a number of prior arrests and convictions for violent crimes. As I recalled he had been convicted of aggravated assault, armed robbery, resisting arrest, attempted sexual assault and got a pass on an attempted murder of a rival gang member.

The fact that judges and politicians and even a vast number of "concerned citizens" with their altruistic beliefs could view these miscreants in such an abstract manner, worrying more about their human rights than the rights of their helpless victims always amazed me. What about the rights of Mary Ellen Connity and her infant son and husband. What about the rights of all the previous victims of Sidney Meyers psychopathic past. What about the rights of my wife to live the rest of her life without fear and the probable psychological damage she may have now incurred.

Society expects the police to protect them from all of these psychopaths, but they can't. They expect politicians to enact laws that will insure that these violent felons will remain in jail for the rest of their lives, but they refuse to.

We were lucky in one way, at least Johnny was away at camp. He was an Eagle Scout and was serving as camp counselor for a group of younger scouts and wouldn't be home until Sunday. There was no doubt in my mind that had he been home or had come home during the assault his fate would have been sealed as surely as ours had almost been.

I had checked our assailants pulse and was pleased to find that he was alive, albeit still unconscious. Despite the limited threat he now presented I used the rope that he had used to tie up Natalie to bind his hands and feet. I was still contemplating my options when Natalie finally came out of the bathroom dressed in sweat pants and a pull over jersey. She looked pale and drawn but her eyes, although certainly not smiling, showed that the catatonic glaze had gone.

She cried softly as we embraced. I don't know how long I hugged her but our reverie was broken when we heard a moan from the half naked form lying in the doorway. Natalie's looked at me questioningly and simply asked"

Did you call yet?" When I shook my head she continued to look at me with an expression that asked, why not?. I tried to get her to sit on the bed so I could explain my thoughts but looking at the pooled stain defiling it, she would have no part of sitting anywhere near it. We had 'his' and 'hers' walk in closets between the bedroom and the bath and I went and got two folding chairs from mine and set them up as far from the bed as possible. I sat her down on one and sat on the other, facing her, with our knees touching. I knew that despite her ordeal what I was about to tell her might be a hard sell.

"I'm not calling the P.D. I said emphatically" and before she could reply, I continued, "Think about this Honey. Think about what this piece of shit just did to us - - - -, did to you. He only got fourteen years for murdering a young innocent mother. What do you think he'll wind up serving for raping a cop, six, eight, maybe ten years. Hell, if he gets even one juror who resents police he could even walk. Having seen more trials than you, I've witnessed what some prick of a defense attorney can do to denigrate a victim. Do you want to go through that? Do you want to take a chance that this sociopath won't come back years from now and finish the job or go after our son." I don't want Johnny to experience the psychological trauma that the inevitable publicity might cause."

"Even if he serves time and even if we never see him again, you know, that at some point he will be released back into society, allowing him to perpetrate more violence on innocent people. Animals like him don't belong in civilized society and unfortunately our society doesn't know how to deal with them in a way that protects the rest of us."

Natalie was looking at me with alternating expressions of shock and understanding but before she could respond we heard our captive moving and mumbling some indistinct words. He had managed to roll himself onto his side and when he looked over at us the blood from his head wound had coagulated in one eye and down both sides of his face giving him an even more eerie appearance than the monster he actually was. He grinned at us and with an evil laugh said: