Ordeal

"Go to hell," I said, forgetting all good advice.

"What did you say," he snarled, lurching forward to grab my scrotum and start squeezing hard with a twisting motion. I had intended to resist hid demand but the pain was so excruciating I immediately cried, "I'll do it, I'll do it," but despite my quick capitulation he maintained the pressure until I had sunk to my knees and was on the point of passing out. It took me minutes to recover, gasping for breath as I crouched, my balls in agony and my head pressed against the bottom of the bed. When I eventually looked up Otis, said almost conversationally, "I did think of fucking your arse instead but you'd probably enjoy that - you're wife certainly does. Anyway, time to start work on my cock; it was up Claire's twat less than an hour ago so you might recognise the taste. There's no hurry so take it nice and slow, plenty of tongue and no teeth. Oh and don't forget my balls but only put one in your mouth at a time."

My whole being was in revolt at what I had to do but there was no choice as I knew I couldn't stand that kind of pain again. Gritting my teeth I got on the bed and lowered my head to his groin. Strangely all the abhorrence seemed to have been in my mind because once I had actually started, the experience was not so very distasteful. The skin of his organ was hotter and silkier than I expected but I tried not to think about taste, instead just going through the motions with a licking action while trying to dissociate my mind from what I was doing. This sufficed for a while but then he said, "Come on - you're going to suck me off whether you like it or not so you better start doing it properly," and from then on he instructed me on what he wanted me to do. There was a bad moment when I first had to suck it and I heaved at the thought that I had another man's cock in my mouth but it was only a transitory reaction and later on I actually preferred the sucking to the other stuff he required. I should mention that while following his demeaning orders, Otis always subjected me to a stream of racial abuse.

At first my mind was constrained within the misery of my situation but gradually I became aware of sound from the adjoining bedroom. It began as just bed movement but soon I could hear Claire giving vent to the sounds of pleasure she had so valiantly fought against downstairs. As the tempo increased she started shouting, "Harder, Harder, Oh Yes, God yes, Yes, Yes, Yes," followed by a sound that was akin to that of an animal in pain. The sounds caused me emotional pain and my tension didn't stop until they ended but there was only a short respite before the whole progression started again. I've never been able to easily give my wife an orgasm just from penetration and I wondered that he could apparently cause them at will - and of a far greater magnitude than I could ever aspire to.

When there was audio evidence of extra lewd frenzy, I think I stopped sucking as I listened to the noises of passion from next door but Otis quickly reminded me of the job in hand. Perhaps he was also affected by the sounds effects because I suddenly found my mouth full of his cum without any warning build up. There was rather a lot of it but swallowing proved to be a reflex action despite the inevitable feelings of nausea. He quickly rolled over and dropped asleep. Only when I tried to ease into a comfortable position beside him did I realised that at some point I must have messed my pants with my own ejaculation. I was dying for a drink of water but was forced to spend the night with the acrid taste of his semen in my mouth. Thankfully I did fall asleep even though the action next door still had not drawn to a close.

Next morning I again woke with a full bladder and the moment Otis stirred I asked him to accompany me to the bathroom. Reluctantly he got up and lifted the bed to release the cuff but then flopped down on the bed telling me to go downstairs when I'd finished and that he'd be down to lock me up in a few minutes. This was a chance I'd been hoping for. Limiting my toilet call to the minimum, I went downstairs into the kitchen and quickly but quietly opened a drawer, retrieved a small sharp potato knife and concealed it down my sock. I wasn't sure how I might use it but it made me feel a whole lot better to know I had some kind of weapon.

Feeling rather pleased with myself I returned to my place by the radiator and had barely settled down on the pillows when Claire walked in looking buoyant, even cheerful. Coming straight over she embraced me hard and murmured words to the effect that I should 'hang on because it couldn't last forever. "But you wouldn't mind if it did last forever," I accused, "Can you deny that you enjoy being fucked by them?"

"What does it matter if I do enjoy it?" she shot back angrily. "It's a natural body reaction whether the mind wants it or not - would you prefer it if I hated every second? And remember, it's only my cunt that's keeping us alive."

I was shocked by her tone but more by her use of the word 'cunt' because I couldn't remember ever hearing it pass her lips before. When referring to that part of her anatomy Claire usually said 'pussy', occasionally 'twat' or 'vagina' and sometimes 'my little furry love hole that you like so much'. I couldn't help suspecting that it wasn't a 'little' love hole anymore.

The day followed the now established pattern and an hour after the others had gone upstairs that evening Otis again appeared saying, "Come on cocksucker, time for your treat - I bet you've been looking forward to this all day." I followed him upstairs and as he stretched out awaiting my ministrations, he advised, "Different hole, different flavour - let's see if you can tell the difference."

I proceeded to do what he wanted and only slowly began to realise that the cries of passion from the adjoining bedroom sounded even louder than the previous night. Catching me listening Otis said, "You do realise that she's bound to get knocked up by Gangsta or me?" Now here he was wrong and I couldn't help pointing out that Claire was safely on the pill. "If you mean the ones in the bathroom cabinet she isn't," he told me smugly, "I'd already flushed them down the bog before you turned up."

The following day, not wanting to again start badly, I didn't mention the pills to my wife and subsequently no suitable moment ever seemed to present itself. When night came the three had no sooner retired than Otis was back and he was fuming. He grabbed some of my surviving liquor, flung himself on the settee, took a large gulp and complained, "The bastard wants her completely for himself. He hasn't liked sharing almost from the beginning and now he doesn't even want me watching. I wish I knew where he's put the fucking gun - it'd be a different story if I did."

This information set me thinking. Going off porn films, when Claire was with the two black men I'd always visualised her sucking one while the other was screwing her but now it seemed this might not have been the case. I'd never asked anyone exactly what happened when she was with them but now I said, "Does that mean you always take turns separately?"

"We do unless she wants us both up her at the same time. Gangsta's too big so I always have use the back way. In the beginning we did it to her that way - it sent her really crazy and since then she asks for it like that." - I only realised it was a mistake to talk sex when he threw me the handcuff key saying, "You might as well come over here and start sucking while I finish this bottle." With that job done I expected to be left downstairs but was again taken upstairs and had to perform an encore. This time he fell fast asleep the moment he ejaculated and that gave me an idea how we might escape the ordeal.

Next day in a moment alone with Claire I asked, "When you and Gangsta have..er..finished for the night, how soundly does he sleep?" She told me 'like a log' and that was just what I wanted to hear. I then asked if she was restrained at all or would it be possible for her to get out onto the landing. To my joy she said she'd always been free but hadn't wanted to be caught wandering about. I told her my plan and she agreed to wait for my signal that night.

As Gangsta had suspected, I did have a fully charged mobile that hadn't been discovered (I'd bought a new one to take on holiday). That night Otis again came down to be serviced sitting on the settee but there was not enough whiskey left for my purpose so during the second blow-job upstairs I had to do some stuff I'm not even going to mention, to ensure he was sufficiently tired. The moment I was sure he was asleep, I cut through my ankle tether with the knife, slipped downstairs to retrieve my hidden mobile and crept back up. Peeping in the other bedroom I found Gangsta and Claire both lying naked on what used to be 'our' bed.

She was on her back watching the door but he was lying face down with his great arm stretched across her. As she started to slowly extricate herself, I went back to the landing, grabbed the hooked stick (used to reach the retractable loft ladder) and waited tensely for her to appear. It was a nerve wracking two or three minutes before I was able to pull down the ladder from the ceiling and hold it as she scampered up. I followed as fast as could but the ladder was very noisy and as the ladder was coming back up, Otis appeared. Had he not paused to shout warning of our escape we would have been caught us but fortunately his reaching fingers just missed grasping the bottom rung.

It was pitch black up there but it helped when they switched on the landing light as chinks of light shining up allowed some vision, once our eyes had adjusted. I told my wife to get off to the side in case they decided to fire the gun but I lay on the ladder (using my body as a counterweight) in case they found some means to pull it down. It was Claire who rang the police to say we were being held prisoner by the two killers.

Twenty minutes later we heard a loudhailer saying, "You are surrounded by armed police, throw out you weapons and walk out with your hands in the air." We rather expected defiant gunfire but instead a few moments later the same voice ordered, "Lie on the ground now with your arms and legs spread."

"Those bastards are going to suffer now when we say what they've put us through," I said, my long suppressed anger bursting forth.

"Were not going to say anything in fact we'll say that apart from your blow on the head, they've treated us very well," my wife told me firmly. I was about to accuse her of going soft on them because of the sex but before I could speak she explained, "They're both killers. They're both going to go to prison for a very long time anyway and what happened here isn't going to make a blind bit of difference. If we tell what's happened it'll be on the front page of every newspaper for days, everybody will know, our folks, neighbours, all our colleagues and everybody who knows us - and it's the kind of thing that gets remembered for years. Can you stand all the sympathy, the questions and just looks that are bound to come? Love, isn't better just to keep it as our secret?" Put that way I had to agree with her.

About ten minutes later, a male on the landing below called up to identified himself as police and say that it was safe for us to come down. My wife threw her arms fiercely around me and said, "It's finally over." Gripping her tightly I echoed her words back but even at that moment I seemed to remember someone saying something about a fat lady singing.

***

We were taken to a hotel. That night, in bed together for the first time for seventeen days, we lay awkwardly side by side until Claire said softly, "Make love to me." It was very gentle but despite that I didn't last very long at all. That didn't seem to matter and we fell asleep in each others arms. Over the next few days, still at the hotel, we faced very intensive questioning from detectives and counsellors. They pointed out repeatedly that neither the physical evidence nor well established behaviour patterns supported our account but we stuck to our story. Initially there was a lot of innuendo and speculation in the papers but when nothing emerged to confirm it, our captivity rapidly lost interest as a news item.

Back home we tried some half hearted decorating for a few days but then went on our pre-booked break in the sun. That short relaxing period away from it all allowed us to heal, (I don't think either of us once referred back to that dreadful week), but Claire was nursing a worry. Within hours of getting back home she sat us down and bluntly reported that her period was late. I told her it was only to be expected, pointing out that her metabolism was bound to be disturbed and saying that mine certainly was. For a moment she seemed to go along with this clutching at straws but then gave the additional information that for the previous two days she'd been slightly sick in the morning. Two testing kits from the chemist confirmed that she was pregnant.

"There's an outside chance it might be yours," she said.

"But realistically?"

"Realistically I think it's Gangsta's. Otis did cum in my vagina loads of times but he liked fucking either my mouth or my bum better. Gangsta only ever did it the proper way - his cock was so big I could only manage to lick it."

I could roughly guess about her birth pills so didn't ask but Claire felt the need to explain, "I forgot to pack them when we set out for the adventure holiday but I didn't think it really mattered. Although it was theoretically safe time, the slight risk helped keep me on the straight and narrow while we were there and heading back I intended to take one as soon as we got home. I knew it wouldn't act immediately but we'd talked about starting a family so I was prepared to take the chance with you. After they caught us, the first time I was allowed to use the bathroom I dashed straight to the cabinet but they weren't there." She gave an ironic laugh and added, "You know, since then I'd managed to convince myself that all that sex actually reduced the risk because of the saying about plants not growing on a well trodden path."

I think we must have stopped talking then because I know it was late in the evening when she said suddenly, "I'm not going to have and abortion." There was a short pause but before I could speak she went on, "I've always hated abortion and now I know why. I can't bear the thought of killing a child that just might be ours and even if it's just mine there's no difference." With a hug I told her that it wasn't a problem, pointing out that we would just wait for the birth and then put the baby up for adoption if it wasn't white. Claire didn't disagree and that's how it was left.

We tried to get on with life with us both going back to our respective schools when the new term started after the summer holidays. When Claire began to show we were careful to claim that the pregnancy was a month less advanced so that people wouldn't jump to the wrong (right) conclusion. It was a strange feeling watching her body change and accompanying her to pre-natal classes with the knowledge that the child she was carrying almost certainly wasn't mine.

It was during the month before Xmas that my wife dropped the bombshell, emotionally telling me that she didn't want the baby to be adopted. I tried to talk her out of it by pointing out all the potential problems we'd face with a mixed race child but she was immovable. My only choice was to either leave the marriage or find a way to cope and I loved her too much to even consider the former.

I omitted to mention that at their trial both Gangsta and Otis were given life with the recommendation that they serve a minimum of thirty-five years. We received the substantial reward that had been offered for their arrest and conviction and this, combined with money from the Criminal Injuries Board to compensate for the stress of our captivity, gave us a very decent nest egg. This cash greatly extended my options. Claire stopped work at the end of that term; I put in my notice to quit at the Easter break and immediately started searching for an equivalent position at a school as far as possible from where we were living.

With a month to go Claire went to stay with her parents (they had been let in on the secret) and I left the school two weeks early to join her. I was at the birth and there was a definite gasp of surprise from those present when the baby appeared. A young nurse standing near smiled at me and said we must be newlyweds and I foolishly told her proudly that we'd been married for almost eight years - I'll never forget the smirk that she couldn't keep from her face. It was a baby girl and we called her Lucy.

We had bought a place to live close to my new school. It was a large elegant Victorian terrace house but situated in an area that had once seen far better days. No one could deny that it was inferior to our old home but as I would only start work after the summer holidays, I had a full term of leisure to make it a nice place to live. There were the inevitable broken nights and the unpleasantness of nappy changing but the process of having contact with Lucy all day every day caused me to grow fond of her, despite myself - I actually think some bond was formed as I watched her emergence into the world.

There was an impressive shopping centre nearby. On two floors, it had a massive central ground floor mall with arcades and staircases seeming to radiate off in all directions. I was fascinated by the place. Only fifteen minutes away on foot, unless we planned a heavy shop it was easier to walk than drive by car and have the hassle of parking. So for our daily exercise to get out of the house we got into the habit of alternating between the mall and a nearby park.

Early in this tale I described how men found excuse to initiate conversation with Claire, not just when we were socialising but anywhere when we were out and about. Now that she was pushing a black baby they walked straight past as if she didn't exist - or at least the white men did. With blacks it was the opposite. Even those black males that didn't try to talk to her walked past winking, giving a high five sign or making a clicking noise with their tongues. I had hardly been aware of ethnicity where we used to live but now there seemed to be an inordinate number of young black men, particularly at the mall.

Large numbers did stop, (on the pretence of admiring the baby) and Claire showed no reluctance to talk to them. When it was an odd individual I did make some contribution to the conversation but when two or more clustered round her I soon began to feel like a spare part. When this happened I tended to take the buggy to a nearby seat and wait until she rejoined me. On one occasion a tall guy in Rastafarian gear sprawled down beside me and in broad Caribbean patois remarked pleasantly, "Yo baby muvver sure dropped wun fine black chile." Sticking to the lie, I told him that Lucy was adopted at which he laughed and said, "Sure dude I believe ya - aint dat jus wot all de whitey husbans say?"

After these encounters Claire always returned home buoyant, glowing and talking animatedly about what had been said to her. Later in bed, often she would almost rape me but on other occasions she pushed me away saying 'I just don't want to' and this kind of mood could last for more than the one day. It was a rougher school with the pupils far less motivated and I didn't particularly enjoy it but apart from that my home life was good. Even so by March, after two terms, I was anxious to move on but when I broached the subject my wife said, "I like it here, can't we at least wait until it's time for Lucy to start school.

When school broke up for the summer holidays I'd completed a year and by the return after the long break, Lucy was coming up to being eighteen months old. She was turning into a delightful little girl and one day, while watching her toddling around, I realised that I really loved her. I actually congratulated myself on the fact that we seemed to have nicely overcome that traumatic part of our past but only two days later that illusion was shattered.