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Kidnapped, bound and forced into sexual slavery, a young wife gives up hope and surrenders to their demands, while her policeman husband searches desperately to find her. Violent explicit scenes of degradation and punishment.

CHAPTER FOUR
Dodging her flailing arms and legs, ignoring the tiny fists that
pounded and beat with a steady staccato rhythm at their shoulders,
arms, and chest, the three young boys carried the screaming
policeman's wife to the one-room cabin. Jim took command of `Operation
Wife Bait`, as he called it.
`All right, you guys,` he commanded with a jerk of his blonde head,
`Clear off that mattress and put down a blanket. We're gonna keep our
little pigeon here as comfortable as possible.` He stood with his
hands on his lithe hips, his delicate features angling severely as he
spat out the orders.
Kathy stared at him, a bewildered expression clouding her otherwise
sharp features. `What are you doing?` she asked softly, trying to
appeal to his sense of better judgment. Her arms ached from the
handcuffs and her wrist burned in the vise-like grip of the steel
bands. Confusedly, she stared down at the handcuffs, raising her
wrists to eye level. `What do you want of me? I-I don't understand!
You're all so young! You should be out playing football or chasing
girls, not kidnapping a twenty-eight year old married woman.`
Suddenly the fear she'd felt riding the motorcycle rushed back to
clutch at her, sending a shiver and chill through her whole body. She
shuddered, her shoulders trembling. It was so ridiculous, funny
almost. It seemed like an eternity since she'd gotten up that morning
drank her coffee, retrieved the newspaper from its brambled burial
ground – all her routine, day-to-day activities that kept her alive,
identified her as Kathy McGuire wife of Art McGuire.
Now, somehow, that had all been swept away from her, like driftwood
carried away from the shoreline by an ebbing tide. She stared down at
the prim pink sundress she wore; it was as if she had never seen it
before. The sandals, too, the pink toe nails – they all belonged to
another person someone foreign but certainly not Kathy McGuire.
She stared again at Jim, her own blue eyes penetrating his cold,
steely ones. A cry of pure terror welled up in her throat, only to be
strangled there. He was about eighteen years old she guessed, but a
glint in his eyes told her that his experience was more than that.
This boy, this delicate featured boy, with his aristocratic hands and
aquiline nose looked like a young czar, a prince… a militant boy in
command. With his erect posture and thrown-back shoulders, he carried
a presence about him not to be denied, Kathy could tell by the way the
other boys were waiting, staring mesmerically at their blonde haired
friend, that he was the leader, indisputably. But he was so young! He
hadn't even started shaving yet!
`Okay, take off her handcuffs!` boomed Jim, turning to point to Mark,
who started fumbling in his pockets, pulling out the lining so the key
could rattle free. Jim grimaced, but bent to pick it up. `Be more
careful next time,` he warned, handing the key to Mark then indicating
with a jerk of his head in Kathy's direction.
Her hands free, Kathy shook her wrists, trying to get the circulation
back in her favor. Like lead, her wrists felt heavy and weak; she
rubbed them with her fingertips.
`Jim, how we gonna keep her from runnin' away?` Robert wanted to
know, watching the cop's beautiful wife massaging her own flesh.
`Running away?` Kathy wrinkled up her nose, eyeing the door. Maybe
she should try to run, but in her heeled sandals she'd be no match for
this eighteen year-old sprinter. `What do you want of me?` she asked
for the hundredth time. `Please, if it's money you want, I'd be happy
to pay you. That's all I can offer you.`
`That's what you think!` countered Jim, with a salacious grin,
running his tongue over his lips. `Yeah,` he said with a careless
ease, `I think she's gonna serve our purposes just right. Your ol' man
is gonna be pretty busy keepin' his eye on all the bare-breasted
chicks chasin' after the dopers,` he guffawed. `You think he cares
enough about you to come looking for you?`
`Of course he does!` spat Kathy with a defiant jerk of her head, to
spring her thick hair loose of her forehead. `He'll find you kids all
right. And don't go making any slurring remarks about Art. He's a
darned good husband,` she pouted, her lips in a tight line as she
glared back at her young captor.
`Listen, by the time he finds you, the marijuana is gonna be hidden
away, tighter'n a drum. He'll never find it.`
The room was silent, except for a mouse scratching its way free of a
rumple of newspaper, yellow and water smeared. Mark and Robert stared
at each other, waiting, wondering who would be the victor in this test
of mental stamina.
`Okay, boys, ready for step number two of 'Operation Wife Bait'?` On
signal, Robert opened a suitcase and drew out the rope.
`What… are you boys going to do to me?` chanted Kathy, watching with
saucered eyes as the young freckle-faced boy approached her, all the
while testing the strength of the rope, jerking it hard. Satisfied, he
handed it to Jim, then stepped back and waited for the next command.
`Now why don't you just have a seat down here on the bed,` said the
leader sweetly, with innocence.
`No!`
`I said get on the bed!` screamed Jim, pointing with his delicate
index finger. `You get this straight now, you bitch! I am the leader
here, and you follow my orders. Is that clear?` He might have been a
Sergeant in the Army, or a Captain in the Navy judging from the way he
ordered and commanded, with no protests.
Staring him in the eye, wondering what kind of child monster he was,
Kathy obeyed, sitting down on the bed, her eyes never leaving the
steely gray orbs that belonged to her captor.
`Okay, boys, now get the whiskey.`
`No!` she screamed again, kicking her heels into the dusty rotting
floor, making a hole in the weathered wood. She leaned back on her
hands and screamed as a hand flew over her mouth, and she yelled,
`Nooooo!` And then the neck of a foul-smelling bottle was forced into
her mouth, bruising her lips; she gagged on some of the burning liquid
and felt it searing its way all the way down her throat and stomach.
The bottle was pulled from her mouth, and Kathy fought for her breath
almost gagging and vomiting as the raw whiskey hit her empty stomach
and sensitive nervous system all at once. She opened her mouth to
speak again and the neck of the bottle was brutally rammed into her
mouth. Again the fiery liquid gurgled down the back of her throat and
tears came to her eyes as she choked.
`Get the grass!` Jim commanded, and everyone laughed. For the first
time, Kathy smelled an odor in the air, an odor she had never smelled
before. So that's what it was that made these boys, these innocent
little boys act like they were grown up criminals with heats of steel!
She'd read Art's manuals on the detection and behavior of drug
influence, and words like `paranoia`, `fantasy`, and `schizophrenia`
had never been real, until now. It explained their behavior.
Choking, gagging, her breasts heaving for breath, they continued to
force feed her, the whiskey spilling over her chin and neck and
soaking the flimsy material of her cotton sundress so that it clung to
her flesh and revealed her deliciously full breasts. She struggled
feebly, unable to focus her fear, forgetting to cry out as she felt
every nerve in her body tingling and a wildly soothing feeling coming
over her brain. She even managed a wry smile, figuring she would soon
be able to talk the children out of this stupid prank.
Her reasoning was further confused as Jim knelt over her with a
lighted cigarette in his hand. He forced it between Kathy's lips.
`Suck!` he ordered.
`Yeah, suck!` said one of the boys. Jim stared hard at Robert who had
caused the outburst and frowned, letting the blushing boy know there
was one and only one leader of this gang.
Kathy obediently took a drag on the cigarette, feeling the smoke to
be heavily pungent and sickly sweet. She blew the smoke out.
`Hold your breath!` someone said. Was that brutal voice really an
eighteen year old's?
She turned and tried to see who was speaking but couldn't focus her
eyes. The rough, brown papered cigarette was forced on her again. This
time it was Mark, crouching near her. `Take a drag and hold in your
breath.`