Chapter 1

The big man, the one Sophie McNeville knew only as "Al", grunted deeply three times. Once for each mighty thrust as he rammed his cock hard into her tight, bruised, cunt and came deep inside her.

Al's pounding crushed the petite woman hard against the lumpy old mattress on the queen-sized metal-framed bed to which she was fastened. The light chain locked around her neck didn't prevent her moving on and around the bed but limited her to an area of a few paces beyond the bed frame. As his ejaculations dwindled he let his full weight pin her down. Sophie was sore, bruised, and breathless. Her nipples hurt. The hairs on Al's chest and belly were scratchy against her face and naked body. His ponderous weight was suffocating. She gave a sigh of relief as she felt Al's thick cock soften and he began to ease out of her. She unwrapped her legs from around his torso and tried to relax. She ached. She had lost count of the number of times she had been raped and abused by Al and his associates. Al grunted again as he rolled off Sophie and reached for the cigarettes and lighter he had placed on the crate that served as a bedside table.

"You're getting really good at faking it, Mrs McNeville," he said in his quiet voice. He lit a cigarette. " More subtle. I could have sworn you climaxed just before I came."

She had. In fact she climaxed frequently when they fucked her. They couldn't know that. Al had insisted she put on a show, so she did. Head back, legs raised, breasts fondled, nipples tweaked, hips grinding, lots of "Oh mi gods ... oooh ... don't stop..." Her quiet, genuine, orgasms got overlooked in the theatrical performance. The pretense was the result of the offer she had made to the rapists on the first night. The offer had been a vain attempt to keep the predators from ravishing her daughter, Priscilla, who had just turned eighteen. Al held her to the promise, mostly the others didn't care.

The abduction of the McNevilles had been carefully planned, Sophie now realized. Someone had known their intention to spend two weeks in an exclusive health resort. The holiday had been arranged by her husband and it was the first since their wedding two years ago. As they waited for their transport, Trevor considered the way his step-daughter was growing. She was a younger edition of her very attractive mother. These days he often fantasized about slipping into her room and ... His cock stirred at a forbidden thought. He coughed and adjusted his pants. "You two could be mistaken for twins," he said. It wasn't an exaggeration. Sophie and her teen-age daughter were dressed alike in button-down-the-front tailored linen dresses and both wore identical straw hats on their tight blonde curls. They were the same long legged five foot four and from a distance the age difference was not noticeable.

The family had assumed the white limousine that collected them from their house on the outskirts of the city was the hire-car they were expecting from the resort. They were only disabused of the idea when, after twenty minutes, the vehicle pulled into an old truck stop and they were ordered out of the limousine. Two young men were standing ready to receive them at the side of a windowless van. The women were handcuffed so quickly that they had no time to even think of trying to resist. At first they were more puzzled than frightened.

Trevor McNeville had protested noisily but had shut up when the smallest of the three assailants produced a revolver and pointed it at Trevor's head. Trevor's thin body shook with rage and frustration as the limmo driver— the biggest man of the group of three—man-handled Sophie and Priscilla into the van. Sophie thought all three assailants were in the late twenties early thirties, athletic, clean cut, conservatively dressed in slacks and tee shirts. None were wearing the traditional kidnappers' balaclava. The men were excited but methodical and confident in their actions. Sophie had the impression that they had done this before.

It was also clear to Sophie from the start that the women were the main target. The big man who had driven the limmo heaved their suitcases into the van then assisted Priscilla into the dark interior. He slid his left hand up her dress and stroked the front of her panties. He pushed the silk material into her tight pussy. She began to cry. Then it was Sophie's turn to be helped into the van. He fondled Sophie's breasts as he sat her down on the pile of bags and boxes that half filled the back of the van. He told her she had nice tits and that he—"call me Al"—looked forward to seeing them, "In the flesh, as it were." Then he left the women. He closed the sliding door of the van as he went. Sophie heard the limmo start up and drive away.

Sophie tried to commit Al's description to memory. She rehearsed in her mind what she would say to the police, if she ever got the chance. Tall, about six foot three, close-cropped black hair, grey eyes, strong chin, heavy build but athletic. Large hands with neatly manicured nails. Quiet educated accent. Dressed in white shirt, black tie, cotton slacks, polished shoes and wearing a chauffeur's hat, she thought. She was pleased she hadn't panicked.

She said to Priscilla, "Don't worry dear. Don't cry. I'm sure Trevor will sort things out. They probably just want money and he's insured." Although I'm afraid your pretty young body, your big blue eyes and your blonde curls may prove too much of a temptation to Al the groper and his buddies, she thought. The teenager said nothing.

Sophie strained to hear what was going on outside the van. She heard one of the men say, "But we don't want a ransom, Trevor. So don't keep offering to pay if we let you go."

Trevor's reply was too quiet to hear.

"Hands behind your back. That's good."

Sophie could hear Trevor's voice, high-pitched and tremulous pleading with the men. His words were cut short and another, harsher, voice said."You don't get it do you, Trevor? We don't want your fucking hot money. Just a chat, your labor and the use of your lovely young wife and step-daughter for a while." The door slid open and Trevor was bundled into the van. His hands were cuffed behind his back. His thin brown hair was ruffled and his glasses were askew on his thin bony nose. He looked gray and ten years older than his forty two years.

The kidnapper who had threatened Trevor with a revolver leaned through the door.

"Make yourselves comfortable. We have a long drive after we pick up Al and before your new life begins," he said, with a cruel laugh. He closed the door leaving the three McNevilles in darkness.

Al stubbed out his cigarette in the sand-filled tin ashtray and turned to his diminutive bed-mate.

"Time for one last fuck, Mrs McNeville. Get to it."

Sophie sighed inwardly and reached for the big man's thick flaccid cock with one hand and his hairy heavily-weighted scrotum with the other. As she massaged Al's still slimy prong she whispered, "What do you mean, 'one last fuck', Al?"

"The holiday is over. In the morning we leave this place. Go back to our jobs, to our wives and families. Return to the 'Real World'. Respectability. You and Priscilla and Trevor become mere memories. This year's escapade. Another adventure into unbridled lust and crime successfully concluded. So one last fuck before I get some shut eye is what I mean. What did you think I meant?"

Sophie felt his thick cock start to grow in her hand. You know what I meant. Are you going to kill me now or hand me to the executioners later? she thought.

"What happens to us? " she said. "Do Ben and Doug take us into the forest or do you drop us into the lake wrapped in chains? You hinted at another solution. Can you save us?"

"Rub it on your cunt, Mrs McNeville. Up and down your tender twat. You like that, don't you?"

Sophie did, and despised herself for doing so. She turned towards Al and used his thick and growing erection to stroke her overstimulated sex and excite her tender clitoris. Al grunted with satisfaction. She still had no real idea who he was. He always called her "Mrs McNeville" no matter what perverse sexual act he was forcing her to perform. She thought he was a professional. Perhaps they were all part of some sort of government security agency. That could account for their confidence that they could get away with abduction, rape and probably murder.

As she felt Al's penis stiffen once again, she moaned in affected ecstacy and spread her legs ready for his inevitable penetration.

The journey to their unknown destination had taken several hours. The van stopped after twenty minutes or so to pick up Al from the hire firm where he rented the limmo. Conversation was difficult in the back of the van and Sophie soon tired of Priscilla's tearful forebodings and her husband's angry rants. The McNevilles were let out twice during the drive and uncuffed so they could relieve themselves. Once they were able to use a closed service station with a washroom still in working order and once they were led to the bushes behind a lay-by in the foothills. Their captors urinated along side them. Sophie observed that the three young men were well endowed—cocks gushing like fire-hoses, she thought—a fact they called attention to by mocking the size of Trevor's fear-shrunken member.

Priscilla's eyes were big and round. The pistol-carrying abductor waved his fat cock at her and asked the young woman if she wanted to suck it now. Priscilla blushed and looked at the ground. Trevor started to abuse the man and was slapped into silence.

The journey continued. The van's engine labored as the gradients became steeper. Sophie reckoned they were well into the mountains before they stopped. When the van finally arrived at their destination the sun was almost setting behind the surrounding peaks some still showing snow in their high gullies despite it being high summer. The setting sun painted a golden path across the still waters of a long narrow lake.

The van pulled into a shed that stood by a rickety looking jetty. A dusty ancient public telephone box leaned against the shed. An old wooden cabin cruiser was moored to the jetty. The engine was running. A fourth man climbed out of the boat and greeted them cheerfully. He had short dark hair and a spade beard. He wore jeans and a polo-necked sweater. Like the others he looked like a fit thirty year old.

"Let's see what you've got," he said as he helped the three captives out of the van.

"Very nice," he said as he examined Sophie and Priscilla. "Well spotted, Al. You were right, a mother-daughter combo for you, Ben and me—Charlie—and a playmate for Douglas. Right?"

A, B, C, and D, thought Sophie, wincing, as Charlie squeezed her tits and patted her bottom. Code names, not real. Priscilla gave a squeal when Charlie gave her the same treatment.

"Hey," said the smallest of the captors. "I'm not gay. Just because occasionally I..." He paused. "If I my memory serves me right, last year it was Charlie who taught the farmer's boy how to deep-throat and Ben who made him squeal like a piglet over his mother's knee."