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Hostage (Martin Hughes)

Hostage by Martin Hughes

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    • Average 3.8 from 5 ratings

The beautiful wife of a British army officer is kidnapped and sold to a terrorist group to suffer public humiliation and pain.

Rowena little suspects that ending an affair will give her lover's parents an excuse to abduct and enslave her. And what an enslavement -- she is soon sent off to Hostage Battalion, a slave camp full of sadistic Commandants and human shields who have no rights, only duties... And then it gets worse!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 1 / 2011

No. words: 33600

Style: Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Rowena struggled home in the rain with heavy bags of shopping, musing that it was not a good day but, if only she had known, this would be the best part; her day was about to get infinitely worse.
She knew she was a beautiful blonde; her husband often told her. It also made her shiver with forbidden and guilty delight at the recollection of her lover breathing similar platitudes in her ear as she writhed in his arms. That was before she had dumped him a couple of months ago when he got too clinging. He was, after all, a friend of Paul’s and there was always the delicious but disastrous danger of his finding out, of her cosy world falling apart.
Now, though, she was in boring housewife mode. A long white raincoat covered both her customary short skirt, which normally emphasised her long legs and pert bottom and the pink jumper that moulded round her shapely breasts. Frequent gym workouts ensured that at twenty five she still had looks and a body to die for. She lugged the shopping down the road towards a bus stop, cursing the failure of her car to start that morning and the heavy rain that had possibly contributed towards it.
A car pulled up beside Rowena and a grey-haired, bespectacled woman gestured from the passenger window. “Oh, you must be soaking, dear, can we give you a lift home? We live in your direction.”
Instinctively Rowena shook her head, smiling politely. She never accepted lifts from strangers her Mother’s words of warning still rang in her ears from many years ago.
“Are you sure, dear? You’ll get so wet. We could at least drop you a bit nearer your home on our way past,” the woman persisted. “I do believe we’ve met somewhere before.” She smiled reassuringly. ”You’re Roberta, no - Rowena, isn’t it? Our son works with your husband at the barracks. I think we must have met at a do some time.”
Rowena’s attitude softened; the couple were middle-aged, obviously harmless and after all this was a main road and it was broad daylight. She had probably listened to too many cautionary tales from Paul’s soldier world, especially in today’s terrorist orientated environment. Although she didn’t recognise them, they seemed to know her husband and they said that their son also worked in the army. Just as she teetered around the fateful decision, the rain intensified, a trickle somehow finding its way uncomfortably under her collar and down her back.
I go“Well …” she hesitated, her caution and anxiety ebbing to be replaced with gratitude, “if you’re sure it’s no trouble, it is a bit wet, but I don’t want to put you to any …”
“Nonsense, my dear, it’s no trouble at all and you’ll only catch your death otherwise,” The woman beamed, stepping from the car with considerable agility to open the single door, folding the front seat forward for her, then helping with the shopping bags. As she stooped to get in the car, Rowena smiled her gratitude at the grey-haired man behind the wheel. She didn’t recognise him either but they both seemed ordinary enough, probably somewhere in their fifties or sixties. The alarm bells ought to have rung in her head when, unusually, the woman eased herself into the back seat alongside her, politely forcing her to edge across the seat behind the driver.
“Don’t want to squash you or your shopping. The front seat sometimes shifts back of its own accord,” she chuckled, removing Rowena’s doubts.
She was content to be squashed up when at least she was dry and avoiding either a walk or a bus ride – neither of which overly appealed.
“What a day, “ Rowena exclaimed in an effort to make light conversation. “The rain wasn’t forecast till later, I’m really so …”
“Would you put these on, dear?” the woman interrupted her as the car pulled away, her voice soft like treacle, yet also insistent.
“What? Sorry?” Rowena failed to see any relevance for the large pair of glasses that the woman held towards her. She remained holding her shopping bags to prevent them tumbling onto the floor.
“Please, dear, don’t make this difficult. If you don’t do exactly as you’re told I’m afraid this will hurt you more than you can imagine.” In her other hand the woman held a large bolt gun of the type Rowena vaguely associated with vets’ humane killing of animals.
“Please, I don’t understand …” Only now was Rowena’s mouth going dry with the fear she should have felt earlier yet she was still half-convinced it was some kind of joke that she was suddenly going to fall into with a hearty, if forced, laugh.
“You don’t have to understand, child, just imagine the effect of this,” the woman pushed the bolt gun against her ribs, “smashing into you. I think it would probably puncture a few things inside and possibly damage you permanently if I just squeeze this trigger.” The woman’s eyes seemed to grow larger behind her small pebble glasses.
“Please, what? Why? I can get out here, thanks,” Rowena dropped her shopping bag, trying instinctively to grasp the door handle past the driver, but it was out of her reach. Her other hand was trying to push the cold bolt gun away. Her mind tumbled in a void, trying to seek the sanctuary of normality.
“I shall get annoyed if you’re a silly girl.” The woman’s voice was lower yet firmer, as was the hand closing on her own, the bolt gun pushing even harder against her. “One more word from you, or a move, or even a jolt from the car and this thing might go off.” She smiled grimly. “Then what would you do? Now put them on like a good girl and don’t even think about taking them off.”
“But! Oh ow!” Rowena gasped as the cold metal was thrust painfully hard against her, probably giving her a bruise, she guessed.
“Oh dear, I so nearly pulled the trigger then; it’s very old and hasn’t been used properly since my husband was a vet’s assistant, quite likely to go off of its own accord,” the woman threatened. “Please be careful; just put them on like a good girl.” She dropped the glasses onto Rowena’s lap.
With hands that trembled, Rowena hooked the glasses behind her ears, only then realising with a start that although they looked outwardly normal, black tape stuck to the inside lens prevented her seeing anything. Being a wrap-around style, the glasses totally obscured all vision. Transparent tape stuck to the arms held them firmly in place.
She licked her lips nervously in vulnerable darkness as she felt the woman stick more plaster to the arms and under her hair. Outwardly she would look so normal, if perhaps unseasonable, considering the gloomy summer rain, in sunglasses, the fixing was practically invisible. Anyone seeing her in the car would probably not even recognise her, maybe taking her to be a blind woman. Panic surged in again.
“Please, I’ve got money, take it and ... aaghh,” she gasped as the cold metal of the bolt pushed even harder against her side.
“I won’t tell you again,” the woman warned, almost sweetly, “ I thought it really was going off then – that would put so much blood on the car seat. But if you want to stop that happening, I would like you to slip your arms out of your raincoat, very slowly and carefully so the trigger doesn’t accidentally go off. Then turn away from me a little, please, dear, and put both your wrists behind you under the coat.”
Her shoulders slumping in defeat, belly and bowels churning with fear, Rowena blindly obeyed, feeling the cold, hard kiss of handcuffs painfully snapping on her shaking wrists and confining them behind her, adding to her terrible feelings of helpless vulnerability. What did they want?
“There, that takes care of you doing anything silly.” The voice was triumphant.
“Is she secure?” It was the first time the driver had spoken.
“Oh yes, our little Rowena isn’t going anywhere. “ But the woman nevertheless confirmed her bondage by squeezing the cuffs on a further notch. “She’s with us now,” she breathed, pulling her closer.
“Ouch!” Rowena gasped from the pain and cruel confinement, which would probably cut off the circulation to fingers already feeling numb. “I don’t know who you are but please, please don’t hurt me; I’ll-I’ll do anything. But I-I must get home – my children.” Her brain, further jolted from the fact that these people seemed to know her, remembered that her young son and daughter, Tony and Sarah, would be home from school in an hour or so, with their part-time nanny – and expecting her. “Please,” she wailed, wriggling with even greater discomfort then clamped her legs together as the woman’s hand dropped to her lap gently stroking her thigh as if she was a lover.
“Stop fidgeting!” The woman lightly slapped the enticing swelling of Rowena’s bottom, which was perched on the edge of the seat, as if she were a child. Her smooth flesh twitched as fingers slid slightly under her short skirt. “A call will be made shortly to your husband telling him that you will not be home. The gentleman who rings will explain that you and he are unexpectedly going away for a while.”
“But please, I’m not … you can’t! Paul won’t know, he’ll, he’ll think, think I’ve l-left him, that - that there’s another man!” She sobbed in fear and frustration at the implications and injustice. True, she had enjoyed a fling but had dumped her lover and now she had nothing to hide. No one would know what had happened to her now. Various terrifying thoughts flashed through her mind. Were they really planning to kidnap her? Did they want a ransom? “Look, please, let me talk to …”
“Oh, I think you’ve done enough ‘talking’ and more – but not just to beloved Paul, eh pet?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” she quaked, wishing she could at least tear the woman’s damn hand from her leg so she was not sickened at the intimate touch and could try to concentrate better on her predicament.
“Oh I mean your fling with Simon, my dear.“ The woman was patronising again. “Dear Paul or your children didn’t matter then, did they, eh?”
“How do you…? But that’s, that was nothing …”
“Oh but it is – you see, my name’s Maureen, this is Bill. I don’t know if Simon ever mentioned us, we’re his parents.” She stopped as Rowena went rigid as she assimilated the terrible news. “Of course he’s only a warrant officer, whilst Paul is a regal major, a bit below your status, I suppose. He was devastated when you discarded him.” The voice was now bitter. “And now he’s nothing in your book, is he, you little slut?”
“Hah,” Rowena gasped as the fingers thrust between her legs and cruelly pinched the soft flesh at the top of her inner thigh. Uselessly she tugged against the hard metal of the handcuffs until the skin on her wrists nearly tore. It was no good, she realised she was helpless and totally at the woman’s mercy. “Please, I can explain,” her voice quavered, knowing she couldn’t and sensing she was in trouble, recognising the controlled, sadistic rage now paramount in her abductor’s voice.
“No explanations, no more talking, in fact …”
“Stop, please, no!” Rowena struggled in shock, outrage and fear as the woman’s marauding hands suddenly slid higher under her skirt to grab her panties, lifted her hip and began tugging the tiny garment down. Desperately she kicked and squirmed. She’d always hated anyone, even Paul, undressing her completely, always preferring to keep control by removing her own such intimate articles- albeit sometimes wishing they wouldn’t desist from trying so easily.
“Stop it, you little cow, stop wriggling or I’ll really lose my temper,” the woman hissed, one hand brutally tugging Rowena’s long hair.
“Haaah!” Her eyes screwed shut, tears of pain squeezing from under her sunglasses as the fist bunched in her hair, jerking her head back and forth. “All right, please,” she sobbed, again uselessly and painfully tugging at her pinioned wrists but quite incapable of preventing the woman doing whatever she wanted.
Maureen relaxed her grip on the long tresses as the blonde ceased struggling and allowed her to tug down the tiny wispy apology for panties. She couldn’t prevent the quickening of her breath as she cupped the firmness of the bottom through the thin material, fingers delving into the elasticised waistband as she slid the warm silk off the smooth curves. Deliberately her fingers briefly brushed the blonde’s hidden folds, feeling the secret heat there.
She became aware of her husband watching her avidly in the rear view mirror as he drove them to the secluded holiday home they had rented for this purpose. She smiled at him as she deliberately, triumphantly, slid the garment slowly down their prisoner’s long, shapely limbs, flicking up her skirt, hoping to give him a flash of Rowena’s hairy nest. He would have an opportunity later to enjoy that. As the girl wriggled helplessly, deliciously, she felt her liking for female flesh, a trait hidden under her bi-sexual nature for much of her married life, rise to the fore again.
The power she had over the lovely girl and the knowledge of a well-laid plan coming to fruition also made her feel good inside. It had been so easy for her husband to pour the sugar into their victim’s petrol tank in the early hours of the morning to ensure she would catch a bus on such a wet day. Now the girl who had treated their son so badly was theirs for the moment and she experienced a warm glow of sadistic delight at the thought.
Luckily, Rowena’s blacked out glasses prevented seeing her captor’s evil smile, or the way the woman licked her lips as she balled the panties in her hand whilst regarding her helpless and bound form.
“Mouth open - wider,” Maureen instructed, “or shall I pinch your little nips until you open up to scream?”


This book is very good, but a lot like his other books. 4 out of 5 (Chicago)

Author Information

Martin Hughes has published dozens of bestselling novels of capture and B/D humiliation. His stories are strong and relentless.


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Publishers of non-adult and adult fiction. Authors, experienced and new are welcome. We have a number of different sites for various genres.

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