38 comments/ 52653 views/ 23 favorites Ordeal By: Ordeal I was filled with joy and couldn't keep the smile off my face - I felt so happy to have her back that, even had she managed to stray, it no longer seemed important. Throughout the journey I chattered compulsively with lots of flattery and words of adoration mixed in but as we drew near to home I announced, "Only ten more miles and I'll have you in bed with me again." "I wouldn't bank on that," Claire said keeping a straight face, "Going without seems to have done you good - I've never known you quite so attentive. I think I might deny you for a few more days, just to keep you like that." "You're joking," I gasped, almost losing control of the car at the horror of the thought. My wife laughed. "Of course I'm joking - after being around Rory and Kirk all week; I bet I'm even hornier than you are." I said no more until parking in front of our house when I suggested that we should leave everything and dash straight up to the bedroom. "Think again, I am eager for sex but I'm not screwing you or anyone until I've had a nice cup of tea," Clair informed me, "Tell you what love, to save time, I'll run in and put the kettle on if you bring in all our stuff." So there I was in scene one, smiling wryly at the neat way my wife had conned me into humping both bags. I carried the holdalls into the hall, dropped them and went into the living room where I found I had walked in a very brief scene two. Claire was standing in the middle of the floor facing me with a terrified look on her face and behind her stood a very large bald headed black man. He had a muscular arm across her chest pinioning both arms and with his other hand he was holding a large black gun to her head - one of those vicious looking machine pistol types. Next moment I felt a terrible pain to the back of my head and as I fell into blackness, as if from a great distance, I heard a hoarse voice say, "You stupid cunt, what the fuck did you do that for?" When consciousness returned, there was still a severe throbbing pain in my head and I realised that I was still lying on the floor. Gingerly I tried to raise a hand to feel how much damage there was to my cranium but after only a couple of inches my arm was halted. Half opening my eyes to find the reason, I saw that I was wearing padded handcuffs and lower down there were constraints attached to both my ankles with the tethers knotted together. These had all come from the bedroom - two years earlier we experimented with light bondage but found it wasn't our thing. With a feeling of dread I looked towards the settee where Claire sat leaning forward and watching me anxiously. The man I'd seen before stood directly behind her and another younger black male was perched casually on the arm of the furniture. This one was mid twenties or less, also tall but with a slim limbo dancer physique while the larger of the two had to be late thirties, heavily built and at least 6' 4" tall. I couldn't see the gun. Seeing I was awake Claire jumped up and ran to crouch by me. Pretending to check a dressing on my head, she leaned close and whispered, "You know who they are don't you? Please don't do or say anything - don't even look at them funny. I'll try and get some ice for that swelling." At the banquet hotel we'd seen a newspaper with the headline 'Manhunt continues' and a supporting item that started, 'Police are still seeking the two black males who gunned down a policeman and also killed another black man'. Returning to the settee, instead of sitting, my wife walked behind, said something to the larger gunman and they both left in the direction of the kitchen. Five minutes later they returned with Claire carrying a tray holding four mugs. Our captors took one each; she put another on the side and then went to the liquor cabinet before bringing the tray to me. On it, as well as the mug she had put two Paracetamol tablets. "I'm afraid its coffee but I've put you some brandy in it," she said. I thought that was it but she went on to say a bit awkwardly, "In a while they're taking me upstairs to show them where we've hidden stuff." My heart sank even further at that news. I had a valuable collection of old gold coins inherited from my father. They were concealed under a loose floor board situated under the middle of the bed. I'd consoled myself that whatever else they stole they'd be unlikely to find the coins. When they went I think I must have drifted off because, when movement again alerted me, a glance at the clock showed that over an hour had passed. Claire was carrying some pillows and cushions which she dropped near me and then gently placed the promised pack of ice cubes on my head. "You've been a hell of a long time - what happened up there?" I asked. "They fucked me," my wife said bluntly but then added a bit harshly, "Please don't look like that, what else did you expect - at least we're not dead." There was a long pause during which neither of us moved and then she said in a far softer voice, "Look, I made a bit of a deal with them - I said I wouldn't struggle if they promised to let me make you more comfortable." At least on that they were good to their word. The handcuffs were reattached so that I was only held by my right wrist with the other cuff fixed to the input pipe of the radiator and although the constraints were left on my ankles, the tethers were untied allowing me far greater leg movement. My head had begun to ease, the pillows were certainly softer than the pine floorboards and all that was left to eat at me was the knowledge of what had occurred upstairs. Suddenly the large man (who I had gathered was called 'Gangsta') spoke to both of us saying, "I didn't want you here - we need to lay low and hoped the house would stay empty for a while. But you are here and you're a danger to us. We can't keep an eye on you 24/7 and I don't want you signalling out of the window or using a mobile we don't know about. You won't be hurt if you behave yourselves but the moment police arrive outside in force I'll top you both - we've nothing left to lose". Two hours passed with nothing much happening. They had the TV on and kept flicking from channel to channel looking for news bulletins. Claire just sat at one end of the settee, occasionally throwing me an encouraging smile but making no attempt to come near. Something was said and she went to the kitchen to prepare some food with the two intruders taking it in turns to wander in and watch her. Fortunately we always kept the deep freeze well stocked. It seemed that the two had made some inroads when they had the house to themselves but there was plenty left. After eating, some more or less static time passed. I'd become hot and very thirsty but Claire was allowed to keep me supplied with glasses of water. Around 9 p.m. after a visit to the kitchen, she came and crouched by me to say softly, "They want me to sleep upstairs. I've brought you a big bottle of water to see you through the night - please try not to worry." With that she was gone with the two black men rising to follow her. Anxiously I listened for sounds of activity but the house has good sound insulation and I heard nothing. I must have had a very restless night but have no memory of it except that I do remember waking with a bursting bladder and needed to urinate into the almost empty water bottle. I woke about six, again with a desperate need to piss but the bottle was already full and I suffered for three hours before Claire came into the room alone. She walked across to crouch by me. Close up I thought she looked tired rather than rested but "Don't ask," she said on seeing my searching glance. Choking back the intended question, I instead enquired what exactly had happened to me the day before. "Otis hit you with one of my heavy saucepans," Claire told me, "I was so worried - I thought he'd killed you. You were unconscious for ages. I cleaned up the blood and put a dressing on the cut but that was all they'd allow me to do. Are you all right now - is there anything you need." Feeling deeply ashamed at the nature of the task I was requesting, I mentioned that my piss bottle urgently needed emptying. Claire grinned but said nothing. Returning she said, "I'll go and put the kettle on to give you a bit of privacy - it should be two or three minutes before they come down." I was just finishing when the younger male wandered in bare footed, wearing a pair of my boxer shorts and nothing else. Now my erect penis is six inches (on one occasion I convinced myself I had measured just over six and a half), when flaccid it's two inches but in water and at times of stress it shrinks even smaller. This was one of those times. Otis took one look and let out a big laugh shouting, "Hey Gangsta - come and look at this guy's tiny dick - hell some of the bitches I've fucked had a button that's bigger. No wonder his wife's so happy with what we've got." Not satisfied with just verbally humiliating me the black youth moved forward, pushed the boxers down to his knees and mere inches in front of my face a seven inch column of flaccid flesh dangled obscenely between his thighs. Using his hand to encourage stiffness (and a further two inches in length) he bragged, "Don't you wish you'd got something like this? Ask your wife - she'll tell you it's already been places that you've never reached." At that moment Claire reappeared again carrying a tray holding four mugs. Gangsta was handed one as he came through the door but then she set the tray down and approached with one mug in each hand. Deliberately she offered one to Otis in such a way that he had to take it with his penis fondling hand, leaving him no option but to return to the settee with it. Crouching to place my mug on the floor, she quietly advised, "Just try to ignore him." We exchanged further words as she checked my head wound but then, preparing to rise, she squeezed my arm and impetuously leaned forward to plant a quick peck on my forehead. For some reason this show of affection seemed to infuriate Otis. "Hey Claire", he called, "Come over here and suck my cock again like you did last night." He was sprawled back on the settee with his legs splayed and the discarded shorts in a small pile by his feet - almost objectively I noted that although long, his prick lacked any real thickness. Claire obeyed immediately, walking without hesitation to kneel between his spread thighs. She grabbed his stiff cock, gave it a few sloppy licks then took the head deep in her mouth and started wanking the shaft with her hand. I should have looked away or shut my eyes but throughout I found my gaze compulsively fixed with dread fascination on my wife's bobbing head. Only when it was over did I realise that the sight had induced a state of stiffness in my own groin. Towards the end Otis leaned forward and whispered something to her. His words became obvious the moment he ejaculated because Claire stood and turned to face me, opening her mouth to show it full of white cum. "Now stick out your tongue and wiggle it at him," he instructed and when she again complied he laughed triumphantly saying, "You can go and kiss your husband again now - if he still wants to." My wife walked proudly to me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Reaching down she took a gulp from my mug, swilled her mouth round and swallowed then knelt to place her lips firmly on mine. I know I should have joined her in this defiance by opening my mouth and kissing her properly but I just couldn't do it. Having made her gesture Claire embraced me tightly cheek to cheek. I knew she was trying to help me so I think it had to be shame at my reaction to the blow-job that caused me to say nastily, "You didn't need to suck him off quite so enthusiastically?" I felt Claire stiffen. "I knew it was something you wouldn't like to see so I just tried to get it over with as fast as possible," she whispered back in a hurt voice. From there the day fell into what was becoming the pattern with TV dominating until after lunch when they all filed upstairs for a long siesta leaving me to my own devices. This time I did hear some sound but convinced myself it was the squeal of some child in the street - and when the same noise occurred even louder several times during the night, I found that 'a screeching cat' made a palatable alternative explanation. Next morning Claire appeared wearing a skirt instead of her usual jeans. The reason became apparent after about an hour when, having seated himself at on end of the settee, Otis ordered Claire to stand just the other side of the arm. From my position I clearly saw him reach under the skirt and run his hand up her leg but I tried to keep my face impassive as she stood there stoically letting him molest her. After a minute or two he grew impatient and, looking straight at me with a smirk on his face, he instructed, "Open your legs a bit more darling and lift the front of your dress so your hubby can see how much you like it." She wasn't wearing underwear and I had to watch his fingers probing inside her and also the slight rhythmic movement of her hips as she involuntarily reacted to his touch. Despite the knowledge that it was futile I felt the anger boiling inside me but then Gangsta suddenly appeared, waving Otis away and saying it was his turn. He told Claire to pull up her skirt and bend over the arm of the settee but instead of obeying she looked up at him and pleaded, "Please can we do it upstairs." "Sorry," he said. "Your husband needs to see how it is and accept the situation - I don't want him having a sudden attack of heroics thinking he needs to rescue you from us." While speaking the big man had dropped his pants round his ankles and I couldn't believe the size of the already rigid cock now exposed because although possibly only a little longer than that of the other man, it had to be at least twice as thick. Also, where Otis's weapon had been brown with a pinkish head, this magnificent appendage was completely jet black with the skin showing a kind of polished sheen. My first thought was that it couldn't possibly fit inside her. It actually slid in quite easily but he took it very slowly at first and she needed to wiggle to accommodate him. I was aware of a painful constriction in my chest and suspect that I probably held my breath until the initial penetration was complete. My mind was in turmoil. I felt resentment even hatred but this was mixed with a combination of envy and reluctant admiration. He was still thrusting smooth and easy and, with my eyes riveted to the spot, I couldn't help seeing the way how on each retraction, the stretched lips of her vagina clung to his shaft as if reluctant to release their grip. After a few minutes it turned into an exhibition fuck with him powering in hard with fast short sharp strokes and, coated with my wife's vaginal secretions, his thrusting penis shaft strongly resembled the well oiled piston of an efficient machine. Claire began to emit a deep seated moan and this drew my attention to the fact that her jaw was tightly clenched and her knuckles shone white as she fiercely gripped the settee arm. At the time I took this as evidence of the pain she must be suffering. The approaching end was signalled when his goose egg sized balls began to tighten and a moment later I could almost sense the jets of hot semen gushing into her. Not until he had ceased movement did I notice that my wife's upper body was shaking uncontrollably and realise that her earlier apparent distress was due not to pain but rather the effort of trying to suppress a massive orgasm. The big man started to pull out and everything seemed to go into extremely slow motion. The moment his shrinking satiated cock lost contact it just flopped clear to hang down, still shining with a mixture of his semen and her juices, leaving her reddened abandoned cunt gaping open and I watched in horror as a great glob of pearly white cum appeared slowly from inside her. In a long moment that seemed to last an eternity I continued to observe as it reached the edge and clung on to stretch into a long thin dangling strand before losing grip and falling to make a messy blob on the carpet. I was brought back to reality by Otis dashing forward shouting 'Now me', almost barging his companion aside in his eagerness. For a moment Gangsta resisted but then he stepped back saying 'Fair enough - but you can take her upstairs. My eyes followed Otis bustling Claire out of the room, almost at a run and when I looked back Gangsta was reclining on the settee looking at me. Until that moment I didn't know he smoked but he got out a cigarette lit it and then, tucked the lighter into the packet and tossed it over to me. Gratefully I helped myself but when I proffered the packet back he shook his head. For some moments we studied each other in silence and then speaking softly he advised, "You mustn't let Otis goad you, the kid's a total psycho." Another even longer silence followed but then he continued - usually he was a man of few words but now he seemed to want to talk. "It's his stupid fault that I'm in this shit. I can't deny that I killed but it was a legitimate hit - the guy had been shouting off his mouth and dissing a lot of people. Anyway, I did the business and got away clean. Otis was waiting in a lifted car two streets away and I got there as planned through an underground car-park and some restaurant kitchens. He'd switched over so I got behind the wheel and stuffed the gun down between the seats - I wish to hell I'd kept it in my pocket." Gangsta shook his head ruefully at the memory before explaining, "There were cop cars all over so I waited and as we were parked close to a bookies I pretended to be looking at a racing paper. After a few minutes a beat copper suddenly peered in the window on the passenger side. He was only telling us we couldn't wait there but before he'd even finished speaking, Otis had grabbed the gun and blasted him point blank in the face - it almost took the poor sod's head right off. I got out of town fast, dumped the car. We were crossing a bridge when a goods train went slowly underneath and we managed drop into an open railway wagon. Sometime in the middle of the night the train stopped at signals so we jumped off and came through the woods. By now we were both soaked to the skin so when we saw your house in darkness it was more than we could've hoped for." I felt unable to comment and after a further long pause he stood and said almost apologetically, "We'll be here for several more days but I don't think the food will last much longer than that. If nothing goes wrong before we leave you'll both be OK." I think at times I must have felt pretty fretful during my long hours left alone but during the day I could generally let events wash over me. After that day, Otis was far more restrained although he still tried to provoke me. For instance he liked to get behind Claire, stick his hand down her blouse and blatantly maul her tits, all the time watching for my reaction. While not seeming averse to his touch my wife always seemed very uncomfortable when this happened. After a while the pair got to trust Claire enough to allow her to work in the kitchen unsupervised. Well one day, Gangsta had found a book to read and unusually the TV was off. Otis was wandering about complaining of being bored when he suddenly said to me, "I think I'll go and stick my cock up your lovely wife again." So saying he left for the kitchen and a few moments later I heard Claire's irate voice complaining loudly, "I can fuck or I can cook but not both - it's your choice." Otis soon reappeared with a face like thunder to put on the TV at full volume and fling himself petulantly on the settee. I derived rather a lot of satisfaction from that. I think it was two days later, about an hour after they had retired for the night that I was surprised by Otis standing in front of me and saying it was stupid for me to make do on a hard floor when there was a spare soft bed upstairs. This apparent concern was so out of character that, even though I followed him upstairs after he released the radiator fastening, I was very suspicious. In the spare bedroom he cuffed the other end of my leg tether to a leg of the bed, saying that should allow me to get on the bed, but then stretched himself out where I had expected to lie. "Gangsta says it's too hot for three in a bed so he's kicked me out but it's just an excuse to get her alone," Otis announced. "Trouble is that you're wife was just going to suck me off - so you'll have to do it instead." 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. Ordeal Choosing her moment, Claire sat me down and told me that she had something to confess that would hurt me. She said, "I took Lucy to the shops this afternoon - although it was a lovely day I was getting bored with the park. The mall was rather quiet but I started chatting with a black guy called Clarence. He was respectable, wearing a suit instead of the usual gear and he spoke very nicely. Like all the others he started enthusing about Lucy but then he looked at me and said it was easy to see were she inherited her beauty so I just said 'Thank you', quite forgetting to pretend she wasn't really mine. First he suggested going out in the car park to talk and then asked if I wanted to see his new car - it was a great big estate with tinted windows. Lucy was asleep so we put her in the back then we both got into the rear seat and I sucked his cock. I'm so sorry. I was an aberration and I swear I'll try never to do anything like it again - for a start I won't ever go to the mall again by myself". "Why?" It was all I could think to say. "I honestly don't know, some kind of need or compunction - I think that Gangsta and Otis must have somehow infected my mind. At that time, you accused me of enjoying the sex with them and I got cross with you for saying that but you were right, I loved it. I was worried how it was all going to end and of course I was sad for the way you must be suffering but I still felt that those days were the most exciting of my life. I got very sore but it didn't matter because I just couldn't get enough." Claire paused to let that sink in and continued softly, "Since then being near black men has an affect me and I can't control it. Every time we're at the mall I get very wet - my panties always finish up soaked and sometimes I can even it feel it trickling down my leg." "Would you have liked to go further with this guy?" I asked. "God yes," she said honestly, a small tremor shaking her body just at the thought. Being realistic it seemed certain she was bound to stray again, with or without my knowledge. Also, I knew she still loved me and it was likely to be just pure sex, so logically, after what had already happened, her spending time with another man wouldn't do me any real harm. "I don't think I'd mind too much if you did, "I heard myself saying. It was a spur of the moment decision but almost seemed as if I had given the matter prior subconscious thought. "What are you saying? Claire asked in disbelief. "I'm saying that if you need to, you can see other men - that's just occasionally I don't mean every week." I got a long loving embrace for my generosity and understanding and it was only when we stopped kissing that she said, "Clarence did ask to see me again - he wants to show me round his flat." She had his mobile number and they had a first date the following Friday. Waiting at home knowing what she was doing was a lot more difficult than I had expected, but she did make it up to me afterwards and I can say that my sex with her became better than it had been for a very long time. That first time she was home by eleven but soon it was 1 p.m. and after before she returned from her trysts. In general she stuck to a fortnightly routine, just occasionally asking to be allowed to see him more often. One such excuse was when there was some king of celebration at a club he patronised and he wanted to take her and introduce her to his friends. The months went by and gradually I began to suspect that someone was visiting the house during the day while I was at school. There were various clues and twice I thought I caught a whiff of marijuana. Then one day I found the stub of a joint in an ashtray and so I pointed it out to her and asked if she'd started smoking. "A friend called in to see me - you don't mind do you?" she said innocently. I didn't ask who it was, Claire didn't volunteer and I think she took this as tacit approval. During the Easter holiday the following year, we were in the kitchen having just finished lunch when the front door bell rang and my wife went to answer it. I heard voices and when she didn't return I looked down the hall to see her talking to two tall black men standing just inside the door. A couple of minutes later she came to me with a pleading look on her face. "I know it's a lot to ask but would you mind taking Lucy down to the park for a couple of hours?" I know she still loves me and I'll never leave her but I'm resigned to this being the shape of life to come. Postscript. When Lucy was born (officially a month premature) the local paper printed a small item despite our wishes. A couple of months later, while still settling in at our new home, a parcel arrived having been redirected from our old address. It contained a small fluffy teddy bear. There was no message, name of sender or return address but the package had been franked at a prison. I threw it straight in the bin.