Ma Butcher's Boys

Chapter Four   Escape

by Ozmanga

2,864 words

Supper, on the first full day of their captivity, was a miserable affair for Mark Outhwaite, and his second wife, Helen. They were both naked and cold. Mark's black eye was less swollen but he slumped at the table, head bowed, a beaten, sad, and sorry excuse for a man. Katrina, Mark's teenage daughter, was not present. She was upstairs, spreadeagled on the filthy, stained, mattress of the king-sized bed, she had shared with her step-mother, the night before. Katrina's ankles and wrists were fastened with rope to the four corners of the bed. All afternoon she had been subject to the insatiable sexual demands and rough fondling of Patrick Butcher, Ma's elder son. 

Katrina's ordeal had started when she accidentally broke a plate, while washing up Ma's lunch dishes. Ma had grabbed the young woman by her long black hair, bent her over her knee, and spanked Katrina's bare backside. Ma was still punishing the girl when Patrick returned from his overnight journey to LA. Ma grinned at him and parted the cheeks of Katerina's ass, an invitation the horny rapist could not resist. Ma helped him squeeze the tip of  his over-sized erection into Katerina's small pink ring, and held her down while Pat (mercifully for the young woman) quickly shot his load into her ravaged rectum. Katerina was still crying as Pat dragged her upstairs, and tied her to the bed.

The meal, of stew for Ma Butcher and her boys and oatmeal for the captives, had been eaten in silence. When it was over, Ma told Helen to clear the table and wash the dishes. As Helen rose to obey, Spike reached out and fondled her naked pudenda.

"You smell real good, Barbie. Ma give you a shower, did she?"

"Yes, Spike," Helen replied, mindful of the punishment for not speaking when spoken to. "Ma gave me a shower." Her voice was still a croak from the damage done to her throat by Ma the day before.

"You're gonna need another one after I've finished with you tonight," said Spike standing up and moving behind Mark's chair. The captive businessman shifted uneasily. He was nervous with the big biker leaning over his shoulder. Spike was holding a cattle-prod.

Helen crossed to the sink. She wondered what torment Ma and her boys had in mind. Whatever it was, it would mean sexual humiliation for either her, or Mark, perhaps both.

"Don't ya like the way her tits bounce when she walks?" Spike said to Mark.

"Yes," Mark mumbled.

Spike waved the cattle-prod under Mark's nose.

"Yes! Yes! I like the way her tits bounce when she walks," Mark gabbled, just in time to avoid a shock to his naked chest.

Ma was grinning. "Your kid got her ass reamed today, Mark. Did you know that?"

"No, Ma, I didn't know that," he whispered.

"Didn't know what, Shit-for-brains?"

"Didn't know my daughter ... my kid ... got her ass reamed today. Oh my god!" Mark began to sob.

"She got more'n that," boasted Patrick. "I fucked her all ways. Fucked her tight hairless cunt, her tits, her face. Filled the little slut's belly with cum. She couldn't get enough of me. I spent the whole afternoon with the horny little bitch. Tonight I'm gonna ..."

Patrick rambled on describing, in minute detail, every perverse act he had performed on the helpless young woman, and every sexual ordeal he intended to inflict on her, that night, and every night she was a captive. The recitation excited him. The crotch of his cum-stained jeans swelled noticeably as he described what he was going to make Helen, "the little blonde dyke", do to the, "kid". A fantasy, Helen assumed, lifted wholesale from a late edition of "Lesbian Lust".

Ma interrupted Patrick's monologue. "You ever butt-fuck your lady-wife, city-boy?" Spike readied the cattle-prod, certain Mark would fail to respond properly. 

"No, Ma," he gulped, more fearful of the pain than of the shame in answering. "I've never butt-fucked my lady wife."

"Is that right, Barbie?" Ma called across the kitchen.

"That's right, Ma," replied Helen, stacking the last of the clean, wet, dishes in the wooden rack above the huge sink, and wiping her soapy hands on a piece of towelling. She glared at her too compliant husband. She suspected what was about to happen, and dreaded it.

"Come here!"

Helen walked across the stone-flagged room to where Ma presided over the heavy wooden table. Her tits bounced invitingly. She was aware of the lustful stares and the bulging jeans of Spike and his older brother. She saw how Mark, too, had responded to Patrick's pornographic fantasising. His naked penis was swollen, tumescent, rising slowly between his slender thighs.

Ma, still seated, put an arm around Helen's hips and looked up at her pretty blonde captive. She smiled a cruel smile as she caressed Helen's firm round buttocks.

"You've got a nice ass, haven't you Barbie?" Ma asked.

"Yes, Ma, I've got a nice ass," replied her victim.

"Tell your man, the city-slicker, what I did to your nice plump ass in the shower, Barbie."

Helen turned to Mark and tried to smile. "Ma butt-fucked me, Mark, with a prick made of soap." She wanted to sound matter-of-fact but the croak in her voice made it sound sexy.

"You'd like to have seen that, wouldn't you, mister? Your pretty blonde wife butt-fucked with a big soap dick?"

"Yes, Ma," Mark choked, "I would like to have seen that. My wife ... Oh God!"Mark wailed as Spike applied the prod to the back of his neck.

"You should'a heard her yell when she knew where I was going," laughed Ma. "'Oh, no, no, no', like a virgin on her wedding night. You didn't like it, did you, Barbie?"

"No, Ma, I didn't like it," croaked Helen shuddering.

"Is that why you've never fucked her up the ass, city-boy? Because she said, 'Oh, no, no, no'?"

"I... I..." began Mark, betrayed by his growing erection and unable to fathom what answer his tormentors required. Spike laughed and zapped him again with the cattle-prod. Mark recoiled. He slid the heavy kitchen chair  away from the table and tried to stand up. Spike pressed him down onto the chair and growled at him to keep still.

Ma stood. She grabbed Helen's hair, and marched the naked blonde to where her husband sat. 

"Lie across his lap, belly down, Barbie. I want him to get a good view of your nice plump ass."

Helen did as she was ordered. She could feel the prickle of Mark's pubic hair against her side and detected the moist tip of his growing erection pressing softly against her bare stomach. Mark's hand softly cupped one of her breasts where it rested against the outside of his thigh. She heard the scrape of a wooden chair against the stone floor, as Patrick lumbered to his feet. 

She heard Mark gasp, and felt him tense.

She heard Ma say, "He is a big boy, isn't he?" and Mark's pain-saving, but tearful, response, "Yes, Ma, he is a big boy." 

She guessed Patrick had pulled down his jeans. 

Helen remembered what she had seen yesterday afternoon. Pat's huge, thick, rope-veined cock dribbling as he advanced towards Katrina, his hairy belly swelling above and an equally hairy ball-bag swinging below. She had watched, helpless, as he had buried his cock deep in her step-daughter's tight little pussy, and raped her unmercifully while Ma Butcher, Pat's mother, held the young woman, and urged him on. 

Helen heard a grunt as Patrick knelt behind her. Perhaps, she thought desperately, after his exertions overnight, and his sexual excesses during the afternoon, he would be tired, not as rabid, less brutal. She felt Patrick's hairy paunch brush her lower back. She felt his massive hands seize her butt cheeks and spread them. She screamed as he forced the head of his cock into her anus and again, with each powerful thrust, as Patrick penetrated just a little deeper. She begged him to stop, and heard him laugh. She pleaded with Ma to make him stop. But he did not. Grunting and sweating he ground on and on. 

After what seemed an eternity, Patrick came, then slowly withdrew, and stood up.

Helen was giddy with pain. Her bowels churned. She felt sick. To her horror she felt Mark's erection pressing hard into her belly. She was shocked that her husband had been aroused by what had just occurred. She struggled upright and revealed Mark's infamy.

"You bastard!" she hissed at her naked husband.

"He wants to fuck you up the ass too, don't you city-boy?"

"Yes, Ma, I want to fuck her up the ass too," answered Mark. This time he looked at Helen briefly. She thought he sounded as though he meant it.

"Well, you can't. Not until Spike has had a piece of it. Spike! Get on with it!"

"Sure, Ma," said the young biker, unzipping his leather jeans and letting his cock flop onto an extended palm. "Okay, Barbie, face your horny hubby! Stand astride his legs. Put your hands on the back of his chair."

Helen slowly did as she was bid. She glared at Mark who wouldn't meet her stare. Her raised ass was sore and sticky. Positioned as she was, the blonde's full breasts swung below her rib-cage, above Mark's stiffening cock. She felt Spike enter her. There was some pain initially but she had been stretched and lubricated by Patrick. To her amazement, Helen soon felt little sensation other than vague pleasure. Spike, quite gently at first, slid in and out of her rectum. She felt his balls caress her lower cunt with each thrust. Her tits swung in time to the rhythm of Spike's pounding. She began to pant. Spike's hands went around her upthrust hips. His fingers found her slick pussy lips and slid up to rub them and her swollen clitoris.

"Oh! God!" she moaned.

"Play with her tits, city-boy!" panted Spike. Mark complied. He grabbed at Helen's quivering breasts and rolled his wife's hardening nipples between finger and thumb. She felt the tip of his cock brush each one. It left a dab of lubricant, which Mark smeared over her areolas.

"Oh ...Oh ... Oh!" wailed Helen, as she came, overtaken by lust despite the outrage she was being forced to endure.

"She ...sus! She... Sus!" grunted Spike as he pumped a load of cum into the convulsing woman. He pulled her back, and sat on the table, clutching her to him, and still spurting deep inside her. His hands found her breasts, and clutched them. Her head rolled wildly as he bit the base of her neck, like a dog with a bitch. Helen was still twitching as Spike stood up and eased his softening penis out of her.

"She's a slut, ain't she, Mark-baby?" laughed Ma.

"Yes, Ma, she's a slut!" her husband cravenly agreed.

"I guess you're ready to butt-fuck," said Ma, stroking Mark's erection.

Mark swallowed, looked at his wife, and nodded.

"Stand up, pencil-dick!" snarled Patrick to Mark. "Bend over the table!"

The timid businessman looked startled, but Patrick had Mark by the scruff of his neck, and he could do nothing but obey. Ma opened a drawer at the end of the kitchen table, reached in, and pulled out a bundle of black leather straps, and a plastic cylinder.

"Get into this, Barbie!" she ordered as she thrust the tangle at Helen.

Helen recognised one of the strap-ons from the cellar. So, it seemed, did Mark.

"No!" he squealed. "No! Don't! Oh, please no. Not again!" His cock began to droop as Patrick forced the frightened man's head onto the table.

In a daze Helen strapped on the plastic phallus and moved to stand behind her cowardly husband. "You were going to ... to sodomize me. Like them! You let them rape me, without a protest, and then you join them! You wanted to! You miserable little shit!"

Mark tried to cover his anus with his hands, but Helen brushed them aside, and, without being told what to do, she rammed the hard plastic dildo as far up his asshole as she could. She began to grind furiously. Mark started to scream, but Helen paid no attention, so angry had she become.

Patrick urged her on with cries of, "Harder! Fuck him harder!" Spike stood by with the cattle prod, but Helen needed no encouragement. Ma, seeing Helen was out of control, stooped, and grasped Mark's dangling cock, and pumped until he spurted on the kitchen floor.

Mark was unconscious when Ma dragged Helen off him.

"You're a spiteful little slut, aren't you Barbie?" said Ma.

Helen didn't answer. Nor did she seem to feel the shock, as Spike used the prod to administer the prescribed punishment.

					*	*	*

Helen came to her senses before Spike returned her to the room with the big brass bed and left her alone with Katrina. The little blonde was calm as she began to untie  her stepdaughter. By the time Helen helped the young woman into the closet, where they could both wash, her brain was functioning clearly.

"We've got to get out of this madhouse," Helen said, as she bathed Katrina in cold water.

"Patrick came back ..." sobbed the teenager.

"Yes. I know. Try not to think about it. Let's see if we can get this filth out of your hair," said Helen. "You missed supper so you had better eat that piece of pie that Spike brought last night. You have to keep your strength up, you know." She prattled on, saying anything to distract the younger woman.

When Helen had done what she could to feed, comfort and clean Katrina and herself, she found two nighties in her suitcase. She'd bought them with Mark in mind. They were transparent, soft and clean.

"He'll be back." said Katrina.  "He said he'd only just begun. He made me ..."

"I said try not to think about it. Think about escape!"said Helen. With her nail-file from the suitcase she was now able to unscrew the bottom screw of the left hand bar on the window. She smiled as she swung the bar clear to the side and allowed it to fall back.

"Escape? How? When?"

Helen was about to answer when the door opened and Spike and Patrick entered, eager for more sex, despite their after-supper entertainment. Helen was relieved to see neither Butcher boy was drunk or drugged. Patrick was red-eyed and yawning but determined to rape again.

It turned out to be a short period of "fun". Helen obliged the older brother with a show of some "lezzy stuff" which he demanded. She, very gently, went through a pantomime of kissing and caressing  Katrina before treating Pat and Spike to a theatrical display of mutual masturbation. Her step-daughter was alarmed at first, but soon realised what Helen was up to and joined in with a will. When the two men were eager to lend more than a hand, she treated Pat to a blow-job and encouraged Katrina to guide Spike's cock so he could repeat what he had done earlier in the kitchen. When the men left the room, Helen was exhausted and trembling but Katrina had suffered no further assault.

"Have they gone?" croaked Helen.

"Yes. Helen, they didn't lock the door!"

"Good. They'll think you got out that way," said the older woman, forcing herself off the bed. "Come on, we've no time to lose. You must get dressed."

"Me? Why not you?"

"Don't argue. I'm better able to ... to cope with the situation. Besides, I suspect I have a cracked rib. Get a move on!"

In the closet Katrina rummaged through her step-mother's suitcase for clothes while Helen fastened the short pieces of rope from the bed, into one long, knotted, cable.

"How did you do that?" whispered Katrina, as she stepped into a pair of clean cotton pants and reached for a dark blue silk cocktail dress.

"Fisherman's knots," Helen answered. "That's a good colour if they come looking for you before dawn. Help me get the window up." 

Between them, the two women managed to raise the lower half of the window. It squeaked at first but, lubricated with some sun-screen, the window was soon open enough for Katrina to squeeze through. Helen fastened the rope to the brass bed frame and payed it out of the window.

"Shoes?" asked Helen as her step-daughter wriggled over the window sill, and grasped the rope.

"My feet are too big for your little shoes," Katrina grinned. "I'll go barefoot."

"Good luck!" whispered Helen as the teenager slid quietly down the knotted rope and disappeared into the darkness.

When Spike called in, a quarter of an hour later, he found Helen half asleep on the bed and the door to the closet jammed shut. The petite blonde gave him no time to investigate. She reached for his swelling erection and, before he could think to look to see whether "the kid" was in fact using the washroom, as Helen mumbled, Spike was being treated to a blow job of such passion and artistry, that he was distracted utterly. 

It was not until he woke up, two hours later, that Katrina's absence was discovered.




