Jerry sat on the floor, cradling his new woman across his lap as they drove to the small private air field. She was a soft, warm bundle, draped bonelessly in his arms. He examined her minutely. He ran his thumb over dark brows, gingerly touched curled eyelashes where they lay against pale skin. He even pressed lightly on the thin, crepey eyelids, feeling the minute shift of her eyes. Was she dreaming? If so, what was she dreaming of? He moved down to stroke her cheeks, trace the soft line of her jaw.

Ron watched him silently. They had removed their masks now, and he could see the emotions play over his younger brother's handsome face. He really seemed pleased with his choice, and Ron was glad for him. Now that he thought about it, she was exactly the kind he would have expected Jerry to choose. His tastes had delighted the older women in their circle, and despaired the younger ones.

This one looked healthy enough. Probably had a few good childbearing years yet. Jerry might get three, even four children from her, if he started right away. He hoped he would. Ron liked the idea of nieces and nephews. Blood was important.

As they drove toward the security shack at the little airfield, she began to shift and moan. Ron said, "Jerry, you better give her another whiff, so she doesn't get fractious." Jerry got out the chlorophorm soaked rag again, and applied it lightly to the woman's nose and mouth. Only semi-conscious, she didn't try to hold her breath this time, and quickly slipped back into unconsciousness. They drove directly onto the field, right up to the small plane that would carry them back home. She was bundled up into the cargo area of the plane.

The cases that had been removed from the bank left in the van and the airplane took off. Ron and Jerry didn't know where exactly the cash and goods went from there. The moment the robbery had been completed, funds had been transfered into certain accounts, and their part of the business was over.

The individual who had initiated the scheme was a bit upset and surprised when he heard the accounts later. He wondered what the hell they had been thinking, taking a hostage? Inquiries were made through discreet channels, questions were asked.

One day a week or so after the robbery, he was stopped for a moment on the street by a large man with a soft voice, rough hands, and dead eyes. "He said to tell you they didn't defy orders. There was no killing. She's not dead yet, and they don't expect her to be." Then he faded into the crowd on the street, and the man was left with some rather, albeit tittilating, speculations.

She gradually drifted up toward consciousness. I couldn't have been out long, she thought. We're still moving. Gradually the fog seeped away, and she noticed more about the real world around her.

At first she thought she was still in the van, but the dimensions were wrong, and the sound and movement were wrong, too. She was on the floor in a small compartment, and there was a funny shaped door on the wall. She was between two seats of some kind, which were fixed to the floor. Ahead, just a little ways beyond her feet, were two more side by side seats. She could see that they were occupied.

She frowned. Through the windsheild in front of them all she could see was blackness. Was it night already? How long had she been unconcious? There was a pair of legs to her right, legs clad in blue jeans and boots. She looked at the door, and wondered if she could be quick enough to get it open and throw herself out.

"You might as well quit looking at that door. It doesn't lead any place you want to go." The man sitting in the seat beside her leaned over, studying her. "Ron, she's awake again. Can I just leave her be this time? I don't want to give her too much of that stuff."

"Good enough, son. Not like she has anyplace to go right now, anyway."

The young man stood up, having to stoop in the low compartment. "If I put you in the seat, can you stay there? will you stay there?" She just stared at him, and he hunkered down beside her. "You're gonna have to learn to answer me when I speak to you. I'm not big on this silent treatment shit. I like a good conversation now and then. Now, are you gonna stay in the chair if I pick you up?"

"I'll get up myself."

He grinned. "You can try, I suppose."

She tried to shift her arms and legs to brace herself and push up. Nothing moved. She gave one hard, full budy jerk, then lay still again, teeth gritted. Her hands were held fast behind her back, and her knees were tied together, too. "Finished? Want me to pick you up?"

"Don't strain yourself."

"You're big, but you're not that big, darlin'." He manhandled her upright without evident hardship, and dumped her into the chair. Then he snapped her into the safety harness, buckling her in efficiently, effectively trapping her even more.

The young man opened a small cooler on the floor, and pulled out a bottle of water. Cracking it open, he held it up to her mouth. She instinctively turned her head away. He tried to follow her with it, and she turned her head again. "Don't be like that. I know you must be thirsty. Doc says that chlorophorm shit makes your mouth and throat really dry."

"What's in it?"

"Is that what you're worried about? Hellfire, woman, if I wanted to drug you, I'd have slapped that rag back on your face before you came around. It's just water. Here..." He took a swig himself, then offered it to her. She hesitated. He said quietly, "You ain't gonna hurt my feelings by refusin' to drink after me, are you?" She thought that maybe hurting his feelings wouldn't result in anything remotely pleasant. Besides, she really was thirsty, painfully so. This time when he put the bottle to her lips, she drank almost greedily.

When she'd had enough he finished off the bottle himself. She watched him as he drank, head back, throat working. When he finished, wiping his lips, she said, "You... you're the one from the bank."

He capped the empty bottle and stuffed it in a plastic refuse bag, then turned almost glowing blue eyes on her. "I'm the one who claimed you, yes. Are you hungry?"

She was, but she wasn't going to admit it. She didn't want to accept anything more from these people. Hopefully the ordeal would be over soon, she could eat then. "No."

"You really shouldn't lie to me." he said mildly. "We took you before lunch time, so you haven't eaten since then. And your stomach was talkin' right before you woke up." She felt herself flush, and he grinned. "Don't be ashamed of your appetites, darlin'. I'm not." He rummaged in the cooler, raising his voice. "You fellas want somethin'? Lally packed a right good load for us."

The pilot declined, but the passenger swivelled his seat around to face them. "I don't mind. Just hand me one of whatever. I like everything Lally fixes." The younger man passed him a sandwich and a bottle of beer. The older man began eating, studying her. "Jerry, you gonna introduce me to my new sister-in-law?"

"Where're my manners? Scribe, this is my big brother, Ron. Ron, this is Scribe. I didn't get her last name." He looked at her expectantly.

I guess they'll need to know so they can ransom me. "Mozell."

"Scribe Mozell."

Ron took a pull on his beer. "Doesn't matter. She's a Bellwood now."

Jerry sifted through the cooler contents. "Not much of a wedding supper, I know. I expect Lally'll do something a little specieal in the next few days, if I know her. Do you want ham or tuna?"

"No, thank you."

Ron smiled slightly. "Well, she's polite. Stubborn, but polite."

"Listen," Jerry took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eye. "I'm not going to put up with this shit, understand me? None of that hunger strike crap. You're going to eat, and you're going to stay healthy. Now, if something will actually make you sick, you can turn it down. Otherwise, I expect you to eat regular. I won't have you fallin' away on me." His free hand squeezed her arm. "I can't abide skinny women. Now, ham or tuna?" She stared at him a moment longer, clearly tempted to refuse. "I'm warnin' you. If I have to force feed you, you won't like it."

"Ham."

"Good choice. Tuna makes the bread a little soggy sometimes if it sits."

"Let me loose so I can eat."

"Not yet, darlin'." He unwrapped a thick ham sandwich, obviously made with homeade bread, and broke off a small chunk, then offered it to her.

"I can bite off my own food." He suddenly moved toward her. She jerked back against the seat, and found his forehead pressed against her own. Their eyes were only an inch or two apart, and she shut her's quickly.

His voice was low and dangerous. "Look at me, woman." She slitted her eyes. "I'll feed you because I want to feed you. There's gonna be a lot of things I do with you and to you just because I want to. You're not entitled to a reason that you find acceptable. Do you understand that?" She was holding her breath. "What did I tell you about answerin' me when I speak to you?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Say my name when you answer me."

"Yes, Jerry. I understand."

He sat back silently, and again offered the chunk of food. This time she opened her mouth, and he popped it inside and watched her chew. He took a bite himself, then broke off another one for her. They finished two sandwiches like that, alternating between him eating and feeding her morsels.

When they were done, she could feel a smear of something at the corner of her lower lip, probably mustard. She tried automatically to wipe it away before remembering that her hands were tied. Then she tried to get rid of it by scrapeing her bottom lip with her teeth, but it didn't seem to be working.

Jerry was watching her. He leaned over. "Yeah, you got a spot," his finger touched her lip, "Right there. You're just smearin' it like that." He clamped a firm hand across the back of her neck and moved his face close to hers. She stiffend, but there wasn't even an inch of freedom for her to move. Then he licked her lips clean, slowly and sensually. She kept her jaws clamped shut so tight that the muscles ached.

His head was tilted, and she could see the other man *Ron* watching with mild interest, and some amusement. "Jerry, the girl's shy. You're embarrassing her." There was no reproof in the tone. He was just making an observation.

Jerry sat back, grinning. "I'll break her of it, eventually."

This was too much. How long did they expect to hold her hostage? "Look, you might as well let me go whenever we get where we're going. I'm telling you that you can't get enough for me to make it worth any sort of risk. My family has troubles making the bills each month. there's never anything left over."

Jerry frowned, then sighed. "You still goin' on about that? I told you, that ain't why I took you. I need a woman, and you're the one. Why don't you believe that?"

She stared at him. "Because I've looked in a mirror. Have you?"

Baffled, Jerry looked at Ron, who was laughing. "I don't get it."

"She just paid you a backhanded compliment, Jer. She's saying she thinks you're too pretty to be interested in her. That about it, Scribe?" Her face flushed and she mentally berated herself for haveing said anything. He gently pushed her bound legs with his toe. "Speak up. Tell my brother what a good lookin' man you think he is."

She was pink with embarassment now. "I... well, you must've had your choice of young girls. You're handsome enough to get one without too much effort. Why'd you have to grab me?"

"Because you're what I want." He cocked his head. "You're havein' a hard time believein' that, aren't you? Maybe you'll understand after I've fucked you raw a few times." Now the color drained out of her face. "Hell, don't look so stricken. I'm jokin'. Kinda. I won't be any rougher than I have to be. You really are shy. How many men you been with, any way?"

She fidgeted. What on earth was she supposed to say? What answer would let her off the hook? Would he be disgusted if he thought she was well used, or would it please him? Maybe if he knew she was a virgin, it would put him off. If he was going through the trouble to kidnap someone, he probably wanted an experienced lover, one who knew what she was doing.

The simple truth was that Scribe was totally inexperienced aside from one or two quick gropes by unrestrained drunks. She was one of the last Good Girls, the one's who waited for marriage. true love, or at least honest affection and respect. It had never happened for her, she hadn't gone looking for it. Simple as that. She didn't even really think about it much. The world had been willing to ignore her and she had been willing to be ignored. Suddenly it was as if a flood light had been turned on her, and she was shrinking in the light and heat.

There was an edge to his voice. "You gonna tell me it's been so many that you've lost count?"

She felt a hopeful lurch. Would that make him leave her alone? Or would it just anger him? "No."

"Well?" She felt the heat rising off her face. She didn't know what to say so she said nothing, staring down at her lap. "Answer me, woman."

"Jerry," Ron's voice was interested. "I think she did answer you. She said no."

"Damn it Ron, she's not gonna get away with ignorin'..."

"Jerry, listen. She said no. What could that tell you?"

There was silence. Then Jerry said doubtfully, "Naw, that'd be too much to hope for. Wouldn't it? I mean, look how ripe she is."

"Just a feeling I'm getting, baby brother."

"Scribe?" No answer. "What about it, honey? You still cherry?" She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away. "Ron, I think mebbe you're right."

"You could check." Her eyes flew open in alarm. "I mean, you might not be one hundred percent sure, but you'll get some idea."

Jerry was eyeing her speculatively. "Yeah. Okay."

He handed Ron the familiar ziploc bag. "Give her just a little whiff of this while I get ready, will you? Not enought to knock her out, just enough to make her a little more relaxed. I don't want to hurt her if I can help it."

Scribe started jerking frantically, twisting against the cords and straps that held her as Ron took the still damp rag out of the plastic container. "No, don't do that. Please, I don't like it. I don't want to be knocked out."

"This is just to calm you down a little, girly." he soothed. Jerry had a handiwipe, and was carefully scrubbing his right hand, meticulously cleaning every crease. Ron grabbed her hair and held her still, holding the cloth to her face for a couple of seconds. Her eyelids fluttered, and she started to go boneless, slumping. He removed the rag quickly. "Scribe? You still with us?"

Her voice was faint. "Please don't."

"Just relax. This'll only take a minute or two. Jerry's gonna be gentle with you."

"Ron get her legs loose for me, would you?"

"Borrow your knife?"

"In my jacket."

When Scribe saw the large hunting knife, she started crying. "No, girly, no. Don't be afraid. This is just for the cords." He sliced the rope that bound her knees together. "There, all done. I'm putting it away, see? That should feel better."

"We gotta get the panties down."

"Want me to...?"

"I'm the only one reachin' up under her skirt, Ron. Just kind of lift her a little for me."

Ron grabbed her waist and lifted her the scant couple of inches that the slack would allow. Jerry reached up under her skirt with his left hand, grabbed the waistband of her panties, and peeled them down quickly. She kicked at him weakly. Jerry examined them. "Hm. White cotton. I take that as a good sigh." He sniffed them briefly before stuffing them in his pocket. "I'll need some sort of lube. I think... yeah. This should work."

He'd found a small tube of petroleum lip balm in his pocket, and squeezed a thick coating on his index finger. "Okay. Can you hold her knees for me so I can still reach?"

"Hunker down there in front."

Jerry squatted just in front of the bound woman. Ron reached past him, putting a hand on each knee, and forced them apart. It didn't take much effort, the chloroform made her as weak as a kitten. Jerry dropped to his knees, moving up into the wide vee of her legs. He lifted her skirt up onto her thighs to give himself more room. He hooked his left arm over her leg to balance himself and could feel her trembling. Jerry took a moment to stroke her thigh soothingly. "Try to stay calm, baby. This ain't gonna be any worse than a doctor's exam. I promise you my hand is gonna be a hell of a lot warmer than any fuckin' metal spreader. I just want to get a finger a little way up you to see how active you've been."

"Jerry, please," she whimpered.

"Hush."

He groped under the skirt, finding the curly nest of pubic hair. "Oh, don't you feel nice and silky? Now, hold still while I find your slit... Yeah, there we are. Now we'll see."

He pushed. Despite the drugs, the woman stiffened as the tip of his greased finger made the initial penetration. "Please stop, please."

"Shhhh," Jerry whispered, pushing more firmly. He managed to force his finger in about an inch, up to the first knuckle. "You're pretty dry, darlin'. I'm glad I lubed up before I started this. A little more now." He pushed harder still, sliding in up to his second knuckle. "Damn, you're tighter than a fist, woman. Ron, she feels clenched. Should it be like this with that chlorophorm?"

"Go on, Jerry. I think you're gonna have your answer any second now."

Jerry bit his lip and pushed harder, putting some shoulder into it. He slid almost to the base of his finger, then stopped abruptly. She was panting, eyes half closed. He tried again, and wrung a thin wail from her. "Something's wrong. I can't get in any deeper."

He moved his finger around, frowning. "It's like something's blocking it off: something kind of stretchy."

Ron bumped him in the back with his knee. "Well boy, don't you know what that is?"

He glanced back at his brother, slow wonder filling his face. "It's her maidenhead, ain't it?"

Ron was grinning. "That's right, baby brother. You got one that really deserves the white."

"A virgin." Jerry breathed. He pulled his hand free, eliciting a pained squeak. "Oh, I'm sorry, darlin'." He got up, pulling her skirt back down modestly. Then he kissed her cheek softly. "I'm gonna have so much to teach you, little virgin."