TAKEN–PART 1

THURSDAY AFTERNOON

I had just returned to my office from a busy and hectic morning in court. My coat was thrown over a chair and my briefcase dumped on the desk when I turned to my bookcase in search of an obscure ruling. I felt a soft pair of arms circle my chest then one moved down my body until the soft long-fingered hand encircled my cock. “You’d better be careful, my wife might catch us.”

“Oh, Dan you are so exasperating. You’re supposed to say something romantic or sexy.”

I turned and faced my beautiful wife, leaning down for a kiss. “Hi, darling; how’s your morning–busy?”

“Busy doesn’t even begin to describe it. Dave has been cracking the whip all morning. We had to skip our break and work through lunch, too. Make sure you save some energy for me tonight. I’m going to need some of your special loving.” She gave me a quick peck on the lips and returned to work. I enjoyed watching her walk away. She had some fantastically long legs and a sweet firm ass I’d never tire of.

THURSDAY EVENING

“Oh, Danny boy, my pipes, my pipes are calling….”

I looked up from the newspaper to see a long shapely leg sticking out from the corner of the hallway. I laughed as I replied, “I think it’s ‘the pipes’ not ‘my pipes.’”
“Well, maybe, but it’s my pipes that are calling out for your pipe—the one that’s hanging down between your legs. Please, baby I need you.”

Feigning reluctance I sighed loudly rose and walked to her. I grabbed her leg, pulling her to me for a long searing kiss, her plump moist lips pressing against mine, her tongue insistent. “Now about those pipes,” I whispered as I picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. I placed her at the edge of the bed and knelt between her long slender legs. Kissing her soft silken thighs I moved closer and closer to her core, the font of her womanhood.

Jennifer was clean shaven, not that it mattered to me in the least. The one benefit I saw was that her labia seemed to protrude more markedly from her body. Tonight they were engorged with blood, a bright pink between her legs when I reached in to lick. Jen had a model’s body—long and thin, with good-sized breasts and a flat muscular abdomen. Her hips and ass were incredible. I’d never been inspired to lick anyone’s ass, but if I had to it would be hers I’d choose.
I started my initial attack on her love tunnel by licking gently, but Jen’s squirming told me she wanted it a whole lot harder. I rammed my tongue into her tight hole. She responded by wrapping her thighs around my head and squeezing, trapping me in position to give her exquisitely delicious pleasure, not that I had any intention of moving. My tongue fucked her, scooping out what seemed like gallons of her musky nectar. Jen squeezed my head even harder.

I had plans tonight and they included several mind-blowing orgasms for my beautiful wife; I shifted into high gear—sucking her swollen clit between my teeth and gnawing. Jen’s thighs opened as she lost control; her orgasm blew through her body like Sherman through Georgia. She shook like a leaf for almost thirty seconds before falling back to the bed exhausted.

“About those pipes…”

“Oh, God, Dan…incredible; are we done now?”

“Not a chance!”

“Oh, goodie….” I laughed at her. She was so transparent. She never wanted to cum just once. Three or four were more her style. My head leaned against her thigh as my tongue tickled her cunt, licking up the remaining droplets from her orgasm. I knew I should continue when her breathing began to become ragged and shallow. I fingered her hot canal and returned my mouth to her clit. I just tickled it with the very tip, running it over her with the lightest imaginable touch. I knew it would drive her crazy. She moaned and groaned non-stop for almost five minutes. She stopped breathing; her breaths came only in short quick pants now. It was merely seconds that she experienced an even stronger orgasm, one that caused spasm after spasm throughout her body. She was covered in sweat when she finally came down. I shed my clothes and joined her on the bed. I held her closely until she laughed and whispered, “Not too shabby for an old guy.”

Jennifer kidded me a lot about being older. I’m 45, she’s 27. No, she’s not a trophy wife; she’s my first and only. I never dated much in high school or after when I enlisted in the U.S. Army. My dad had expired when I was just a kid—a heart attack at work—leaving my mom with three kids and no job. I was a very good student, but there was no money for college so I joined the Army. I flourished there, qualifying for Special Forces before I was twenty. I stayed in for seven years, retiring at 24 as a First Sergeant. I used the GI Bill to attend college and then law school where I graduated in the top third of my class. My first job was with the District Attorney’s office in Suffolk County, Long Island where we now lived. I stayed there for five years, building a strong reputation. I was 36 when I took a position as a criminal defense lawyer at Pike, Stewart and Johnson where I’m now a partner.

I still remember the day we met. I was seated in the conference room with the rest of the firm’s attorneys when she entered—newly hired Jennifer Farley, paralegal. She sat almost opposite me at the huge table and we looked into each other’s eyes. Our gazes never left each other. It was as though we were the only people in the room. After the meeting she followed me to my office. “Dinner tonight,” I asked.

“Seven?” she replied. I nodded and she wrote her address and phone number on the back of my business card.

“I’m Dan.”

“I know.” She turned and walked out the door. We never did make it to dinner. I picked her up at seven. We had our first kiss at 7:02. It lasted until 7:12 when she suggested we return to my place. She moved in three weeks later and a month after that we were married. It was fate—kismet. We were terribly and totally in love with each other. We told each other every day and we showed it physically at least five times a week.

She kidded me often about being so much older than her, but I could keep up with her in almost everything, including fucking—especially fucking. We loved to fuck. Some of our friends told us we lived to fuck and they were right. Even after almost nine years of marriage we were inseparable.

Now as we lay together on the bed Jen turned to me and kissed me tenderly. “I love when you do that to me. I’m so lucky to have you…old man.”

“Go ahead…insult me; I can take it.”

“I have a better idea…take me. Let me see…oh, yeah, you’re as hard as a rock. C’mon, sweetie put it in me. In fact, lie back and let me take good care of you.” She pushed me onto my back and climbed over me to straddle my hips. She gripped my cock and lowered herself down my shaft. Jen rested her hands on my shoulders, her firm heavy breasts hanging just over my mouth as she rocked slowly with me. This was how we always did it—slow and easy at first as though getting to know each other—and frantic toward the end. Eight minutes later we were at it in earnest, mating like a pair of dogs, sweat dripping from Jen’s nipples onto my chest. I drove into her without mercy, lifting her body more than a foot into the air with every thrust until…eruption. I came so hard my cock actually hurt as I flooded her pussy in baby cream. Jen shuddered in mid-eruption before convulsing several times in the throes of her orgasm.
She spoke first, several minutes after we had collapsed into each other, “That was incredible, Dan; you’re incredible.”

“Funny, I had the same thought about you.” We kissed for several minutes before she pulled me up into the shower. We slept well that night.

FRIDAY EVENING

‘Hi, Jen…I’m home.” I walked in around seven, more than an hour after I expected her to be home, and hung up my topcoat in the hall closet. “Jen? Jen?” I looked in the living room and kitchen before checking out the bedrooms. She wasn’t there. That’s when I noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. I pressed the button and listened, “Dan, by the time you hear this you’ll understand that I have left you. Who could blame me after that pathetic attempt at sex last night…talk about lame, you couldn’t even get it up. Who could blame me? Don’t bother to look for me. I have left with my lover and I won’t be coming back.”

I played it back several times and one thing was clear—Jennifer had left, but not on her own. She’d been taken, kidnapped, but by whom and why? I checked her closets and her dresser drawers—they were empty. All her cosmetics were gone, too. There was no trace that she’d ever been living here. That was inconsistent, too. We had just discussed getting rid of almost half of her old outfits—things she still had from her parents that she mostly hated, donating them to charity. Even if she had left me she would never have taken all that junk. Frankly, I doubted she could even do it in the hour or so that she was home. She had kissed me good-bye when she left at five, reminding me that she had no intention of cooking on a Friday night—her way every week of telling me we were going out for dinner.

I wandered about the house and for some reason went out the front door. That’s when I saw the car down the street. I didn’t look directly at it, but I could easily see that it was about 250 feet away and a man was seated in it, looking my way. If he was watching me he’d made a huge mistake, parking with the sun behind him. I was able to see his profile clearly. I reached into my pockets as though looking for my keys and turned back into the house. There was one way to find out for sure. I closed the house and jumped into my car, backing down the drive and into the street.

I drove away from him at a moderate speed, not wanting to make things too difficult. Not surprisingly he followed me as I went out to get a pizza. I returned and parked again in the driveway, but opened the garage door as an afterthought. Ha! Jennifer’s car was there. I was dealing with a bunch of idiots. They might be idiots,, but they’d learn soon enough who they were dealing with. I took the pizza to my home office and turned on the computer. I logged onto Yahoo and sent an email, “Need help—J taken. The cabin. ASAP!!!” I sent the message and returned to the kitchen. I took bites of my pie between errands. The first was to my sock drawer for an elastic support sock, the kind people wear on airlines to prevent their legs and feet from swelling; it was long—over the calf style–and strong. A few bites later I went to the garage for my fishing tackle box. Back in the kitchen I dropped about three pounds of sinkers into the sock. I tied it off and swung it—perfect. Now all I had to do was wait.

Around ten I broke out my fatigues—the ones I had worn back when I was in the service. I was still the same weight—210 pounds—as I was then, compliments of having to keep up with my young wife and many hours in the gym. I covered my face and hands with camo face paint. This, too, was a hold-over from the service. I’d used it many times while hunting. My next step was to get my rifle, a few cartridges, and the silencer/flash suppressor. As an attorney I knew it was illegal to own and use one, but it was a remnant from my Special Forces days and I hadn’t used it in more than ten years. Besides, there were a few laws that I mostly ignored as being either stupid or unreasonable, or both. I screwed it onto the barrel, walked upstairs and out the window of one of the rear bedrooms, stepping onto the garage roof.

I would never have made it as a sniper, but this shot was less than 100 yards. I lay on the crest of the roof and aimed for the streetlight behind my keeper. A slow exhale, a slower squeeze and the light was extinguished. The man opened his door and looked then returned to his seat and lit a cigarette. Tsk, tsk—smoking would prove very dangerous to his health. His window was open to disperse the smoke. That would only make my work easier.

My neighborhood closes down by sunset. Once it’s dark there’s total quiet. I snuck out the back, lights off, except for the one in my bedroom. Down the back yards I crept. Fortunately, none of my neighbors had dogs outside at night and there were no major fences to scale. I circled around behind him and snuck out, my sneakers silent on the lawns and sidewalks and as I crossed the street. Soon I was about a hundred feet behind him and on the same side of the street. I hefted the weighted sock in my hand, wrapping the sock’s end around my hand. Slowly I crept up, keeping my silhouette low. I knew from experience that he’d have a harder time seeing me if I kept to the passenger side of the car. I stepped behind the trunk just as he leaned over to light another cigarette. He cupped his hand over the butt and lighter, leaning away from the door to keep it out of sight. That was my cue to step quickly and silently along the driver’s side. When he sat back up I swung the sock, the three pound weight colliding forcefully into his temple. He was out in a second.

I moved quickly, opening the door and wrapping his hands behind his back with duct tape, using more than enough to ensure he wouldn’t get free. A set of rolls went around his ankles and knees. Finally, I pushed a handkerchief into his mouth, taping it into place. A quick search of his clothes gave me his ID, his cell phone, and his 9 mm automatic. I recognized his name as belonging to a low-level career criminal from the local area. Once I had him safely in the trunk I walked back to the house and returned with my duffle bag. I dumped it into the back seat and drove away. I had already phoned the office and asked for time off—a week to settle some urgent family business out of town. As a partner I was sure it would be approved. I had an idea who had Jennifer; now I had to find out why and where.