Captive (a Jon Story)

"Mr. Bon Jovi", Jon heard the voice say softly, tentatively. Slowly he opened his eyes, trying to reach up to rub his face with one hand only to find it unable to move. He heard the metal clank even as he felt it bite into his wrist. What the hell? He soon found the other hand was bound the same way along with both his ankles. He turned his head to look at the woman standing by the bed, the one who had spoken so softly.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he demanded menacingly, well as menacingly as he could laying spread eagle naked on a very soft bed.

She stood next to be bed, looking down at her clasped hands. Dressed in tight faded jeans, and an old T-shirt that was about two sizes too small, she couldn’t look him in the eye. Good. She had a great figure, large breasts, small waist, and the longest set of legs he had probably ever seen. What the hell did she want from him, he wondered, then shook his head at his own stupidity. What else could she want with him in this position.

He suddenly remembered how he’d gotten here. He had been leaving the venue after a show, and the woman before him had come up to him asking for his autograph. Someone had grabbed him from behind and put a cloth over his face that smelled strange, and all too soon he had lost consciousness. Where the hell had his bodyguard been? Oh yeah, he had left to get the car. Jon had assured him that he would be okay for a few minutes. How stupid.

She looked up at him then, through her glorious long light brown, almost blonde, hair. Her light green eyes wide and looking sad. "He told me not to talk to you, but I wanted you to know," she said in a whisper, "I’m not a fan. I’m not the crazy one here. Honest."

Jon frowned at her. What the hell was she talking about? "Then help me get outta here," he whispered back to her. Who knew if this unknown "he" could hear, or worse see, what was going on between the two of them.

"Oh, I can’t do that," she said in a near panic. "He would hurt me."

"Who is he?" he asked her.

"My husband," she answered, still whispering. "He’s lost his mind."

"What’s going on?" he asked her, trying to sound gentle.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered back, tears starting to roll down her face even as she began to take off her clothes.

Jon turned his head, intent on watching anything but her, but soon his eyes were drawn back to her. She really was beautiful; he guessed her to be in her early thirties. Desire began to roll through him, but he turned his head away quickly. He didn’t want to become aroused. He wasn’t going to help her if he could keep from it. Concentrating on mundane stuff, he tried to ignore her hand trailing lightly down his thigh. Good luck, Sweetheart, the sarcastic thought raced through his head. "What’s your name?" he asked, trying to distract her.

"Charity," she answered, whispering. Jon almost smiled over the irony in her name, but quickly squeezed his eyes tightly closed as she took his semi-aroused cock in her hand. He tried in vain to ignore her warm hand, softly, gently moving up and down, coaxing his manhood to life.

He felt her hair brush his thigh, and knowing what was about to happen, he tried once again to distract her. "Why?" he croaked.

"I can’t answer that," she said softly.

"Can’t or won’t?" he asked, just before she took him in her mouth. He groaned. His biggest weakness would now be used against him. Oral sex was his biggest turn on. Did she know this or was she just lucky? He pulled hard against the handcuffs, felt them bite into his wrists, but he pulled anyway. They didn’t give an inch. The old iron bed frame held strong and so did the cuffs. Her tongue circled the tip, flicking gently at the opening, before she took him fully into her mouth again. She sucked hard as her hands fondled his balls. Oh, she was good at this, he thought. How was he supposed to resist this? He couldn’t. Soon he was hard and straining for release, but she moved away then. He felt the bed dip slightly, and opened his eyes. She climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. He couldn’t stop himself from raising his hips to meet her as she took him inside. He moaned softly as he found himself embedded fully in her softness. She was tight, but she was aroused, her wetness told him that. She gasped, but began to move, placing her small hands on his muscled abdomen to balance herself. He groaned again as those hands began to caress him, moving up his stomach. She almost lovingly stroked the muscles of his chest, and lightly flicked a hardened nipple with her fingernail. How did she know all the things he liked?

"Is he watching us?" he needed to know. This was humiliating enough, but to have someone else witness it would be unbearable. He watched the muscles in her thighs flex, as she moved on him. He couldn’t help moving with her, his hips raising to meet every downward thrust. The cuffs that secured his ankles clanged against the metal bedframe.

"No," she finally answered, gasping. She had her eyes squeezed tightly closed and her bottom lip was clenched tightly between her teeth. Was she holding back her own orgasm?

Suddenly, he felt the waves of his own orgasm come over him. He had tried to fight it, but knew it was a losing battle. He tensed beneath her, even as his hips continued to move, pumping into her hard and fast as he exploded.

As soon as he had found his release, she moved off the bed. He watched her go through a door and heard water running. Jon knew she had not found her own release. What was going on here? Obviously, he wasn’t just being used as a sex toy, or she wouldn’t have fought so hard to hold back her own orgasm, or stopped before it happened. She came back into the room with a bowl of water and a wash cloth, and began to clean the proof of what they had done off his thighs and groin. He groaned as she gently cleansed his cock, before walking back to the bathroom.

When she appeared again, and began to gather up her clothes, he couldn’t help but ask her, "Why?"

"I told you I can’t tell you that," she said sadly as she paused at the door leading out of the bedroom.

"No," he said urgently, "why did you stop before..."

She interrupted him, "You mean before I climaxed?" at his nod she continued, "Because, I don’t want to enjoy one minute of what he’s making me do," she answered. The soft click of the door closing behind her echoed through the room.

Jon lay there for a long time with his mind racing. He tried in vain to figure out what exactly was going on here but couldn’t. He just needed more information, maybe he could get her to give him a few more clues. All he knew was that he had enjoyed sex with her, even if he hadn’t wanted, and that obviously they weren’t done with him or he would be free or dead now. Oh, and that she didn’t want to enjoy what was being done to him and was apparently a pawn in this scheme just like he was. Finally, exhausted, he fell asleep.



A hard shove at his shoulder jarred him awake, to find himself looking down the barrel of a very big gun. The man holding it on him was masked. He was tall and muscularly built. Jon realized he was free. The man must have undone his bonds while he was still sleeping.

"Get up," the man ordered, his voice gruff.

Jon began to get up off the bed. "What are you going to do, shoot me?" he asked, a stubborn tilt to his chin. He wouldn’t go down begging for his life. He thought of his wife and children, but quickly pushed those precious loved ones from his mind before the tears could come. He needed his wits about him now.

"Of course not," the man answered. "I’m not done with you yet. I thought you might need to use the bathroom and get a shower. But remember I have this gun pointed at you, and it is loaded. Charity is cooking you something to eat and you can have it when you get out of the shower."

Reluctantly, Jon turned his back on the man and headed toward the bathroom. He was disappointed that there were no windows in the room. No avenue of escape there, but then of course this man would have thought of that.

When Jon got out of the shower and had dried off, the man motioned with the gun for him to head back to the bedroom. Charity stood beside the closed door with a plate in her hand. She must have just walked in the room.

"Lay back down on the bed," the masked man ordered. Jon considered disobeying the command, and the thoughts must have flashed across his face, because the man said, "Don’t even think about it. Just get on the bed."

Jon climbed back on the bed and lay down on his back, staring unseeing at the ceiling.

"Don’t just stand there, Woman," he heard the man order, "put the handcuffs back on him."

Glancing at the woman, Jon saw her set the plate down on the dresser and scurry to do the man’s bidding. She was obviously frightened of her husband. If he was her husband. That was one of the things Jon wasn’t sure of yet.

"How am I supposed to eat if I’m tied down again?" Jon asked defiantly.

"She’ll feed you," the man answered. "Move woman," he demanded.

Once Jon was handcuffed again, Charity arranged pillows under him so that he was reclining slightly, apparently so he could eat without choking.

The man stood at the door. "You know what to do when he’s done eating," he told her before walking out the door.

"Would you like a drink of water?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he answered, frowning slightly at her.

She held the glass to his lips and he drank gratefully. When he had finished, she set the glass on a table next to the bed. As she reached for the plate of food, he said, "You told me you weren’t a fan."

"No," she answered, placing a fork with a piece of steak on it at his lips. He took it and began to chew slowly. Apparently she couldn’t handle the silence because she continued, "Not that I don’t enjoy some of your music, but he’s the fan not me. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t some crazed fan that had kidnaped you to have my way with you."

He took the bite of mashed potatoes that she offered him. She had fed him several more bites before he finally asked, "If he’s a fan, then why am I here?"

"He’s crazy," she shrugged, "that’s the only answer I can give you." She placed another bite of steak against his lips, and he opened his mouth for her. He realized she was staring at his lips. Was she attracted to him? And could he use that against her?

"Help me," he pleaded softly around the bite of meat.

"I can’t," she cried, "he’s violent and crazy. He beats me...he didn’t used to, but...he would seriously hurt me if I helped you get away before he’s done with you."

"How long am I going to be here?" he asked. "You know I’ll be missed and people will look for me?"

"Oh I know, he knows too," she answered softly. "It’s all over the news that you’re missing."

Great, he thought to himself. His wife would be worried out of her mind. "You didn’t answer the other question....How long?"

"As long as it takes," she replied cryptically, offering him another bite of potatoes.

"Damn it," he said in frustration. "Just tell me what’s going on. I won’t let on that you told me."

"I can’t," she said fearfully. She offered him another drink of water, and he took it gratefully.

She continued to feed him in silence until he told her he was full. Charity nodded and took the plate and set it back on the dresser. Somehow, he knew what was coming and tried to delay it by talking to her.

"There’s no reason to deny yourself, you know," he told her, trying to sound sympathetic.

"I told you," she replied, lifting her chin, "I refuse to enjoy this. I know the facts of life, and I know that you can’t help how your body reacts to me and the things I do to you. I’m sorry for the humiliation you have to go through, and I won’t enjoy treating you this way." She reached out with one hand and gently caressed his cheek. "I’m sorry."

He nodded as she trailed her hand down his neck and across his chest. He knew he had delayed her as long as she was going to allow. Clenching his jaw, he decided to fight as long as he could. Jon found some small pride in the fact that he had lasted longer this time than he had the last time, but he soon found himself moaning as he pumped his seed into her again. Just like the last time, she had denied herself her own orgasm. She moved off him and left the room. Once again, returning to clean him off with the warm water. He watched her leave the room with mixed emotions.

Minutes later, he heard the man’s voice raised in anger. "I told you not to talk to him," he yelled. Obviously, the man had listened at the door. Jon heard Charity saying something in a pleading tone, but he couldn’t quite make out was she was saying. "Shut up, Bitch," he heard the man scream, just before Jon heard the unmistakable crack of an open palm meeting skin. He pulled helplessly against the cuffs, wanting to help her. Jon felt partly responsible for the mistreatment she was receiving. He had tried to get her to tell him anything that would help him figure out what was going on. The metal dug into his wrists, but still he pulled against them. Finally, he fell back on the bed in defeat. Silently promising himself and the woman in the next room that he would get them both out of this. Somehow he had went from thinking of her as one of his captors and started to realize she was as much a pawn in all of this as he was. Whatever "this" was.



Jon woke the next morning to Charity gently brushing his hair back off his forehead with her fingers. "He’s gone right now," she told him.

"Then let me out of these cuffs and we’ll both get the hell out of here," Jon told her.

She jumped off the bed and began to pace the room. "Do you honestly think he would allow that? There are bars on all the windows and the doors are padlocked shut from the outside. We can’t go anywhere."

"Call the police. They’ll get us out of here before he gets back," Jon told her quickly.

She stopped pacing to look at him sadly. "He jerked the phone out of the wall and took it with him," Jon could hear the defeated tone in her voice. "He took your clothes too."

He nodded in understanding. He would come up with some sort of plan, but in the mean time, "At least tell me what this is all about," he said, "now, while he’s not here. I promise I won’t let on that I know."

She stopped pacing again and sat down on the side of the bed, next to his hip. She didn’t turn to face him as she started to explain, "He’s a big fan of yours. We’ve been married for four years. He was always so sweet to me, a little jealous from time to time, but he always treated me pretty good. He was always so romantic, brought me flowers for no reason, that sort of thing. He used to sing Bed of Roses to me after we had made love. I never dreamed he would go off like this."

"What happened?" Jon asked, wanting to reach out and put his arm around her in sympathy, but the cuffs held him back.

"We’ve been trying to have a baby," she said softly, and immediately Jon understood what this was all about. "A couple of months ago, the doctor told us that he was sterile. Measles when he was a kid. He went crazy after that. I didn’t know what he was planning until the night of the concert. And I’m as a much a prisoner now as you are."

They wanted to steal a baby from him! That’s what this was all about. Jon was so furious, he screamed out loud. He couldn’t remember ever being this angry. How could one person do this to another? "Are you shitting me?" he asked in anger.

"I wish I was," she said softly, finally turning to look at him. "I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you that enough. If there was any way that I could get us out of here...," her voice trailed of wistfully.

Jon saw the bruise on her cheek then, and winced. "That bruise. He hit you last night didn’t he?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered him, nodding, "and twisted my arm almost out of the socket. He wasn’t happy that I had talked to you. I’m supposed to ignore you, and just do what he’s ordered me to do."

"I’m sorry," Jon told her. Truly apologetic, that trying to explain things to him had caused her pain.

Charity jerked her head around to look at him angrily. "Don’t you dare apologize to me for anything. None of this is in any way your fault. You were handcuffed to a bed; how could you have stopped him?"

"I could have quit trying to get you to tell me what was going on," he answered.

"Or I could have kept my mouth shut like I was told," she told him.

Jon couldn’t keep himself from feeling sorry for her. "This isn’t your fault either, ya know?"

She dropped her head to look at her hands twisting together in her lap. "Maybe it is," she said dejectedly. "I should have realized he was capable of something like this."

"How could you have known? He never gave you any signs, did he?" he asked.

"No," she answered, "I had no idea he could do something like this."

"I can’t believe he honestly thinks he can get away with it," Jon told her.

"I don’t think he’s thinking rationally right now," she laughed sadly, "otherwise you wouldn’t even be here."

"Where is he now?" Jon questioned. Wondering how long his captor would be gone.

"At work," she answered.

He couldn’t believe the man had gone blithely about his everyday activities, while he held a rock star captive at his house like it was a common thing that everyone would do. "You’re shitting me, right?"

"Nope," she shook her head, "and he expects me to rape you repeatedly while he’s gone."

She had sounded so dejected and morose that Jon almost laughed. How many women around the world had this fantasy? Him, tied to a bed, at the mercy of their sexual wiles. And this woman had no desire to participate in this. She would be the envy of thousands of women around the world, if this ever got out. He knew he probably shouldn’t point that out to her, but he hoped to see her smile. "Do you know how many women would kill to be in your shoes right now?" he grinned at her.

Her mouth fell open in shock. "You’re kidding me! I can’t believe you would say something like that. Besides, do you know how arrogant that makes you sound?"

"I’m sorry," he told her, smiling, "I couldn’t resist. I hoped to cheer you up a little."

"You don’t have to cheer me up," she replied. "Hey, he left me the handcuff key so that I could let you go to the bathroom. He knew neither one of us could get out of the house."

She quickly released him from his bonds. Jon took the opportunity to go to the bathroom and to take a shower. While he was in the shower, he made a few decisions. First of all, he wouldn’t leave her behind when he got out of this. He couldn’t leave her with the crazy man she had married. He would help her get out of the situation; he had more than enough money to set her up somewhere else, with a new life. He didn’t know yet if he wanted to press charges against the man. If he did, it would certainly get out to the press what had happened here, and he didn’t know if he could live with that. But, he did know that he wasn’t going to leave Charity and the baby she might already be carrying behind. Secondly, if sex with her was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not, then he was going to take control of the situation, even if for today.


Remember that you're perfect...God makes no mistakes.