The Hostage Situation

When I think back to that night, I ask myself if there was anything any of us could have done... anything I could have done... to stop what happened. Sometimes I wrestle with my conscience for hours, reliving what happened step by step, until I finally reach the same conclusion, "no," there wasn't anything I or anyone else could have done. However, once I've satisfied my guilt on this point, I often find myself asking another question, "is it wrong of me to find the most fucked up situation I've ever been involved in... ever will be involved in... the most sexually satisfying moment of my life?" To my shame, the answer to that question is never so comfortable to reach.

As I write this, it's getting on for just over two years since it happened. It was the time of my (now ex) work's Christmas party, and after a stressful year, everyone was looking forward to letting their hair down.

We were a relatively small firm at the time, probably about 100 employees in total, and after a year of having to tighten the coffers quite drastically, it was nice to see my colleagues looking so relaxed. I was even pleasantly surprised by the quality of the hall that had been hired for the evening, which, despite our financial struggles, was a lot more impressive than I'd expected - perhaps the fact that it was on the outskirts of town and a bit isolated had driven the price down somewhat, but, still, I thought Mary in the events team had done a fantastic job. She'd even managed to convince the CEO to stump up some money for the bar in recognition of our hard work.

The event started off with a couple of obligatory speeches, but these were kept relatively short, and it wasn't long before everyone had made their way to the bar area, breaking off in to small groups to chat with friends. There was a good buzz about the place, and as I began my second bottle of beer, I remember looking around the room and smiling at how happy and de-stressed everyone looked. A lot of the women had clearly made a big effort with their appearance, many seemingly having bought a new dress and spent extra time on their hair and makeup, and many of the men appeared to be sporting fresh new haircuts and designer shirts. In fact, thinking back, me and my two closest workmates, Dwayne and Ash, were probably the only ones who hadn't made much of an effort; it's not that we were purposely trying to be different, we'd just realised a while ago that we'd never really polish up to much no matter how hard we tried. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't say any of us were ugly (none of us had a third eye or anything!), but we weren't exactly movie star material either.

As the evening drew on, the music gradually increased in volume, and it wasn't long before a small crowd began to appear on the dance floor. Soon I expected most people would be dancing, a few of the men would probably start showing off infront of the women they not-so-secretly fancied, and Angie from reception would probably end up getting off with Jay from accounting, possibly dragging him off somewhere for a bit more 'fun'. That's how I suspected things would have turned out had Clive Scott not gate-crashed our party.

From attending some of the trial (separate to the times I'd had to give evidence) and reading the newspaper reports that accompanied it, it transpires that, after finishing the last of his stash earlier that day, Scott had left his house intent on finding someone (or something) to rob in order to pay off his dealer and buy some more drugs. He explained that his plan had been to head in to town where he could find some rich looking business types to mug down a side alley. However, whilst driving down the long rural road that lead to the city, his piece of shit car began to splutter, and he was instead forced to turn his attention to an isolated hall he'd passed less than a mile earlier; our hall.

He acknowledged during his trial that he'd contemplated stopping when he first saw the hall, having noticed a well-dressed man standing alone outside smoking a cigarette, but given the size of the debt he'd had with his dealer, he figured that a single score wouldn't be enough and had driven on. It was only when his car started giving signs that it was finally dying on him, that he spun it around and drove back towards the hall, parking about 100 feet or so away in a dark bypass. He figured that, if he were lucky, the cigarette guy would have a good amount of cash on him and keys to a more reliable ride.

Scott left his car and walked up to the hall, map in hand, and approached the man still standing outside.

"Excuse me mate, do you know if this is the right road to get to Oakfield?"

Jim jumped at hearing Scott's voice, completely unware of the man approaching him.

"I don't think it's this road you're after" he said, regaining his composure and taking hold of the map. "I think you should have..."

"GIVE ME YOUR FUCKING WATCH AND EMPTY YOUR POCKETS," snarled Scott, shoving the barrel of a gun in to Jim's ribs.

The blood drained from Jim's face and the map slipped from his fingers, dropping to the floor.

"W-w-what are you doing man... there's no need to do this," he said, trying to make sense of the situation.

"If you don't give me your shit RIGHT NOW, I'll put a hole in your stomach and take it myself..."

Terrified that Scott wasn't bluffing, Jim did as he was told and clumsily unfastened his watch. It wasn't a particularly expensive watch, probably costing a couple of hundred at most, but his wife had given it to him for their first anniversary and he'd had every intention of keeping it for as long as possible.

After momentarily evaluating the watch that had just been handed to him, Scott motioned for Jim to empty his pockets. Again Jim did as he was told and produced a twenty and a pack of chewing gum.

"Is that all you've got???" said an annoyed Scott.

"That's it, honest..." replied Jim, panicking at his mugger's clear frustration.

"What about car keys? How did you get here?"

"M-m-most of us got a cab or car pooled," he said trembling.

Scott pulled the gun up towards Jim's face and held it there for a few seconds. Finally, after contemplating his next move, he demanded, "How many of you are there?"

"About 100 or so..."

"And how many staff?"

"Just... just two behind the bar... and a DJ"

Scott took a moment to think through his options before grabbing Jim's arm.

"Turn around. If you make ONE noise, I'll put a bullet in your back. Got it?"

Jim, almost paralysed with fear, somehow managed to signal with his head that he understood.

Scott wrapped an arm around Jim's neck, stuck the gun in the middle of his back, and pushed him towards the hall. As Jim slowly pushed the door open, warm air and the sound of loud music began spilling out in to the cool night breeze.

As they stepped through the doorway, Scott quickly observed the room; the lights were low and everyone was either dancing or chatting too much to notice what was happening. I certainly didn't see them enter.

Having identified the only other exit he could see, Scott pulled Jim to a complete standstill and locked the door behind him. Releasing his arm from around Jim's neck, but still discretely pressing the gun in to his back, Scott slowly directed his captive towards the door located across the other side of the hall.

With the lights down low and everyone distracted, it was only as they reached their destination that a couple of people began to wonder who the stranger was walking with Jim. However, before they'd even had a chance to fully process their thoughts, Scott had locked the door and pulled the plug on the speakers.

I, like everyone else in the room, instantly turned around confused, even more so as we saw Jim stumble forward and bundle in to a group of women from HR. Before the glass that Jim had knocked out of Debra's hand had even had time to hit the floor and smash in to a thousand pieces, the noise of a gunshot rung out across the room and a bullet flew through the ceiling.

"EVERYONE STAND FUCKING STILL," Scott shouted at the top of his voice.

Instantly an explosion of screams filled the room and most people, including me and my friends, began running for the exit.

Another gunshot echoed through the hall.

"I SAID, EVERYONE STAND FUCKING STILL!!" Scott repeated, "IF I SEE ANYONE ELSE MOVE, THE NEXT SHOT WILL BE IN THE BACK OF THEIR HEAD."

Everyone froze like statues, the earlier screams replaced by the sound of some colleagues sobbing. I couldn't blame them; I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life.

"RIGHT... now I have your attention, everyone stand against that wall."

This time everyone did as they were told, all of us carefully watching the intruder and his gun. We all (including the bar staff and the young DJ) huddled against the wall, many of the men holding the women in an effort to comfort them (although in truth I think many of the men needed the comfort just as much).

"You," Scott said, pointing his gun at my 50 year old manager Marie, "go and get that bin."

Marie, tears running down her face, forced herself to obey the instructions she'd been given, and went to retrieve the bin.

"People, listen carefully. I do not want to hurt you, but I will if you give me a reason. All I want from you is your money, your valuables, and a set of car keys. If you give me that, you will all leave here tonight unharmed."

By now Marie was stood infront of Scott, shaking like a scared rabbit, trying to hand him the bin.

"I don't want an empty bin you stupid bitch, I want people to come up one by one and place their shit in it... starting with you. Take off that necklace and empty your purse in to the bin. And I don't want any fucking lipstick or tampons in there so make sure I don't find any when I check it through."

After doing as she was told, Marie was instructed to return to the group, and the next person stepped forward. One by one this process continued, and after about ten people, it was my turn. Shaking like a leaf, I quickly and quietly followed my instructions, placing my wallet in the bin before returning to the line. Next up was Phil from Operations. Like everyone else, he walked cautiously towards the bin, took off his watch and placed it on top of the rest.

"Come on mate. There's no need for this. You must have enough by now," he said, pointing to the pile of money and jewellery, "why don't you take what you've got and go?"

Almost as soon as the words had left Phil's mouth, Scott's swung his arm around and paced forward until his gun was pressed firmly against Phil's temple; I swear to god I thought he was going to execute him.

"I SAY WHEN I'VE GOT ENOUGH YOU PIECE OF SHIT!! YOU GOT THAT, OR DO YOU WANT ME TO INPRINT IT ON YOUR FUCKING BRAIN?"

Phil quickly began apologising, begging him not to do anything rash. Scott stood there for a few seconds, wide eyed, before finally jabbing Phil's temple with the gun and ordering him to return to the group.

The process quickly restarted, and one by one the remaining group members stepped up and placed their valuable in the bin.

"Well done everyone. Except for that one PRICK... over there," Scott said, quickly getting agitated before equally quickly returning to an apparent calm state, "that went pretty well. Now, which one of you put these car keys in?"

After a couple of seconds, Kamal from accounting stepped forward and, hand slightly in the air, stuttered, "Errrr, t-t-that was me."

"Which car is it?"

"It's the blue BMW down the side."

"Good... excellent..." Scott said, thinking, "Are there any other BMW's out there?"

Samantha from HR slowly put her hand up, "My black BMW's out there too."

"Right... but that's it, yes? I don't want to be messing about trying to find the right car now do I?"

The room stayed silent.

"Good, in that case, thank you all for your time and money. I hope you all have a merry Christmas."

The whole of the room held its breath as Scott began backing away towards the door, dragging the bin with one hand, and pointing the gun in our direction with the other. As he let go of the bin so that he could unlock the door, it appeared that our short but terrifying ordeal was soon to be over. If only someone at the back hadn't whispered something...

Scott stopped dead for a second, glaring at the group, rage reflecting in his eyes.

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?" he yelled, marching towards us at pace until his gun was pressed firmly against Jenny's head.

The room filled with gasps and screams.

"I... I didn't call you anything," she said, pale as a ghost and shaking uncontrollably.

"YOU CALLED ME UGLY YOU FUCKING BITCH. I HEARD YOU!"

"I didn't!!" Jenny squealed, tears filling her eyes.

"It was me," said Vic from IT, fearfully stepping forward. "I mean... I didn't call you ugly... but it was me that spoke."

"NO, IT WAS THIS BITCH. SHE CALLED ME UGLY. I HEARD HER... STEP FORWARD BITCH!"

"I promise, it was me..." said Vic, moving closer to where Scott stood.

Scott turned the gun towards Vic, stared at him for a second, then thrust forward and hit him across the forehead with the butt of the gun. Screams once again echoed through the room, and Vic dropped to the floor, blood flowing from a fresh wound on his forehead.

"DON'T STICK UP FOR THE SLUT. IT WAS HER... AND NOW SHE'S GOING TO PAY FOR IT."

Scott grabbed Jenny by the arm and yanked her forward causing her to stumble past him and fall to the floor.

"Stay there bitch," he said, keeping his gun and his attention directed at the group. "I used to work for a fancy company like this. I was like you, working 9 to 5, picking up a monthly pay check. Do you know what happened? Do you know why I couldn't deal with it anymore? Why I had to leave? It was because of bitches like this. Bitches who thought they were better than me because they were lucky enough to be born with a pretty face. Bitches who mocked me and judged me based on my appearance. Well... now it's my turn to do the judging."

Scott fleetingly looked at Jenny, eyes wide and piercing, before turning his attention back to the group, scanning everyone's face.

"You," he said pointing at Vanessa from Operations.

"You," this time pointing to Stacey from HR.

"You," now aiming his gun in Shilpa's direction.

"And you," finishing with Vicky from finance. "All of you come here and join your friend."

All four were struck still with fear. A couple of the guys even began moving in front of them to protect them from whatever was about to happen.

"NOW!" Scott shouted, shooting a bullet above our heads.

The men solemnly moved aside and the girls finally began making their way through the crowd, tears running down a couple of their faces. Once they reached Jenny, Scott directed them towards the dance floor, before turning his attention back to us.

"These bitches," he said, "these... these cunts... they're the reason my life to turn out like this. They're the reason why you're all standing here with a gun pointing at you. They think they're better than everyone else in this room just because they're beautiful. Well... it's time we showed them they're not better than us..." Scott scoured the group. "You, you... you, you... you," he said, this time picking out five men, including myself and Dwayne, and directing us to join the girls on the dance floor.

Walking with us, Scott directed the gun back and forth between our small group and the main crowd until we finally reached the girls who, by now, were all holding hands. Scott made his way behind where they stood, and drew his gun towards them.

"It's about time cunts like you learnt how to be nice to men like us," he said, motioning towards me and the others as if we were his equal. "Now get on your whore knees..."

The whole room filled with an ominous silence.

"NOW! Or I'll start shooting some of your friends," he threatened, waving his gun in the direction of our colleagues.

The girls, scared and confused, stood there staring at each other until a bullet fired just above the heads of the group. Slowly, Shilpa and Vanessa dropped their knees to the floor, involuntarily persuading Vicky, Stacey and Jenny to follow suit.

"Good. Now you," he said, motioning to us, "move forward and stand in front of one of the girls."

Just as the girls had, we all stared at each other in shock until another shot fired out.

"THE NEXT ONE GOES IN SOMEONE'S HEAD..."

We slowly did as we were told and moved our way towards the row of girls, standing infront of whoever was nearest us.

"Good. Now take off your trousers and briefs."

Suddenly there was a commotion from the group as some of the men, so outraged by the scene unfolding infront of them, tried to push their way out and get to Scott. Unfortunately, before they'd even made it half way, Scott calmly placed his gun, once again, against Jenny's head.

"GET ANY CLOSER AND THIS BITCH IS DEAD... YOU HEAR ME????"

All three men stopped in their tracks.

"BACK AGAINST THE WALL..."

Two of the men reluctantly began edging back towards the group, while Stefan, a 53 year old lawyer, momentarily stood his ground, burning a hole through Scott with his eyes. Scott, a smirk on his face, unflinchingly stared straight back until, after a few seconds, Stefan slowly joined his colleagues back in the group.

"One more incident like that and there'll be no warning. I'll put a bullet in her pretty little head... then, I'll keep going down the line and kill as many of these cunts as I can before any of you assholes reach me. Do you understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND??"

Some of the group began nodding, fear etched on their faces.

"Good. Now, I told you five to drop your trousers," Scott said, turning his attention back to us. "Do it... now..."

All of us hesitated. Although we knew we had no choice in the matter, none of us wanted to be the first to comply and give the impression we were willingly going along with this sick game. Finally, after Scott straightened his arm as if getting ready to pull the trigger, Chris began to unbuckle his belt and slowly pulled his trousers and briefs down to the floor, exposing himself inches from Vanessa's face. The rest of us slowly followed suit.

"Good. Now, girls, it's time you felt humiliation like I felt when the likes of you told me I wasn't good enough, handsome enough, rich enough... It's time you understood the shame that made me feel."

Scott paused for a moment, a look of painful recollection on his face.

"Like the whores you are, I'm giving you 10 minutes to make the man in front of you cum in your mouth. If you don't manage it in time, a bullet enters your brain. If you fail to swallow every last drop, a bullet enters your brain. If you cheat and use anything other than your mouth... a bullet enters your brain."

All of the girls knelt there in shock. I stared down at Jenny who was trying her best not to make eye contact with me or my limp dick.

"To make sure you don't cheat, once you've made your man cum, you will signal to me, show me, and then, only when I tell you, swallow. Your time starts now."

I looked down the line, the same story repeated all the way. No eye contact. No movement. For at least half a minute, all of the men just looked around awkwardly while the girls all stared at the floor infront of them.

"Girls... refuse to take part all you want, but, in 9 and a half minutes, if you haven't done as I've said, your brains will be splattered all over this dancefloor."

Time seemed to pass so slowly, and yet so fast all at the same time. Here I was, standing in the middle of a large hall with my average size dick out, inches away from a gorgeous girl who has been told that she must perform oral sex on me or face severe consequences, and all the while I have about 90 of my colleagues staring at me. Uneasy wasn't the word.