Jon Reskind - The abducted bride

Jean watched him standing before her. He was making no move to finish the tea as he had said. He was just staring at her, watching as though he expected her to suddenly disappear or something. There was a detached interest in his eyes that locked on any slight move she might make. What did he expect her to do? Why was he staring like that?

"Really, I think I must go now. You can finish your tea after you've taken my bags down," she said nervously, moving at the same time toward the door. He still watched her intently and she knew she had better get out as quickly as she could. He was no longer the poor obsequious desk clerk but had somehow changed overnight. There was a cruel, unflinching confidence in his eyes and movements. Jean no longer felt the superiority that she first did over him, instead, she felt the cold isolation of fear.

Shalla sensed her thoughts, and moved quickly between her and the door, blocking her path. There was no way out for her now, he chuckled to himself. What would she do. He knew this was totally unexpected to her. She hadn't dreamed the worm would turn this way. It would be interesting to see what she did to cope with this new situation confronting her, if she could last that long before the potion took effect. It should be any moment now.

"Please, Mr. Shalla, my husband will be waiting for me at the station," Jean said, her tone changing to one of almost pleading. "I must leave now or I'll miss him and he'll come here."

She wanted him to know this in hopes it might frighten him away from whatever he had in mind. Certainly, he was clever enough to realize that he couldn't do anything with Monique sleeping next door and with Kevin expected shortly. She hoped he was no fool.

"I see you have remembered Shalla's name. Madame has not used that before. It pleases me that you do remember."

It was apparent to Jean that he was stalling her now. He was leading up to something. She couldn't believe that he had any intentions of making a pass at her. Surely he couldn't believe in his wildest dreams that she would even consider accepting a proposition from him. He must be a madman. She watched him closely, afraid that he would make a movement toward her, to try and touch her. She shuddered at even the thoughts of those filthy greasy hands coming near her body. Suddenly, her knees felt weak. She reached for the post at the foot of the bed to steady herself.

"Please Mr. Shalla, I must go," she repeated, her breath coming in labored gasps. It was so difficult to breathe, the air in the room was stifling. Her clothing felt as though it were elastic around her body, choking off the supply of blood that ran through her veins. Tiny beads of perspiration began forming along the hairline of her forehead.

The Arab stood motionless, watching the metamorphosis take place gradually before his eyes. A puzzled look crossed the girls face. She knew something was wrong but couldn't quite comprehend what it could be. Her legs swayed slightly indicating to him that the evil liquid had hit its mark.

"Is something wrong, Madame?" he smiled through his yellow teeth. "Can Shalla be of help?"

"No, no, just stay a-away f-from me," she stammered, holding on to the post to keep from falling. The smell of mint again wafted through her nostrils, ringing a familiar bell of another time that her fading mind struggled to recall. She could feel her strength slowly leaving her body and she knew if she were ever going to make it to the door she had better move now.

Shalla watched the girl lurch toward him. Her eyes rolled uncontrollably in her head and her legs wavered as though supporting a body ten times her size. He did not move from her path and as she tried to pass him, reached out with his arm and held her back. She struggled weakly for a moment and then all resistance ceased. Shalla guided her backwards to the bed and pushed her limp body back on it where she lay, arms and legs askew, looking glassy-eyed straight up at the ceiling. Her dress had snaked up over the tops of her nylon stockings, showing the white firm flesh of her full thighs. The white nylon band of her panties was visible between her loosely spread legs. Tiny dark threads of soft pubic hair could be seen coming out the elastic leg bands that were stretched tight from the pressure of the position in which she lay.

"What's happened to me? What's happened to me?" she moaned incoherently. She tried to move but she couldn't. Her body refused to follow the dictates of her mind. She could see the Arab standing over her, an evil grin etched obscenely on his face. It was strange, she was fully conscious and yet could not move. Her eyes could see and her mind could understand and yet she was helpless.

She watched him move about the bed, her eyes rolling after him like a helpless bird cornered by a hungry cat. He removed her suitcase from the other side of the bed and reaching under his robe, withdrew a short piece of rope. The rolling eyes widened in terror as he tied one end around one of her wrists and pulling her up on the bed, ran the loose end around a brass rod in the middle of the top bedstead and tied her other hand to the end. She was secured helplessly, both arms over her head.

"There my proud little one. You make a beautiful picture like this. If Shalla didn't have better plans for you, he would save you for himself."

Jean's dress had hiked up over her hips now and the full ripeness of her upper thighs and belly were visible to the gaze of the Arab. He ran his tongue around his lips wetly, enjoying the torment the poor girl stretched out before him was going through. He could feel his cock hardening under his pants as the girl began struggling weakly against the bonds that held her tight. Her legs scissored open and closed weakly as her body fought the deadening effect of the potion. He could see the dark triangle visible through the thin sheer material of her panties, he promised himself he would get more of that later after he had put his plan into effect. He would make some money today from this little American girl. The men on the streets would pay well. The initial shock of the potion had worn off and she could move now. This was good, he had planned it so that she would only be immobile for several minutes at the most while he tied her down. He had timed it well. The French lady must not find out, she might object and do something drastic but she would be gone most of the day. After last night, he felt confident he could handle her anyway.

"Please, please," Jean whimpered, "what-what have you done to me?" She suddenly felt as though she were descending from a cloud. A moment ago, she was watching all of this through detached but seeing eyes, she could feel nothing. Now the feeling was returning to her nerves and the full horror of what was happening to her tumbled through her unbelieving mind. This couldn't be happening to her. She had heard about such things, about being raped in hotel rooms in Europe but she hadn't in her wildest thoughts ever considered it happening to her. It just couldn't happen, not by this hideous creature leering down at her with those horribly cold and unbending eyes. She would die if he touched her, she clenched her eyes tightly shut as if she could blot away the scene and make it not exist. But it did exist. The taunting voice of the Arab came through the darkness of her closed eyes.

"We shall have ourselves a time today, my dear girl," he said, "and we shall make some money. Have you ever worked before, my dove?"

Jean lay silently, unable to speak for the shame and humiliation of the helpless position she was lying in. She wanted to reach down and cover herself but the ropes binding her wood only allow her hands to come down to shoulder level. She could not reach her dress to pull it down and cover her exposed thighs and stomach. She clamped her legs tightly together and drew them up, attempting to hide her precious treasure between them. She could not see but she could feel his eyes burning into her there. She squirmed on the bed against the bonds until they felt as though they would cut through her wrists. It was hopeless.