Jon Reskind - The abducted bride

The Arab sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to her bare thigh, running his long fingernails along the inner softness. He suddenly pinched, making a red whelp rise beneath the fingers.

"When Shalla asks a question, you must answer. You belong to him now, at least for the moment."

"Oooh, nooo, please-e, please don't," Jean pleaded, "It hurts. It hurts."

"Then do as Shalla says, and things will be much easier. You will enjoy it, Shalla shall teach you how to enjoy it."

"My husband is coming, Kevin is coming, he'll kill you if you touch me," she whimpered in desperation.

"Yes," the Arab cooed softly, "he's the one you spoke of the other night when we made such beautiful love."

Jean's heart stopped for a moment as the words sunk into her awakening mind. The dream!

"I see you remember just as I thought you would," he taunted, reaching over with one hand to stroke at the nylon covered mound at the base of her rapidly rising and falling belly. He could feel the crisp dark pubic hair through the thin material, and the sudden jerk of her hips at the unexpected probe to her secret parts. Her eyes fluttered open in disbelief.

"No, no, it's not true. I had a dream," she half screamed at him, her mind unable to accept his vile accusations, her hips screwing down against the mattress to escape his indecent stroking.

Shalla reached in his pocket with his other hand and brought out the small dark curl, dangling it above her face. "I think you lost this. Have you wondered about it."

His evil grin widened in triumph as he detected the horrified impact of recognition on the thunder-struck girl's face. Her mouth gaped open helplessly as the thoughts of that evening rolled through her mind: the taste of mint, the smell of garlic, the rumpled bed in the morning!

It was true! He had raped her in her sleep! It hadn't been Kevin, it had been this filthy beast who was daring to touch her again!

"Get away from me! Get away from me! It's not true, it can't be," in spite of the certainty, her dazed mind fought on against the acceptance of the grotesque thought.

Shalla slipped a finger under the elastic of the leg band between her clenching legs and moved his finger up and down the sweat moistened slit.

"Remember this," he taunted, "remember my fingers opening your cunt and finger fucking you?"

"No, no, I don't remember," Jean lied, her torso squirming against the horrible indignity.

"And I fucked you with my cock, remember, I fucked you until you screamed for more," he hissed at the tortured girl. "I fucked you good, admit it!"

"No, no, you didn't, it was a dream," she groaned. "It was a dream!"

He dug his finger cruelly into her dry unready cunt, bringing a moan of pain from Jean's tortured lips. Her inner thighs relaxed involuntarily to ease the excruciating hurt.

"Admit it, admit I fucked you good!" he breathed, digging the fiery finger deeper.

"Yes, yessss, you did, you did," she whimpered to escape the cruel hand ravishing her vagina.

"I did what?" he demanded lewdly. "Say it!"

"You fucked me! You fucked me good!" Jean spat out the words in pain, the shame and humiliation, too much to bear. She clenched her eyes tightly shut again to close out the sight of his perverse triumphant smile leering over her. Oh God, if only Kevin would arrive or Monique would hear them to save her from this awful man and his tormenting words. She thought of the thickness of the walls and screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping it would penetrate through as it had last night.

Her vagina received another cruel thrust from the Arab's finger, choking the scream back down her throat.

"No one can hear you, my little pigeon," he gloated. "The French lady has gone. You are now Shalla's slave for the day and shall do his bidding. We shall make much money together today, you and I. If you perform well for my friends perhaps I shall buy you something nice. Don't you think that's fair?"

"You wouldn't dare to touch me again," Jean gasped, between squirms against the finger still inserted deep in her vagina. "My husband will kill you."

"If he comes," Shalla chided.

"He will come, he will! I just know he will!" she spat at him. He loved her and he wouldn't leave her alone if he knew where she was and she had told him in the cable. He just had to come in time to save her from this maniac who had already violated her pure clean body once. He was her only chance and if he didn't arrive in time, she would never be the same. She might recover in time from the horrible rape of the other night because she was hardly conscious when it occurred but if she had to submit again with her full senses aware of it, she knew it would destroy her self respect forever. She would never be able to face the world again. The thought nauseated her and she suddenly felt as though she would throw-up. It took all of her remaining control to keep from it.

Shalla slipped his now moistened fingers from her cunt. It had become slightly wet from its natural reaction to the pain. He pressed it under Jean's nose. He felt like taunting her again and couldn't pass up this last remaining opportunity before he threw her on the open market.

"Does that smell familiar," he asked, wiping the viscous fluid against her upper lip. Jean moved her face from side to side to escape this further humiliation, the familiar smell seeping into her nostrils.

"Oooohhh, don't, don't please," the odor blocking out all other thoughts but of the other night. Horrible memories streamed back of her body bucking against the mattress the shadow of this beast hovering over her like a hugs bird of prey and-and she had thought it was Kevin and had given herself completely. She had begged him, begged him, and the memory of the hot searing eruption in her stomach nauseated her. He had emptied himself in her, shooting his sperm into her every open pore, sperm she thought belonged to her beloved Kevin – oh, how could she ever face her husband again, the memory of that would always be with her. He must never know, he must never know…

There was a sudden rapping on the door. The Arab quickly reached over and drew Jean's skirt down over her exposed thighs. He straightened his robe and leaning his head against the door asked in a quiet voice: "Who is it?"

"It's me, Madame DuFour, open the door."

He slid the bolt back and allowed it to swing open, letting the woman enter. Monique took one look at the bed and rushed to Jean's side.

"My dear, my dear, what has this horrible man done to you? What has he done?"

"Oh, Monique, thank God it's you," the bereaved girl sobbed. "He was going to-to…" The remainder of the sentence was drowned in the tears that flowed profusely down her cheeks.

"You filthy Arab, I told you not to harm her," Monique almost screamed at him. "Now you get out of here, right this minute." She grabbed him by the arm and shoved him toward the door, winking slightly as she pushed him outside and closed it.

"Oh, my dear, Jean. If I had known they were going to hurt you, I would never have left this morning. They promised they wouldn't touch you." She rushed over to the bed, stroking Jean's perspiring forehead.

"You-you knew they were going to do this?" Jean mustered the strength to say through her sobs.

"It isn't what you think, my dear," Monique said in a low confidential voice, sitting beside Jean and wiping the tears with her handkerchief.

"You must listen carefully to every word I say, it will mean both of our lives."

"But-but where is Kevin?" Jean interrupted, "he should be here by now. I told him the name of the hotel in my cable."

"They sent me with another man to meet him this morning but he didn't arrive. Instead, he sent this note with the porter on the train." Monique drew the note she had Kevin write a few minutes earlier from her purse, holding it so that Jean could read it from the position in which she was lying. She watched with a secret satisfaction as she saw the stunned look of hopelessness flicker across her eyes.