Jon Reskind - The abducted bride

He lay still for a moment to recover his strength and then slowly pulled himself off the unconscious girl's still form, his cock sliding slowly out of her battered cunt. He could see the wet matted hair of her well fucked furrow glistening wetly in the faint light. The insides of her thighs were smeared lewdly with the white-sticky juice. It dripped in tiny rivulets down the crevice of her ass, forming a dark wet circle on the mattress beneath.

The Arab smiled down at her, pulling his clothes on quietly. He'd like to fuck this hot little bitch again right now, but he knew he had better not. He had been there for over two hours now and he knew the French lady would be coming back soon. He couldn't take the chance now but he promised himself he would get her again later. He couldn't let this hot little American off this easy.

He took one last look at her lewdly splayed form, her mouth hanging loosely open in contented sleep. She must still be dreaming of the fucking he had given her, he smirked obscenely to himself. Maybe I had better help. He reached over her body between her still wide-spread thighs and ran his middle finger up the glistening cunt-lips moistening it with the mixture of both their cum. He rubbed the finger then around her open red lips and under her nostrils. This should give her something to puzzle over when she wakes up. The thought amused him and he laughed softly to himself. How he would like to see her face when she awoke, trying to figure out what happened.

The thought of his hot full load sloshing around deep in that unknowing little belly stirred him again as he closed and locked the door behind him.

"God, I hope she's pregnant," he muttered half aloud to himself as he descended the stairs to the reception desk, his steps a bit unsteady. He could hardly wait to look her in the eye later tonight, knowing that he had fucked her silly for over two hours. That would be revenge enough for the scornful looks she had given him but he hoped he would have the chance again. Next time he would really throw it to that hot little body. He whistled happily to himself.

Monique smiled complacently to herself as she had entered the taxi several hours earlier in front of the hotel. She had reason to be satisfied. After all, she mused, this was the fourth girl she had brought to Marseille in the past month and the market for them was good. Since the tourists had stopped going to Algiers because of the Arab takeover, the demand for young white girls to fill the Arab brothels was almost unlimited. They were bringing up to two or three thousand American dollars each, particularly the young fresh unused ones like the girl she had back at the hotel. She was certain she could get a premium for her. She was her best catch so far and she had to play her cards just right and get the right buyer. She thought she had him in Gamal. He liked the innocent ones and was willing to pay well for them. He would get his personal pound of flesh and then ship them off to Algiers for the Arab market. She almost hated to see this sweet young American turned over to a sadistic beast like him but money was money and his perverted depravity should be no concern of hers. She had to be cold and calculated about it, after all, she was a business woman and if she played her cards right could retire in a few years on a substantial income from her earnings.

The cab followed the Rue Marriane outside the city along the coast for several miles and pulled into the grounds of a large ocean front villa. The iron filigree gate was guarded by several dark Algerians with pistols strapped to their sides. Upon recognizing her, they waved the car through without trouble. She was well known by them as a frequent visitor so did not have to go through the usual formalities required to get into the fortress-like walls.

The cypress drive leading to the main villa was almost half a mile long and they passed several of the familiar patrols that roamed through the estate. The patrols all traveled in twos and had a pair of viscous looking black Alsatian dogs with them. They were trained to kill and Gamal had confided to her that they had done so several times when Interpol agents had tried to penetrate the grounds. They, of course, had disappeared without trace and Gamal had allowed the local police to enter and search the premises. This was a token search and all evidence of the various illegalities he was engaged in had been removed to a secret subterranean cellar. Besides, he had also confided that the police chief of the area was a frequent visitor of his and kept him dutifully informed of any official action that might be brewing against him. The system had obviously worked well as Gamal had been doing this since the end of the war and had become a very wealthy man. It was rumored that he had connections in the higher ministries in Paris and even among the staff of Interpol itself. Monique believed this, due to the immensity of his operations. No one could exist so long and on such a scale unless he was receiving important political protection from somewhere higher up than the local police.

The cab rounded the curved drive and pulled up in front of a huge white stucco house. It had a typical Mediterranean red tiled roof and was surrounded by the most beautiful tropical gardens Monique had ever seen. She enjoyed doing business with Gamal just to be able to pay these periodic visits to this fabulous villa. It must have cost him at least five million new francs to build it in the old days. At today's prices, it would be impossible to calculate the true value.

Monique was met at the door by one of his burly guards and escorted to Gamal's study. She knew she wouldn't have to wait to see him as he was always anxious when she came. She had made it a point early in their relationship to bring him only the best of the young females she lured to Marseille. She had never disappointed him yet and did not intend to now. She knew he would be overjoyed with this tender young Jean because of her almost unbelievable innocence and the fact that she was an American. There was something about Americans that seemed to appeal to the Arab nature. Perhaps it was because they were so much more naive than European women and always seemed to have such an untouched clean appearance. This gave them something to soil and humiliate. They all seemed to enjoy this and gave them something upon which to unleash the full vent of their natural base nature. Monique was only too familiar with the degradations they would force upon their own women much less a poor foreigner that was completely defenseless. She had seen some of the poor wretched girls she had sold them after a few months in their hands and had she not been so desperate to be financially independent, she could not have had the stomach for the business. In fact, as of late, she had found herself becoming more and more like them. Perhaps, she would make it a condition with Gamal that she would get to see the initiation of this Jean into her new life. This thought coursed warmly through her as the guard held the door open for her to enter.

"Hello, my dear Monique," the short fat obsequious looking man said, rising from behind the large oaken desk. "It's so good to see you again. You haven't paid me a visit in such a long time."

"Oh, Gamal, you silly man, it's only been a month since I've been here. You know it takes time to find the right ones for you. Your tastes are so special and refined that it takes a lot of screening. You wouldn't want me showing up here with just anything I run across, now would you?" Monique flashed her warming coyish smile at him, fluttering her eyelids slightly in a mock scolding manner.

"Of course not, my love, I understand your concern for my welfare," the Arab said, drawing his arm around her waist in a friendly hug, his dark balding head reaching barely to her shoulders. "If I didn't know this so well, I would think it was just my generous presents to you that caused your deep concern."