by elle`attend
FOR MATURE READERS ONLY
I had been depressed, and disappointed with my body following the birth of my second child. It was as if the subtle changes my babies had wrought in my body had distanced me somehow from it; the milk-leaking breasts, the soft curve of my abdomen, the faint spider’s-web delta of stretch marks along my thighs, and the sides of my breasts all conspired to make me feel unattractive, and unloveable.
And with all of this, I felt a corresponding estrangement from my emotions as well. I was displeased with these changes that motherhood had made in me, and eager to try and recapture some of my lost ‘youthful’ firmness, my ‘elasticity’, as it were, both physically and emotionally. For sensual, as well as purely vainglorious cosmetic reasons. I enrolled at a gym, and drove myself mercilessly three or four times a week, until I collapsed in a sweaty ball. I also began taking Kundalini yoga classes, and joined a workshop for new mothers interested in regaining their muscle tone in somewhat more intimate areas of their bodies.
This last had involved, along with the usual exercises for the muscles of the pelvic girdle and pubococcygeal band (Thank you, Dr Kegel), practicing certain forms of mild self-denial. Using those muscles surrounding the vagina and anus to bring oneself to a state of sexual tension, then stopping, and waiting until the feelings of arousal began to subside, then starting in all over again. Having experimented in a fumbling sort of way with benwa balls at school (all the rage in the post-Reagan era, liberal small-college atmosphere I found myself in; trickle down, indeed), I fancied myself rather adept at this particular form of ‘exercise’.
But nothing could possibly have prepared me for this.
Macabre shadows danced like shades from the Pit across the rippling corrugated metal walls of the dimly lit shed. I hung panting, my dripping hair draped in wet ropes across my face, obscuring my vision almost entirely. My arms were bound together behind me at the wrists, and again just above the elbows, and raised until I was nearly doubled over at the waist, my upper body almost parallel to the dirt floor. My shoulders howled in protest, and my back ached mercilessly. My legs were spread so widely that I felt as if I were being split in two, and bound to them, between my thighs was Sabrina, her long, silken white-blonde hair tied about my waist like a belt, welding her mouth to my sex. Sweat trickled down my breasts, and dripped slowly from their tips, falling onto Sabrina’s back, joining the little rivers that ran down her own body, glistening in the golden lamplight. I drew a shuddering breath as her tongue explored the folds and convolutions of my vulva, eliciting breathy little moans of unalloyed pleasure from my lips.
I stared unfocusedly from behind the black curtain of my hair at the shadowy form behind Sabrina, another woman, her long dark brunette hair cascading about her shoulders. She was naked as well, and shimmering in the lamplight with the perspiration of her own exertions. In her left hand she held a small remote control unit, and in her right, a braided leather cat-o-nine tails. Something wet, and sticky looking was dripping slowly from the tips of the cat, forming a small dark stain on the sand beside her feet. At the moment the woman’s attentions were focused on the device in her left hand, however.
It was Hekate, Sabrina’s helpmeet and sometime lover.
I sensed, more than heard Sabrina sob; felt the soft pulsing hum telescoping through her body where it was tied to my calves, and thighs. I had not seen the vibrator when it was inserted in her, but I could tell by the vibrations running through her flesh, and the soft audible buzzing that it must be a monster.
I felt her tongue become suddenly rigid, and nearly epileptic in its ministrations to my dripping quim, and her head begin to twitch between my thighs like a palsied marionette’s. Her breath began to come in hitching gasps; I knew she was on the verge of climaxing. Just thinking of it, of her impending orgasm, had me on the edge as well. I felt my whole body flush, blood rushing to the surface capillaries of my skin as if seeking a better view of the show. My hips began to jerk in time with Sabrina’s bobbing head. I clenched my teeth to keep my groans of pure animal pleasure from being heard. As if that would have mattered. It was like trying to hide blood in the water from sharks.
Hekate’s fingers skimmed along the face of the tiny remote, and the thrumming in Sabrina’s body ceased suddenly. I felt her go still between my legs, scarcely even breathing. She knew, too. In the next instant, Hekate brought the cat, still slick with her blood, down viciously across Sabrina’s proffered buttocks. She screamed, into my rippling pussy. My knees buckled, inviting me to drop to the floor, and wrench my arms from their sockets. Only the face of the woman between my thighs kept me upright.
I came at precisely the moment that Sabrina screamed, and Cassandra Bétancort’s bullwhip simultaneously carved a six-inch laceration across my own bare bottom. I was too involved in my orgasm to scream, simply sobbing, and gasping over and over:
“Make me come…make me come…make me COMMMMMME…”
Their whips kept up a samba-esque counterpoint on our dancing bodies, until we both fainted.
If there was a curtain call for us, I missed it…
**********
Jolie struggled to come up with a satisfactory answer to this absurdly simple question, but found herself completely unequal to the task.
Her head was in fact already in a bag, but the bag was far too small. Her aching brain felt too big for her skull, as well, which throbbed as if it were about to split the material of the pillowcase cinched snugly around her neck with clothesline cord. She groaned softly, and attempted to roll over onto her side. She succeeded only in nearly garroting herself with the clothesline. She quickly gave up on this activity, rolling back onto her stomach, and went about taking stock of her new accommodations instead.
She was naked, of that much she was certain. The fuzzy, acrylic fiber carpeting scraping maddeningly against her breasts and belly confirmed this. She thought briefly again about shifting positions, trying to minimize the chafing rug burns that were developing on her nipples, but thought better of it. The clothesline around her neck evidently was connected to more binding her wrists together, and they in turn were linked to her ankles, drawn up to her buttocks. She’d seen cute little calves in this sort of position before, when she had gone to a rodeo with an old boyfriend. It had not interested her much then, and she had quickly lost the guy. It interested her even less now.
To make matters worse, the carpet was moving. Or more precisely, the vehicle in which the carpet, and she herself were, was moving. It was dark, and sweltering in the enclosed, nearly airless space. Her body was sticky with perspiration, and she felt as if she might vomit at any moment. This was going to prove to be a very dicey proposition should she do so, as her mouth was filled with a vile tasting rag of some sort, also held in place with the ubiquitous vinyl-coated clothesline cord.
‘Honors student chokes to death on own barf in car trunk in Egypt,’ she could see the obit in her local paper. ‘Girl voted “most likely to go all the way any time she can” mourned by several.’
I don’t deserve this, she thought to herself as she tried to maintain her equilibrium over another series of very nasty potholes. She swore again as her body was tossed about and bruised like a ripe peach in a tumble dryer. The vehicle had evidently left the ‘improved’ road for more adventurous terrain. Jolie fought with something like real terror now as she struggled to keep her ankles and her wrists stationary, trying to keep from strangling herself. At each jolt of the vehicle, the cord bit into her neck again, bruising her larynx painfully.
Someone’s going to suffer for this, she thought blackly.
The car slowed to a crawl, then rolled crunchingly to a stop as the engine was shut off. After the pounding vibration, and the ceaseless growl of the motor, the sudden stillness seemed to press in physically on her eardrums. She turned her head carefully as she heard the rattle of a key in the trunk’s lock. The lid was lifted, and hands reached for her, pawing at her like a bag of groceries. Someone gripped her wrists, and carefully severed the cord connecting them to her ankles. Then she was lifted from the trunk, and set her on her unsteady feet, a pair of the hands still on her, helping to hold her upright. One of them wandered to her right breast and helped itself, cupping and fondling it, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for it to do.
“Get your fucking hands off of me, slimeball,” she hissed into the pillowcase still shrouding her head.
This was greeted with the raucous sound of male laughter, and some rather coarse sounding remarks in an unintelligible tongue. Jolie couldn’t understand what was being said, but she could tell that it wasn’t very complimentary. The man squeezed her tit again, this time more crudely. Suddenly she lashed out blindly with her bare foot, bringing her heel back and up sharply in the general vicinity of the groin of the man holding her. Her marksmanship was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from behind her, and a grunted curse, followed by a pile-driver fist being driven into her solar plexus. She sagged, and slipped from the grasp of the man behind her, slumping to her knees, her chest hitching spasmodically as she tried to regain her breath.
“Get her up, and inside,” someone said in English. “And watch your hands, lest you lose your jewels entirely.” Other voices guffawed, as hands wrapped around her biceps again, and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. Jolie was half dragged, half carried across the rocky ground. She heard a squealing of unoiled hinges, and a shaft of yellowish light fell across her caul. The hands released her suddenly, propelling her into the room. She stumbled, falling forward onto her knees. She rolled onto her side, and lay still.
“Remove the hood.”
Fingers fumbled at the knot around Jolie’s neck, and jerked the sacking off. She blinked rapidly, trying to accustom her eyes to the dimly lit room as other thick fingers jerked the foul tasting rag from her mouth. She gasped, sucking air into her lungs, and spitting the residual vileness the gag had left in her mouth out onto the floor beneath her face.
“Good evening, Ms Bennett.”
Jolie turned her head in the general direction of the voice. It was a woman’s voice, of that she was nearly certain. She squinted into the gloom, her cheek pressed against the filthy wooden flooring, and saw military boots and rolled socks, attached to a pair of the most breathtaking calves she had ever seen. She let her eyes travel slowly up them to the woman’s knees, and higher, past her khaki shorts, and military cut khaki shirt, to a lean, bronzed, impassive face set in a short, boyish bob of jet black hair. Her eye was the same impenetrable ebony as her hair, and glittered in the dim light like obsidian set in milky quartz and gold. Eye singular. The other, her left, was obscured by a black leather eyepatch.
“I trust you had a pleasant journey,” the woman said, her thin, pale lips barely moving in her deeply tanned face. Her voice was soft, and faintly hoarse-sounding, almost hypnotic.
“Travel can be so problematic these days in Egypt, I’m afraid.”
Jolie took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, and bite back the anger that was bubbling to the surface within her. Since she had set foot in Egypt a scant twelve hours earlier she had been stood up on the docks in Alexandria, forced to hoof several miles in the broiling Egyptian sun as it slowly cooked her, barely given the time of day at her new place of employment, knocked over the head, stripped naked, hogtied, and bounced around in a car trunk over roads that would give a donkey fallen arches. Now here she was dumped nude on the floor of some shack in God knows where with the Dragon Lady. She was pretty much aching to tell someone just what they could do with her internship at WISDOM.
“Have we met?” she asked archly instead, keeping as frosty an edge to her voice as the circumstances would allow. “I hope this isn’t part of my job description, because if it IS, I think that we’re going to have to renegotiate my employment con…”
A well-aimed boot toe to her kidney cut short Jolie’s speculations as to her duties as a WISDOM intern. The woman rose from her chair in a fluid motion, and walked to the girl writhing in pain on the floor. She squatted down next to her and spoke very softly, and very clearly in faintly accented English.
“There are a great many things we are going to discuss together, Ms Bennett. A great many indeed. I look forward to hearing what you have to say on a number of subjects. But just now, I think it might be better if you were to give your undivided attention to me for a moment or two.”
The woman ran her eyes swiftly over Jolie’s body, expertly assessing and estimating its strengths, and its weaknesses, rather the way an experienced horse trader might evaluate a potential purchase.
“But I think that before we chat, Ms Bennett, I should introduce you to a colleague of yours…”
The woman snapped her fingers, and gestured at the now thoroughly perplexed, and completely terrified girl on the floor. Her abductors laid hands on her again, dragging her to her feet abruptly, and steering her stumblingly toward an iron banded wooden doorway. The woman pushed the door open, swinging it back on protesting hinges. The room was dark, save for a single halogen spot shining down from the ceiling, creating a pool of stark white brilliance in the center of the room.
Jolie blinked, gaping uncomprehendingly at what she saw at the center of that cone of harsh light.
Then she screamed, and fainted dead away.
**********
To Be Continued...
© MEB 2002