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Collected by Djian

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The Abducted Bride
{Unknown} MF, M+F, NC, Rape, Slavery, Drugs [1/2]


DISCLAIMER:
All characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to anyone either living or
dead is purely coincidental.
*****************************************************************************

The Abducted Bride
by Jon Reskind

The smooth trim Marseille Express burrowed its way swiftly through the clear
night of the French country side. A large pale summer moon hung low in the
distance.

Kevin Taylor watched its shimmering light moving against the darkenedceiling
of his sleeper compartment. It flickered hypnotically in unison to the
rhythmic roll of the train beneath his bunk. Cool air from the open window
played across his naked well built body which covered the whole of the narrow
bed. He was alone.

Damn, he thought miserably, what a hell of a way to spend a honeymoon.

He drug deeply on the almost finished cigarette squeezed tightly between his
thumb and forefinger. His brow was wrinkled in deep thought.

He had reason to think. Ahead of him in Marseille his bride was waiting after
running out on him their first night together in Paris. Utter, utter
stupidity, he grimaced, the details of their last hour together flickering
through his mind like the reel of an old silent movie.

Perhaps he had been a little rough, but by God she had it coming to her. He
had fought with her the entire year of their engagement about giving in to him
and had tried to explain that virginity had gone out of style. Two people in
love just didn't wait anymore for marriage, they relied on their love and
trust and not some legal magic a ring was supposed to bring. She had not
listened to him then and had even refused to discuss the matter though they
had come close to making it together several times in the backseat of hiscar.
She had always drawn the line just at the last minute. This was the partthat
had driven him crazy. He had come so close to possessing that luscious body
so many times and had been left in frustration so many times that his control
had been destroyed completely. He had even stopped parking with her when they
had gone out on dates for fear of what he would have done.

With her conservative New England upbringing, she would never have consented
to marry him if he had resorted to force and that's just what he would have
done sooner or later. He did love her very much and didn't want to destroy
their relationship by some uncontrollable act that he may have committed in
the heat of passion. She was too fine a girl for that.

He had to admit, in her favor, that he had nothing else to complain about.
She was almost perfection personified in all other respects. In fact, it was
that perfection and his piled up frustrations that caused all the trouble back in
Paris. That damn body was too perfect!

Things may still have been all right that first night if she hadn't insisted
on taking a plane to Paris right after the ceremony. He would have preferred
to stay in New York for a few days and take their time in getting to know each
other. But, Jean had insisted on Paris immediately. That had meant sitting
next to her on that fucking airplane for another seven hours. All that ran
through his mind during the entire trip was, where he should hare been atthat
moment. After all, she had been stressing the ceremony all these months and
that was over. She was legally his now and he still couldn't touch her.

It had just been too much. By the time they arrived at the hotel in the
center of Paris he was almost out of his mind--and then--she had appeared in
the bathroom door in that flimsy hip length nighty. He had gone crazy.

He could still see her standing there in the doorway, her body a lovely thing
of art. He had seen her before in a bathing suit, but never like this. Every
sensuous detail of her nakedness was lucidly clear, from her tiny rising
nipples down to the soft triangle of pubic hair that nestled mysteriously
below her white virginal belly.

Suddenly, nothing else had mattered but ramming his hard cock into that
teasing flesh. She had become just a woman, a woman that he had to havright
now at any cost. All else was forgotten.

"Like me, darling?" He could still hear ringing from her lips though now it
seemed to have occurred centuries ago.

There had been no verbal response from him, he remembered dryly. He had just
reached for her, a deep animal-like groan erupting from his throat, and pulled
her roughly to the bed. Her soft covered negligee had ripped away like so
much tissue paper.

"Be gentle, Kevin! Be gentle, please! P-Please!" Her voice had resounded
through the room in terror as he held her down with one hand and ran the other
greedily over the lush contours of her resisting young body, kneading her ripe
succulent breasts cruelly beneath hands he no longer controlled. Tight fists
of flesh protruded painfully in white bloodless ridges between his straining
fingers. His head had dropped to the young budding nipples and chewed
hungrily at their tips until he had felt the soft resilient flesh give way and
the sweet taste of blood seeping onto his lashing tongue.

"No, darling, N-Nooo, please, not this way, not this way!" she had pleaded,
but the words had rolled unheeded from her tortured lips.

He still had, in his madness held her wildly straining body tightly to the
bed. She was imprisoned there by his heavy tensed chest that weighed upon her
like a giant stone. Her long dark hair had begun thrashing helpless from side
to side on the bed, her face contorted with terror. He could still remember
bitterly, her dark eyes flashing wide in disbelief that this was happening to
her. She had pleaded more until the sounds became nothing but incoherent
mumbles of jumbled words. It was then he had fucked her the first time.

Ignoring the low moaning pleas, he had rolled on top her, catching her body as
her long slim legs had scissored out in one last desperate effort to escape
his brutal assault. His hips had fallen heavily between the full wide-splayed
thighs, pinning her jerking buttocks tightly to the bed. The soft down of her
pubic hair brushing teasingly against his throbbing cock, inciting him to
incoherent mumblings of crazed uncontrollable lust.

The slow motion pictures of Jean's ravishment flickered on through his
tortured mind as the express tunneled on ceaselessly through the night...
His knees were holding hers wide apart now and he was grinding his pelvis hard
into her squirming defenseless crotch. The spasmodic jerkings of the hollows
of her soft inner thighs drove his hand between them; he was searching to
place himself, striving to reach that goal that had eluded him for so long...
and suddenly, without warning... he had brutally found it. He had jammed the
blood-filled head between the fleshy moist lips and with a groan, shoved it
all the way forward into her quivering cunt. She had squealed like a stuck
pig and kicked her legs out wildly in the air in a futile attempt to escape
the cruel impalement. It had only worsened her position and he could still
hear the guttural screech of further pain that had come tumbling piteously
from deep in her throat as his rock-hard cock battered deeper and deeper into
her warm yielding flesh. At last, his pelvis had smacked hard into hers,
signaling the end. His rigid fleshy column lay sunk all the way down inside
of her quivering belly, the warm wet walls of her cunt wrapped tightly
around it.

He didn't stop. He didn't even give her a chance to adjust to his sudden
presence deep in her womb. He just began to fuck, ramming in and out of her
like a dog gone mad. He had only thought of one thing and that was to spew
that hot sticky load of cum deep inside of her where it belonged and where it
had belonged for a year now. He vented his lust against her groaning body
time after time, flooding her belly again and again with the hot white liquid
of a year's frustrated waiting and hoping... until-finally... it was all
gone.

How long or how many times he had fucked her, he couldn't remember. He had
been an unconscious being in another world of complete madness. But, he did
remember, after the first great gush from his sperm inflated cock had emptied
into her, a feeling of helpless guilt flooding over him.

He had become more gentle with the sobbing body beneath and had babbled soft
apologies in her unhearing ears as he had rocked over her. He had tried to
bring a response that would wipe away the terrible guilt he felt for letting
his unbridled lust overcome the patience he knew he should have had with her.

It had been useless. She had lain motionless beneath him, her eyes openwide,
staring coldly at the ceiling above as he had tried time after time to
awaken some response that would show she felt something other than pain and
disgust.

The contemptuous eyes had not wavered from the ceiling.

Kevin remembered rolling from her still body, and unable to speak what he
felt, had merely lit a cigarette and gazed silently down at her. He had
finally mustered the courage to say something.

"Jean, can you forgive me?"

"Please cover me, Kevin," she had spoken coldly after a long seconds delay,
her eyes still refusing to look at him. He pulled the sheet up over her body
and tucked it gently under her chin.

He waited, but there was silence.

"Darling, I know it must have been awful for you. I--I just couldn't control
myself."

Silence.

"You were beautiful standing there."

Silence.

"Perhaps if we hadn't waited so long. Remember? I told you we should have
tried before."

Silence.

"Damn it, Jean," he had finally blurted out in his frustration. "You've got
to understand a man's feelings about these things. I'm not some robot that
can stand being next to a woman like you and not feel something. It's been
building up all this time and it's your fault for being so almighty
righteous
and virtuous."

Kevin had known he had treaded too far when this had slipped out, but it was
too late.

Because he had wanted to fight back, to recoup his lost vanity, he had become
cruel. He had blamed his own failing on Jean and accused her of being cold
and unfeeling.

"Christ, I might as well have married a statue. It could satisfy me as much
as you have." He had shouted in guilt and anger. "I don't think you'll ever
be able to Brake a man happy. Not until you learn to get off that pedestal
you've put yourself on. Or, at least, that your old man's put you on."

Kevin had seen her move and glance toward him with the deepest hatred he had
yet seen in her eyes. He knew he had hit a sore point and was glad to see
some reaction from her, even though it was of hate, it was better than
nothing. Besides, he felt like hurting her now the way she had hurt him.

"I'm going out and get myself some little slut off the street. I need a good
grind. It'll be a long time before I get one at home."

With this, he had gone to the bathroom and dressed. He left, slamming the
door behind him, not pausing for even a side glance at Jean.

That had been his big mistake, he thought bitterly as he flipped thecigarette
butt out the open window of the racing train. Jean had been in no condition
to be left alone at that moment. He should have swallowed his pride and not
let his male ego take over. They wouldn't have this mess now if he had done
what he should have and not run off into the Paris streets to walk off his own
guilt feelings.

He had not gone out after a woman that night.

He had spent several hours just walking and stopping periodically for a
cognac. He had thought long and hard about their relationship. It had been a
good one and still could be in spite of his miserable failure on their wedding
night. The cool Paris night air had settled his mind a bit and he had worked
out an apology and explanation of sorts. It might take a while, but he was
sure she would get over it.

When he had returned to the hotel the Concierge at the desk had handed him an
envelope. It had been a simple note from Jean saying she was leaving. She
needed a few days to think things over and for him not to try and contact her.
She would let him know when and where to meet her so they could discuss
things rationally.

That is why he was on this damn train. The cable had come this afternoon for
him to meet her in Marseille. She made up her mind and wanted to talk to him.
He didn't have the slightest idea what the decision had been and was a bit
apprehensive, though he was certain they could work something out.

One thing he knew, he could not let her go. He loved her more than anything
in the world and could not leave her under any circumstances

He fell into a deep but troubled sleep, anxious for the morning to arrive.

Jean Taylor had been on this same train two nights previously. She had lain
in the same bunk that Kevin Taylor did a few nights later, but he had no way
of knowing it. Her thoughts also ran over the events that had occurred in the
hotel, her eyes seeing them in a different light.

How could he have been so cruel, she thought, what had turned Kevin so
suddenly into the raging animal he had been?

She ran her hands over the raw tips of her swollen nipples that were so sore
she could not bear to wear anything over them, even to sleep. Her shoulders
trembled when she thought back to the horrible rape of her body and the way he
had used it as a tool solely for his own gratification without even the
slightest thought of her desires or pleasures. He had used her like an
animal--his own wife the thought sickened her and tears brimmed her eyes.

She had actually looked forward to the first evening with him and had been
preparing herself mentally for weeks before to make certain she entered the
marital relationship with the correct attitude. She knew he had resented her
not giving herself to him before marriage, and she also knew that most of her
friends had not saved themselves for that first night either. But, she had
vowed that theirs was going to be a classically perfect marriage, in the old
fashioned sense. She had wanted, so much, for them to have a mutual respect
and understanding for each other from the beginning and for him to never be
able to doubt that he, and he alone, was the only man to possess her.

Perhaps she had made the mistake of quoting her father too often in this
matter when Kevin had been overly persistent about having her before marriage.
This was why she had cringed when he had thrown it at her back in the hotel
room. It was true, perhaps, that he did place her on a pedestal, and also
that he was perhaps over-solicitous toward her, but he had a right to be. He
was of good conservative New England stock, and as a God-fearing man, had
expected his family to be also.

She had been tempted many times, she had to admit, but had always summoned up
her courage and resisted, even {bough the easy thing to do would have been to
give in to Kevin's demands. She had come so close sometimes that if he had
just had the persistence to continue, he could have broken her down. In fact,
she was certain that she was as anxious for the consummation as he was and it
would have been so beautiful if he could have just shown a little
understanding and could have prepared her gently for the final assault on her
virginity.

She had read so much about how important the first night was in marriage and
how beautiful it could be if both partners were understanding of each other.

Well, she had been, she thought to herself, and all she received for it was a
broken and bruised body bestially raped like she was a whore off the
streets.

Jean clenched her eyes tightly shut at the memory of his last statement. She
could still hear it ringing in her ears as the sound of the train lulled her
tortured mind to sleep:

"I don't think you could ever make a man happy. I'll get a good grind"

She was awakened the next morning by the knocking of the porter on the
compartment door.

"Breakfast call, breakfast call," he repeated in his broken English several
times.

Jean opened her eyes hesitantly. It just had to be a good day. She needed
some sun; the weather always seemed to dictate her mood of the day and she had
enough problems to think about without having that dismal French overcast.

It was shining beautifully. She could see its warming rays streaming over her
head and touching the compartment wall, flooding the tiny cubicle with a
lovely radiance that made her forget her problems momentarily. She was
famished and brushed her teeth and dressed rapidly. She wanted to make the
first breakfast call so she would have time to do some thinking before
arriving in Marseille. The train wasn't due for another two hours or so and
it wouldn't hurt to try and organize herself mentally. She still had to worry
about a hotel when she arrived there. She had not wanted to let anyone at the
hotel in Paris make reservations for her as Kevin may have bought the
information from them and she would not have the time she needed to come to
grips with herself.

Jean settled herself back in the chair in the clean white dining car. She had
ordered fried eggs and bacon, which had surprised her when she had seen them
on the French menu.

"Ah, une dejeuner, Americain," the waiter had said smilingly.

"Oui, dejeuner, Americain," Jean had repeated, smiling back. She was glad she
had at least remembered some of the words from her College French course. She
supposed that any French waiter would know the word for breakfast, but it was
nice to be able to say some things in the language of the country in which you
were traveling.

"It was a beautiful day," she thought, as she watched the green rolling French
countryside roll by. Quaint small sharp roofed farm houses could be seen in
the distance adding to the beauty of the setting.

If only things had not happened the way they had in Paris, she might have been
enjoying this with Kevin.

She was almost beginning to regret her hasty decision to leave before he
returned when her thoughts were interrupted by a feminine French voice
speaking excellent English.

"Excuse me, you are American, aren't you?" a stately, well-groomed woman
asked, smiling pleasantly.

"Why, yes I am," Jean answered, surprised by the sudden intrusion upon her
thoughts.

"May I join you? I haven't the chance to speak English so often anymore, it
would be nice while we are having breakfast," she said nodding at the empty
chair across from Jean.

"Yes, please do," Jean replied, a bit perplexed at having her solace
interrupted so unexpectedly.

The annoyance only lasted a moment, however, as she turned out to be one of
the most pleasant women she had talked with in a long time. Perhaps it was
good to talk to someone else and get this thing off her mind for awhile, she
rationalized to herself.

Madame DuBois had immediately monopolized the conversation, but in a pleasant
manner. She was from the south of France and told Jean many little stories
and anecdotes about the area they were passing through that brightened her
spirits perceptibly. She seemed to be an amazing woman. She was married to a
wealthy art dealer in Paris and was going to Marseille to look at some
paintings for him that one of his underground contacts had discovered in an
old shop. She was certain she could pick several Renior's for almost nothing.
The shop owner thought they were copies and Madame DuBois was going down to
discreetly check before they bought them.

Jean felt herself extremely fortunate to have met her. She solved her hotel
problem. Madame DuBois said she usually stayed at one of the more chic places
in Marseille, but did not want any of the other art dealers to know she was in
town. It was a dirty business and if it was known she was there, one of them
was certain to have her followed to see what she was up to. Therefore, she
was staying in a small third class hotel in the lower part of town where she
would not be seen or reported to be in town. She had assured Jean it was
clean and had all the facilities of the more grandiose but just a little more
French.

Jean was happy with this. She was afraid Kevin might call the police and they
would send out an alert to the hotels. It would take no time at all to find
her, as they were very efficient about this, but with a small hotel it would
be almost impossible. This was luck and her spirits rose immediately.

Breakfast finished, Jean had rushed back to the compartment and put her things
together. Marseille was coming up. They had talked so long together that
both had forgotten about it being so near.

It was also nice to have an interpreter. Madame DuBois handled all the
baggage and porters and got them into a taxi without the usual difficulties a
tourist to such a place has. Jean was certain her high school French would
not have done her much good here.

The ride to the hotel was pleasant. Monique, they were on a first name basis
now, had made the driver go along the waterfront drive so Jean could get a
good view of the city. The blue of the Mediterranean looked so inviting that
she could have jumped into it that very moment. She almost wished now she had
taken a beach-side hotel outside the city, but still it would be nice to have
Monique around for company and perhaps she could help her with some advice.
She seemed so much more worldly wise than herself.

Jean would have been happy with any solution now and perhaps she would confide
in Monique later this evening when they had gotten to know each other just a
little better. She was certain the older woman would understand the problem.
She knew she would go back with Kevin, but the only problem was how to do it
with honor, and more important, how to erase away the horrible memory of night
before last.

The taxi turned off from the waterfront drive into the old sector of the city
and the streets became more narrow and crowded. Open markets selling
everything imaginable lined the narrow alleyways the driver was picking his
way through. It was obviously the sailor quarter for the port as Jean could
see every nationality of seaman imaginable, and even at this hour of the day,
vulgar, gaudy, looking women were parading the sidewalks plying their
age-old trade.

Jean became a bit apprehensive when the car stopped in front of a dirty
doorway marked, Le Pension Afrique.

"Is this it, Monique?" she asked, obvious concern reflecting in her voice.

"Yes, it is, dear," she answered, an assuring smile on her lips, "but don't
worry, the outside means nothing. You Americans are all the same; you expect
the Hotel Ritz everywhere you go. Now come on in and stop worrying."

She paid the driver and signaled to a boy standing in front of the door to
take their bags.

Monique led her down a darkened hallway to the stairway and up to the second
floor where the desk was located. She checked them in with the desk clerk,
who was obviously pleased to see her. Jean didn't like his looks. He was
Algerian with a short clipped mustache and looked as though he belonged behind
a bar rather than working as a desk clerk.

"Jean, this is Shalla," Monique said, introducing the clerk. "He speaks
English very well and takes care of all of my needs when I stay here. You'll
find him useful."

"How do you do Madame," the clerk bowed toward her with the natural Arab
obsequiousness.

She nodded back to him apprehensively. She didn't like the looks of this
place at all but perhaps Monique was right, Americans did expect a lot. Anyway
it was quiet and the neighborhood quaint, it may be just the place to reflect
on her problems for a few days.

Shalla led them up to the third floor and gave them adjoining rooms. There
was a connecting door which made Jean feel a little better. The lock for it
was on her side so if she needed anything in a hurry she could always get into
Monique's room. She didn't like the way the Arab desk clerk was looking at
her. She knew they were an extremely polite people and overly solicitous at
times but still made her nervous the way he looked her up and down lustfully
with his sharp penetrating eyes.

"Well, here we are, my dear," Monique said as the clerk placed Jean's baggage
next to the wrought iron double bed. Jean had thought these beds had gone out
with the horse and buggy. She surveyed the rest of the room and it looked as
though it hadn't been renovated since that time either. A single uncovered
light bulb hung down from the center of the ceiling and was the only light
source in the room. There were no lamps on the table. The cheaply painted
plaster was cracked along the walls and small blotches had fallen out of the
ceiling, leaving irregular shaped holes that showed through to the lathe work
beneath.

Thank God, Monique is here with me, she thought. She seems to know what
she's doing.

"Do you stay here often?" Jean had to ask.

"Oh yes, my dear, my husband and I always stay here when we want peace and
quiet and, it is quaint."

Jean felt foolish that she had to keep asking questions like this. Monique
had assured her several times that everything was all right. She would just
have to accept it. After all, who knows a country better than a native.
Besides, she liked her and was looking to her for some moral support these
next several days. They would be difficult ones and she knew she wouldn't
bear to face them completely alone.

"Jean, dear," Monique said, "I've got to run and do a few things before I
unpack. Why don't you put your things away and rest up a bit. I think a nap
would do you good. I'll be back around six and we can have dinner together."

Jean agreed to this. She was happy to be left alone for a few hours to get
settled and take a bath. She felt gritty from the trip and hadn't been in a
tub since her hurried exit from the hotel room in Paris.

"I'd love it," Jean replied, "you wake me up when you finish your business.
I'll probably be dead to the world."

As soon as Monique was out of the room, Jean finished her unpacking and drew a
cool refreshing bath. She couldn't wait to get into bed, as squeaky and
uncomfortable as it looked. She scrubbed herself a bright clean, feeling as
though she hadn't touched water in weeks. Afterwards, she rubbed herself with
lotion from head to foot, rubbing gently over the bruises left from Kevin's
childish assault on her. She closed her mind tightly against the memory for
the time being and decided to think about it later. Right now she was too
tired to do anything but sleep.

She chose a short hip-length nighty, purposely pushing the torn one she had
worn the other night with Kevin into a far corner of the drawer where she
had put her things.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Jean asked lightly, concluding that Monique had forgotten
something.

"Iced tea, Madame," she recognized Shalla's voice through the door.

"But, I--I didn't order any tea," Jean answered, surprised and a bit upset
about the unexpected intrusion.

"Madame Monique ordered it for you, Madame. She said it would help you
sleep.
It's a special mint tea to relax you."

"Oh, all right, just a minute," Jean threw on her thin robe and opened the
door to allow him to enter.

Shalla stopped for a moment as he brought the tray through the door. Jean
caught his sharp quick eyes as they glanced the length of her body. She
automatically drew the top of the robe tightly around her throat and stood
holding the door open waiting for him to put the tray down and leave.

"If Madame needs anything else, just ring the buzzer and Shalla will come."
He bowed as he slowly backed out the door, his penetrating eyes boring straight
through the robe Jean was wearing. She gave him a cold stare and shuddered as
she drew its flimsy material more tightly around herself locking the door
behind him. She was glad Monique would be returning in a few hours. She knew
she was safe here with the door locked but still felt a little insecure. She
didn't like the clerk and the way he had looked at her. He had stripped her
bare with his glances and she knew it wouldn't take much carelessness on her
part to have him get out of line. She had never seen such a raw animal lust
in a man's eyes before as they had locked on the cleavage showing between her
large ripe breasts. Her hands inadvertently covered them as she trembled
repulsively at the thought of his hands on her.

She picked up the glass of tea from the table by the bed and sipped it
thirstily. In spite of the lewd appraisal of her body by the clerk, she was
glad Monique had sent the tea. It was cool and refreshing, though it had a
slight bitterness to it. Must be from the mint, she thought, as she stretched
her long smooth body down the length of the bed, draining the last drop from
the tall refreshing glass.

She stretched languidly, relaxed sweetly by the hypnotizing bitterness of the
drink and pressed the switch by the bed that turned off the light hanging
above her. The room faded into a pleasant semi-darkness as her eyes
fluttered closed into a strange floating half-sleep. Her mind seemed to remain in an
almost waking state as she could feel the nerve ends of her body floating
below her into a deep, deep, softness that seemed like a gentle fleece-lined
cloud beneath her. The pleasant intoxicating mint odor curled strangely
through her nostrils bringing dreams of sun and roses and Kevin the deepest
warmth she had ever known, descended from somewhere above, and dropped
gently the alluring veil of near sleep over her.

From a broom closet next to the room of the American girl, the Arab peered
hungrily through the small hole bored through the wall. He could see her
slowly remove the thin robe she was wearing, exposing the flimsy night gown
that covered her firm luscious body only down to the tops of her full
well-rounded thighs.

He smiled in anticipation when he saw her lift the glass of tea to her lips
and drink deeply from it. He held his breath as she winced slightly from the
initial bitter taste; then breathed freely again as the puzzled look
disappeared from her face and she drank again. Small beads of perspiration
broke from his forehead as she reclined back on the bed, her feet facing
directly at the hole through which he was observing her. The sparse nylon
gown snaked its way up over the white flat plane of her belly, exposing the
dark soft silkiness that covered the junction of her slightly spread legs.
The thin red hair-lined slit was temptingly visible running the length of
her open crotch.

His bulging eyes followed the contours of the hips up over the rising and
falling rib-cage to the large white rounded spheres of her breasts. They were
set slightly close together and through the thin covering, he could sec their
turgid nipples rising into tantalizing little buds. His month watered He
could hardly wait to get his hands and mouth on those and to twist and churn
them into the rock hardness of passion. He had never had an American girl
before and he had heard they were passionless haughty things who ruled over
their men with an iron-hand. He would see soon. His potion never failed. He
had used it often on the women Madame Monique had brought here and not one had
been able to resist its maddening aphrodisiac effect.

He would show this proud little American bitch who had everything and who had
dismissed him as so much dirt when he had tried to be friendly. It wouldn't
be long now as she had turned the glass up and drained the last lethal drops
for it. He clenched his fist tightly as she squirmed around on the bed before
him and pushed the light switch, plunging the room into semi-darkness. It
took his eyes a moment to adjust to the change but he could still see herslim
form stretched sensuously down the length of the bed. Her thighs had fallen
apart a little more now and he could make out dimly the dark wisp that covered
the mound of her lower belly. His tongue ran inadvertently around the moist
edges of his lips as he fingered the master key in his pocket. He would have
to wait a few more minutes. He wanted no crying out, the potion must have
time to reach its full effect. His body was soaked in a sweat now from the
thought of that haughty young bitch squirming in helpless surrender beneath
his excited body. The seconds of waiting ticking by seemed like hours... til
finally he could stand it no longer. He returned to the hallway, carefully
tiptoeing down to the room and fitting the key quietly into the door. He
opened it slowly, pushing his head into the darkened room, to see if there was
any sound. There was none but the soft breathing of the motionless form on
the bed. He closed the door softly behind him, locking it to insure there
would be no disturbing them.

The Arab looked intensely through the darkness at the bed. The head of the
sleeping girl was facing straight ahead at the ceiling. Her eyes were
clenched tightly shut as if in a deep hard sleep, yet she moved slightly from
time to time as though dreams were coming to her from the haze of the other
world she had slipped into.

He moved cat-like around the foot of the bed, not taking his gaze from the
reclining figure sprawled limply back on it. She had drawn one knee up flat
on the bed even with her hip, the smooth white flesh of the inner thigh
gleamed faintly in the darkness. The soft dark hairs covering the exposed,
still tightly closed lips of her vagina, were plainly visible now to his beady
eyes as they adjusted themselves to the darkness of the shaded room.

He involuntarily drew in his breath at the unbelievable sight before him. He
had fucked many drugged young women before on this same bed, but never
anything like this. Never anything so pure, innocent, and proud. Never
anything that he would enjoy humiliating so much.

The thought of helpless mewling grunts of pleasure coming from those
untouchable lips, that had scorned him before, goaded his organ into rock-
hardness. He could feel the blood throbbing painfully into its large expanded
head, tiny droplets of thick white seminal fluid had already begun to seep
from the sensitive contracting gland at its tip, smearing wetly against his
thin thigh. He silently opened the fly of his pants, easing the pain
slightly.

He slowly massaged the heavy thick foreskin back and forth over the jerking
head as he advanced around the bed toward the proud young bitch who now lay
totally at his mercy. The drug had done its work well and he now intended to
teach this haughty young American to scorn him as she and all of her kind had
when he tried to be nice to them. This rod he held in his hands was the great equalizer
and he'd see if she treated him like a cur dog when rammed deep
between those open thighs and buried the head far up inside her aristocratic
little belly.

His pants dropped heavily to the floor as he opened the last button at the top
and fully exposed his long thick member. It stood out in proud menacing
erection over the spread eagle body on the bed beneath. He slowly unbuttoned
the soiled sweat covered shirt and threw it to the chair in the corner. He
left his shoes and socks on in case the French woman, Monique, returned and he
had to get out in a hurry. He had locked the downstairs door so she would
have to ring to get in. This would give him plenty of warning. He didn't
intend to leave this delicious young bitch until he had drained them both
dry of every ounce of strength in their bodies.

He stood for a moment longer over her motionless body, stroking himself into a
rigidity that threatened to explode into streaming white hot spurts at any
moment. For a second, he considered it. It would be a beautiful sight to see
his hard penis throbbing out its load into the helpless girls face and down
over her soft white tits. He lewdly pictured it dribbling down over her chin
to the hollow of her throat and forming warm sticky pools between those lush
soft breasts. But no, he had better not. He had to clean it all up. She
must never know she had been fucked. If she did, and told the French lady, he
would lose his job and maybe his life. She was connected with the big boysin
the racket and they might not like his sampling the merchandise every time
they brought it in.

He couldn't resist one thing before he climbed on her. He knew the risk was
great of losing his load, but he had to see those proud little ruby lips
around it just for a moment. He had thought so much about it while he was
downstairs waiting until she was alone. He kneeled down on the edge of the
bed by her head and turned it gently toward his erected penis. When it was
several inches away, he pushed his hips slowly forward toward her upturned
face, laying the wet sticky underside of the throbbing head between the small
valley formed by her closed pink lips. He placed one thumb under her nose and
the other on her chin, pulling slowly out until the underside of the heavy
head dropped slightly through the stretched lips and rested against her white
bared teeth, the soft flesh of the pink puckered lips forming a furrow along
its length. He flexed his hips slightly back and forth until several small
droplets of cum oozed from his throbbing gland, and lubricated the mouth that
was half surrounding it. He could feel the warm air from her nostrils pushing
hotly against it as she breathed in and out restlessly.

Looking down directly into her face, he could see small rivulets run slowly
down the corners of her mouth on either side, dribbling like tears down the
sides of her cheeks. God, he would like to shoot his hot stream down that
soft palpitating throat and see the adams-apple bob up and down as she gulped
it into her. Maybe later, if she was left alone again and he was sure he had
more time.

He reached one hand down to the hem of the flimsy negligee, pulling it up
slowly over her rounded snow-white belly, over the large globularmagnificence
of her tits, until her whole naked body was exposed. He had seen it through
the peephole when he was watching her undress but it hadn't excited him nearly
as much as having it here now, spread helplessly beneath him, where he could
touch and fondle it to his hearts content.

With the thumb and forefinger of the right hand he reached over and pushedher
lips tighter against the purple veined member between them, gently continuing
the slow sawing motion. The other hand moved over the magnificent breasts
tweaking the nipples between his fingers until he could feel themmechanically
hardening under his caressing.

The girl shifted slightly beneath him, moaning softly as though aware of his
presence. He held still--frightened for a moment that the potion had not done
its work completely. His rod fell from between her loose lips down over her
chin, leaving thin threads of warm white stickiness trailing behind it.

"Kevin, darling," she mumbled thickly through the fog of the drug. "I'vebeen
waiting, waiting so long. My darling husband--come to me--come to me."

Jean had been aware of the movement in the room and Kevin's shadowy figure
coming to her. She felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her and
that now things would be all right. He would be gentle with her now and take
her as she had always dreamed he would. She could feel her blood begin to
stir deep within her body. A body he would possess in a moment. She wouldn't
fail him this time.

The Arab smiled to himself above her. The mixture had worked its magic as it
always did.

The bitch thinks I'm her husband, he chuckled lewdly to himself, she'll see
the difference before I'm finished.

He stroked the giant throbbing penis slowly, reaching down and running his
other hand over the awakening mounds of her tits and down over her belly to
the soft fleshy folds of her cunt below.

"Ohhh, darling, darling, I'm sorry," the girl droned beneath him. "I didn't
want to leave, I didn't want to leave. Be gentle with me, Kevin, be gentle
with me."

Jean dreamed on, her body becoming alert now to the caresses of the magic
hands that were stroking her flesh into a hot sheet of desire. Tiny
goose-bumps sprang out over the whiteness of her sensitive flesh.

God, how she wanted him, her body ached to be touched gently and with
understanding as he was doing it now!

She pushed the mad rape he had subjected her to from her thoughts and just
wanted to make up for all that time she had denied him and herself the joys of
merging their bodies as one. She wanted him to crawl up inside her, to
possess her and quiet the thunder that was building up deep, deep, inside from
his maddening fingertips playing over her defenseless nakedness.

Maybe he would understand her now, understand that she had suffered as muchas
he had and that she had wanted him too. Now it was different, her thoughts
flickered on hazily, he was here with her and they were married and she could
give herself to him without fear of guilt or God's punishment. God would
understand now, they were man and wife.

Her tongue ran slowly around her moist lips, savoring the sticky pungent taste
of the strange moisture that covered them--the odor wafed through her flared
nostrils, breathing it deep inside her body. It did strange things to her,
the odor and taste coursed through her entire being like a sweet soothing balm
lighting tiny fires in her growing nipples and causing a throbbing in the
nerve ends inside her tight hot vagina. She could feel dew-drops of moisture
rising there between her open legs as the exposed hair-lined lips began a slow
spasmodic contracting, throbbing wetly against each other.

"Ohhh, Kevin, Kevin, darling, take me now, touch me, rub me, Ohhh, yess,
yessss, like that, like that," she moaned, helplessly caught up in the sharp
deep pricks of lust that were dancing through her.

The Arab grinned, his yellow teeth showing through the unshaven stubble around
his lips---his greedy eyes feasting lewdly on her unconsciously squirming
nakedness.

He moved around on the bed, crouching on all fours over the white moving body,
pushing her unresisting milk-white thighs wide apart. He crawled between
them, his knees pressed between her ankles and his face panting a few inches
above the hair-covered vee of her open crotch. His mouth watered as his eyes
looked down at it rotating sensuously, expectantly, just below his lips.
Saliva dripped from his open mouth, mingling with her juices in the delicious
narrow split that started at the bottom of the smooth white belly and trailed
down through the rounded creamy spheres of her buttocks pressed tightly
against the mattress.

Through half slit eyes, Jean could see the shadowy form of her husband
crouching between her open legs. She could feel the flat palms of sweating
hands pushing against the softness of her inner thighs, holding them wide
apart. Her secret treasure was open to him to do as he willed. She watched
with baited breath as his head lowered slowly--slowly--slowly--then!

"Ohhhhh!" she jerked, as his hot moist lips closed over the soft mound at the
base of her belly. His hazy face disappeared from her view into the soft
fleece as he planted wet tickling kisses on the still closed aperture, his
tongue flicking lizard-like at the quivering opening.

Her own hands moved sensuously down over her throbbing breasts and slid slowly
down her smooth, flat stomach, coming to rest on either side of his lips. Her
fingers stroked softly for a moment at the flexing hollows of her inner
thighs--then, slowly spread the fleshy hair-lined lips of the moist wet furrow
apart, allowing his hungry devouring lips complete access to her moist
secret being.

Her elbows pressed tightly against her ribs and her head lolled uncontrollably
from side to side on the pillow as the hot searing tongue shot out, its soft
flicking tip circling the quivering erected clitoris- the lips sucked, drawing
the warm soft folds deep into the hot cavern of his mouth, the tongue
continued its maddening licking against the straining pink bud of her sex she
groaned huskily from deep in her throat as the hot probing tip worked its way
up and down the length of the narrow wet slit, starting at the lower belly and
pressuring its way dowel, down over the elastic rimmed opening of her clasping
vagina and into the crevice of her flexing buttocks where it stopped
momentarily to do a wet probing homage to the tight brown throbbing hole.
Her hips ground uncontrollably into the squeaking bed now, soft mewling animal
sounds escaped pitifully from between her passion clenched teeth.

'The Arab worked hungrily, feeling the soft wet pubic hair brushing
tantalizing against his cheeks. A feeling of power was in him. Never in his
wildest dreams had he ever expected to have such a proud pure bitch like this
squirming under his tongue and completely at his mercy--and she was loving
it--her groans drove his tongue faster as it worked its way up and down the
steaming hot crotch. He wanted her begging for it when he was ready to ram it
to her and she was almost there. He had never seen anyone so hot, even with
the potion. She needed it bad and she was getting it--and this was just the
beginning.

He knew she was too far gone now to fight anything he did to her and his mind
began to form weird erotic pictures of the positions he could put her in and
the things he could do at will to her limp desire wracked body.

He chuckled obscenely as he felt her hands desperately clawing at his greasy
black hair, guiding his face to the palpitating opening of her cunt. He ran
his tongue into the soft rimmed flesh, flicking at it for a moment--and then
quickly withdrawing it to tease again around the ragged pink edges.

He let her force him this time pressing his mouth, directly over the tight
little hole in her squirming crotch.

As his lips rounded and covered the clasping viscous opening, he thrust his
tongue deep down into it, bringing a low guttural groan from the girl whose
soft warm thighs closed convulsively around either side of his moving head.
He could feel the wet flesh slip moistly around his long extended tongue as
the walls of the invaded vagina opened and closed in a sucking motion,
attempting to pull it deeper and deeper into it. It felt as though the
nibbling hair-lined mouth would pull his tongue out by the roots, devouring it
alive. Her heels pushed down against his back pressing his body into the flesh
trap until he couldn't breath, his nose was smashed tightly against the tiny
hard clitoris above, breathing in the pungent odor of the lust juice that was
now flowing in abundance from it. It incited his penis to a hardness that he
could no longer control--he had to fuck this little bitch now or he would
explode all over the mattress.

Jean's body was lost in the fire of the moment. Every muscle in her body was
tensed as she strained her hips upward toward that maddening probe between her
legs. Kevin was a god. She had never expected it could be like this, that he
could bring such things from her body.

Her love for him incited her further. Her up-drawn legs opened and closed
around the tormenting head that was licking gluttonously at her flame seared
hole. The cords of her neck stand out as she pulled with all her strength
against the tangled hair of his head.

"Oh! Ohhh! Aggghhh!" she moaned, splaying her legs wider and wider to give
him greater access.

The Arab could stand it no longer. He grabbed her flailing legs behind the
knees and shoved them roughly back against her shoulders, slithering up her
sweat soaked body at the same time. His rigid stiff cock brushed against the
wet dripping pubic hair. He planted his hands on either side of her
shoulders, her ankles locked tightly behind his neck. He could look down
between their bodies and see her upturned ass completely exposed to him.

The expanded narrow cunt-slit was visibly throbbing its lips in invitation,
the wet moist furrow held wide apart by the pressure of his thighs pressed
tightly up against hers.

Jean could see Kevin hovering over her through her passion and drug dimmed
eyes. She could feel the hugeness of his fleshy hardness lying the full
length of her quivering open slit. The jerking head of his cock rested
throbbing between her wide-spread buttocks; insinuating itself up and down, up
and down, in a maddening tease that caused her to twist her hips down toward
it, her hungry cunt searching desperately for its hard blood filled tip.

She had to have it in her! Her belly screamed for it!

She reached her hands in panic down underneath the grinding cheeks of her ass
and grasped the full length of the stone-hard member. Her tightly closed
fists stroked it softly in reverence. She could feel the spasmodic throbbing
against her soft palms and the sticky fluid that oozed in driblets from the
blood inflated head. She guided it up the valley of her buttocks, not letting
it lose contact with her flesh until it was poised between the mucous covered
flanges of her vagina. She held it there with one hand and placed the other
on her husband's buttocks, drawing with all her strength to pull it into her
and let it drown the gnawing hot heat that burned out of control in her
belly.

The Arab grinned obscenely above her. It was all he could do to keep from
shoving forward now and impaling this squirming little bitch on his aching
cock, but the desire to punish her and her kind for all the times they had
shit on him by their disdainful looks when he had spoken to them, overcame the
desire. This one typified them all, she was everything he wanted to
humiliate. Proud, innocent, spoiled by the condescending young men of her kind
who did her every bidding. If one ever needed punishing, this one did. Well,
he would do it, he would fuck her till she couldn't walk.

He received ever greater satisfaction from the knowledge that he would know
afterwards and she wouldn't. She might treat him the same as she did before
but he would know that he had plowed her good and left his white hot sperm
deep in her cunt. He might even make her pregnant. This though excited him
even more, a lowly immigrant Arab, refugee from his own country, desk clerk,
making this proud haughty bitch pregnant. Filling her belly with a child and
she wouldn't even know the father. The lewd thought caused him to
involuntarily flick his hips forward.

Jean felt the lips around her throbbing vagina pushed open. The elastic
rimmed tightness resisted for a moment, then gave way before the hard cruel
pressure. The pain was harsh and she mechanically resisted for a moment,
emitting a long low groan from deep within her throat. He liked that, he
liked hearing her hurt.

He shoved again--a deeper groan--he wanted to hear her scream for mercy. And
suddenly, he could stand it no more. He rammed forward with everything he
had, sinking the lust inflated cock all the way to the hilt. He could feel
his balls slap tightly against her jerking anus that screwed itself deep down
into the mattress attempting to escape the cruel sudden impalement. Her legs
jerked out wide on either side of his thin emaciated body, splaying over
either edge of the beds kicking futiley into the air.

"Kevin! Ke-Kevinnn! Nooooo! Nooooooo!" she screamed, her impaled form
pinned helplessly to the bed. With each jerk, the huge head seemed to burrow
deeper into her. The Arab's outstretched arms pinned her shoulders tightly to
the mattress, his wide-spread knees held her thighs split far apart. She felt
as though her body was being torn down the middle and that she would beripped
in half from this giant instrument imbedded deep in her middle. The fiery
plunging rod felt as though it was coming out her throat as its blood-filled
head pressed hard against her cervix, buffeting her head back harshly against
the headboard of the bed.

He watched her from above with a lascivious grin on his lips. Her face was
contorted with the pain of that first vicious stab. Her lips curled back from
her teeth, pleading, incoherent whimpers coming from deep in her throat. Her
arms were outstretched, palms against his hips, attempting to hold back the
blunt hard head pressing against her womb like a great hard stone.

She's never had it this deep, he gloated to himself, as he held her pinned in
the lewd humiliating position. He looked down again and could see his curly
black pubic hair tangled tightly with hers, the base of his thick fleshy rod
buried deep into the pink throbbing furrow that his tongue had licked to moist
receptiveness a moment ago. He could see the tight lips of the cunt stretched
almost to the bursting point, the rubbery outer pink rim clasping tightly
around the dark skinned base of his cock.

He held her there for a moment, savoring the spectacle of this proud little
bitch impaled helplessly under him, with his huge rod buried deep in her white
little belly. He wished her husband could see her now, spread-eagle this way
with a lowly Arab servant making her scream and yell. He was going to give
her a fuck she would never forget as long as she lived.

Jean squirmed helplessly beneath him. She could feel the hot searing pain of
his sudden blunt entry tearing cruelly at her insides. She flexed her crotch
muscles tightly together to attempt to ward off the huge invading cudgel, but
the throb of her internal sinews seemed to incite it more and it plowed its
way deeper and deeper into her vainly resisting passage. The walls of her
cringing cunt clasped around it like a glove. She could feel its every fleshy
ridge as her nerve ends transmitted its monstrous form in minute detail to her
muddled mind like a telegraph line.

It was alive inside her! The hard rubbery tip pressing against her cervix,
the thin folds of flesh along its length, the tickling hairs of the balls
dangling in the crevice of her ass were part of her. She was one with it and
in spite of her pain her tongue began a wild licking at the wetness of her
lips. He had smeared them well with his cum and her nostrils flared again,
drawing the pungent odor deep into her body, mingling it in strange marriage
with the feeling of the throbbing cock lodged deep in her white soft belly.
It all seemed to roll together into one great fiery ball of aching hunger for
more. Her cunt contracted involuntarily as the lascivious thoughts raced
through her mind.

The Arab felt the slight throbbing pressure exerted against his buried penis.
He had waited for it, hovering motionless over her prostrate form patiently
until she became accustomed to his thick presence rammed so deep in her
belly. He flexed the member gently, expanding it inside her, but still not moving
his body.

"Oh," she whimpered, through bared teeth, fighting the fine line of
pleasure-pain.

He waited a moment, and flexed again, watching her contorted face below. The
mouth hung limply open, the eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Oooooohhhh!" She held her breath as the buried cock expanded more,
stretching the narrow passage walls farther apart.

He flexed again, this time setting a slow teasing rhythm to his throbs. He
watched her nostrils begin a slow hesitant flaring in time to the beat. Soft
mewling sounds of pleasure came from her open mouth in time to his gentle
ministrations.

"Ooooohhhh--Darling, darling."

He could foil her urgent answering throbs began around the head of his penis.
The wet clasping cunt flesh began a soft opening and closing around his
pulsating member.

He did not move, but continued the slow rhythmic throbs into the skewered girl
beneath him. He could hardly contain himself as her grunts of pleasure
resounded through the otherwise still room. Her head lolled from side to side
unconsciously on the pillow as her hips began a slow involuntary roll beneath
his impaling rod. He clenched his teeth tightly together as he felt her
hungry nibbling crotch screwing itself up tighter against his hair-covered
pelvis.

Jean's body felt itself coming to life now. The pain was receding and was
slowly giving way to a maddening electric tingle that began deep within her
womb and seeped relentlessly through the raw nerve ends of her flesh. It
rippled through her cunt and out the fleece-lined lips, dancing like fire
across the milky-white thighs, up the full length of her splayed legs and
circled around inside her toes, curling them tightly against the bottoms of
her feet. It worked its way up from her contracting belly through her rib
cage and out to the tips of her pink palpitating nipples, which peaked into
hard tiny buds, sensitive to even the touch of the stale close air about them.
Thin rivulets of sweat rolled down the sides of the full pulsating mounds,
wetting the mattress beneath her.

She rotated her hips from side to side around the fleshy impaling member, her
vagina, dilating in time to its rhythmic beating. It felt as though it had a
heart imbedded in the papitating head whose heat against her inner passage was
becoming a part of her being. She was one with it. She and her darling Kevin
were one fleshy mass of sensation, merged magically together by their love.
He had crawled into her! He was a part of her!

The Arab could hardly contain his glee as he felt her pelvis begin screwing up
against the length of his rock hard penis. The tiny contracting muscles
inside her cunt were nibbling hungrily at the inflated head. The dilated lips
between her hair-lined pink slit pulled tantalizingly away, sliding moistly
down the rod for several inches and then nibbling slowly back up buffering her
soft down tightly against his pubic hair embedding the full length of him deep
into her warm white belly. He stayed immobile, resting still above her with
his hands on either side of her shoulders, his knees pressed tight against the
mattress. He let her quivering body pump up and down at will on his rigid
piston that fused them together.

He could see its slow withdrawal between them pulling thin soft ridges of her
pink flesh out with it as she screwed her pelvis down into the mattress and
the entry--pushing the soft folds back into her and the moist shiny length was
swallowed whole back into the salacious opening. He let her strain against
him for a while, watching the utter abandon of her labors, a half-crazed
ecstatic smile playing across her lips. Her motions became faster by the
second, the tempo of her thrusts up against him became more urgent--her teeth
bit hard into her lower lip. He knew she was straining to come--the juices of
her milking vagina were beginning to flow and he could hear the wet sucking
sound of the in and out sawing movement as she suddenly thrust sharply up his
cock, burying it deep inside her, her back arched a foot off the squeaking
bed, her feet planted flat on either side of his knees tightly against the
mattress. She bucked against him wildly.

"Oh, God, yes, yes. I'm coming darling, I'm coming, Aaaggh!"

Suddenly, with a deep throated groan, her body began vibrating
uncontrollably--wet white cum oozed from the throbbing passage, drowning his
impaling member with its sticky warmth and trickling down the crevice of her
white globular buttocks over his balls that pressed hard against the tiny
brown puckered anus.

The Arab went berserk as she grunted out the last of her juices against his
matted pelvis, her body still jerking spasmodically up against him. He
reached back, grabbing her ankles and pushing them brutally back over her
shoulders until she was rolled up into a tight round ball of helplessness
beneath him. Her knees were pushed back tightly over her shoulders against the
mattress on either side of her head, the wide-spread split between her legs
completely open to his desire.

He withdrew the deeply imbedded instrument until just the tip of the head
rested in her. Then, he rammed forward with all his stored up bitter
strength. He had waited to destroy this little bitch. She had had her fun and
now it was his turn. The full throbbing length of the incited member sunk
cruelly into her helpless exposed vagina. He could hear the wet flat smack as
his belly thudded against her crotch. His body dropped down heavily on her,
mashing her full ripe tits tightly against his chest. He locked his saliva
covered mouth over hers, thrusting his wet dripping tongue deep in her throat,
stifling the low animal grunts fanning there. His shoulders pushing against
the backs of her full rounded calves kept her locked in that helpless position
as he rammed it to her. Reaching around beneath them, he forced his hands
between the mattress and the white full cheeks of her ass, cupping them in his
spread fingers and palms, kneading the warm soft flesh, pulling the white
rounded cheeks far apart.

He began long hard strokes into the streaming passage that was now wet and
slippery from her climb withdrawing the head until just the tip was inside the
hot clammy opening and then thrusting forward hard with his hips until his
balls were screwed tightly against the wide split crack of her buttocks.

Jean groaned helplessly as her exposed cunt was plundered again almost beyond
endurance. He was driving her head hard back against the headboard of the bed
with each jack-hammer thrust and she couldn't fight from her hopeless
position. Her arms were pinned down at her sides by her own up-drawn legs.
She could feel the giant head sliding up and down inside her warm viscous
passage like a feathered piston and the hot slap of his soft hair-covered
balls against her anus as he jerked forward on the down stroke. Cool mad
rushes of air rushed between her thighs as he withdrew.

Her womb flared and the resisting lips of her hair-lined furrow flowered open
to receive the delicious rape of her secret genitals. Her hands forced
themselves desperately from under her legs and snaked around his back. The
nails clawed a red streaked path down to his flexing buttocks. She pulled him
deep and thrust her fleece covered belly up hard to skewer herself deliciously
on the driving hot flesh of his pumping rod. She sucked voraciously on the
thick wet tongue that was shoved deep in her throat through the yellow teeth
of the Arabs obscene grin. She swallowed greedily the droplets of his saliva
that ran down it in her lewd excitement. The foul pungent odor of his breath,
incited rather than repelled her drugged senses. Her body began to match his
pounding lunges with her own rhythmic thrashing.

The rusty bedsprings squeaked loudly in time to the two tightly entwined
bodies struggling wildly against each other. The sounds of deep straining
grunts and groans filled the hot stifling air of the room, mingling with the
noise of sweat soaked flesh smacking sharply against sweat soaked flesh and
the wet viscous slurp of his pile driving cock going in and out of her mucous
lined cunt.

"Hot bitch, hot bitch, hot bitch," the Arab mumbled over and over to himself
as he ceaselessly rammed the blood filled cudgel deep into her white round
screaming little belly with long cruel jabs. He could feel the hot white cum
building up inside his heated balls as they beat hard against her upturned
ass. It was ready to explode. He wildly shoved his tongue far down her
throat and with harshly kneading hands pulled the wide-spread cheeks of her
white little buttocks hard up against his grinding pelvis as he rammed his
spewing cock all the way to the hilt in her soft unresisting cunt.

Jean could feel her insides splitting painfully as the head of the deep sunk
tormenting instrument suddenly flared into a hugeness that threatened to tear
her womb wide asunder--it began to spurt--and she could feel the delicious hot
white liquid r hooting into her like burning fire, ricocheting around inside
her dilated stomach like streams of molten lava. The pores of her cunt
clasped around it, erupting in answer and again spilling her own white hot cum
into the already drowning cavern of her pink quivering passage.

It drove her insane!

She couldn't let it stop!

She reached frantically around under her squirming buttocks with both hands
and began to desperately milk at the balls pressed into the split of her
behind. Her legs kicked out, quivering uselessly in the air on either side of
the bed. The huge member continued to jerk its completion--white hot spurts
still spewed from its head, filling her womb and foaming out the contracting
fleshy lips around the base of his cock, soaking the soft matted pubic hair it
was buried in.

"Oh, fill me, fill me, darling," she groaned incoherently around the swabbing
tongue still sunk deep in her mouth. The hot walls of her jerking cunt sucked
at the throbbing cock hungrily, until it gave one final spasmodic jerk, the
last drop sucked from it.

The Arab collapsed across her body, feeling her insides still gushing forth
around his deflated limp prick. It seemed endless, until she too suddenly
gave one last jerk and quivered to a limp stillness, her legs protruding
lifelessly out on either side of his fatigued body. Her arms outstretched,
one dangling doll-like over the edge of the beck Her belly was filled to the
bursting point with the mixture of their hot sticky- white cum.

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."

"Now, now, Gamal," Monique admonished as she pulled his creeping hand from
behind her buttocks, "save yourself for the little bird whose wings I've
clipped for you. She's just what you've been after."

Gamal's eyes lit up perceptibly at the mention that Monique had something for
him. He knew her well enough by now to know that she, unlike most women or
people who had something to sell him, didn't exaggerate. If she was
enthusiastic about it, then she was worth listening to.

"Come, my dear, let us sit down with a small aperitif and discuss this little
bird. I've tired of the last one you sent."

"Gamal," Monique kidded, "you mean you didn't like her?"

"Oh, yes my dove," he cooed. "I liked her very much, but one month with the
same girl is a little too much. You know they tire so quickly when left in my
care. A pity too, just when I have them trained well to appreciate my little
playful sessions, they seem to lose their fire.

"I suppose you have passed her on to your playmates in Algeria as usual,"
Monique said.

"Yes, she went rather reluctantly, but I am a businessman and can't let my
investments sit too long without making a return on them. Must keep the money
moving, you know," he said slyly. A secretive grin directed at Monique. "I
have some excellent movies made of her that will go well on the British market
though, you'll have to see them later."

"I'd love to some other time, Gamal," Monique replied, sipping at the whiskey
he had poured her. "Right now, I think we had better discuss my new little
donation to your pleasures. I think you will be very interested."

"Tell me about her, my dear. When I see so much enthusiasm in your eyes, I
know it must be something special," the Arab chided, his face brightening at
the thought of what was in store.

"First, Gamal, you know I only bring you the best, correct?" Monique asked,
looking at him over the edge of her upraised glass.

"Yes, I feel you do well for me, but I have had problems with some of them,"
he added the last sentence quickly, sensing that the bargaining was beginning.
"You know, they are young and so unworldly, I must do much training to prepare
them for my clients."

"Why you old lecher," Monique laughed, "you know very well that's why you're
in this business, so you can sample the merchandise before you pass it on to
your friends."

"My dear, my dear," the Arab objected, raising his hands, "it is not for I,
Gamal, that I do these things. I must do them to make certain my reputation
as a businessman is respected. My clients are the wealthiest in Algiers and I
dare not send them something that I myself have not trained to perfection."

"Yes, Gamal, you train them until they lose their fire, you said?" Monique
chided, raising an eyebrow toward him.

"Ah, but there are ways of restoring that to them. This is where my drug
business assists me."

"Like doping race horses, my dear," she replied. "They have enough for one
last dash and then useless."

"Monique, my dear, you are unkind. Let us stop this silly bickering," he said
sadly. "You know I am a sincere man and honest. I am in a very competitive
business and profits have not been good for the last several years. Do not
take advantage of my helpless position, I beg you."

"There, there," Monique consoled in a motherly tone, laughing inside at the
show the Arab was putting on. She knew him well by now and knew she would
have to sit through his weeping sessions each time she came. All Arabs are
the same, she mused to herself. They never grow away from the rug-sellers
mentality. It doesn't matter if they, are dealing with one franc or one
million, their approach is always the same. Business is bad and your price is
too high but because you are a friend they will sacrifice and give you half
the price you ask, even though they cry it will drive them to bankruptcy.
Well, Monique knew enough by now to ask exactly double the price she expected
to get and many tears later they would arrive at that figure. Strange that
they weren't more original than this, but they weren't. Perhaps the practice
was instilled too deeply in their heritage to ever change.

"Gamal," Monique paused after speaking his name and then said casually, "she's
an American."

There was a moment's silence as she let the thought sink into his mind. She
observed a slightly perceptible twitch in the corner of his mouth as he
grasped what she was saying.

"Ah, that is too bad, my dear, I thought you had something special for me.
You know they have no native abilities for the finer passions. It is a long
expensive process to train them well. My investment would be tied up for
several months. It would mean such a strain on my meager finances." His face
had contorted into its usual piteous plea and he had placed his hand against
his forehead in classic sufferance.

"Gamal, my love," Monique purred, "this is no time for theatrics. You know as
well as I do that you could buy the Eiffel Tower and it wouldn't dent your
purse in the slightest. Besides, you must think of the expenses I have
incurred and the danger in bringing her to Marseille." This was all part of
the game and they played each time she came. The Arab knew she hadn't spent a
franc and would only have to pay the hotel bill when the poor unfortunate girl
disappeared, but he had respect for the protocol of bartering and played his
part with her.

"I know, my love, and I am willing to help you in this matter but I must watch
my expenses. The last one cost me a great deal and I did not receive nearly
as much as I paid for her. It was a sacrifice."

Monique knew that he had at least doubled his money after taking a months
pleasure for himself and including all expenses of smuggling her out of France
and into Algeria. She also could detect that when she had dropped the
statement about her being an American it had won her battle. She would get
her price and perhaps more. A plan began forming in her mind as she watched
the concerned look on Gamal's face. He wanted this girl and Monique now just
had to put him in the position where his decision would be made under more
emotional circumstances. She knew his weakness of desire to humiliate and if
she could arrange it so that the girl would be in a helpless position
defenseless against his lust, she could sell her on the spot for a goodly
sum.

"I understand your concern, nay dear Gamal," Monique said, still turning the
thought over in her mind. "One should never buy without seeing the
merchandise first. I think I can arrange this."

This was a new approach and the Arab suddenly sensed that this clever French
woman was up to something. He changed his tone and spoke more softly.

"Now, now, my sweet Monique, we needn't go to all that trouble. You know how
valuable my time is to me. We can just settle for the same amount we did for
the last one, even though she was rather weak. I trust your judgment
explicitly."

"No," Monique said, sensing his eagerness, "I want you to make the decision
after you see her. She may not be worth that much to you and I want only your
happiness. I won't accept a franc more than you think she is worth. Unless,
of course," she added slyly, "your opinion does not suit the true value, but I
don't think a man with your good eye will make that mistake."

Gamal knew the bargaining was over for the day as he detected a note of
finality in Monique's last statement. He knew she had something this time or
she wouldn't be so certain of her position. He knew also, that he would
probably have to pay dearly for whatever it was she had. Well, he would take
a look. He had been doubling his investment on the others she had brought him
and perhaps he could do even better with this one. He might even get her down
to a lower price than before. At any rate, he gloated to himself after
Monique had left, he could hardly wait to get his hands on an American bitch.
He hadn't had one in almost a year but he could still remember the pleasure he
had in converting her reluctant mind to accept his perverted acts. In fact,
he had been forced to almost destroy her mind first. He hoped this one would
not be so difficult.

The voluptuous young girl stirred restlessly on the rumpled bed. Her eyes
fluttered open and fought with the darkness that permeated the thick stale air
of the shabby room. Strange odors wafted through her nostrils, causing her
brow to wrinkle slightly as though in deep concentrated thought. Her tongue
circled her lips, tasting the slight pungency of a sticky moistness around
them.

Her eyes adjusted quizzically to the darkness and followed her form lying on
the bed below. It was a strange position she thought to herself through the
haze that still dimmed her half-sleep mind.

Her negligee was bunched almost around her neck and she could see the twin
peaks of her breasts lying loosely between her eyes and the rest of her body.
Her legs were spread wide apart as though in invitation to some phantom lover
standing at the foot of the bed.

After a moment it came to her through the dimness. The dream! The dream she
had; it had seemed so real!

The vividness of it began flickering across her mind as though she were
watching a slightly out of focus television screen. Her body ached terribly.

She smoothed her hands carefully up to her breasts, touching them gently in
guarded exploration. Ohhh, she moaned, they were tender. Her hands explored
farther, coursing their way down over her stomach to her still open thighs.
She groaned again, as her fingers touched tenderly the slight bruises lining
the soft edges of her vagina. Her finger probed carefully around the red
sensitive opening, the tips becoming moist from the white sticky liquid that
oozed viscously from it, wetting the split of her buttocks and the bed
beneath

Had Kevin really been here? The shadowy form that remained in her memory and
had probed and tasted every secret part of her being had seemed so real. It
had all seemed so real. Had she done it to herself?

Thoughts raced through her mind one after another. It was possible that she
had. She had done it before in extreme moments of frustration but never like
this. She had never gone to this extreme even in her wildest moments of
desire. Could her own hands have probed so deep into her stomach and left
this hot wet pool that seemed lodged there now? Could they have made her gush
forth so many times in climax to soak the bed beneath her the way it was now?
It had to be. There was no other explanation. She had gone completely out of
her mind in her dream and had fondled her own body to the point of believing
it was actually Kevin. She had done those things with her own hands and her
body had reacted like that of a dirty animal in heat.

A feeling of shame came over her. She had denied her own husband the right to
do those things to her, a right that was his, and then sought her own release
by her own hands playing upon her body. How selfish she had been. If she
hadn't left Paris perhaps the dream would have come true, perhaps Kevin
wouldn't have gone insane the next time. She had been too prudish in their
sexual relationship she now realized and his brutal attack on her had been
brought about by her lack of understanding of his needs. The dream had proved
it. Hadn't she herself turned half animal, even to the point of wantonly
satisfying herself with her own probing fingers and hands.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a gentle knocking on the door. A
voice called softly from outside.

"Jean, Jean dear, time to wake up."

She recognized Monique's voice and suddenly panicked.

"Oh, my God," she mumbled to herself, stumbling to her feet. "I mustn't let
her see me like this. I just mustn't."

"Just a moment, I'm getting up now," she called back.

"Never mind, dear, I'm going to my room and get ready. I'll see you for
dinner in an hour. Dress pretty, I've a surprise place for dinner tonight."

"Alright, Monique," Jean answered in relief. "I'll knock on your door when
I'm ready."

Jean turned on the light and looked at the rumpled bed. Well, she thought,
as
her eyes saw the large round wet spot where her buttocks had lain, I really
had myself a time. I guess there's no need in crying over spilled milk. I
did it and I can't change that. After all, it was only a dream, I shouldn't
feel guilty about something I couldn't control.

The warm spray of the shower felt good cascading down over her body. She
washed carefully the insides of her thighs and buttocks, almost reluctant to
wash away the sticky still-warm fluid from her soft pubic hair. As her
fingers moved up and down the warmth of the narrow slit between her legs,
cleansing it of the viscous almost dry liquid, the visions of Kevin's shadowy
face smashed tightly between her yawning thighs ran through her mind. Her
middle finger duplicated his lashing tongue that had flicked through her
throbbing cunt lips so many long minutes before. Jean had to catch herself
with her strength to withdraw her probing finger from between her legs.

The feeling of guilt returned. Good Lord, she thought to herself, what's
happened to me. One small dream about sex and I'm turning into a shameless
nymphomaniac. I do need Kevin, and badly.

She combed out her long dark silken hair before the mirror, letting it drape
loosely down over her shoulders.

"Mmmmm," she mused to herself, that looks provocative enough. Monique said to
dress well, and after my little self-inflicted orgy, I guess this is the best
I can do. She noticed suddenly that the curl that usually hung down on her
left shoulder was missing. What a careless nit, she scolded herself. How
could I have cut that off? I thought I had been careful when I trimmed my
hair last night on the train. Before she could pursue the thought any
further, she heard Monique's familiar voice outside the door, calling to her
to join her downstairs at the desk when she was finished.

"Well, dear, you look just ravishing tonight, I must say." Monique beamed at
her as she descended the steps a few moments later. This made Jean feel
wonderful. She needed something as a morale builder now and a compliment from
another woman was just the thing. She always felt it was more sincere coming
from another woman as they had nothing to gain by lying to you. It was good
to start an evening with this kind of feeling. She handed her key to the
obsequious Arab clerk, not even looking at him. The look he had given her, up
and down her body, when he had brought the tea had not been forgotten and she
decided that ignoring him completely was the best way to handle this.

The Arab grinned to himself as the American girl disdainfully passed the keys
to him. The last time he had seen that pretty face, it was contorted in
passion and she was begging him to fuck her. He wondered, smiling to himself,
how those lipstick-covered lips had tasted when she had awakened. Arrogant
bitch, she probably hadn't ever sucked a cock so didn't even know what it was.
Well, he would take care of that little oversight before she got out of the
hotel.

I wonder what she would say now if she knew she was carrying my hot load in
that untouchable little belly of hers, he mused as he watch them descend the
stairs to the street floor. She might just come back for more, he laughed to
himself, fingering the curl of hair he had cut off as a souvenir just before
leaving her room earlier.

Jean sipped contentedly on her second martini. She was happy, sitting high
above Marseille overlooking the lights of the bay in the delightful restaurant
Monique had chosen for them. She had wired Kevin before they left the hotel
to come down immediately. The upsetting dream she had so realistically
experienced this afternoon had made up her mind for her. It had even given
her a feeling of confidence. She knew now she could enjoy bodily pleasures
and if Kevin could ever become the kind of lover he was in her dreams then a
whole new world was open to them. She took another deep sip from the smooth
martini contemplating excitedly the full complete life they could have sharing
each other.

"You look preoccupied, Jean," Monique said, smiling at her across the table.
"I hope my company isn't boring you."

"Oh, no, no, Monique," Jean said apologetically, "I love being here with you.
In fact, you may not know it but this trip with you has changed my whole
thinking about life."

"That's quite a statement, my dear," the older woman replied, an amused tone
in her voice, "I think you're being a little dramatic about it."

"No, no, I'm not. I mean it. I truly do," Jean defended. She didn't want to
hurt Monique's feelings. She had done so much for her just being around to
help. The small things she had done, like getting her to a hotel and being
there to talk to on the train, had taken her mind off her problem long enough
for her to relax and look at it again with less prejudice than before. And,
of course, leaving her alone this afternoon had been the turning point. If
she hadn't been in such a relaxed mood, she probably would never have had the
dream and consequently never realized just how much she did need her
husband.

"Then you must tell me about this great change that I've brought about without
even knowing it," Monique said lightly but with understanding. "My impression
is that you've everything already that life could offer someone so young and pretty."

Jean was grateful for the sincerity in the older woman's voice and felt that
she did owe her an explanation. Besides, she was bursting to talk with
someone about it and there just couldn't be a more understanding person in the
world than Monique. She felt so close and so dependent on her at this
moment.

Jean hurriedly gulped the rest of her drink, wondering how she could explain
without going too far. After all, she didn't want even Monique knowing
everything. It was too embarrassing and made her feel like such a child.

"May I have another martini," she asked. "I think I'll need it to be able to
even tell this silly story to you."

"Of course you may, I'll join you." Monique signaled the waiter who returned
within moments with their refills. Jean took a large sip, feeling the smooth
liquid hit bottom and bolstering her courage. They were beginning to have
their effect. She could feel the light-headed sensation calming her
inhibitions even before she had finished the last one, otherwise she would not
have had the courage to even mention her problem. This last sip had dampened
them completely and she was feeling as though she could at least tell Monique
a few things about the ridiculous mess she had gotten herself into.

"Dear, you seem hesitant," Monique said, reaching across the table and
touching her hand warmly. "If it's something you had rather not talk about
then don't. I just thought I might be able to help."

"Oh, no, it's not that important," Jean said blushing slightly, not knowing
quite how to begin. "It's just about a dream I had this afternoon while you
were gone."

"Well then tell me, Jean, you know it sometimes helps to talk to someone else
about your problems. I think we know each other well enough by now to share
our burdens."

Jean began from the beginning, telling Monique about her courting days with
Kevin and how she had sometimes hoped he would force her into submitting to
him but would never encourage it. About her father and his instilling the
ideas of purity until marriage into her young mind and the guilt complex it
had left her with about sex even now that she was married. The horrible rape
she had been forced to submit to in Paris by Kevin, though she made excuses
for him to Monique, blaming herself for her puritan attitude toward
intercourse. Finally, toward the end of the dinner, she had come to the
dream.

"It was beautiful, Monique. If making love were always like that, I know I
would never feel guilty again. It just seems as though everything he did to
me was right and I felt so wonderful and so free to return his love. I gave
him everything I had and I still wanted to give more."

There was a long pause, until Jean finally said with a shrug of her shoulders,
"Well, that's all, you've heard the story of my whole love life. I guess it
seems so silly to a woman like you who's lived as much as you have."

"Quite the contrary, my dear, I think it's a beautiful story and I hope it
turns out the way you think it will."

"I just know it's going to be wonderful, Monique. When Kevin arrives
tomorrow, everything will be alright again."

"You mean your husband is coming here tomorrow?" Monique asked, concern
suddenly showing on her face. This could drastically interfere with her plans
for this naive little American.

"Why, yes, I sent him a cable before we left the hotel. He'll be taking the
train tonight and arriving tomorrow. Is there anything wrong?" Jean was
afraid Monique had suddenly become ill, she looked so strange.

"No, no, my dear," Monique choked, "just a slight wave of nausea, it happens
sometimes when I eat rich food this way. Don't you worry. I'll be alright in
just a moment."

It was difficult for Monique to finish her dinner. She knew she had some fast
thinking to do if she was to save her investment. She had not counted on this
complication even though she had known the American had been married. It was
going to be doubly difficult to accomplish her purpose with Gamal. Somehow
she had to destroy this little innocent in the eyes of her husband and at the
same time incite Gamal to the point where he would be willing to pay almost
anything to have her at his mercy.

They finished dinner almost in silence. Jean said a few words of consolation
to Monique about her discomfort but also could see she did not feel like
talking at the same time. It appeared as though she had problems also and she
would have given anything if she could have helped the woman as she had been
so kind and understanding to her. She did not want to bring it up as she felt
so young and helpless compared to the maturity of Monique and knew that if
there was anything she could do, Monique would tell her.

Later, in the taxi on the way back to the hotel, Monique apologized. "I'm so
sorry, my dear, that I feel this way. I had intended to take you out and show
you some of the night life of Marseille after dinner but I just couldn't do it
now."

"You've been so kind already, Monique," Jean answered, still feeling helpless
that she could not help the older woman. "Perhaps if you feel better tomorrow
night, we could all go together. You would love Kevin and I know he would
like you."

"Yes, I think that would be better. I'm certain I can get away tomorrow
evening. These spells seldom last more than one night. But we had better go
now."

Jean noticed the obsequious grin of the Arab behind the desk as he gave them
their keys for the room. His look had a knowing familiarity about it that she
didn't like. Worse, he had rubbed his hand closely over hers when he had
given her the key and his beady eyes appeared to undress her again as they had
when he had delivered the tea that afternoon. She shuddered thinking about
his greasy dirty appearance as she bid Monique goodnight and locked the door
of her room behind her. How awful it would be to have those oily dark hands
crawling over your body, she thought to herself. How do the women he makes
love to stand it.

She thought about the cleanliness of Kevin and how good his smooth, well
developed body would feel against hers tomorrow night. She had thought about
their moving to a better hotel when he arrived, but had changed her mind. It
would be good to have him here where the dream had occurred and on the same
bed that her body had come to know for the first time the joys of physical
union, even if it had only been in her mind. Besides, what could be more
romantic than spending a few days in the old part of Marseille. She fell into
a deep and dreamless sleep, looking forward with all her being to her
husband's arrival tomorrow. It was going to be good for both of them, she
just knew it would.

Monique had formed a plan. She had thought carefully about the things the
American girl had told her during dinner, particularly the part about the
dream. Several other of her young initiates had told a similar story about
such dreams. They always occurred when she had left them alone at the hotel.
That bastard Shalla has been sampling my wares, she thought angrily to
herself. Under normal circumstances, she would have reported him immediately
to Gamal or another of her contacts and they would have taken care of the
matter by quietly dumping his body in the bay, but with this new development
of the American girl's husband coming, she would need his help. He wouldn't
dare refuse when she confronted him with her knowledge of his assaults on her
girls. She might even let him have a little more fun with her. That should
keep him happy.

She pressed the service button by her bed and waited patiently until she heard
his light knock at the door.

"Can I help, Madame?" he said as she opened it wide, motioning for him to
enter.

Shalla sensed that something was wrong when the French lady invited him
inside. She had never paid much attention to him before and he stepped into
the room reluctantly, taking the seat she pointed to.

Monique stood in the center of the room looking down at him for a long moment.
The Arab lowered his eyes. He did not know how to deal with such a woman.
She was far above his class and her very presence unnerved him. She must know
about his little afternoon parties with her friends. This would be the only
reason she would be looking at him like this.

"Was she good this afternoon, Shalla?" she said coldly, still staring
straight down at him.

There was a long silence and the Arab did not speak. He was frightened. He
knew the people she was connected with and what could be done to him if she
just gave the word. He would have no one to turn to, he was Just an immigrant
without friends. He kept his eyes lowered to the floor, afraid to sneak.
There was no one to defend him.

"I asked you a question, Shalla. Was she good?" Monique repeated, almost
enjoying watching the Arab squirm. He deserved it, the bastard, having such a
good time with her property. He might have damaged it irreparably playing
his little games.

"I--I do not know of that which Madame speaks." he finally answered slowly,
raising his eyes slightly from the floor but still not looking directly in
her eyes.

"You sniveling little, cochon," she spat at him vindictively, "you know very
well of which I speak."

"But I do not understand," Shalla defended, "why does Madame become so angry
and talk this way. Have I not always been of good service?"

"Yes, yes, you have," Monique's tone changed to one of soft understanding.
She knew she would have to be more gentle with him or he would never admit to
anything. She was frightening him too much and this would never do, she
didn't have much time to put her plan into operation and this would require
his help or she would never succeed before the girl's husband arrived.

"I'm not angry with you, Shalla," Monique continued, speaking slowly; and
addressing him now in respectful tones as she would another business
associate. "In fact, I need your help."

The Arab looked up at her, not certain whether he had heard correctly. Surely
this was some kind of trick she was playing on him to get him to confess.
Then she would turn him over to some of the toughs who worked for her and he
would be finished.

"Madame, Shalla knows his place, he does not do the things of which you speak.
I have my duties to perform here, I have no time for other things."

"Shalla, my dear man, you must understand that I am not going to have you
harmed in any way. I just need your help. How would you like to have the
little American girl again?" Monique smiled at him and said this last
sentence slowly so that it would sink into his mind deeply. She was certain
he had enjoyed it, otherwise, Jean would not have given such glowing
descriptions of the sensations she had experienced in her so- called dream.

"How do I know that Madame does not play a trick on me, to get me to confess
to something I have not done?" Shalla also spoke slowly. His Arab intuition
told him that this proud French lady really did need his help and she needed
it badly. Otherwise, she could turn to any number of very important people
here in Marseille to do the favor for her. She must have to keep it a close
secret that was not to be known outside the hotel. Perhaps, just perhaps, if
he played it right, he could benefit well from her obviously difficult
situation. He was a lowly immigrant, but not a fool.

Monique could see the change of expression on his face. He had looked up at
her and studied her eyes.

He knew she was in desperate trouble and needed his help.

This was bad. She knew the Arabs well by now and if they knew they had an
advantage they would press it for everything they could get. They were the
best hagglers in the world and quick to perceive a weakness in their
adversaries. Perhaps she had just better put her foot down now before he got
too far out of line.

"Listen you desk clerk! I can have you thrown to the fish anytime I desire.
I know now what you've been doing to these poor defenseless girls while I've
been away from the hotel and I think you had better admit it to me before I
lose my temper." Desperation was apparent in her voice and Shalla sensed
this. Whatever it was that she needed was extremely important and she needed
him to help her accomplish it. He eyed her more confidently.

"Madame is wrong," he spoke with feigned hurt in his voice. "I think I must
leave."

"Shalla, stay where you are," he could almost detect a pleading note in the
tone of her voice now. "I need some assistance and can make it well worth
your while to help me."

"What does Madame wish me to do?" the Arab asked slyly. He would find out
how important this favor really was and then negotiate the price.

Monique outlined to him briefly the part she wanted him to play in her little
scheme, leaving out the most important factors that would give away the true
reason for her plan. She didn't dare to divulge it all to him. She knew he
would demand a price that would cut her profit down considerably, and she
envisioned quite a sum from Gamal if her plan worked well. It had to work, it
was her only chance.

Shalla listened intently to the outline of his part in this venture of the
French lady. She tried to sound casual as she described to him the details of
the actions he was to perform but he knew now beyond all doubt from the
discernible concern in her eyes that there was so much more to it than she was
divulging to him. She was going to a lot of trouble to merely humiliate this
girl. There must be something else to it, it sounded much more complicated
than she described.

"How much will this man pay to see her raped?" he asked, attempting to draw
more of the story from her.

"He will pay a great deal if you and your friend follow instructions well. He
likes this kind of thing and is willing to pay for it."

"But it is dangerous and if the police find out, it will mean a long prison
term for myself and the friend I will need to help. We also will have a
witness in the girl. She will know who all of us are and be able to identify
us for the authorities."

"Don't worry about the witness, my dear Shalla, our friend who wants this
little exhibition will take care of that part later. All you and your friend
must do is to hold her here tomorrow and then deliver her as I instruct--but
your timing must be absolutely perfect--and, of course, you may have your
little fun like you did before, but no rough stuff, I want her fit tomorrow
night."

"And how much does Shalla receive for this?" the Arab asked, knowing in
advance that whatever figure she first offered would be a pittance compared to
what she would receive. He knew she was selling these girls and that the
correct timing had something to do with a sale.

"You will get half, and the gentleman is willing to pay two hundred American
dollars. That would be one hundred for you which is more than you make in a
month working here."

"A girl like that is worth three thousand American dollars to some in
Marseille." Shalla watched her expression change as he made this statement.
He knew by the sudden frustration that crossed over her face that he could
almost name his own price now. She wanted this done tomorrow night and he
knew it would be impossible for her to arrange it with someone else in that
time. He had sent the cable for the American girl and knew when her husband
was arriving. This would mean the plans would have to be completed tonight or
he might take her away with him. Obviously, the French lady had already
arranged the sale and this would destroy her plans completely.

Monique had been afraid of this. Damn Arabs, they would take the very
clothing from an honest woman's back if they had the chance. She also knew
she was in no position to argue with him too much and that speed was of the
very essence if the plans were to be completed before the husband arrived.

"All right, you bastard Arab, five hundred American dollars and no more."
Monique spat at him in desperation. "This is my final offer and you had
better accept or I'll make you wish you had stayed in Algeria and let the
revolutionaries string you up!"

Shalla smiled to himself as he heard the frustration rise in her voice. He
knew the price was open now and that he had gained the upper hand. This may
be the chance he was looking for. He had worked as a lowly hotel clerk too
long already after losing his family shop in Algeria during the revolution.
It was time he became a business man again and this was an excellent business.
He had to play his hand carefully in order not to upset the fine balance of
things as they stood.

"You are too kind, Madame, to a lowly hotel clerk. The price sounds too high.
I think we should wait until the deed is done before we make the bargain. I
do not want to be overpaid for my services."

"Then I have your agreement?" Monique asked, a smile of relief showing
discernibly on her face.

"Yes you have my dear woman. I will do your bidding, asking only that I be
treated fairly after the affair is finished."

"Agreed," Monique beamed. This had been easier than she had expected. She
would give him a small tip after it was over and if he gave her any trouble,
she was certain Gamal would take care of him for her.

"A drink to seal our bargain," the Arab said, looking at her with his
penetrating stare. He knew exactly what she was thinking and counted on her
overconfidence to reveal the entire set-up later on to him. Right now, he had
to equalize them. It would be taking a chance with this haughty bitch who
considered him slightly above the social level of a pig but he had to try now
while she needed him. There was only one way to do this, and that was to fuck
her senseless before he left this room. There was no better equalizer in the
world than to debase her by shooting a hot stream of his sperm up into that
hot belly of hers. That would convince her she was no better than he was.

Monique suddenly detected the other, more bold change in his voice. It
emitted a certain unmistakable suggestiveness that suddenly curled her
stomach. It took several seconds before the full impact of what this cur's
voice had so subtly implied, but one look at his face and there was no
question what he had meant.

He wanted her to submit to him!

This sniveling Arab wanted her, Monique DuFour, to submit to his base touch.
The thought of rubbing bodies with this filth sitting before her nauseated her
no end. His despicable pock-marked face and yellow decaying teeth sickened
her stomach, and now he had the nerve to expect her to submit to him. She
held herself back from screaming at him to get out. He had agreed to assist
her and she couldn't afford to lose him now.

"I'm tired, Shalla my dear, perhaps we can have one another time when we've
completed our agreement," she smiled sweetly, hiding her contempt as best she
could under the circumstances.

The Arab looked at her and she knew her ruse had failed. She felt as though
he were looking straight into her mind and was sensing every thought. Perhaps
she shouldn't have called him into this, she had misjudged him. He was a
clever one and she knew she wasn't going to get out of this as cheaply as she
had thought.

"We had better have it now, Madame," he said, rising from the chair and
pouring them two large glasses of the Courvoisier cognac she had sitting on
the dresser.

Monique stood frozen in the middle of the room, not taking her eyes from him
as he handed her the glass.

"Drink," he commanded, raising his glass to his lips that were now curled in a
contemptuous half-smile. Monique found herself lifting the glass to her lips
almost in a daze, her superior bearing lost. She was shaking slightly, fully
aware of the fact, that she had lost control of the situation and that she had
to put up with his insolence or lose Gamal, her best customer, and this was
impossible as all her future business plans rested upon his acceptance of her
girls. She drained the glass, feeling the hot liquid sear down her throat
softening for the moment the impact of the sudden change of events.

Shalla reached for the bottle and poured her another.

"I think Madame will need this, we have many plans to make if we are to
succeed in our little venture. It will not be easy without total cooperation
between us. Do not you agree?" he smiled triumphantly.

Monique nodded numbly in assent, taking the glass as he passed it to her, and
pouring another large swallow into her throat. She felt as though she would
scream in revulsion if this pig touched her but she knew it was coming and had
to deaden her senses. Things had gone too far now to turn back and she just
could not afford to lose Gamal's loyalty as a client, in spite of what
degradations she had to submit to in order to save it. It meant her
reputation and that was all one had in this business. Either you delivered if
you had promised to do so or suddenly found you had no customers for your
girls. It was that simple and she knew it too well.

Shalla knew at the moment she nodded her head that the battle was won. He was
going to fuck this high-class bitch and there was nothing she could or would
do to stop him. He had drained all fight from her because she needed him and
would do anything he demanded in order to insure his help. He smiled lewdly
as he stood in front of her unbuttoning his pants and letting them drop slowly
to the floor. His hardened cock stood out from his body throbbing straight at
her. It looked like a giant oak growing up through the black underbrush of
his thick pubic hair, as with one hand he stroked the foreskin back and forth
over the expanding head. It grew jerkily in size each time it disappeared and
reappeared through the thick flap of flesh covering it. He watched the
loathing in her face as her eyes remained involuntarily locked on his dark
growing member. His excitement flared as he saw the helpless fear rising in
her eyes. It would be more fun than with the American.

This one would be conscious of the things he was going to do to her!

It would be he who was bringing forth the moans of pleasure and pain this time
and not some distant lover that would receive the credit for his caresses. It
was he, Shalla, who would be felt when he drove it deep into the soft
unprotected belly of this desperate bitch.

"Strip," he hissed at her. "Or should I do it for you?"

Monique moved, she couldn't stand the thought of this beast touching her yet.
She undid the buttons of her dress at the back, wriggled it off her shoulders,
down over her lush full hips and stepped out of it. She could feel the Arab's
lewd eyes devouring her ripe mature body but she didn't dare look at him. She
was still well built and solid for a woman of forty and kept herself in good
condition by daily exercises. She pulled her slip up over her head and let it
limply slither to the floor at her feet with the dress. She suddenly for the
first time in years felt extremely defenseless and naked. Thank God, for the
cognac that had deadened her nerves.

The Arab had removed his clothes except for the dirty green socks that had
large holes in the heels. His yellow pallored skin clung tightly to his thin
rib cage; his long sinewy cock jutted menacingly out from his belly.

Monique shuddered visibly this time, thinking back to the horrors of another
evening so many years ago when she had been ravished brutally by a gang of his
kind in the same room where the broken body of her husband had lain
grotesquely spread in death on the floor. They had been farmers in Algiers
before the revolution and had been caught in their home by surprise one
evening by a roving band of Arab guerrillas. They had tortured her husband to
death before her eyes and then had taken turns committing every kind of
indecency imaginable on her then young defenseless body. Her mind still bore
the scars of that night and its horrible memory had prevented her from ever
having a man since that time. Most young wives of the slain settlers had come
back to France and out of desperation for money had ended up on the streets.
She had not. She had worked hard in developing her little trade, using the
contacts she had with their Algerian friends that had survived the revolution.
She had prided herself in the fact that she had survived and had not given
herself to anyone in respect for the memory of her dead husband. And now,
this. This horrible creature was standing before her ready to perpetrate the
same indecencies on her helpless body again. The thought revolted her of that
thin emaciated body slivering across hers, using her for its own obscene
pleasures. She couldn't do it... she just couldn't...!

Shalla stepped toward her, his mouth open, his eyes drinking in the long full
roundness of her silk cover legs, the globular protuberance of her breasts
that formed a fleshy valley above her brassiere, the whiteness of her flat
smooth belly above the tops of the sheer nylon panties. His gaze nauseated
her and she gasped: "Don't touch me, you filthy animal! Don't touch me!"

"It's too late, Madam," he slurred the "Madam" contemptuously, grasping her
shoulders with his hands, the strong sinewy fingers digging harshly into her
skin. "We have our plans with this American girl to consider."

"I don't care, I'll find someone else!"

He loomed above her, his eyes void of pity. They shone into hers
coldly--lust, cruel and unyielding, boring into the very depths of her soul.
The pressure of his hands permitted no escape from his hateful gaze.

"No, no, I mean it," the helpless woman whimpered. "I can't do it, I just can't!"

Her pleas fell on unhearing ears as his arms enveloped her, his lips crushed
tightly down against her. The long thin cock pressed hard into her soft
yielding belly below. His tongue snaked its way between his yellow decaying
teeth wetly into her mouth. She tried to struggle but fear and the cognac had
drained her strength to fight. The thick probing tongue and the heavy smell
of garlic and aged sweat gagged her into helplessness. The thin emaciated
body glued itself to hers tightly, arms and legs flowing over her like a giant
spider-web from which there was no relief.

"Please, please don't," she groaned, the savage rape of an earlier time
whirling through her mind, the room spun crazily as he pushed her backwards
toward the bed. The edge of the mattress caught her behind the knees and the
force of their momentum sent her sprawling flat on her back, his body pinning
her tightly to the swaying bed. She pressed her thighs tightly together,
attempting to hold back the squirming body trying to lodge itself between
them. His cock was trapped there, forcing itself up and down against the thin
nylon strip of her panties that covered her crotch. She could feel the
wetness of the hard thick rod sliding in its own lubricating fluid against the
soft inner hollows of her thighs. His head pressed forcefully against hers,
suddenly dropped, and she felt the sharp excruciating pain of his teeth biting
savagely into the lobe of her ear. She kicked out automatically with her long
smooth legs attempting to dislodge the painful teeth. His body sank
triumphantly between the legs as they splayed open, the fleshy instrument
safely imbedded against the protective nylon band. Its hungry head throbbed
down between the white, round globes of her full white buttocks. His knees
held her thighs sadistically apart.

The battle was over, the thought somehow came to her dazed mind. And now the
pain and humiliation are all that's left.

The ceiling whirled above her until suddenly it too was blotted out by
Shalla's leering face moving over hers, the mocking eyes laughing at the
glazed look of defeat and hopeless acceptance of his victory. His pelvis
began a slow grinding motion against her upturned crotch, rubbing the sheer
nylon band into the red slit of her cunt. The huge rubbery head traced a
sticky wet path up and down the length of the smooth wet nylon, pressing
gently against it until the full outline of the fleshy hair-lined lips could
be felt impressed clearly through it. He ground slowly, slowly against the
restraining band, watching the changing expressions on the face below him. He
knew she couldn't stand up to this torment forever. She was the proud kind
who could control herself well as long as there were other external realities
to guide her. He had destroyed those other realities and now there was
nothing for her but his body twisting above. He had dreamed of having her
like this since he had started working here several years ago. She had always
been cold and stone-like and was hiding something deep inside her that had to
explode someday given the proper circumstances. It needed some kind of spark
to ignite that fire that lay buried mysteriously beyond the reach of the
outside world. He was patient in his probings and gloated to himself that he
would find this key, he was going to ignite this body as he had the
others--only this time it would be he, Shalla, that did it and not phantom
lovers that played upon drugged minds.

Monique felt as though she were suffocating. Her long smooth form was pressed
tightly into the mattress. She could feel the hot rotating rod forcing itself
against the flat smooth plane between her legs. Silky tingling hair of the
Arabs legs played against the tender backs of the up raised columns of her
thighs. It was beginning again as it had before, only more gentle this time,
more real. Her husband was lying on the floor again, a body was rocking over
her as it did then, but there was no sudden ripping entry. Instead it moved
teasingly against her, probing and flicking at her like a giant bird of prey
playing with its helpless quarry who has become so tortured and tormented that
peace lay only in being devoured by it.

Her unconscious mind fought the torment of the teasing hot probe, fighting
against surrender to it. "Nooo, nooooooo, please," she groaned beneath the
grinning yellow teeth, her hips suddenly betraying her resisting unconscious
mind. They moved in small circles, hardly perceptible at first, but moving.
Moving like they did before with the broken body lying so close by, but no
longer a real thing. The only reality was the searing fire that burned deep
in her scorched stomach, the flames licking out between her legs, crying to be
drowned by the tormenting monster slithering lewdly between their wetness.

Shalla felt the victory.

The thighs that had been pressed tightly against his hips in defense suddenly
fell loosely away. Her heels hooked behind his knees and with a low
animal-like groan her arms snaked around his neck pulling his mouth tightly
down to mash wetly against hers. She sucked his tongue voraciously into her
lips, soft mewling sounds escaping through the wet sucking noise. She ground
her crotch tightly up his rock hard cock attempting to draw it through the
thin flimsy material still guarding the wet moist entrance of her cunt. It
was hopeless and he lay for a moment savoring her frustration until he too was
beyond delaying longer.

He reached between them, ripping the mucous soaked band viciously open and
guided the throbbing head of his cock between the now unprotected fleshy folds
of her cunt lips. He could feel soft crisp pubic hairs parting before his
unimpeded onslaught. The blunt tip met resistance for a moment at the
entrance to the hot searing passage and then he felt the elastic mouth
suddenly give and his long blood-filled member slithered deep, deep inside
with a sudden fury that brought a scream from Monique's contorted face. His
balls slapped flatly against her upturned ass, she was wet and wide open for
him and the impact of his thrust drove her thighs even farther apart.

She thought he was going to split her open and the battering instrument was
coming up out her mouth. She gurgled crazily suddenly wanting it to hurt.
She wanted to be punished like the dirty bitch she was for loving it this way
while her husband lay in a pool of blood on the floor. He had lain there for
three days while they kept her tied to the bed and fucked her a hundred
times
or more and when they'd stop, she would scream for it again to blot out the
ugly sight in front of her. She could still hear their laughter and taunting
remarks as her body bucked and rolled endlessly under one after another and
sometimes two or three of their dirty perspiring bodies. She could smell the
same smell now, of garlic and ancient dried sweat and it brought back pictures
of the degrading things the beasts had made her do when she had begged for
more of the conscious killing ravishment.

She had done them all and more and the long rampaging cock that was now buried
unmercifully in her belly, was all those cocks that had fucked her into
madness, merged into one. She screwed her cunt up and down it with wild
vengeful strokes attempting to destroy it as it had her. She pinned her legs
back, her knees touching her shoulders, wanting to take it all the way to the
hilt. The maddening slap of his balls against her anus drove her to wilder
frenzy.

The Arab gloated above, he had ignited it!

Whatever it was he had found the key. He braced himself on his knees and
elbows above the wildly thrashing body letting the hungry clasping cunt
slither itself up and down the rigid length of his cock at will. He bucked
forward on her up stroke several times, driving the growing head almost
through the walls of her womb.

"OOOoooh, OOOoooh," she groaned as the whole length fucked into her, the
momentum of his thrusts driving her ass deep into the squeaking mattress.

"Aaaaagggg, Aaaaagggg," she screamed as Shalla reached back underneath her
grinding buttocks and finding the wide spread crack open wide, thrust his
middle finger up to the second knuckle in her puckered little anus, causing
her feet to jerk erotically in the air above them, her toes curling
spasmodically against the bottoms of her stockinged feet. Through the thin
wall of moist flesh separating her asshole from her cunt, he could feel the
sperm bloated ridge of the bottom of his cock sliding smoothly in and out like
a well oiled piston of a racing car.

She began streaming words out at him between panting gasps from the pain in
her rectum.

"Fuck me you Arab, bastard! Fuck me good! Split me! Split me!"

Shalla gloatingly shoved a second punishing finger in, sinking both all the
way to the palm of his hand. He dug them cruelly into the soft fleshy anal
passage. Monique jerked up, her buttocks rising several inches off the bed,
to escape the sudden second intrusion in her backside. But the Arab had timed
it well, and rammed his pelvis forward with a vengeance, driving his cock deep
into her cunt. As she bucked down to keep the rock hard instrument from
ripping straight through her, she skewered herself down hard on the up-probing
fingers. She was hopelessly impaled between the fingers and cock and groaned
helplessly as he ground them both deep inside her. The juices of her dilating
cunt ran down over his hand, lubricating wetly the fingers now sunk fist deep
up her straining asshole.

Monique strained back under him, arching her loins against the grinding
assault on her cunt and anus. She moaned incessantly, her head flailing from
side to side on the crumpled bedspread, her body a mass of electric tingles
that shot through it half in pain and half in pleasure.

Shalla moved the fingers around inside her, she jerked and then screwed her
buttocks back on them, grunting incessantly as the pain slowly subsided. She
gradually became accustomed to the dual ravishing of her genitals. A
masochistic pleasure slowly replaced the searing firebrands of pain that raced
from her totally filled crotch to the top of her head.

"Uuuughh!" she grunted as he began buffeting her in rhythm between his hand
and giant growing cock. He could feel it expanding with each thrust down the
wet hot passage, it's lust fed by the very hopelessness of the woman squirming
incoherently beneath him.

Monique could feel the monster growing inside her battered vagina. The giant
head seemed like an unrelenting fist pummeling into her mercilessly. The
fingers tore inhumanely at her raw torn backside, giving her no respite from
the growing pleasure building--building--deep in her belly.

"Harder, harder, fuck harder, you pig, fuck harder," she chanted in rhythm to
his long hard strokes. She wanted to be torn apart. She wanted to be ripped.
Great huge waves of delicious feeling raced through her. Her entire body was
like an expanding balloon, growing--growing--ready to burst. Burst into a
thousand colored pieces like it did before when two of them had fucked her
simultaneously like they were now--they had sandwiched her between them like a
piece of raw meat, one on the bottom and one kneeling behind her driving their
hot red members into her at the same time and shooting their unclean sperm
into her until her belly thought it would burst open. They had filled her
cunt, her mouth, and her raw pink back passage time after time with their
white hot sperm until every inch of her body was covered with the pungent
stickiness. She sucked wildly on the tongue flicking into her mouth, she was
filled again, every entrance to her tingling body was being raped again,
driving away the horror of the sightless eyes staring up from the floor. This
was all that was real, there was nothing else, as suddenly with a grunt from
deep in her throat, great floods of hot juice began throbbing from the walls
of her vagina, streaming out in gushes over the balls and trapped hand
skewering between the split of her ass. It felt as though her very insides
were coming out with the flowing liquid. Monique gave one long low scream,
splaying her legs high into the air and as wide apart as they would go to give
the still pistoning cock and hand greater access. She thrust her loins at him
with brutal force, screwing herself up hungrily on the still pumping rod.
Juices flowed still from the quivering vagina as her nostrils flared and one
long last gasp of breath escaped raspingly from her lungs as though she had
been hit in the stomach with a powerful fist. She collapsed under him, her
body quivering uncontrollably as the after sensations floated her down gently
from the peak she had reached.

The Arab sensed her climax and drove his cock deep inside as her legs splayed
out, waving on either side of his body. He could feel the hot jet stream
begin in his inflated balls and race headlong down the length of his pulsating
member, spewing wildly out the glands into the depths of her womb, filling her
completely and overflowing with her own juices out the hair covered lips of
her contracting cunt. He gave one last low gasp as with a jerk he emptied the
last of the sperm into her still quivering belly then he too collapsed across
her spent body.

They lay still, a loose tangle of arms and entertwined legs, their breathing
slowing after a long moment of quiet.

Shalla arose from the unmoving body of the woman, his deflated cock slipping
with a sucking noise out of the liquid filled furrow between her open legs.

"You will make an excellent partner, Madame," he said simply, smiling
obscenely down at her still lewdly spread body. "We will discuss our plans in
the morning."

He dressed quickly and left the room, turning at the door and directing a
triumphant grin at her. Monique knew she was in no condition to consider
anything now. She would think of some way to get back at this Arab pig after
she had taken care of the American girl tomorrow. He would not escape
punishment for the indignities he had heaped upon her tonight, she would pay
him back a thousand-fold for every drop of his ugly sperm that lay in the hot
pool in her belly She didn't even have the strength left to wash herself of
this filth. Sleep came quickly in the same position as she lay. There were
no dreams for Monique tonight.

About an hour before the Arab had closed Monique's door and stealthily stole
back to his bunk downstairs, Jean had suddenly bolted up in bed to a sitting
position. She had been awakened by a noise in the adjacent room. It sounded
like the muffled squeal of a pig being put to the slaughter. She had been
sleeping soundly and had thought at first it was a dream but it came again,
jarring her to alertness.

Something was wrong in Monique's room. Other muffled sounds were echoing
through the thick wall also. Sounds that were not familiar to her but seemed
to be cries of terror and pleading. She looked at her watch. It was only a
little after midnight. She had not even been asleep an hour though it had
seemed like a full night.

She sat still on the bed listening. She didn't want to make a fool of herself
if nothing was wrong. It could be that Monique was having a nightmare. There
was silence for a long moment and then another sound, this time of movement.
It sounded as though something were being thrown bodily on a bed. She could
not be certain. The walls to the room were of solid stone like all old
buildings in Europe and the connecting door was of heavy oak. It made them
almost soundproof.

Without turning on the lamp, she groped her way through the darkness to the
door, pressing her ear tightly against it to see if she could hear anything.
There was the unmistakable sound of movement making its way through the
thickness of the wood. She thought also she could hear whimpering but it was
impossible to tell. She hesitated for a moment, not certain what to do.
Certainly if something were drastically wrong, Monique would scream. She
would certainly hear that. Her hand was frozen on the door knob as she waited
silently, unable to make up her mind what to do.

A long low moan suddenly was discernible from the other side. This convinced
her, Monique might be ill and unable to move. She hadn't been feeling too
well when they had returned from dinner and it might be serious. She would
just take a quick look quietly so as not to disturb her if nothing were
seriously wrong.

She silently turned the key in the door and opened it carefully, just a crack.
She scanned the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the bedlamp. Then
her heart leaped into her throat!

It was Monique--and a man was on top of her.

He was trying to rape her! He had her pinned to the bed and was trying to pry
her legs open. Jean was frozen into immobility. She almost let out a scream
but choked it back with the palm of her hand. It was unbelievable. She
started to shake uncontrollably and bit down hard on the back of her hand to
keep from crying out in fright. She was shaking too hard to close the door
and just stood there helplessly trying to regain her composure. She knew it
would do no good for her to attempt to help physically. He might kill them
both.

She watched horrified, unable to move, as Monique struggled beneath the man.
She had a good view of them. Their feet were pointing almost directly at her,
not more than fifteen feet away across the room. She could not see who the
man was except that he was naked and wearing only a dirty pair of socks with
holes in the heels. He was darker than most.

Monique had her ankles locked tightly together and he was trying to get his
feet between hers, but she fought bravely. The man's head suddenly bobbed
down and a squeal came from Monique's throat, her legs involuntarily splaying
out in the air. Jean could see the man's body fall heavy between the long
white columns, pinning them wide apart. From this position she could see his
huge hard penis insinuated tightly against the wide open crotch of the
struggling woman and rub lewdly against the white band of her panties that she
still wore.

It was huge. She had never seen a man before, even Kevin. She had felt him
when he had brutally raped her but she had not seen his penis. How could a
woman take such a thing, it seemed it would split Monique open. It lay
menacingly like a great log along the slit of her crotch, the two round
globular balls dangling down wickedly at the upper base. She could see the
foreskin slipping back as he slid it down along her wide-spread buttocks, the
red blood-filled head bursting forth like some primeval monster crawling
evilly from its lair.

Jean stood transfixed, she was unable to take her eyes from the lewd spectacle
in front of her. She could not understand. Monique had suddenly stopped
struggling so violently. Her body was now churning in a different manner. It
almost seemed to be searching for the giant penis. The man suddenly reached
down and she saw his hand grasp the flimsy silk band of the protective
panties, ripping it away like tissue paper. She could see clearly the exposed
hair covered furrow between her splayed thighs. The narrow red slit glistened
in the dim light and she could make out mouth-shaped lips of her vagina that
seemed even from this distance stretched so cruelly apart. She thought she
could see it contracting, opening and closing like the mouth of a gasping fish
out of water.

The man's hand reached down between them, grasping the long hard instrument
and raised his buttocks high in the air, poising its bulbous head between the
sucking mouth of Monique's cunt. Jean watched horrified as the muscles of his
behind suddenly tensed heavily and drove brutally downward, sinking the
sinewed shaft all the way into the wet gaping channel until only a tiny little
stretch of it showed, moist and glistening, beneath his balls. She winced as
she heard the smack of his pelvis against hers it hit with such force.
Monique's unearthly scream pierced through her ears like the cry of a wounded
animal, her stocking feet curling in pain.

Jean's heart pounded like a jack-hammer until she was certain they could hear
it clear across the room. She pressed one hand tightly to her breast as
though to dull the sound.

The figures on the bed were still for a moment, that seemed to the entranced
girl an eternity, then the man began a slow rocking motion over the impaled
woman below him. He withdrew slightly, the thick fleshy column sliding out
for several inches then thrust forward again, holding it there. He withdrew
again until the underside of the head was visible to the hypnotized Jean. Her
mouth dropped open in disbelief as she watched Monique's long full legs wrap
suddenly around his hips, her heels tight against the cheeks of his ass,
straining to pull him back inside her. The cords on the inside of her thighs
flexed tightly as she pushed her soft down covered crotch back up over the
glistening prick. Her hollowing buttocks lifted several inches off the bed as
she struggled upward desperately trying to absorb the entirety of the thick
cock back into the fleshy pink folds of her hungry cunt. A wet viscous sound
drifted across the room as she slithered up its full length. Her flexing
buttocks began a rhythmic beat up and down the long smooth pole, the soft
hairy balls slapping in time against the faintly puckered little anus below.

Monique mouthed obscenities at the man as she squirmed lewdly in the throes of
passion beneath him, words that Jean had only heard spoken in whispers as a
girl. Forbidden words that still brought a guilty tingling to her as they did
then, merely, because they were forbidden. They drummed ceaselessly into the
watching girl's mind who was beyond understanding the sudden change in the
woman on the bed. The quiet reserved Monique that seemed too aloof from this
kind of thing, her friend who was her strength since they had met on the
train. God, if it could happen to her, if she could be driven into insane
submission to a man she had fought so strenuously a moment before, it could
happen to anyone. She felt a slight electric tingle dart menacingly between
her own full thighs.

She watched thunder-stuck, as again the man's hand curled beneath Monique's
pumping buttocks and the tip of his middle finger circled tantalizingly the
rubbery ring of the tightly puckered anus. It played there for a long teasing
moment and suddenly brought another tortured groan from the twisting body
beneath as it slipped through the protective fleshy ring and disappeared
inside. Legs kicked out again, another tormented squeal with toes curling,
and then the legs locked again, pumping viciously against both probing
instruments.

Jean was shaking violently now and with all her concentrated effort slipped
the door closed silently and groped her way in panic back to the bed. She
pulled the covers tightly up over her head to attempt to shut out the depraved
sounds coming now in streams through the thick walls. It was hopeless, gasps
of pain and pleasure filtered through, permeating her tortured ears. The
squeak of bedsprings merged with the pictures of the struggling tangled limbs
in her mind, igniting again a tiny smoldering spark between her own legs. She
clamped them desperately together trying to choke it away.

As if in a dream her own hands began to involuntarily massage the straining
whiteness of her breasts, trapping the trembling nipples between her fingers,
kneading and pulling it until it felt as though she would rip them loose from
the white quivering mounds. She groaned and turned over on her stomach,
pressing the mound of her clitoris tightly into the mattress, attempting to
relieve the fire that was suddenly raging out of control there.

Her hands, against her will, burrowed down between her body and the bed and
groped at the throbbing mass of her pubic hair. Her legs scissored open, a
foot dangling on either side of the wide bed. She could feel her own moist
slit now palpitating against the tips of her fingers which drew the narrow
furrow open, exposing the lips of her pulsating cunt to the warm air
underneath the covers. With a groan, she sunk one of her middle fingers deep
into the viscous moistened mouth. She held her breath, relieved for the
moment, but it was only a short moment. The fire burned more intensely,
demanding more to feed its lewd hunger. She inserted another finger, drawing
her knees up to a kneeling position, with her buttocks high in the air. The
squeak of the bedsprings became more violent through the wall and she crammed
her fingers into the moistness of her vagina in time to the maddening rhythm
of the couple fucking in the other room.

The pictures in her mind of their locked bodies drove her on and she rocked
back on her knees against her fingers, screwing them deeper into herself. She
could see his huge thick glistening cock ramming its way into Monique's
clasping cunt, sinking through the soft pubic hair like a greased telephone
pole. Her hands became At pole and her gasps began to match that of the
racing bodies in the adjacent room. She wanted everything Monique was
getting, she wanted to be split too, she wanted to be fucked. Oh, how she
wished Kevin were here now pumping his own cum filled cock into her hot
searing passage. The fingers weren't enough as her thoughts centered on the
thick member ravishing Monique, she had to have more but there was nothing,
nothing but the fingers. In desperation she reached up over her buttocks with
her other hand, searched the wet crevice, and rammed a finger deep into the
puckered asshole between her moon-shaped buttocks. She gasped as in her haste
a fingernail dug into the soft fleshy walls sending a sharp jolt of pain
through her quivering body. She stilled for a moment and then took up the
rhythm of the bedsprings again, her upper body braced against the top of her
head digging into the mattress. Her white full tits hung down, the nipples
brushing sensuously against the sheet as they swayed beneath her kneeling
body. Electric tingles of darting pleasure raced through her nerves as she
pictured herself under the nameless pounding body with the dirty socks. Her
face colored crimson as she felt it coming--coming with a great roar--she hung
for a moment teetering on the edge of release her whole body vibrated and then
the white hot juice gushed from around her rummaging fingers covering her hand
and ran onto the mattress below. She could feel it running in tiny prickly
rivulets down the inside of her quivering thighs to her bended knees. A
piercing scream reverberated through the wall followed by a low male groan
signaling that the fury of the couples savage orgasm had matched her owns
Then, there was utter silence.

Jean stayed on her hands and knees for a while, her buttocks still swaying in
the air. She couldn't bring herself to withdraw her fingers from herself
until the last dying throbs had stilled her body. At last, she heard the door
slam next door jarring her back to almost consciousness. Her fingers
slithered wetly from her satiated cunt and she rolled limply over to her side,
the ever-present feeling of guilt crawling over her. Tomorrow, tomorrow,
Kevin would be here to take care of her. Thank God, the way she was now, she
didn't know what she might do. Her spent body curled into a tight womb-like
ball and welcome sleep glided smoothly through her tortured and confused
mind.

"Monsieur Taylor, Monsieur Taylor," the loudspeaker blared through the shouts
of the porters and the cacophonous noises of the crowded railway station.
"Message for you at the information desk."

Kevin motioned for the porter carrying his bags to follow him and walked
toward the booth displaying the "Information" sign in English, French, and
German. Kevin identified himself, and the small squat Frenchman behind the
desk pointed toward a woman standing about fifteen feet away.

"The Madame standing there has requested we page you, Monsieur Taylor. Would
you please speak with her."

Kevin thanked the clerk and quizzically walked toward the woman waiting for
him. She obviously did not know who he was as she glanced past him without
recognition as he approached her. This was strange, to be met by an unknown
person in a city where he had never been before. It must be connected with
Jean and he felt a lump of fear rising in his throat.

Had something happened to her, an accident, had she taken ill? He was almost
afraid to speak to the woman for fear of being confronted with news of some
horrible disaster. It just couldn't happen. He had raised his hopes so much
on the train that things would straighten themselves out between them in
Marseille and it frightened him to think that something may have happened to
prevent their getting a second chance at it. He had a lot to make up to her
and found himself praying silently now that she was all right.

He spoke hesitatingly to the woman. "H--Hello, I'm Kevin Taylor, the man at
information said you had me paged."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Taylor, I should have recognized you from Jean's descriptions
but then you Americans are all so handsome," the woman said, smiling at him as
though she had known him all her life.

"Th--then Jean did send you?" he asked hurriedly, anxiety apparent in his
voice. "Is something wrong? Where is she?"

"Just a moment, young man, don't get carried away. Jean is fine and waiting
for you," she assured him. "I'll explain it all to you on the way to the
hotel. A crowded train station is no place to discuss the problems of
newlyweds."

Monique instructed the porter to get them a taxi and they followed him out of
the station. After they were comfortably settled in the back and wending
their way through traffic toward the hotel, Monique spoke.

"Please let me introduce myself before I explain why I'm here to meet you. I
am Monique DuFour, a friend of Jean's. We met on the train coming down from
Paris and took a liking to each other so I have been staying with her. She
certainly needed someone to look after her after your little mistake in
Paris," she gave Kevin a friendly reproachful look, indicating she was teasing
and for him not take her admonishments too seriously.

"Has--has she told you everything?" Kevin asked, unbelieving. He just
couldn't accept the fact, so suddenly, that Jean had run to a complete
stranger and told her that her own husband had raped her on their wedding
night.

"Yes, you naughty boy," Monique chided, "she has done just that. And you are
the one to blame for all this so don't look too harshly on her for discussing
your short-comings with me. You should be grateful that we met. I've been
able to convince her that it is a common thins among newlyweds to go through
this. That's why she cabled you to come so soon even though she didn't want to
at all."

"Well," Kevin answered, looking at the woman with a new found warmth. "I
appreciate what you've done. I've been worried sick sitting in that hotel
room not knowing where Jean was. I would have gone to the police if that
cable had been another half an hour. I was afraid she may have done something
desperate. She was quite upset when I stormed out of the room the other
night."

"Don't you feel she had reason to be?" Monique said, turning to him in the
seat. "It seems I detect a self-righteous tone in your voice. Or is it one
of wounded pride?"

"I don't think that is important, Madame DuFour," he answered defensively.
"The important thing is not who is right or wrong in this matter, but that we
get together and solve it. I've done a lot of foolish things and so has she.
We should be about even on that score now."

"Please call me, Monique," she corrected.

"All right, Monique, please call me Kevin. Now tell me why Jean didn't meet
me, she said in her cable that she would be there." Kevin was a bit perplexed
about this and had to say something.

"She was just a little hung-over from last night," Monique smiled intimately
at him as though confiding a deep secret to him. "And she didn't want to
come."

"Hung-over? Why, she never drinks," Kevin sputtered, ignoring the last
statement.

"Oh, she does now," Monique said. "We had quite a time on the town last
night. I thought she would never stop."

"But what brought this on? She said in her note she was going away to do some
serious thinking, not to live it up."

"I think it was just the pressure, my boy, now don't you worry," Monique
patted his knee next to her consolingly. "After all, it's not every girl who
gets frustrated on her wedding night. They might react strangely to it."

"Frustrated!" Kevin almost shouted even though he was only sitting a few feet
from the women. "Is that what she told you?"

"Why yes, of course," Monique answered, surprise in her voice. "You mean you
couldn't tell--that night?"

"Well," Kevin answered slowly, a tinge of anger beginning to grow in him. "I
suppose I didn't satisfy her if that's what you mean, but I haven't even
considered that. I though it was because I was too rough."

"That should be the first thing you do consider, young man, when you make love
to a woman. I don't care if you ravish her like a slave, it's making her
enjoy being ravished that's important. Jean wasn't nearly so concerned about
your forcing her, she just was disappointed that you knew nothing about the
finer points of making love."

Kevin crimsoned beside Monique. Anger rising in him at the older woman's
words... So this is what he had come all the way from Paris for, to find out
his bride says he's a lousy lover. This was one thing he would have to talk
to Jean about the first moment he saw her. He could take a lot of things but
having your wife tell perfect strangers something like this was almost too
much.

Monique could see the color of his face changing out of the corner of her eye.
Her plan seemed to be working well so far. His masculinity was being
insulted, and if there was anything a man couldn't stand, it was having that
questioned. She knew men well enough by now and they were the same the world
over in that particular respect. You could control their anger or love
completely by praise or insult to that one god of theirs, masculinity. She
intended to use it well on this young immature American as he was just at the
age when it was so important. He was so vulnerable it almost made her laugh
This was going to be easy if that damn Arab, Shalla, was doing his part as
well as she.

She smiled to herself and looked over at the clean cut young American,
wondering musedly to herself what he would think if he knew his sweet pure
young wife had been screwed within an inch of her life by that pig. He
probably would go completely crazy and start tearing things apart like all of
his kind. They were so proud and naive, it would never occur to them that a
woman might want to try something else also as men always did when they got
the chance. This might be a good experience for him. At least, it would
teach him one of the basic lessons of life, that even without love, people
would simply multiply from lust alone, it felt too good to ever go out of
style. Even she had succumbed last night, after all these years. True, she
had been forced into it but her body had made the most out of its chance even
though her mind had fought it, and it had brought back the horrible memories
of her brutal ravishment at the hands of other Arabs so many years ago. Yes,
the body was a strange uncooperative thing and under the right circumstances
would go its own way regardless of the high sounding moral principles the mind
might harbor.

Monique finally broke the silence that had persisted for several miles now.
She knew she had hit the sore point and would make the most of it in
furthering her little scheme. "I gather you've not had much experience in
making love, Kevin. Don't you know a man owes it to his wife to learn these
things before the wedding night."

Kevin thought for a moment before answering. He hadn't wanted to explain
anything to her. It was something between he and his wife and no one else he
had thought, but obviously, Jean had confided more in her than she had her own
husband. Perhaps he could learn a few things from this straight forward
woman. She certainly was unlike any American woman he had ever met. They
would never think of discussing a subject like this with a person even if they
knew them well, much less a total stranger. Her friendship might be worth
cultivating, it might even be the key to recapturing the respect of Jean. As
a lover, he obviously had sunk pretty low in her estimation and he knew their
love could never work unless it were built on mutual respect, including
respect in bed.

"Do you think there's a chance, Monique," he said, a questioning tone
detectable in his voice. "I've a lot of making up to do."

"Why, of course, there's a chance. It's never too late or anything," Monique
purred, sensing that soon she would have him in her power and he would follow
her advice to the letter. The key to her success would lie in gaining his
trust and she felt she was winning it even at this early stage. He was such a
pup and almost a shame to have to destroy his illusions about the purity and
fairness of life at such a tender age.

"What should I say to her? I've been worried sick about this thing and to be
perfectly frank, I don't even know where to begin."

"Why don't we stop and have a drink and discuss it quietly before we go to the
hotel," she suggested. "Jean won't be awake for several hours yet and I think
I can give you some valuable advise, young man. After all, we French are
supposed to be experts at this sort of thing."

"Good," Kevin replied, obviously relieved. It would give him more time for
preparing himself for the meeting with Jean, and Monique just might have some
excellent ideas.

Monique directed the driver to take them to a small quiet bar not too far from
the hotel and instructed him to wait across the street with Kevin's luggage.

The bar was dark and cool inside and Kevin was happy to get in from the hot
sun that was beginning to bring the outside temperature up to an unbearable
level. He had never liked heat and had argued with Jean about coming to
Europe in August. He had heard it was impossible this time of year but, as
usual, she had not listened to him. He pulled his handkerchief from his
pocket and began wiping the sweat form his brow as they sat at a small
intimate table in a darkened corner.

Monique ordered two tall cool drinks from the waiter who brought them almost
immediately. Kevin took a long hard sip, sighing at the same time. "Mmmmmm,
that was good. I think I needed it." The cool liquid ran refreshingly down
his throat, relaxing him from the tension he had built up on the train
worrying about what he would say when he arrived. He felt fortunate. Monique
seemed to have developed Jean's confidence and also seemed to have given their
problems a lot of thought on her own. She just might be able to help him as
her understanding of another woman's emotions would probably be much more
concise than his own. In fact, he had just about given up trying to
understand his wife at all. Perhaps, this French woman was a god-send from
above. At any rate, it could do no harm discussing it with her.

"Now, Kevin, let's get down to your problem," Monique said, after taking a
long drink from her glass. "We've got a lot of thinking and planning to do."

"I don't know quite where to begin," Kevin reflected. "It goes all the way
back to the time we first started dating and covers all the details in between
that time and now. There were a lot of frustrations on both sides, I suppose."

"Well we don't have a year, my dear boy, you had better just give me the
outline so I can understand it a little better from your view point. I've
already heard the other side and it doesn't sound too favorable to you."

"Monique, I'm not going to try and defend myself, if that's what you're
expecting. I'm willing to concede that I was completely wrong. I just want
to apologize to Jean the best way I know how and promise it won't happen
again. It's too complicated to try and unravel in such a short period of time.
We've the rest of our lives to adjust to each other and I'm just going to beg
for another chance."

Monique shook her head, an obvious impatience with what he had just said
reflected in her tight lips.

"My dear young man, if you do that, then you've conceded your position as
master of the house for all time to come. No man should put himself in that
situation, nor would any woman want it." She was working the subject subtly
to his pride in masculinity and smiled to herself as she watched his eyes
absorb her words. He took another long swallow from the glass and waved to
the waiter for another. Monique knew it was merely a question of time now.

"A slave in my own home, is that what you mean?" he said, looking straight
ahead across the darkened room.

"If that's the way you want to put it," Monique answered, placing her own hand
warmly over his on the table. "You seem so much stronger than she thinks you
are, Kevin. I feel your only hope is to prove you are."

"Did she say that too?" he asked wryly.

"Well, yes she did. After all, you had many chances before you were married
but never pursued them. Jean said she always felt like a china-doll and that
you were afraid of breaking her."

"I suppose I did, there were times when I almost took her bodily, I guess I
should have."

"Yes, you should have, my dear, but not like you did in Paris. Women like to
be ravished sometimes, but ravished tenderly, or at least, not hurt too much.
As I said in the taxi, however you do it, you've got to make them enjoy it.
Strength alone doesn't do that. You've got to be able to understand when a
'No' means yes and also, when a 'Yes' may sometimes mean no."

"And just how does one fathom the depths of women like Jean's mind, I'm not
a
psychiatrist. If someone says no, I'm accustomed to it meaning no, and not
something else. She's angry now because when she said, No, I didn't take her.
In Paris, she said yes, and I did take her. How in the hell am I supposed to
know what to do and when."

Monique felt that now was the time to drop her little bomb. He was ready for
it and sufficiently worked up that he wouldn't stop to think too strongly
about it.

"You could learn what to do when you do take them, my boy. That's the secret.
No woman minds being had if she's had correctly."

"And just where and with whom an I to get all this on the job training," Kevin
said without thinking. "And what about the time? She's waiting for us now,"

"I think I can arrange these things," Monique answered quickly. "I like you
and Jean so much that I can't bear to see your happiness spoiled by a little
thing like this. The important thing is that we must have time. I think one
night should be sufficient."

"And how am I going to explain not arriving when I said I would?" Kevin asked
skeptically.

"I have an idea about that, but you must be strong about it," Monique said
slyly. This was the key to her entire plan and he must accept it.

"Okay, let's hear it. I'm open to suggestions."

"Well," Monique said softly, almost holding her breath, "I'll go back to the
hotel and say there was a message from you saying you were having a wonderful
time in Paris and would be down in several days. You would cable her the
time."

"That's probably the best plan I've ever heard for losing her completely. You
don't know Jean like I do," Kevin objected, shaking his head hopelessly.

"No, I don't know Jean like you do, but I do know her like a woman and that's
more important. Didn't her little run-out act bring you crawling down here?"

Kevin reflected on this for a moment. Monique's argument did have basic
logic. Jean had done it to him and it had been extremely effective. In fact,
she had always been doing this to him. Perhaps, a change in roles would be
good for her. Maybe she should squirm for a while.

"Let's do it," Kevin said, making a snap decision. He was desperate now.
From the things Monique had told him, he knew something drastic had to be
done or he would lose Jean sooner or later. It was better to take the
chance now while he still might gain some respect in her eyes.

"Good boy, I knew you had more strength than she gave you credit for having.
She'll be eating out of your hand in several days, I promise that."

"Let's hope so," Kevin said with resignation. "This is going to be an all or
nothing try."

"Don't you worry, Kevin, it's going to work beautifully. Come now, let's get
you a hotel and I'll work out the details. I'll call you later this
afternoon." Monique smiled happily to herself as they left the bar. The plan
was working well and Monique's chest swelled a little in pride at her
resourcefulness. She couldn't fail now. She tucked the little note she had
the naive American write in her purse, patting it lovingly. This would be the
final blow that would destroy any spirit of resistance the girl might have
left after the Arab finished with her.

Jean awoke early. Kevin's train should arrive within a few hours and she
wanted to get all her things packed and meet him at the station. They could
move to another hotel directly from there. This way, she would not have to
face Monique. She couldn't look her in the eye again after last night. She
could still picture Monique's firm full body pumping crazily beneath that man,
whoever he was, and could still hear her impassioned pleas begging him for
more. She shuddered each time the thought came into her mind. It could have
even happened to her. She didn't know how the man even got into Monique's
room but it obviously had been against her will. At least, the beginning had
anyway until her body had run away with her and turned her into an obscene
mass of helpless sensation.

The thought worried Jean of what had happened to her also. She had been as
bad as they were and a deep shame hung over her for allowing the picture of
her friend being ravished so brutally to overcome her own civilized
principles. She had acted like a common whore, using whatever means were
closest to reach her own fulfillment. What if that man had come to her room
instead of next door. Would she have reacted the way Monique had done? The
possible answer frightened her and she had to get away from this evil place as
quickly as possible and into the protective arms of Kevin. She would never be
angry with him again and understood fully now how he might have let himself
get carried away under the circumstances in Paris. Her faith in her own
strength was now shattered and she needed him badly to lean on, to wash away
the horrible sensual feelings she had let her mind give vent to in the last
two days.

She finished her morning shower, washing gently her genitals. Her anus was
still slightly sore from the finger she had attacked it with in her
uncontrollable depravity last night. She soaped it tenderly hoping to wash
away the humiliation of her lewd surrender to her own demanding body. Her
reactions still puzzled her. Had she discovered something about herself that
she hadn't known before. Had these sudden exposures to raw sex ripped away a
facade of respectability that had been made of paper. She certainly had acted
like it. It hadn't taken much to set her off, a dream, a few sounds next door
and she had become a raging maniac. She had to admit though, that watching
two other people make love was a tremendous stimulation. She had never even
thought about it before and had always felt it was something to be done
quietly under the covers with as little noise as possible. Well, it certainly
hadn't been done that way last night by Monique and that man. They had gone
at it like they had been performing for General DeGaulle himself.

Jean looked at her watch. She still had forty-five minutes to check out of
the hotel and get down to the train station. It should be just right. She
closed the suitcase on the bed and rang for the porter. Thank god, it would
be the last time she would have to look at that Arab. He had undressed her
enough with his eyes during her stay here. Well, she hoped he took a good
look this time, it would be his last chance. She thought wickedly for a
moment, of letting him catch her in her panties, that would teach the lecher a
lesson he probably wouldn't forget for a long time. If she only did have the
courage to do something like that, she sighed, but she knew she never would.
She would always be just plain Jean, even afraid of her own husband.

She opened the door to the Arabs soft knock. He stood there with his
perpetual grin, looking in through the open door.

"Please take my baggage downstairs," she motioned toward the bed, "and
prepare my bill."

"Is Madame checking out now," he asked, a note of surprise registering in
his otherwise still obsequious tone.

"Yes, I am, and please hurry. I am late now and can't waste any more time,"
Jean said sharply.

"But Madame has not had her morning tea," he objected, feigned concern in
his voice.

"I do not want my morning tea," Jean said, impatiently. "I told you I was
late and must leave the hotel within five minutes."

"I will have the tea in one," the Arab smiled, and without waiting for her
answer, turned quickly and disappeared down the stairs. Jean started to say
something but she was left standing with her mouth open, noiseless sounds
sputtering out at the empty hall in front of her.

She paced the room impatiently for several minutes, fuming over the insolence
of this desk clerk. Who did he think he was, deliberately delaying her this
way. If there were a management, she would certainly report him but he seemed
to be the only one she had ever seen here.

Her angry thoughts were cut short as he suddenly returned, entering the room
without knocking. Jean started to object again but with resignation shrugged
her shoulders. She was too late to start an unpleasant tirade against him now.

Shalla sat the tray on the small table and Jean noticed he had brought two
glasses this time, both filled with the mint green tea she had drank before.
He handed her one, taking the other for himself.

"It is always a custom for the concierge to drink with a departing guest," he
said, "Particularly one who has been so pleasant to the staff."

Jean suddenly, for a reason she couldn't explain, felt a warning signal flash
through her mind. Perhaps it was the tone in the Arab's voice. There had
definitely been a subtle sneer to the last sentence he had spoken. His eyes
were again boring through her, but not as before. They didn't rove the curves
of her body in a questioning manner, wondering what was there beneath the
dress. They seemed to know this time and lewdly sparkled their approval. She
raised the glass to her lips and drank, almost as if in a trance. She was
suddenly frightened of this strange man whose eyes seemed to lack the
slightest spark of humanity. They bored into her, cruel and unyielding,
causing small goose bumps to ripple along her skin.

The tea was cold and the cool mint flavor relaxed her a bit. She was grateful
for it. It would get her through this ordeal of being alone with this
horrible man. She only had to bear it for a few more moments until the tea
was gone. She sipped more heavily on the refreshing liquid anxious to finish it.

Shalla watched her over the top of his glass. He could see the slight
hesitation as she reached to take the tea he offered. The sudden recognition,
though silent, that he knew her better than she thought was also apparent
flickering through her eyes. He savored the slight tinge of fear that he
could see building up. He knew he had surprised her and that she hadn't
expected him to be so bold. It was good to have this power that he had so
recently gained by fucking that French lady half to death last night. He had
been made to squirm so much during his life and now it was going to be a
pleasure paying it all back It was particularly satisfying taking it out on
the haves, like this bitch that had never known the depths of humiliation
before. Well, it was his turn to do the humiliating! He had a score to
settle with the world and he had begun last night. He was through being a mat
for others to trample on to quench their need for superiority. He would now
do the trampling.

"Thank you, that was very nice," Jean said nervously as she drained the glass
and replaced it on the tray. "I--I think you had better take the baggage down
now."

"Just a moment, Madame," Shalla replied, "I have not finished mine."

He watched her carefully. He wanted to delay a few minutes longer until the
potion began to take effect. He had prepared it carefully. It was not as
strong as the first he had fed her. He wanted her completely conscious this
time so she would feel every minute of the degradations he had planned. There
was just ought to drain the strength of resistance from her fresh young body.
Yes, he thought complacently, now he would begin to get his pound of flesh
back for all the years these kind of people had treated him like a lowly cur.
The great god Allah taught that there would be satisfaction for the oppressed
of the world. He, Shalla, would collect his now. He wanted to pluck the
wings from this little fly slowly so that she would remember it all the rest
of her life.

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.

[continuing in part 2/2]