I walked naked down the bare corridor, my feet echoing as they slapped on the cold hard floor. The old hag led the way at a snails pace, the weary years telling on her ancient bones. Why I followed so passively was really astounding given that I was naked and anyone could see.
At the end of the corridor we turned right, down a darker and shorter corridor. The old hag looked back once to make sure I was still there, although my footfalls should have told if I were not. We reached a set of stone stairs and I was mildly taken aback at the realisation that I had been kept underground all this time. The thought quickly passed as we mounted the steps, one by one until at last we reached the top. She opened the door with a heavy key where a thin man stood holding a cup.
He looked me up and down showing only slight interest in my nudity. He spoke quickly to the woman in a language I didn't understand. She replied, jerking her head at me. He stepped forward and jabbed a finger into the soft yielding flesh of my breast without hurting me. Oddly enough I didn't seem concerned by the affront. His hand ran down to my buttock and gently squeezed while I stood impassively. He spoke to the woman again briefly. He pushed the cup he was holding to my lips and I drank the sweet honey flavoured syrup greedily.
The cup was retrieved and he gave it to the old hag as he took my arm.
"Follow me." He told me in heavily accented English.
I walked beside him, our pace slightly quicker than that the old hag could have managed as we travelled a brighter corridor. Ahead of me I could see people hurrying. Rushing out of doorways into the corridor and hastening away from me, through a double set of doors directly ahead. And was that food I could smell? Food, a vague recollection, I hadn't eaten in three whole days; my stomach must have shrunken to the size of a walnut.
We merged with the flowing mass of bodies. Nobody seemed to mind my nakedness as they hurried by, it was almost as if I didn't exist, and maybe I didn't. The small dark suited man held the door open for me and I passed through. Everywhere I looked there were people sitting at tables, eyes turned to look at me, elbows nudging, point me out as I walked beside the man, passing between them, seeing their heads turn to follow me. So I did exist after all!
I was taken to a very large table where eight men were seated, four on both sides and a woman sat at the head. They looked at me greedily, their eyes flowing over every contour of my being: my breasts, my thighs, my secret place, especially my secret place. I was standing at the foot of the table not looking at any one of them, seemingly untroubled by their gaze while the small man in the suit laid out a roll of fabric on the table, the end hung loose by about three foot, leaving about the same measure on the table.
"Turn around." The suit told me.
I turned my back to the table and heard what I took to be some appreciate comments. The small man took my arms in his and stepped me backwards, guiding me to the table and then gently lowering me down until the base of my buttocks rested on the fabric.
"Lie back." He told me.
I am sure I must have presented a remarkable view to those sitting closest in front of me as I meekly swung myself back, pivoting on my hips to lay my back on the table. Suddenly the cloth moved, and I was pulled across the table by the men seated around me, each grasping the cloth as I moved along and pulling me further on.
They started jabbering in whatever alien language they spoke as I came to rest in the middle of the table. Fingers pawed at me, particularly my breasts and thighs. I felt my legs opening as hands took my ankles and spread them wide. Inquisitive fingers plied the central crease between my thighs open and I felt someone pry my clitoris out, extending it out between his finger and thumb for everyone to see. They were laughing as they talked excitedly, one of them even stood to lean over my head to examine my stretched clitoris.
I lay back staring at the ceiling, slightly puzzled by my lack of resistance. Something cold and metallic entered me, down below. It was smooth and narrow to start with, rapidly increasing in girth. It was removed and I heard chuckles of amusement, but paid little interest as the same thing happened again, only moving rapidly in and out of me before it was removed — was someone fucking me?
Two Days Ago.
I woke on a hard floor, cold and confused. My mouth felt dry and kind of leathery. Slowly I pulled myself up to sit on the cold tiles. Where was I? The room was bare and featureless, just cold light coloured tiles on the floor and walls, and an off-white ceiling with a single naked bulb. There was a small hole in the middle of the ceiling where a heavy metal chain and hook hung down, well beyond my reach. No window, just a rusty looking vent high in one corner, and a door. I stood up and walked bare foot across the room to the door. Why were my feet bare — where were my shoes? The door was locked solidly and I noted the eyehole fitted in it. I banged on the door with the flat of my hand.
"Hello?" I called out.
Silence greeted me. I tried again and again, to no avail. I paced the room trying to work things out, was I in a prison cell, had I done something wrong? I heard a noise outside and rushed to the door, slamming my hand hard on it.
"Can anyone hear me?" I cried.
Oh thank God!
I stood back from the door, suddenly afraid, my fingers raised to my chest, twisting together to form a knot. A key inserted on the other side, echoing around my small cell. I bit my lip nervously, my heart thumping madly in my chest. The door swung open.
"You awake." His tone was abrupt — a statement, not a question, an obvious one at that.
"Yes." I replied timidly.
"You not sick?"
"No — I..."
"Good. You come wiv me." His accent was heavy, one I couldn't place, and he was obviously foreign, a nationality I couldn't even begin to guess at.
"Where are we going?"
I followed him out into a bare corridor I didn't recognise. Single bulbs poorly lit the narrow corridor and I noticed we passed several doors similar to the one leading into my cell, all of them closed and silent.
"Where am I?" I asked pensively.
"You want pee-pee?"
"No. I just want to know where I am?"
"Slow — my iglish not so good."
"Where... am... I?"
"Secret place. You come wiv me."
He took me to a room where a dark skinned, obese man sat behind a desk. He looked up and the two of them conversed in a strange language. I looked at the can of diet coke wistfully, beside it was a plate of half-finished food. I would settle for either, but a drink, what I wouldn't give for a drink. The large man got up and rounded his desk. He looked at me hard and then spoke to the other man.
"He say you must take off you cloves now."
My eyes widened. I shook my head, tears already beginning to fill in my eyes.
"Dat is not good. He will beat you bad — very bad."
"Why... ? Why... does... he... want... me... to... take... my... clothes... off?
"No. He not want to fuck-fuck you, just look."
The obese man spoke quickly to the smaller man. He became agitated, looking at me impatiently.
"You must take off you cloves now. Not every clove, just dis and dis..." He tugged on my blouse and my skirt. "Udderwise he beat you bad. He not fuck-fuck you!"
Nervously I undid my blouse and peeled it off, trying to avoid the gaze of either man as I set it down on the desk and set about removing my skirt. I stood before them shamefully, not knowing where to look. The fat man spoke, I watched the small man expecting a translation. None came. The fat man walked around me, his eyes looking me up and down, inspecting me from every angle.
He extended a podgy hand and I flinched as it closed about my arm. He squeezed, not unkindly and spoke to the smaller man. He continued round me, his hand running around my thigh and gently squeezing my leg with his fingers. His warm hand lay flat on my tummy as he spoke.
"He say you push you belly out, like dis..." He suddenly thrust his hips forward and pressed out with his stomach.
I did as he suggested, pushing my stomach against the hand pressed to me. He resisted and nodded his head as he removed his hand and spoke to the interpreter.
"He no fuck-fuck you — he say you take off dis now." He pointed at my bra.
"I don't want to."
"He beat you bad — very bad. He not fuck-fuck you."
My apprehension grew as I uncovered my breasts and showed myself, stepping back when the fat man pushed a finger into my right breast. His hand closed over my left breast and gently compressed, before his finger toyed with my nipple. He spoke again, removing his hand.
"He say you very good. You good girl. You put dat back on now — he happy."
I quickly replaced my bra while the two of them talked. When there was a moments lull in the conversation, I jumped straight in. "Will he tell me where I am?"
They spoke briefly. The fat man smiled as he looked at me.
"He say it better you don't know."
"What is going to happen to me?"
"He say it better you don't know."
"Can I have a drink and something to eat please?"
"Yes. We go now. I bring you drink."
.... There is more of this story ...