Chapter 4

The next couple of weeks were hard. We hugged and kissed and said “I love you” a lot. We talked about contacting the authorities and reporting what happened to prevent those bastards from ever being able to do what they did to us to another young couple. But Jenny kept putting it off. She didn’t rule it out. But she insisted she wasn’t ready to talk about the things they made her do.

We didn’t make love. I would have thought my desire to give her time would have been understandable but apparently I was wrong. The tension started to build up between us and eventually we weren’t talking. Finally I suggested a rape counselor or crisis counselor or any damned kind of counselor.

Jenny said, “Can’t we just talk? I’m not ready to tell anyone what I just went through. It’s too humiliating.”

Well, we talked and she learned I wasn’t making love to her because I thought she was too traumatized by what she went through. I assumed she wouldn’t want to be touched by another man for the foreseeable future.

She, on the other hand, thought I wasn’t interested in her anymore because she was “damaged goods.” She was afraid I thought she was too dirty now to love anymore.

We talked it out and ended up having a very nice session of lovemaking, after some initial awkwardness. There’s still a lot left unresolved. But it seemed like we were headed in the right direction.

The remaining two weeks of our vacation are nearly up and it was time to get ready to return to our jobs. We’re almost looking forward to it. We both felt it would be nice to have some normalcy, some structure back in our lives.

We got up early the following Monday morning, ate breakfast and went off to work just like nothing had ever happened. I bragged to my friends at work about how great our vacation had been, trying not to think about those last three days.

That night, when I got home, Jenny was sitting at the kitchen table holding a large manila envelope and a small package mailed from Tenerife.

She was sitting and staring at them with a look in her eyes verging on terror. I looked at the envelope and saw that it’s from “The Friends of the Banana Man’s Club” in Tenerife. So is the package.

I hefted the envelope and finally I opened it and pulled out the contents. There was a letter on top, and two dozen large, professional looking photographs. Most of the pictures are of Jenny in the most disgusting and illicit poses, including when she had been forced to have sex with the young boys and the young girl.

There were also several pictures of me having sex with the young girl. I didn’t know if these would be sufficient to have us arrested. I suspect that they would. They would certainly be all that would be needed to get both of us fired and ostracized by our friends and most of our families. I know my family is pretty understanding. But I have no doubt they wouldn’t be able to overlook the fact that on my latest holiday I became a child rapist. No one in their right mind can condone that sort of behavior.

Looking at those pictures of myself and that young girl, even knowing what actually happened that day, I can see no sign that they’re not exactly what they purported to be, pictures of me raping a young girl.

Jenny started crying again as soon as she saw what was in the envelope and realized that our ordeal isn’t over. I started to put the letter down and go to her but she asked, “What does it say?”

I turned back to the letter and read it quickly. It explained that in order to repay the people of Tenerife for the inconvenience we caused them we will be given part-time jobs to earn some extra money. Our part time careers are to be under the control of a Mr. Jeffrey Eng. His address and phone number were included.

The letter went on to say that we would only be required to work two days a week, as long as we cooperate and don’t cause any problems. I didn’t recognize the name of the man who signed the letter. At the bottom of the letter someone listed the names and addresses of most of our close relatives, and our employers. There was no actual threat stated. It wasn’t necessary.

I opened the small package next and found a dozen DVDs. There was no note, but we knew what they were.

I got up and poured us both a stiff drink. The letter had instructed us to call Mr. Eng as soon as we received it. I put the pictures and the DVDs back in their respective packages and sat and tried to think of some way out of this.

We’re not wealthy. Hell, we’d need more money to be poor. We don’t go without eating. We even manage to go out for dinner every other week on average and still put a little money into our savings. Our jobs aren’t high paying but we enjoy them. And they have the potential, if we stick with them, to turn into very satisfying careers and a good life. We can’t just walk away from them and the rest of our lives. Even if we did, there’s no reason to believe our blackmailers would not be able to find us again in short order. It’s clear they have what sounds like extensive contacts here in London. We have no place we can run to and England just isn’t that big a place. We appear to be trapped ... still!

There really is nothing to think about. We have to at least find out what these part-time jobs entail. I don’t doubt that the jobs will once again be falling on Jenny’s shoulders. Well, much lower than her shoulders actually. I can’t imagine what they want from me beyond continuing to humiliate me.

After sitting in silence for a long time, Jenny reached behind her and picked up the phone and handed it to me. I put it on the envelope and stared at it, trying desperately to think of an alternative. It was useless. Try as might I can think of no alternatives. I picked up the phone and called the number we were given for Mr. Eng.

A woman answered and I was put on hold for several minutes. Finally a deep voice came on and the man identified himself as Mr. Eng.

It’s obvious from his deep voice that the man I’m talking to is black. The slight accent is recognizable, too. It’s the same accent we heard from the English-speaking black people in Tenerife. In fact, he sounds just like Harold!

He asked if we viewed the DVDs and I explained that we just got home and the package had only arrived today. He instructed us to watch all of the disks. He estimated that it would take us thirty-six hours. Then we’re to call him back. I tried to ask him about these part time jobs but he hung up.

I was furious and nearly threw the phone against the wall before I finally controlled my temper and carefully put if down on the table. I told Jenny what he said. It didn’t take long to relay our conversation. Not much had been said.

We didn’t even talk about it. We grabbed our drinks and moved into our small living room. I put the first DVD into the player. It started with a few distant shots of us at the club that first night. For the first time we realized they knew they were going to do this to us before we even saw them, before Harold even danced with Jenny for the first time.

It suddenly struck me. The couple who told us about that damn club were plants! We were set up! Someone saw us at the beach or walking around town and decided we would be their next victims!

There were a few more shots taken at the club. We saw brief glimpses of Jenny dancing with Harold. I learned about some of the embarrassing things he did to her on the dance floor for the first time. Jenny was raped in the van when we left the club. But the action didn’t really start until we got to Harold’s house and Jenny was raped by Harold’s father for the first time. From that time on they recorded just about all of what happened to Jenny, every humiliating, degrading thing they did to her. All or a part of most of the rapes that occurred from that time forward were recorded.

The worst, the most damning scenes, were those with the children at the studio. The scenes of both of us with the children were bad. My scene with that young girl was the most damning. That scene with me and the young girl was heart wrenching. It truly looked like I was raping a preteen girl against her will. We’ll be well and truly damned if anyone sees these movies.

We watched three or four hours a night each night after work. I wouldn’t want Jenny to know it. But I thought some of the scenes were very erotic. They really turned me on. That was rare, though. For the most part we were just overwhelmed with oppression and fear.

The helpless feeling that painted every waking moment of the last three days of our vacation, and we got very little sleep during that period, has returned and it’s horrible for both of us. This thing is taking over our entire lives. We can’t concentrate on our jobs or our relationship or anything else.

It took us eight days to watch all of the disks. I’m sure it was harder for Jenny than it was for me. But several times after watching a disk we went to bed and she initiated sex. I was shocked. That’s something she has almost never done in the past.

I lay there in bed afterwards, holding her in my arms and wondering if she’s excited by a scene from the disk or if she’s just making love to me to cleanse her soul, or some combination of the two motives. I’m afraid to ask her though. It might lead to me having to confess to finding some of the scenes exciting and I’m afraid of how she’d react to that.

The last disk was various scenes from the last day as the hotel staff came through one at a time and took their turn at raping her. The shots were all taken from the connecting door into the next room. The angle and the lighting left a lot to be desired.

It had been obvious that some, if not all the men were aware that Harold’s friend John was filming from the next room. They had been careful to take every opportunity to make sure that the more humiliating things they made her do were done so that the camera had the best angle to capture them.

But the constant parade of men was daunting. The very idea that she had been a prisoner in that room and raped by man after man for all of those hours and then had made an almost total recovery in only days was inconceivable. I decided to watch this disk again when I’m alone. I’ll fast forward through all the rapes. I just want to count the number of men who raped her that night and most of the following day.

Maybe I shouldn’t want to know that. I shouldn’t want to see it again. I know that. But I have to admit the curiosity is driving me nuts.

It was nine PM when we finished the last disk and although it’s late to be making phone calls I’m anxious to get this over with. I need to find out just how onerous our new situation is. Jenny feels the same way.

The same woman answered the phone when I dialed Mr. Eng. She sounds like she’s white and from this area. I don’t detect an accent. She also sounds very young, maybe Jenny’s age or a little older.

I was put on hold again and in a few minutes Mr. Eng’s deep booming voice came over the line. He asked again if we watched all the disks and I told him we did.

“So you aren’t going to give me any problems then, are you Mark?” he asked.

For some reason it upset me that he would address me by my given name like that. But I realize how silly that was, given the circumstances.

I answered, “No sir. Can you please tell us what this is all about?”

“Certainly,” he responded. “Come to the address on the letter you received at seven tomorrow evening. I recommend you be prompt. I look forward to meeting you.”

He hung up the phone before I could respond. But no response was required. That had been an order. I told Jenny what he said and we went to bed. I held her while she cried herself to sleep.

I lay awake for hours, worrying about Jenny and feeling awful that I’m again in a position in which I can’t protect her from what we both know will be more sexual abuse, more rape.

The next day at work was unbearable. I was tempted to go home sick. I couldn’t concentrate on anything and I caught myself making several serious blunders. I finally settled down and forced myself to concentrate during the last few hours of the work day. Just to be on the safe side I avoided doing anything I could put off.

I went home and found Jenny all showered and dressed and ready to go. She even made a light supper. We ate in silence and then I showered and changed clothes. With a map we downloaded from the internet we headed for the address we were ordered to report to at seven.

It’s not a part of town we normally visit. I’m not familiar with this part of the city. But judging from the cars and homes it’s an upper middle-class area. That what’s about to happen is not taking place in some slum gave us just the faintest reason to hope that the people we’re about to see will be reasonable. We both still remember Harold’s house in the slums of Tenerife all too vividly and the indignities we suffered there. I foolishly hoped that maybe this is just a big misunderstanding, something that can easily be cleared up. I know it isn’t that at all. But I had to hope.

We went to the door and I could tell from his voice that the man who answered the door was Mr. Eng. He’s just like I pictured him. Large, black, middle aged, somewhat overpowering.

He stepped aside and we entered. He closed the door behind us and except to say, “Come in,” he said nothing.

We followed him down a short hallway and into a parlor. We were surprised, and more than a little dismayed, to find that Mr. Eng is not alone. There are a dozen men sitting around the room with drinks in their hands. They’re all black, and all middle aged. Some are very well dressed while others look a bit ratty. They don’t look like the sort of people who would normally socialize with each other.

They all stared at us quietly for a minute until Mr. Eng ordered Jenny to turn around slowly. She blushed, feeling very uncomfortable about being the center of attention again. We have done our best to push the memories of Tenerife from our minds and get on with our lives. Now it’s all flooding back. Maybe it’s just me, but I have the nagging feeling it seems worse now because now it’s happening in our home town.

When Jenny had turned, giving everyone a look at her from every angle, she came to a stop facing Mr. Eng and waited for the next command.

His next order was directed to me. “Mark, undress Jenny for us please.”

He said it so politely, as though he were suggesting I take her sweater and hang it up.

I heard Jenny draw a deep breath. It’s starting all over again. When we got home from Tenerife we thought it was all over and we can do whatever we have to do to recover from the horrors of that place. But now it’s starting all over again. Right up until that order was given I had been clinging to a faint hope that we misinterpreted the reason we had been ordered to come here tonight. I was aware from the desperate look in her eyes Jenny didn’t share my faint hope. There’s no longer any room for hope. A dark wave of depression seemed to crash down on us at that moment.

I took two steps and then moved around in front of Jenny. Our eyes met for a second. She knows how desperately I don’t want to do this. But we both know we’re trapped. That was made clear by the DVDs they made us watch. Especially the DVD in which we had sex with children. The other DVDs could destroy our lives. That one DVD could get arrested and imprisoned for years.

I unbuttoned her blouse, slipped it off of her shoulders and dropped it on a nearby chair. Her skirt followed and she was standing now in just her shoes, bra and panties. I moved behind her and released the catch on her bra. I felt like a traitor as I slid it off and dropped it on her dress. Then I squatted behind her, slid her panties down and she stepped out of them.

I stood up and put her underwear with the rest of her clothing and stood there looking at Mr. Eng, watching while he and the others stared at Jenny. Perhaps leered is more accurate.

Mr. Eng got up and walked over to me. He handed me a very high-quality video camera and told me to record everything that happens to Jenny this evening. It took me a minute or two to familiarize myself with the camera’s controls. As soon as I had the camera running he pushed me aside and moved closer to Jenny. He walked all of the way around her, slowly, but not touching her. Not at first. But after walking all of the way around her he placed his hand under one of her perfect breasts and said, “My dear, you are nearly perfect. You are even more beautiful than your pictures. I am really going to enjoy fucking you.”

There was a chorus of agreement from the rest of the men in the room. A few of them got up and came closer. They examined Jenny closely. They just looked at first. But then they began running their hands over her beautiful, vulnerable body. One of them slapped her lightly on the thigh. She knew what he wanted from her. She was treated just as badly in Tenerife. She spread her legs for him, permitting him better access to her pussy.

He pushed a finger into her. Jenny gasped. But she didn’t move or protest. He moved his finger in and out of her pussy for a moment and then smiled and said to everyone, “She juices up quite well, gentlemen. I think we have a natural here.”

He looked at Jenny and asked, ‘Are you a natural, my dear? Are you a hot little bitch? Do you love to fuck?”

Jenny looked down and gave him the answer she knew he wanted. She sobbed quietly and whispered, “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Eng turned to one of the men and said, “Jerome, would you mind bringing your toy in? Let’s have a little entertainment.”

The man smiled and got up and left the room. He came back leading a naked woman on a leash attached to a ring through her nipple. He removed the leash and pushed her over to stand beside Jenny. She’s very attractive, a tall redhead with a perfect figure. I guessed that she was about thirty years old. I can tell by the look on her face she’s just as unhappy about being here as we are.

I was so distracted by the two women standing side by side submissively in the middle of the room that at first I didn’t notice another white man enter the room with a movie camera and begin filming. When I finally noticed him and looked in his direction it was immediately apparent he’s the husband of the naked redhead. He’s obviously just as upset and just as humiliated as Jenny and I are.

Jerome said, “Cunt, tell Jenny how you came to belong to me.”

The woman blushed. But she didn’t hesitate. She looked at Jenny nervously and said, “My husband and I went on a vacation to Tenerife last year. We met a couple coming out of a club one night and they recommended a club the locals like because they have a great band. So we went there and a man named Harold, he, well, he took control of us. He made me do things, nasty things. They took a lot of pictures and movies. Now I belong to Mr. Smith.”

Jerome, Mr. Smith, asked her, “Tell her what you do for me, Cunt?”

“I do everything Mr. Smith wants me to do. I have sex with him and his friends, or with strangers when it amuses him. One day a week I dance in a strip club in the Nigerian section and fuck the customers if they want me. One day a week I entertain men in another private club. I also fuck anyone he sends to my house. And sometimes I go to a small, private movie studio and make pornographic movies.”

As Jenny listened to this poor, despondent woman explain everything to her I saw the life go out of her. There’s no hope left. We have nothing to look forward to but a life of sexual abuse and degradation, for who knows how many years.

While the woman he called Cunt was talking, Mr. Smith and his friends had all stood up and begun to undress. As soon as they were naked they sat back down. Mr. Eng ordered Cunt and Jenny to put on a show. This was nothing new for Cunt, I suppose. But Jenny’s only experience with another female came when she spent a few minutes with that twelve-year-old girl in Tenerife. She knows, at least in general what these men expect of her, though.

She let Cunt take the lead and they began to make love in the middle of the parlor in front of a dozen leering black men. They started out standing up, hugging and kissing with growing passion. It was easy to see the passion wasn’t genuine but I got the impression the men preferred it that way. They don’t want their victims to enjoy themselves. Tormenting people is the real turn on for them.

The women hugged and kissed for several more minutes. Then Cunt backed off slightly and they dropped to their knees and finally they stretched out on the floor and kissed and touched like lovers for the amusement of their perverted male audience.

I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible as I filmed them, getting the close-ups I knew they’d want. But as much as possible I stayed back out of the scene.

They ended up before long in the classic sixty-nine position. It’s plain to see both women are humiliated and are doing this against their will. They’re just going through the motions to please a gang of black men who are now in control of our lives.

The men watched for a while. They talked among themselves in their native language. But one did not need to speak the language to understand what they’re saying.

All too soon the men got up and surrounded the two women. They separated the girls and put them up on their hands and knees side by side. Then they took them, two men at a time attacking each of the women. I noticed the men only raped any one orifice for several minutes before they started switching positions. Before they started cumming they had each been in all four available orifices at least once.