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.
The Arab sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to her bare thigh, running his long fingernails along the inner softness. He suddenly pinched, making a red whelp rise beneath the fingers.
"When Shalla asks a question, you must answer. You belong to him now, at least for the moment."
"Oooh, nooo, please-e, please don't," Jean pleaded, "It hurts. It hurts."
"Then do as Shalla says, and things will be much easier. You will enjoy it, Shalla shall teach you how to enjoy it."
"My husband is coming, Kevin is coming, he'll kill you if you touch me," she whimpered in desperation.
"Yes," the Arab cooed softly, "he's the one you spoke of the other night when we made such beautiful love."
Jean's heart stopped for a moment as the words sunk into her awakening mind. The dream!
"I see you remember just as I thought you would," he taunted, reaching over with one hand to stroke at the nylon covered mound at the base of her rapidly rising and falling belly. He could feel the crisp dark pubic hair through the thin material, and the sudden jerk of her hips at the unexpected probe to her secret parts. Her eyes fluttered open in disbelief.
"No, no, it's not true. I had a dream," she half screamed at him, her mind unable to accept his vile accusations, her hips screwing down against the mattress to escape his indecent stroking.
Shalla reached in his pocket with his other hand and brought out the small dark curl, dangling it above her face. "I think you lost this. Have you wondered about it."
His evil grin widened in triumph as he detected the horrified impact of recognition on the thunder-struck girl's face. Her mouth gaped open helplessly as the thoughts of that evening rolled through her mind: the taste of mint, the smell of garlic, the rumpled bed in the morning!
It was true! He had raped her in her sleep! It hadn't been Kevin, it had been this filthy beast who was daring to touch her again!
"Get away from me! Get away from me! It's not true, it can't be," in spite of the certainty, her dazed mind fought on against the acceptance of the grotesque thought.
Shalla slipped a finger under the elastic of the leg band between her clenching legs and moved his finger up and down the sweat moistened slit.
"Remember this," he taunted, "remember my fingers opening your cunt and finger fucking you?"
"No, no, I don't remember," Jean lied, her torso squirming against the horrible indignity.
"And I fucked you with my cock, remember, I fucked you until you screamed for more," he hissed at the tortured girl. "I fucked you good, admit it!"
"No, no, you didn't, it was a dream," she groaned. "It was a dream!"
He dug his finger cruelly into her dry unready cunt, bringing a moan of pain from Jean's tortured lips. Her inner thighs relaxed involuntarily to ease the excruciating hurt.
"Admit it, admit I fucked you good!" he breathed, digging the fiery finger deeper.
"Yes, yessss, you did, you did," she whimpered to escape the cruel hand ravishing her vagina.
"I did what?" he demanded lewdly. "Say it!"
"You fucked me! You fucked me good!" Jean spat out the words in pain, the shame and humiliation, too much to bear. She clenched her eyes tightly shut again to close out the sight of his perverse triumphant smile leering over her. Oh God, if only Kevin would arrive or Monique would hear them to save her from this awful man and his tormenting words. She thought of the thickness of the walls and screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping it would penetrate through as it had last night.
Her vagina received another cruel thrust from the Arab's finger, choking the scream back down her throat.
"No one can hear you, my little pigeon," he gloated. "The French lady has gone. You are now Shalla's slave for the day and shall do his bidding. We shall make much money together today, you and I. If you perform well for my friends perhaps I shall buy you something nice. Don't you think that's fair?"
"You wouldn't dare to touch me again," Jean gasped, between squirms against the finger still inserted deep in her vagina. "My husband will kill you."
"If he comes," Shalla chided.
"He will come, he will! I just know he will!" she spat at him. He loved her and he wouldn't leave her alone if he knew where she was and she had told him in the cable. He just had to come in time to save her from this maniac who had already violated her pure clean body once. He was her only chance and if he didn't arrive in time, she would never be the same. She might recover in time from the horrible rape of the other night because she was hardly conscious when it occurred but if she had to submit again with her full senses aware of it, she knew it would destroy her self respect forever. She would never be able to face the world again. The thought nauseated her and she suddenly felt as though she would throw-up. It took all of her remaining control to keep from it.
Shalla slipped his now moistened fingers from her cunt. It had become slightly wet from its natural reaction to the pain. He pressed it under Jean's nose. He felt like taunting her again and couldn't pass up this last remaining opportunity before he threw her on the open market.
"Does that smell familiar," he asked, wiping the viscous fluid against her upper lip. Jean moved her face from side to side to escape this further humiliation, the familiar smell seeping into her nostrils.
"Oooohhh, don't, don't please," the odor blocking out all other thoughts but of the other night. Horrible memories streamed back of her body bucking against the mattress the shadow of this beast hovering over her like a hugs bird of prey and-and she had thought it was Kevin and had given herself completely. She had begged him, begged him, and the memory of the hot searing eruption in her stomach nauseated her. He had emptied himself in her, shooting his sperm into her every open pore, sperm she thought belonged to her beloved Kevin – oh, how could she ever face her husband again, the memory of that would always be with her. He must never know, he must never know…
There was a sudden rapping on the door. The Arab quickly reached over and drew Jean's skirt down over her exposed thighs. He straightened his robe and leaning his head against the door asked in a quiet voice: "Who is it?"
"It's me, Madame DuFour, open the door."
He slid the bolt back and allowed it to swing open, letting the woman enter. Monique took one look at the bed and rushed to Jean's side.
"My dear, my dear, what has this horrible man done to you? What has he done?"
"Oh, Monique, thank God it's you," the bereaved girl sobbed. "He was going to-to…" The remainder of the sentence was drowned in the tears that flowed profusely down her cheeks.
"You filthy Arab, I told you not to harm her," Monique almost screamed at him. "Now you get out of here, right this minute." She grabbed him by the arm and shoved him toward the door, winking slightly as she pushed him outside and closed it.
"Oh, my dear, Jean. If I had known they were going to hurt you, I would never have left this morning. They promised they wouldn't touch you." She rushed over to the bed, stroking Jean's perspiring forehead.
"You-you knew they were going to do this?" Jean mustered the strength to say through her sobs.
"It isn't what you think, my dear," Monique said in a low confidential voice, sitting beside Jean and wiping the tears with her handkerchief.
"You must listen carefully to every word I say, it will mean both of our lives."
"But-but where is Kevin?" Jean interrupted, "he should be here by now. I told him the name of the hotel in my cable."
"They sent me with another man to meet him this morning but he didn't arrive. Instead, he sent this note with the porter on the train." Monique drew the note she had Kevin write a few minutes earlier from her purse, holding it so that Jean could read it from the position in which she was lying. She watched with a secret satisfaction as she saw the stunned look of hopelessness flicker across her eyes.
"How-how could he do it? I thought he loved me," Jean's body broke into tortured sobs again. She couldn't believe it. The note was in Kevin's handwriting but someone must have forged it. He wouldn't desert her. He just wouldn't!
"Dear, remember, he doesn't know we are in this trouble," Monique said as though anticipating her thoughts. "He's probably met some pretty French girl in Paris and has decided to teach you a lesson. I'm sure he would have come if he had known we needed him so desperately."
"Then untie me, please, before that man comes back. We must get out of here," Jean pleaded to Monique.
"Dear, I can't. They are holding us both prisoner," she said in a whisper, holding a finger over her lips for quiet. "They're white-slavers who followed us to the hotel from the restaurant last night. They saw we were alone and decided to kidnap us. They've hired this desk-clerk to watch you."
"But what about you? He can't watch us both, can't you get away and call the police?"
"No, they are watching me closely with another man. I told them if they would give us our freedom, I would give them ten thousand dollars but it's only to stall for time. I don't have that much money."
"Kevin could help, my father would gladly pay it."
"I hope so, dear. I have cabled him this morning when he was not at the train station and told him it was urgent for him to come here. He is to contact me the moment he arrives. Until then, we must do everything they demand of us or they will kill us. You will never see Kevin again."
"Oh Monique, there are some things I just can't do, even if they do kill me. I had rather die than to have another man touch me," the poor girl whimpered.
"It may not come to that. I'll tell that desk-clerk to keep away from you, but it might raise suspicions if I untie you. You must have faith in me, Jean, it's our only chance."
"I'll try, but please hurry. Please," she moaned, "I can't stand it much longer."
"I promise I'll have us out of here tonight, my dear," Monique smiled confidently. "Now you just be brave. I must go and see if I can't really do something about that money in case Kevin doesn't arrive before tonight."
"Oh, no!" Jean cried, "please don't leave me alone. Something awful will happen if you do. I just know it will. I can feel it."
"Nonsense, my dear, you must not get hysterical and show your weakness. I told you I would talk to that Arab and tell him if he touches you, no money. He won't dare risk offending his superiors."
To Jean's horror, Monique rose and went to the door. She was going to leave her alone.
"Remember now, chins up," she smiled confidently as she closed the door behind her.
Jean had never felt so alone in her life. Monique was her only chance to ever see Kevin again and make up for all the awful things that had happened to her. It would never be the same, she knew that. He was probably with some French girl in bed now as he had threatened to do when he left her that morning. But she had made a mistake too and now all she had to depend on was Monique. She would forgive Kevin when she was with him again, he had no way of knowing what she was going through. It was all her fault now, and all she had to depend on was Monique – she had to get them out of this.