CHAPTER 1

 

The United States were great to visit, Rosalyn thought as she luxuriated in the warm sun. It was such a contrast from the dreary April weather she had left back in England.  And San Francisco was a wonderful place for a holiday.  She was so grateful that her husband, Darren, had announced a surprise three week stay on the West coast with their friends Mitch and Angela.

It had been idyllic so far.  The Californian beaches were lush.  She and Angela had cavorted in the sea and sand in their miniscule bikinis around Monterey and further north.  Both were in their mid twenties and knew that their fulsome bodies were the objects of a lot of attention on that golden sand; they secretly welcomed the glances of the men and the smouldering envy of their maybe less pretty partners.  She recalled just yesterday how they were sunning on the beach when she had become aware of the appraising glances from a young Chinese guy lying by himself.  As only a woman can, she had secretly and silently teased him without ever looking directly at him, with tantalising promise of her body.  She had lain on her back; legs slightly parted, shoulders back to press her boobs up a bit, sensing his eyes on them, on her nipples indenting the cups.  Then she rolled onto her front, getting Darren to unclasp the top of her costume to tan better, deliberately raising herself now and again to provide the lonely guy with a better view of the valley of her breasts.  She enjoyed being a mischievous tease sometimes, but only when in a safe and secure environment, when it was clear to all that she was with someone.

But her holiday had not all been sunbathing and flirting.  The Big Sur coastal route was spectacular and now they were in San Francisco with the Golden Gate Bridge and its park, Pier 39 with the seals, Fisherman’s Wharf, real chowder.  And of course, Alcatraz with its imposing walls and history had made her shudder when she thought of the evil souls who had been locked up there over the years before it was closed as a prison.  The book she had bought about the ghosts of Alcatraz gave her the creeps.  But there had been other compensations. 

She thought back dreamily to the previous night in their hotel room. Darren had arranged flowers and asked for a meal to be sent up, for once remembering her birthday, her 26^th, and what a place to spend it, their room overlooking the bay and the island of Alcatraz.

She remembered showering before they finished their champagne in bed. Suddenly there was another pair of hands washing her, strong masculine hands.  With a squeal and a wriggle she had turned to press her soft pinkness against him, feeling the hardness of his own excitement.  He kissed her long and deep as the warm water cascaded over their naked bodies as she trembled against him, feeling her knees go weak.

“Oooh, Darren, darling...” She pushed herself urgently against him, parting her thighs slightly so that his stiffness thrust up hard against the waiting lips of her sex and the inflamed bud there. His strong hands gripped the cheeks of her bottom, pulling her tighter against him as she rubbed the hard buds of nipples against his broad chest.

As he carried her to the bed after briefly towelling each other, she realised how much she loved him. She was eager for him as he clasped her against him, her legs opening in silent invitation. His strong hands held her face, caressed her boobs, circling their hard red tips and then slid down the curve of her back to grasp her firm bottom.

She reached down to guide his throbbing member into her mauve wet softness as they continued to kiss, their tongues entwined; she sexily arched up to accommodate him.

“No... you know I don’t like it... there.” She wriggled, breaking off the kiss to lightly chastise him as his fingers holding her quivering bottom slid between her cheeks to press against the forbidden heat of her anal bud.  She still hated such an unnatural touch, even if he had spoiled her rotten for her birthday.

It hardly spoiled their evening, though.  They made love three times and, although Rosalyn was normally quite shy in the bedroom, she became almost a tigress in that bed; no doubt the location and drink helped, though she thought.

Although Darren’s friend and business partner, Mitch Hawes and his wife, Angela accompanied them they had discreetly gone their own way that night. She wondered what they were up to.  Maybe the same thing, but at that moment she hardly cared.  The whole trip so far had been wonderful; she was enjoying herself so much.

In Chinatown the night before the four of them had found a great and genuine Chinese restaurant. Darren had suggested they follow a group of Chinese to see where they ate on the basis that they would know their way around.  They had been discretely behind them for a good half hour, following the garish mauve hat of one of them, a young petite girl, before being rewarded by a fantastic Chinese meal – even if it hadn’t been cheap.

Today was, Rosalyn conceded, proving to be a bit boring, though. Her sightseeing and sunbathing had been interrupted by Darren suggesting a walking tour into the country inland in North San Francisco near the Golden Gate park, slightly above the bay. At first she could happily put up with it, the views over the bay were great.  Mind you, she was getting a bit tired now; even the sight of the Golden Gate Bridge in the background was wearing a bit thin and they seemed to have strayed out of the park proper.

“Can we slow down a bit? We’re not on a route march!” she and Angela called jokingly to their husbands, who were striding out ahead.  Rosalyn was wearing only a miniskirt, blouse and sandals, hardly appropriate for a hike, she thought. “And should we be here?  We passed some fencing and gates a while back with the name of some company, Export... something on it.  It might be private property.”

“Sure we can go there, this is a free country.  And If they can do it with their little legs,” her husband pointed towards a small group of Chinese who were walking ahead of them in the countryside about ten miles from the city,” I’m sure you can with your long sexy legs.”

Rosalyn poked her tongue out and pulled a face as Darren and Mitch continued in the footsteps of the Chinese walkers.  One of them, a tiny girl, wore the same style of garish mauve baseball cap as had the Chinese they had followed to the restaurant last night so it was easy to keep them in sight. Maybe it was the same girl, the same group of people? Rosalyn briefly pondered; Orientals often looked alike to her.  If so, and if they turned round and saw the four of them again, they’d think they were being stalked. She smiled to herself. She was definitely beginning to tire of this walk; little trickles of sweat were making their way between her shoulder blades.  She was tempted to undo a button of her thin white top but thought better of it than reveal too much of her bosom in public and face ribald comments from Darren and Mitch.

“Look, babe, isn’t it time to turn back? I could do with a drink – a nice long cool one and preferably alcoholic,” she grinned.

Suddenly, as they emerged from between some grassy hillocks, they were surrounded by half a dozen men in uniform.

“This land and property belong to San Francisco Import Export Company, you now trespassing on private Chinese property.” They were confronted by young Chinese men wearing green combat style gear bearing the logo of ‘Import/Export Inc Security.’ Frighteningly, they were armed. Rosalyn was stunned. How could this be happening in the middle of the USA?

“Look, please, we just...”

“Silence! Hand over all belongings, empty pockets and stand with arms and legs wide to be searched,” the guards interrupted Darren’s plea.  This was so intimidating and demeaning but Rosalyn, and no doubt the others, thought that discretion was the better part of valour as she complied. Nevertheless she felt lost and helpless as her handbag and mobile were taken from her; they were the essentials of her life.

They had to stand like criminals with arms outstretched, rather as if they were at an airport to be frisked.  It was frightening and humiliating yet with the one guard covering them with a small sub-machine gun thingy and looking as if he wouldn’t mind using it, what could they do? This was scary and she couldn’t help thinking what would happen if his finger slipped on the trigger – she shuddered, almost imagining the pain. She bit her lip as, when it was her turn, one of the young guards ran his hands all over her blouse and short skirt, patting, pushing.  She couldn’t have concealed a tissue without him finding it and she was too scared to protest.

His grim face changed to a leer as he squeezed her boobs, making them bounce.  Fists clenched, it was all she could do not to slap him away as he crouched before her, his hands now crawling up her inner thighs and pushing up against the softness at the apex of her pants before feeling her bottom cheeks. She felt sick with loathing; violated.  It took all of her control not to kick his intruding hand away.

“Place hands behind please.”

“Look... we... please...” Rosalyn practically whimpered as she felt the metallic bit of handcuffs tightly securing her wrists behind her.  She had never felt so helpless, being treated like a criminal, her frightened eyes imploring Darren to do something. This was getting worse, she thought grimly, these guys meant business.

“It’s OK baby, it’s standard, they always have guns and use handcuffs in the States; we’ll get all this sorted, you see...”

“Silence, or we punish... follow the guard in front,” one of the other guards shouted, brandishing his gun.

“Look... we didn’t mean... we just...”

“No talking, do as told or you regret it; just give me excuse,” one of the jumped up youngsters shouted to again interrupt Darren, fingering his weapon. “Now move, you our prisoners, do as told.”

Really frightened now and feeling sick, Rosalyn and the others sheepishly obeyed, feeling like criminals.  Desperately she looked around, hoping against hope that someone else was there who might be able to help them or get the authorities, but the whole area was deserted, even the Chinese walkers they were following were nowhere in sight. Biting her full lips even more, she followed Darren along a dip in the hillside towards an old, rusty looking but solid door set into the hill.  Remarkably, in contrast to its looks, it opened freely on its hinges when one of the Chinese pressed a little remote control device.  With one final glance upwards at the sunny Californian sky, Rosalyn ducked her head and followed Darren into a subterranean captivity.  The door through which they were led was set unobtrusively into a hillside, reminding her of some maybe secret wartime facility, especially when the inside opened to a large complex of brightly lit corridors and rooms, their drab decor in need of some repainting. The only new things seemed to be numerous CCTV cameras and the occasional computer and monitoring screens visible from the offices they were taken past.  And the whole thing was completely invisible from the outside, no one would know they were here, she realised with foreboding.

Their feet clanked on the tired steel floors as they were led deeper into the old complex until a guard knocked on a thick metal door and beckoned them inside to a large, high ceilinged office where a bulky Oriental was seated at a desk. Again, the room was covered by several modern CCTV cameras, contrasting with its dilapidated paintwork. So this place was in frequent use, she guessed.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” the Chinese man, probably in his forties, stood as they entered, a smile twitching his pinched lips.  His thinning greasy black hair was slicked back over a mean podgy face currently creased into lines of laugher, yet Rosalyn knew instinctively that there was no humour about him, he was sinister. “Welcome, we been expecting you, but I afraid there are a few formalities to go through now... hang the women,” he nodded to two of the guards whilst the others kept their guns trained on Darren and Mitch.

“What!  No, you... aarghhhhh,” Rosalyn’s mind was still stunned from the awful words of the man when two guards came for her. She was going to die - for no reason, she suddenly thought in terror.  Although they thankfully unclipped one tight cuff it was only to secure it just as tightly again, but this time with her wrists before her.

“Leave her youooo harghhhh,” Darren was rolling, contorted, on the floor, winded from another guard jabbing his stomach with a baton.

“No talking or moving from you men until we ask questions,” he barked.

Half of Rosalyn’s mind took it in just as the other half was aware of the clank of two sets of chains being lowered from the ceiling on a crank handle.  Efficiently the guard holding her slid the thin chain of her cuffs over a hook on the big chain and cranked it up.

“Haaaghh, nooo,” she squirmed as she felt her arms raised, higher and higher until she scrabbled on tiptoe to try and take her weight, but most of the strain was taken on her arms. It was painful and frightening but a small part of her mind at least tried to reassure her that the hanging was by her wrists not her neck.

“Now we just...” the fat Chinese man was crouching at her feet, tugging off her sandals. She uselessly tried to kick out but it was no good, within seconds she hung by her arms.  It was even more difficult to reach the floor now, just her bare, painted big toes pointing down, aching from taking the strain of supporting her weight.

“Hah, hah, hah,” she panted, her lungs stretched as she almost half twisted one way and the other in front of her tormentor with her frantic fight to maintain some contact with the floor.  Contrary to man’s smile, he was anything but a jolly and rotund individual, his small dark eyes were hard and glinting as he regarded her. She knew he was enjoying her suffering. Involuntarily Rosalyn shivered; she was helpless before him and all these horrible people.