PROLOGUE
The villa was cool and white with neatly trimmed, well-cultivated gardens. Its
clean white net curtains stirred lazily in the warm gentle breeze beneath a cloudless
azure sky. A woman, probably in her mid twenties wearing a green dress, casually closed
the door behind her. Waving cheerily to someone within the villa she strolled to a
waiting car in the drive.
Tightly pressed against a pair of binoculars, the eyes of the young Englishman
waiting some way down the road, beyond the villa’s drive, widened in thanks as the
apparently familiar figure of the wife he adored emerged from the villa. Outwardly it was
an idyllic, Arabic scene, but if one looked closer, behind the scenes, one would see that
this facade was not exactly as it at first appeared.
Inches behind those neat curtains a beautiful blonde woman squirmed frantically,
desperately, on the lap of a grizzled, fat Arab man over twice her age. Perhaps not that
unusual one might say? Maybe neither that she was stark naked? However, any vestige of
even near normality disappeared rapidly when it was appreciated that her wrists were
tightly bound behind her. Further, she was gagged and the woman in the green dress was
leaving wearing clothes which the bound woman had worn just minutes earlier when entering
the villa!
Worse, the Englishman watching patiently from the car was her husband and had no
idea, how could he, that the figure in the familiar green dress was not his beloved wife!
How could he know that she was in reality naked and bound straining in vain to attract
his, or anyone’s, attention? How Rosemary hated the utter, calm possession with which the
Arab’s gnarled hand rested on the perfect golden spheres of her shivering bottom. He was
hot and sweaty, making her moan through her gag. Touching, gently patting, he abstractly
squeezed her cheeks, sliding over the firm flesh.
Although she wriggled in disgust she wasn’t totally sure whether that disgust was
at the liberties he was taking with her - or at herself and the tingling warmth spreading
between her thighs. She shook herself banishing such stupid thoughts. Normally her
temper would flare, green eyes flashing, if anyone dared touch or pinch those pert curves
perhaps beneath a tantalising short skirt or jeans; especially a total and obnoxious
stranger such as whose lap she lay upon. Now, however, not only was that luxury denied
her but she was also completely exposed before him. She tried to shout, to object as a
finger idly curved between the clenching cheeks of her buttocks, brushing her secret
entrances, making them contract in a useless attempt to prevent that curious, loathsome
digit. The only sound to emerge from her bulging mouth was a subdued grunting squeal,
which merely seemed to amuse him.
She had expected something to happen to her, was almost welcoming it, but nothing
as total as this, nor so soon after her arrival in the country. The old Arab knew that he
held all the aces; that she was helpless and could treat her just as he damn well pleased.
A tiny frisson of excitement sparked at the thought before she angrily banished it.
Then, unceremoniously he simply rolled her over, dumping her painfully on the floor,
dismissed. She was no more than a piece of meat - and indeed had seemingly no more
control over her destiny than such a carcass.
Rosemary’s fevered brain marvelled abstractly, through the physical discomfort of
lying on her belly on the hard cold floor, at the immobilising effect one tiny length of
plastic could have. The thin serrated strip simply encircled her thumbs, but it fastened
them tightly together behind her back. In turn, her ankles although not bound were
trapped one below the other beneath her pinioned wrists folding her legs back painfully.
They strained outward for release making it impossible to pull them back sufficient to
slip under her wrists. Thus one tiny insignificant strip of plastic confined her whole
body.
Her feelings of helplessness were compounded not only by the wide strip of tape
holding in place a filthy rag which had been stuffed in her bulging mouth as an effective
gag, but also her complete nudity.
Additionally as an extra cruelty she had to hold her head up in a neck straining
tangent from the taut bow of her body. This was because whenever her head slumped and she
failed to look continuously, despairingly, at the Arab slob who now relaxed in a chair
right before her, he growled. He emphasised his will with a horsehair fly-swat across the
sensitive bare soles of her raised feet. After several stinging lashes, punctuated with
her muffled yelps, her first such lesson in obedience had been learnt.
The painful confinement and enforced neck-aching posture ensured that her lush
breasts were shamelessly thrust out from her curved body to touch the floor beneath her
like two inverted cherry tipped ice-creams. Tears ran from her large eyes dissecting the
heart shaped beauty of her face. The woman, who normally enjoyed being in control of
events, pondered yet again why she had voluntarily put herself in this position.
CHAPTER 1
Rosemary Pearson, at twenty six, was more like a mother to her younger sister,
Penny. Their parents had died when they were both quite young and she had assumed the
role of keeping a maternal eye on her. Such a role had added iron to her already strong
character.
Aged nineteen, with tresses as golden as Rosemary’s although longer nearly to her
waist, Penny aspired to the stage. She dreamt one day being a famous actress, dancer or
singer. However her wild spirit and recklessness, and brushes with the police, always
prevented the right people investing their time or money on her. A recent escapade with
drink and a suspicion of drugs had prompted a drama school to withdraw a promising
invitation.
Rosemary despaired for Penny, wondering if she would ever make a go of things. Then
had come another invitation. She had become involved with an overseas entertainment
company the Lavery Road Troupe - which at face value had seemed to offer her some
promise. Indeed it had seemed a good opportunity because Penny had then been experiencing
some difficulty with her temporary job with a London-based Middle Eastern investment
company.
There were accusations from a wealthy Arab businessman, quite groundless Penny
assured her, over a missing cheque; and only if Penny was no longer employed by the
company would the man cease his boycott of them. The alternative job offer from Lavery
had come the same day, saying her name had been passed to them from the drama school, and
thus letting everyone off the hook without loss of face.
Rosemary figured that a complete change of scene for Penny would probably be no bad
thing under the circumstances. Maybe deep down she also envied the youngster. Rosemary
enjoyed life, a comfortable, middle class existence. But sometimes she wondered whether
that was what she really wanted, continuously for the next sixty years?
It was thus decided, and within days Penny flew out to Hassan. However, the
subsequent lack of contact from Penny had now aroused Rosemary’s fears. Her husband
Damien had tried to assure her that all was well and that Penny would write or ring when
she had established herself. But her woman’s intuition told her differently. She knew
Penny would not have let over two weeks go by after she left for her training with these
Middle Eastern people without getting in touch.
The small Arabic country of Hassan was rich in oil but poorly served by traditional
Western values; Rosemary had researched the internet. However, politics and economics
dictated that Britain and most other Western countries ignored the occasional, unspecified
rumours of barbarism towards convicted felons, which leaked out of that feudal country.
At the end of the day, unfortunately, who cared if a few unknown troublemakers ran foul of
the local police – except perhaps anxious loved ones?
With hindsight Rosemary realised that she had not felt totally at ease with the
concept of Penny signing up with the entertainment company in a remote country she had
barely heard of. However, she was realistic enough to know there would have been
absolutely no point in putting any alternative viewpoint to her impulsive sister when her
mind was made up. Then again, Lavery’s references had seemed impeccable and her sister
really needed to make the break with her current circle of friends and the fringes of the
law.
Finally, Rosemary decided that direct investigative action was needed – if only to
put her mind at rest. Her determination, equal to her sister’s, and relentless inquiries,
led her to an address in a seedy area of London with Lavery emblazoned above the door in
gaudy letters. It was here that she had first met Miles Brand. The tall, distinguished
Englishman had been leaving the premises as Rosemary arrived and, glancing casually, yet
intriguingly around, he had discreetly asked her business there.
Something about him soothed any caution and she had sketched her concerns about
Penny. He showed her an impressive identity card announcing the bearer to be an official
of the English Foreign Office and suggested that they have a quiet chat over a brandy
before she went into the Lavery office.
Why had she listened to him? She wasn’t normally that open to suggestion. It
wasn’t just his suave manner though. With shifty-looking characters standing casually in
every other doorway under garish, enticing signs, she suddenly realised that she needed
his large shoulder to lean on in this urban jungle.
Miles had confirmed her worst fears; the British Government apparently had the
Lavery organisation under discreet investigation. This followed the loss of contact with
other Britons and Westerners who had broken local laws. Although they normally got in
touch again after many months they were by then changed people. It was believed that in
Hassan some form of prison parole system operated to the benefit of the few rich ruling
classes, who had the Government in their pocket. Those who went missing, invariably
pretty girls, would end up staying on the country working for ‘clients’ there or elsewhere
in the Middle East. The organisation seemed to have more to do with prostitution and
white slavery than entertainment! The women were seemingly lulled, and maybe subsequently
paid, over the months into being high class call girls for rich Arabs, frequently choosing
to remain in Hassan after their deliberately vague contracts were up rather than return
home and face inevitable shame.
Miles - he insisted on first name terms to put her at ease explained the
difficulty and delicacy of the political situation. Britain needed Hassan’s oil and trade
and there was no great public interest in the fate of criminals over there, especially as
they normally did turn up, but by then voluntarily leading a sleazy life. He said that he
was desperately in need of evidence so that action could be considered against the Lavery
organisation - maybe shame the Hassan Government into disowning them? If only, he had
said, he had someone whom he could trust to undertake such a Mission – otherwise probably
little could be done.
“Can I maybe do anything ... ?”
It wasn’t just his good looks or air of confident authority and power that had made
Rosemary hesitantly make the offer. She did want to help Penny - and it seemed there
might be no other way.
“Gosh, are you sure? It would be really good if you could spare a week or so and
could make all the difference for your sister,” he had ventured before she could vocalise
any change of heart. He assured her that he could put a tracer on her. Then if she could
somehow get into the Lavery organisation he could arrange the rescue of her and Penny in a
covert SAS style raid.
After the second brandy Rosemary had agreed that if she arranged to commit in
Hassan some minor parking violation, for instance, she would probably be sucked down into
the same route as her sister; a Trojan Horse. And she naturally wanted to help her
sister if she was in any difficulty. Further, if she was honest with herself, she was in
rather a rut. A young, glamorous, yet bored housewife whose husband was often away - and
who perhaps wanted more from life?
A week of adventure, he assured her that would be the maximum, rather appealed.
Also there was the wealth of stories she would be able to subsequently tell at cocktail
parties as the heroine of the piece, the brave woman who had risked life and limb for her
sister. She gradually felt more at ease with the idea, also knowing that given the right
persuasion Damien would go along with it if she insisted.
Her acceptance of the scheme took on more substance when Miles had shown her a tiny
bug. He said he would attach it to one of her teeth with superglue. When rubbed with her
tongue the friction would send a homing message over a distance of 200 miles. Within an
hour of that message going out she and any other girls in her vicinity would be rescued.
She would be paid too, not only with Foreign Office expenses before and after but also by
an initial fee from Lavery if they accepted her.
He suggested she visit the Lavery office, but not mention her sister. He advised
her to inquire after work under a false name, understanding they were interested in women
of all age groups as dancers and hostesses, but mainly beautiful ones such as she!
Rosemary flushed, she knew she was beautiful but it was always good to have it reinforced,
especially by someone like Miles. She had once been a dancer and the brandy-induced glow
made her even surer that she could muddle through.
He further advised that she play down a little to her husband what she would
actually be doing, assuring her that she couldn’t come to any real harm and there was no
need to worry him unnecessarily. It was something she was more than capable enough of
handling by herself he emphasised. They made an appointment to meet at 1pm in the Foreign
Office in Whitehall the following day so she could report progress, but he gave her his
mobile phone number just in case she needed to contact him urgently.
Warmed and fortified by the Dutch courage of the drinks Rosemary’s interview with
the Arabic man and woman in Lavery went more smoothly than she could possibly imagine.
Flattery oozed from every pore of the man, commenting on her beauty and graceful body.
After taking a brief photo set he indeed thought that they would be able to offer her a
six month contract as a hostess and dancer.
One part of Rosemary’s brain wondered what on earth she was getting into. The
other part didn’t care! Completing the application form, she used the name Peterson and
omitted any mention of having a sister. Apparently a medical was necessary as a
pre qualification and, after a brief phone call, the Arab had made an appointment for her
the following morning with an expensive private consultant just off Harley Street.
On the way home when the brandy’s warm glow had ebbed somewhat Rosemary decided to
take Damien into her confidence. Probably Miles wouldn’t approve - but what the heck!
That evening a reluctant Damien was finally convinced by his wife’s powerful, persuasive
and seductive arguments to accept the plan. The excitement of the proposed adventure
together with the knowledge she would be helping her sister and other young women had made
her come especially alive in the bedroom that night.
* * *
Poor Damien didn’t know what had come over him. He was bending over to set the
alarm when he heard Rosemary padding behind him and smelt her perfume as she pressed
herself against him from behind, contour to contour. He could feel the softness of her
breasts, thrusting against his back through the thin material of the yellow tee shirt she
wore in bed. Her hands slid over his chest to hold his nipples, her full soft lips
nuzzling his neck as she pressed the heat of her loins against the round hardness of his
buttocks.
He straightened as one of her hands slid down from his chest to the rapidly
enlarging bulge of his pants. Tantalisingly her cool fingers slid under the waistband,
just brushing the throbbing head of his erection as if wiping away invisible crumbs.
“I wonder ... can he come out to play in my place tonight big boy?” she breathed
huskily in his ear.
Damien felt the down from her pubis tickling his buttocks as her urgent thighs
straddled his in a pincer movement whilst she ground her soft heat and juices against
him.
The complete and far reaching contrast of his wife’s behaviour in the bedroom was
one of the reasons for his attraction to her. She was so alive, a presence which could
light up a room, so difficult to ignore. She was 5ft 4 inches in stockinged feet, slim,
without being thin, with shapely 36B breasts. Her small pert, rounded bottom thrust so
sensually through the short skirts or the leggings she often wore. It was always
difficult not to stroke or pat it, either in private or public. Her bubbling personality
and beautiful heart shaped face and wide green eyes, framed by shoulder length wavy blonde
hair all served to bewitch the eye and enslave the heart.
Sometimes in the bedroom she would be his willing slave girl, his to command. Her
large eyes would glow with desire as he ordered her to completely undress herself and then
him. Maybe he would have her bend over so that the beautiful rounded globes of her
buttocks with the delightful velvet secrets between were soft against his palm. Then he
would gently spank her till her cheeks positively glowed.
Possibly she would have to lay across his lap, her breasts and warm sex pressing,
squirming against his legs as he tanned her smooth nates, feeling them clench in exquisite
anticipation under his familiar hands. Afterwards he would have her kneel on the carpet
with bottom thrust high and thighs wide so that he took her from behind. The silken depths
of her liquid womanhood willingly took in the long throbbing intruder, feeling it grip him
whilst one of his hands mauled, pressed and squeezed her hanging breasts. His other hand
would be further down between the ripe wet valley guarding her sex. He would press and
flick the hard ripe bud of her clitoris, strumming over her, playing tunes with her
sexuality like the chords of a delicate harp. Rubbing and trailing, his fingers delved
into and over the secret valleys and folds between her legs, alternately hard and soft.
When her body and his had reached the correct pitch, when he sighs and wriggles
became unbearable, he, as conductor, would enter the finale. Thrusting deep into the
molten sheath of her vagina, he would feel it squeeze and grip him in time with the
clenching of her buttocks. He would kiss, suck and nibble her neck, hearing her growl
like an animal from beneath the silken screen of her hair. Her hands clenching into the
carpet, he would spend himself, jetting his lust deep into her whilst his hands
simultaneously squeezed the buds of her nipples and clitoris producing electric whirlpools
of desire tingling around his body.
At other times when he played the dominating role he would make his slave girl
spread eagle on the floor or bed without being allowed to move an inch whilst he entered
and conquered her. Any attempt on her part to move resulted in him withdrawing until just
his tip, glistening with the urgency of her love juices, remained within the portals of
her sex. Her womanhood would grip him frantically almost trying to suck him back without
moving her loins as he had instructed.
Equally good was when they simply made love jointly active and inventive but almost
without talking. Each one would let their body communicate for them. Maybe they would
just lie side by side until the rub of an erect nipple or penis would initiate a reaction
until their limbs entwined in an explosion of moist lust.
However, Damien realised that this was one of those occasions when Rosemary wanted,
and had, control. On such nights he might be turned away from her in bed, maybe asleep,
and he would feel the soft yearning of her naked body pressed against his back.
“No moving buster or you can forget it. You do only as I say,” she hissed through
clenched teeth, her sweet-smelling breath hot against his neck.
He had to lay on his side, feeling her nipples brush his back like two berries, the
warm furry mound of her sex grinding and pushing against his bottom, whilst she toyed with
him. Her fingertips lightly brushing his chest, teasing a nipple before rippling on,
stirring the hair on his chest like a light spring breeze through corn. His long, aching
erection jutting out, yearned for action or just attention – but that was denied him until
she decreed it. Her cool hands caressed his shoulders, chest and belly in little circles
of throbbing desire whilst her lips mouthed most unladylike things in his ear using the
crudest language. Every time he hoped a hand would encircle his throbbing member it would
lightly skip away again making him groan and sigh. Of course, if he tried to move any
part of his body she would completely withdraw until he gasped, pleading for the return of
her body and touch.
Her fingers ran down between his buttocks to circle the dark puckered skin around
the bud of his anus, exciting the sphincter muscles with the promise, or actuality, of
tiny probes of desire within his body. Then she began stroking the length of his aching
penis, cupping his tight, straining testicles. But woe betide him if he dared to move or
respond. She would occasionally bring him to a bursting peak with her one hand whilst
whispering in his ear what her other hand was doing to her own body, how she wanted him
deep and throbbing within her. He knew then that she would either complete the final
jerking, sliding thrusts to make him spurt his frustrated lust or she might, panting,
order him to mount and thrust into her in time to her counting. It was always unknown,
exciting.
Now she had him remain standing facing the wall whilst he heard the swish of her
tee-shirt sliding off and the creak of the springs as she lay on the bed. He was
forbidden to look at her but he heard the hum of her vibrator and she described in horse
whispers exactly what she was doing with it. Then she told him to remove his pants whilst
still facing the wall. He just had to hold his jutting erection between the tips of his
thumb and forefinger without moving his trembling digits.
Finally Rosemary allowed him to turn around. He had to keep his hands on his head
as she stood naked, directly before him. She was a vision of beauty, a perfect figure and
a glowing, expectant face. Tongue circling her lips, she ran her hands over the hard
peaks of her breasts and down the flat plain of her belly to enticingly twirl the thatch
below. He caught his breath as she walked slowly, purposefully up to him, lightly
smacking the magnificent globes of her buttocks as she did so. Then her cool hands were
encircling his rigid member whilst she edged forward, straddling her thighs, trapping him
between the hot wet lips of her sex. He felt the erect, berry-like nipples of her desire
tickle his chest as she edged closer to him.
“Now, my darling, I’ve a little story ... to tell you ... hah ... an adventure
story, involving me. I want you to listen ... aahh ... without interruption and ... who
knows ... you might get a nice reward at the end of it.”
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