Chapter 1

 

Two small figures wearing the uniforms of maid and janitor strolled casually down the plush corridor of one of London's larger hotels, pushing a laundry basket on wheels. On reaching a certain room they unobtrusively looked around, ensuring they were unobserved - which was unlikely at that hour - before lightly knocking on the door. Receiving no reply they used their pass key. The large room was dimly lit by a bedside light but sufficient for the two small figures to see the silent and still forms of the naked man and woman lying face down on the huge bed. The beauty of the woman was evident. Tousled blonde hair brushed her shoulders and below, her spine curved delightfully to the gentle swell of her firm rounded buttocks across which the man's hand possessively rested. Both small figures licked their lips in anticipation.

Light from the unwatched television screen shone over the display of soft, still flesh. The faint, blurred image of Sir Anthony Hopkins as a cannibalistic serial killer flickered almost appropriately over the sheen of drying perspiration on the woman's bare shoulders. In betrayal of recent events in that room, the unmistakable musk of sex hung heavy in the air.

If the couple in the bed could have seen the sadistic grins on the faces of the two interlopers they would have felt an even greater apprehension. However, although they were both fully awake and had heard the knock and stealthy entrance to their room, neither Rosemary nor her husband Donald were capable of reacting in any way. They could only continue to stare, helplessly frozen in the direction they had been looking when their muscles had suddenly refused to obey the frantic signals issued by their bewildered brains. The paralysis had struck just after their making love and both wished they were in a less compromising position when their presumed rescuers found them. Their brains and senses were in fact the only part of their bodies they still controlled and which now worked overtime trying to understand what had happened to them.

Chapter 2

 

After her experiences in Sheik Macom's harem, Rosemary recalled her ecstasy on returning to England. However, she had been quickly brought down to earth when one form of slavery had simply been exchanged for another. She had fallen back into the hands of her hateful ex-maid, Angelica, who had engineered her ordeal in the first place! Although she knew she could initially have escaped the web as it progressively tightened around her, the option of bowing to the inevitable had seemed less risky.

Almost immediately after she and her husband were caught by Angelica, they had been rescued by a private security firm he had hired. Although Angelica was not captured, the gang members who were had revealed her whereabouts. Thinking they might now recover the incriminating blackmail material, Rosemary felt the tables had indeed turned on their tormentors. Not wanting the details of his shady deals to become public, Donald couldn't involve the police: this would also spare his wife the shame of her various forms of enslavement. The security firm agreed to hold the gang members for 24 hours and then frighten them into leaving their victims alone.

Although the couple had dearly wished, with grim satisfaction, to find Angelica at home, they were out of luck. They had to content themselves with removing all the incriminating material they could find in her flat. In a fit of temper against the woman who had caused her so much suffering, Rosemary also took an uncharacteristic savage delight in vandalising Angelica's things - probably bought with her money anyway!

Drained, but wishing to celebrate their re-union after so many months in tortured separation, Donald suggested they stay overnight in a nearby hotel. Possibly they could confront their enemy the following morning. He had treated her to a completely new outfit in the hotel shop, consisting principally of a tight black mini-dress which showed off her shapely body to best advantage. It curved delightfully over the round pertness of her bottom, a magnet for the many admiring male eyes as they danced closely in the hotel lounge. As they danced his hands slid over the graceful dip of her back to cup her buttocks, pulling their bodies together, feeling her thrust against his loins. Drinking in the loveliness of his wife only emphasised the pain of their enforced separation even more sharply, though.

Constantly Donald had tortured himself with thoughts of what his wife had recently endured and the cruel people who had used her so freely. He was unsure whether his pain was because of her suffering or his exclusion from it. Her tormentors were people he might never know. However, those people knew her very well, she had been obliged to be at their beck and call. They had owned her. He consoled himself with the thought she was now his again.

One of those very people was presently sipping a drink in her mansion several miles away, but her thoughts were with the happy couple and running over the events of the last day. How could they have known that even in the hotel they were again under observation from hostile eyes? Matilda, an extremely rich and cruel woman in her fifties, the leader of the conspirators, had evaded capture. Watching from hidden cameras in a secret part of her mansion, she knew exactly what Rosemary and Donald intended. In disguise, she and her maid, Greta, had followed and observed the couple. They had warned Angelica to stay away from her flat and laid plans for the recapture of their quarry.

Another of Matilda's like-minded circle of acquaintances, an eighteen year old Vietnamese girl called Me-Lin, worked in a nearby hotel. Whilst Greta watched the intended victims, Matilda enlisted the aid of the girl in her schemes. With the frequent exchange of staff between hotels, Me-Lin had easily swapped with one of her friends to work at the same hotel in which Rosemary and Donald were staying. The aid of her twenty year old brother and hotel porter, Fu-Lick, was also obtained. Both apparently felt they and their parents had suffered at the hands of arrogant Westerners and seemed to enjoy the prospect of 'looking after' the English couple. The huge sum of money they would be paid would ensure they could return to their native country and enjoy a rich lifestyle when the job was over.

Laying helplessly immobile on the bed, Rosemary's breathing was hardly detectable. Her senses were, however, fully alive, and she appreciated that it could be no accident which had afflicted her. Her tormented brain raged, was Donald similarly helpless? She had no way of knowing but presumed so. Whoever found them might conclude that they were dead! She couldn't even bat an eyelid yet she was now aware of footfalls in the room and voices in an Oriental tongue. She was also aware of Donald's hand lying on her bottom, that point of contact concentrated her thoughts. If it were possible she would have smiled as the touch recalled warm memories of the previous two hours of lovemaking. How wonderful, after months of being told with whom, how and when to have sex, she could decide of her own free will to give herself to her husband. To let him slowly unzip and remove so gently the now almost unfamiliar English clothes. Shivering as he lightly kissed her neck and shoulders, stroking the sensitive fluttering flesh with fingers light as feathers. Lovingly she had thrust her eager body against his masculinity, taking willingly his male hardness within her softness. Her knowing fingers guided it into her waiting liquidity, putting her newly gained techniques acquired from the harem to good use. Gazing into his amazed and wondering eyes she became in turns a soft innocent little girl, then a fluid, tantalising, all-knowing woman, someone he hardly recognised. Finally they lay in each other's arms, regaining control of their breathing, drinking in the remembered sexual scents of their bodies. His shrinking manhood still remained trapped within her, then, separating slightly, they drunk from each other's glasses the champagne they had ordered from room service. It had been delivered by a tiny Oriental girl who had insisted on pouring the first glass for them before leaving, with a knowing smile, as they sipped. It was whilst tracing idle patterns with the chilled stem of the glass across her husband's chest that the first hint of her muscles seizing up had forced Rosemary to drop the goblet. Within seconds her muscles had locked immovably and she was a prisoner within her body.

Donald had been in a wonderfully drowsy state after their lovemaking when he had felt her tense suddenly and then collapse. Had she suffered a heart attack? Then he too felt all use vanish from his muscles and he slumped beside her, only able to use his mind. The nightmare was starting again!

Giggling like school-children, Me-Lin and Fu-Lick set about making the English couple vanish from the hotel. First they pulled each head upright by the hair and looked deep into the wide staring eyes. Having noted the faint signs of pupil dilation and minute flickering, they were satisfied that the couple were alive. Snickering still more, they pulled down the single sheet partially covering the lower half of their victims.

Fu-Lick traced a trembling hand down the spine of the white girl to her thighs, clamped around the leg of the man. The posture splendidly thrust out the rounded globes of her buttocks in a tight curve. It was a somehow personal scene. They were intruding on an intimacy between two people in love, like Babes in the Wood. The hairy leg of the man protruded almost obscenely between the silken thighs of the woman. It annoyed him. He felt that the couple had no right to do such things, and indeed it was something he would not allow now he had them under his control. Disdainfully he picked up the man's hand from where it lay possessively across his wife's bottom. It was a last protective gesture but obscuring some of the magnificence of her body, so he let the hand drop limply on the bed and smacked the woman's firm flesh to show that he was now in control. Then he pulled the man away to lay him exposed on his back, his leg no longer between the woman's thighs. Indeed, so that they no longer touched, he positioned him on his back, her on her front.

Shuddering as the sheet was drawn down by the unseen hand, Rosemary felt Donald's last loving touch withdrawn, her view confined to the few inches of pillow before her. Then the hot trembling hand crawled down the curve of her spine to obscenely stroke her bottom. How she longed to be able to twist away out of reach and slap the little creep who had peered into her eyes!

Crack! Unexpected pain blazed across her buttocks and she heard the moronic high pitched giggle. She lay helplessly awaiting whatever might happen next. Then there was another Oriental voice thankfully seeming to admonish the person who had smacked her.

If it had been possible, Rosemary would have cried out in shock as hands suddenly turned her over onto her back. Before her head lolled drunkenly to one side she briefly saw two small Orientals, a young man and a woman. One was the maid from room service but she instinctively knew they had not come to help. She longed to modestly draw the sheet up, her legs were splayed wide where she had flopped, displaying her feminine secrets. Then, unexpectedly, thankfully, the girl arranged her body with legs modestly together, her hands crossed by her chest, head straight. The thought flashed through her mind that she was being laid out, she was going to be buried alive, they thought she was dead! These two must be robbing the room, thinking they were dead, if only she could make a sound, even just blink, let them know she was alive. It was impossible. Waves of panic washed through her.

From her new position she was sickened to see the man gazing at her chest, at the conical mounds of her 36A breasts. Even lying on her back she knew they retained their beautiful shape. Disgust washed through her without being able to reach her frozen features, as a slobbering mouth briefly kissed one of the pink buds. Then his hand rubbed over them before travelling down her flat belly to touch the soft down on her pubic mound. A finger started to curl upwards towards her intimate regions but the woman's hand stopped him and pointed towards Donald.

Now Rosemary could see from the edge of her limited vision that the creature had begun playing with Donald's flaccid manhood, flopping it this way and that and giggling. A lump came to her throat as she recalled that same organ, stiff and vitally erect just an hour or so previously. It had throbbed, pulsed and rubbed her eager bud, sliding in and out of her moist nest before erupting within her, filling and stretching her grateful womanhood. Now it was simply a tiny floppy pink appendage for the amusement of a burglar.

The pair began drawing laundry-type sacks over the two inert bodies. Convinced they were entombed within shrouds, the panic-stricken Rosemary tried with every ounce of her being to give some indication that they were alive. It was hopeless, one eyelid may have fluttered slightly but she couldn't even be sure of that. She knew that somehow Angelica was involved and, as the white cloth was pulled over her still body, obscuring everything, she guessed that the black fiend had got her final revenge over her. Why, she asked herself yet again, had she put both her and Donald in this terrible web which now threatened to engulf them both? She knew they had both done wrong, and now it seemed they were both going to pay the ultimate price!

Me-Lin and Fu-Lick dumped the two bundles into the laundry trolley and, checking carefully, packed the few belongings of the English couple into another sack so the room bore no witness to their occupancy. They took special care to dispose of the champagne bottle and glasses. Taking the man's wallet Me-Lin extracted sufficient cash to cover the cost of the room, recalling Matilda's scheme of telling the receptionist that the English couple had left a note (now conveniently thrown away) saying that they had to leave unexpectedly and that the money would settle the bill. They stripped the bed, the soiled sheets thrown on top of the trolley before they pushed it out of the empty room. Matilda's maid, Greta, should have the van by the back entrance by now to accept a special delivery of laundry sacks.

Rosemary could tantalisingly hear the everyday sounds of life outside her sack: talking, laughter, but was quite unable to even twitch sufficient to seek any rescue.