CHAPTER 1

 

At twenty five Annabelle was an icon envied around the World for her beautiful blonde looks a, stunning figure and acting talent. Yet she had never felt less a star than she did now. Now she simply wondered how long she would have to remain kneeling at the feet of the vicious teenage Arab girl who now totally controlled her. She had to keep her hands clasped to her neck and her back straight to thrust her boobs at her young tormentor and knew she must not move from her present posture. Now she couldn't use her considerable wealth to buy her way out of trouble as she had so often done in the past. She had no money, no cards not even any clothes. All of her considerable trappings of style, privilege and power were gone. She couldn't even flirt her way out of difficulty with her sensuous body, these swine could she guessed take that too whenever they wished. In fact she had nothing, stark naked she had to keep her legs splayed wide to blatantly reveal all of her furry mauve intimacies between her toned thighs. She had no choice, painful recollections of being whipped the day before still churned in her mind albeit the marks had mostly faded from her body.

The Arab girl looked down, mocking silent just waiting for an excuse to punish her. Again, it was no idle threat, several angry red stripes of pain stood out in contrast on her smooth white flesh as a testament to today's disobedience; they stung intolerably. A rough, horrid Arab man stood to one side her swishing his cane idly, devouring her shame, and that of the several other beautiful women trembling fear in similar poses beside her. Blinking back tears she pondered on her arrival here and whether she could have avoided it.

 

***

 

The day beforehand in London, her last of freedom, had started for her so normally at 8am with a healthy breakfast in her hotel room, with her manager, Dave, on the internal hotel phone briefing her on her schedule of morning appointments to publicise her new film. Following a leisurely bath her minders had knocked to announce the arrival of the first batch of television journalists - from Arabic stations. With an eye to the publicity rather than Arabic tradition she wore a short, low cut white dress to put the best emphasis on her long, toned legs and 36B breasts, her blonde hair brushing her smooth shoulders beneath the thin straps of the dress. It had sufficiently impressed Dave last night before they tumbled into bed. The interviewers were four Arabic women from two different stations and lulled by their apparent friendliness Annabelle had made the initial mistake at the suggestion of one of the women, of dismissing her minders to wait outside. Two of the women wore Western dresses, the other two from the other station had almost identical dark headscarves and capes, yet their informal clothing beneath that garb and their long dark hair was reassuringly Western.

The interviews went well and finished ahead of schedule with Annabelle being for the cameras her normal mix of sexual allure yet coy girl-next-door, the latter being nearer to her real self.

Her second mistake after two of the women had left was in allowing the other pair to linger. Yet how could she know they had other things on their mind besides interviews? Besides a minor irritation she saw nothing particularly unusual in the women, dressed again in their capes delaying for a few moments whilst one of them sought with embarrassment her permission to use the loo in her room before they too left. But that act of kindness began her downfall into abject submission and slavery.

How could she also have known that her being in such films had drawn the unwelcome attention several thousand miles away in the desert of a brooding sinister presence who had the power to make his dreams come true. Like many men, he lusted after her celluloid image who, as a heroine pouted and gyrated, often scantily clad to display long limbs, shapely boobs and bottom as she saved the world or gave herself to a handsome hero. And in her latest film offering, a rather low budget skin-flick this one if she cared to admit it to herself, she played a beautiful but tough television reporter. Her character was kidnapped into a harem but after making the Arabs fall in love with her in a passionate bedroom scene uses her brains and a kick-boxing skill she escapes to leave behind a trail of broken hearts and bodies.

However, unlike many men this particular Arab had the money resources and ruthlessness to arrange to posses that image in the flesh if he wished; and with such a delectable morsel he did wish.

"Hamrghhhhh." It was Annabelle's only possible exclamation at the moment her pampered lifestyle abruptly changed.

Whilst distracted talking to one of the women the other had crept from the toilet to brutally and painfully twist an arm up behind her back to force her body in an arc of pain. Simultaneously she had clamped a hand over her straining mouth to muffle her cry over the sound of the radio whilst the previously impassive face of the woman before her, now looking wild-eyed and frightening. She produced from her cape a long, wicked-looking hatpin and brutally jammed it into her breast to send burning pain jolting into her.

"Gaaaarggh," she writhed in helpless agony in the woman's strong grip, the pin embedded in her, dancing from her dress. The pain was so unexpected and intimate; it felt like a hot lance into her very being, nearly making her wet herself. Slowly it abated as the woman removed the horrible implement to leave her weak and trembling still in her assailant's strong grip and keeping a hand crushing her mouth. She hated the thought of anything like that sticking into her flesh, marring and hurting.

"Not a sound from you when I remove hand or my friend hurt you again," hissed the woman in her ear. "You understand?"

"Hmm," Annabelle, her mind still in fragments of shock, could only nod, her eyes wide with fear above the brown hand as it gradually relinquished its hold.

"Pl-please what? ........Haaaaarghhh," pain again exploded into her from the pin now pushed into her other breast thrusting against her dress as the hand again returned to her mouth to ensure she could only manage a muffled scream.

"Stupid cow, I said no talking, we do this as long as it takes," the voice hissed venomously in her ear. "Now I let you go. If you speak or fail to do as exactly as I tell you, we make you look like pincushion then cut tits off. Now you understand?"

"Hmm," Annabelle nodded earnestly totally frightened and confused but surer than anything in the World that she didn't want that awful pin sticking in her again, waggling from her delicate flesh. She couldn't take her big frightened eyes from the instrument of pain held before them; heart hammering with fear she was mesmerised by it. In terror she saw a tiny pinprick of blood staining her dress over each breast. She felt sick, these were terrible, terrible beasts who she guessed would do anything to her.

"Now open mouth wide."

Without delay Annabelle obeyed the order, still trying to understand how in the space of a minute her role had changed from a powerful superstar to one of cringing obedience. From thinking about her next interview or where to lunch, it was now focused on avoiding pain.

"Good girl, tongue out, good," the woman still painfully holding her arm breathed in her ear as her colleague pushed a metal and plastic contraption between her gaping jaws, attaching it to her teeth with her tongue pushing between it. "Now hold still," she insisted as she pressed a small remote control button to make the device shut, trapping her tongue and forcibly closing her mouth. Annabelle was terrified. It was a frightening and painful invasion of the sweet softness of her mouth; like a mad dentist with a brace from hell.

"If I press this again." the woman had exchanged her pin for the remote control, "little guillotine in clamp will neatly chop off tongue to let you bleed to death. In addition it has thin spikes which when it activates will fire up into your stupid brain," the glaring woman pronounced. "That wouldn't be very pleasant would it? In fact guillotine can also be activated by remote control if necessary. It will do so automatically if tampered with and a timer will operate it if it isn't removed within two hours - so I'd advise you not to attempt to evade us or cause any delays. Just co-operate as we prepared you for travel and you might survive."

Annabelle was now utterly helpless. Her wrists were cuffed tightly behind her, painfully up between her shoulders to make her stoop a little, and covered by a cape previously worn by the woman, also the woman's plain lens glasses nested on her nose. Even her lipstick had been angled upwards slightly on her clamped mouth to give the impression of a smile despite the sick fear pounding her stomach. Finally one of the women pulled a long dark-haired wig onto her head. Gagged by the mouth clamp with its fiendish guillotine and with the long pin her absolute compliance with the unwelcome preparations was assured. When a dark scarf was tied on her head Annabelle saw with a shock that the reflection staring back at her from the mirror closely resembled that of the Arab women.

"I release one wrist for you to write what I now dictate, but don't forget what will happen if you disobey," the woman again circled the pin around the peak of a breast. Despite her quaking fear, Annabelle managed to write a brief but legible note to her manager in good handwriting on the second attempt.

'Dave, sorry, I need space by myself for a month or so, I'm leaving - couldn't tell anyone - cannot face people so I'll use the window. Please cancel engagements and make excuses, I'll be in touch when I feel better - Anna'

"Ok I ready to climb out window to floor below when you two leave," the other Arab woman advised. "It'll leave the room nice and empty."

Tears ran down Annabelle's face at the extent to which over the last ten minutes she had lost all control. With both wrists again secured behind her she couldn't wipe her own eyes but one of the women did. Help was just feet away in the form of bouncers and her manager-come-boyfriend Dave. Yet she was quite unable to summon them and when she had been taken from this room none would know why or how.

"Look down all time, no make eye contact, if anyone ask I say you ill," the other Arab woman hissed as she slid her arm through a slit in the cape to guide Annabelle's elbow. "Now move, keep up, look eager to be with me and remember the guillotine will kill you if I don't release it, or if I choose to activate it. Just pray none stops us - it will be your death warrant."

"Thank you so much," the woman with her gushed to the bouncers as they walked past them," my colleague feel a but feint but she OK now." Linking an arm through hers the girl led her out of the hotel room with Annabelle, following her hissed commands keeping her face down. The minders thinking they were seeing the last two journalists leaving scarcely even looked up. Never had Annabelle felt so utterly miserable and helpless as she was kidnapped under the eyes of her friends and into the hands of her captors.

All around her on the London streets were the sights and sounds of carefree people going about their business, oblivious to what was happening to such a glamorous and famous person under their nose. One part of her wanted someone to see what was happening, save her, whilst another cautioned that that if anyone intervened that horrid guillotine would activate and she would lose her tongue and her life. She needn't have worried, she could have been invincible as she walked beside the woman who held her arm. She kept her wide, frightened eyes focused on the pavement, trying to control the painful discomfort of her pinioned arms and clamped jaw, and the panic from being totally helpless as she was led to an unknown fate. They were terrible thoughts surging through her head and whilst she couldn't begin to ponder what or why this was happening, she tried unsuccessfully to mentally prepare herself for a brutal rape at the hand of some maniac.

When after a few minutes walk they arrived by a large black touring van, she had no option but to allow herself to be meekly guided up the polished steel steps and the door closed to confine her in the luxurious interior. Trying to appraise her predicament with belly-churning fear Annabelle saw that within were men, harsh looking Arab men and the woman. With only time for a brief glimpse, Annabelle jumped with startled shock as a sack was tugged down over her head and she was shoved down onto a seat in terrifying, helpless darkness.

She was bounced helplessly, feeling sick and terrified as her journey into the unknown began. They lurched around corners and Annabelle sensed the familiar sounds of London gradually fading. Her mind ran in circles trying to fathom what was happening to her, where they were taking her, and why? Then such concerns were forcibly removed from her.

"Aahh," she gasped as the sharp pain of a needle in her arm was soon followed by unconsciousness.

 

***

 

"Hah, what!" Annabelle recovered consciousness to cold water dripping down her face, which someone had also just slapped to leave it cold and stinging; her body was a mass of aches, especially her arms and legs.

What the hell had happened? Her mind reeled. Heavens she'd have someone's bollocks in the hotel for making her sleep on such a bed and waking her in such a fashion. Did they think she was ill? Perhaps she was? She was certainly so uncomfortable and as for being woken up like this ... Then with the searing flash of returning memory she remembered the Arab television reporters, that awful pin, the guillotine, her kidnap, the van. It must have been a terrible dream, yet the man's voice in her ear wasn't

"Wake up, it time to wake up and undress for me," a foreign-sounding voice was trying to penetrate her mind.

"What the fuck! Where am I? Do you know who I am? You're in big trouble buster," she managed without opening her sleep-blurred eyes. "I'll aaaaaghhhh," all rational thought was then driven from her by the sudden increased jolting pain in her arms and legs as the box on which she had apparently been standing was kicked away to leave her bare toes scrabbling on a cold metal floor. She had lost her shoes but by straining up on tiptoe she was able to slightly relieve the tearing pull on her arms.

"You learn hear that it painful here to disobey orders girl, you already earned yourself a whipping for that outburst," the man chuckled.

"Hah, what!" She tried to bring her hands down to wipe the sleep from her eyes - but she couldn't move them.

More consciousness and pain returned. She found that she was brutally hanging by the wrists from chains attached to a low ceiling. The agonising pull was practically tearing her arms from her sockets, the pain jolting her back to full awareness. The floor was moving and vibrating, and the barely audible cry of seagulls from the small round porthole made her realise she was on a boat. She was hanging by the wrists in a small cabin, alternately taking the strain of her weight on her wrists or tottering up onto her quivering toes.

"Ow please ... this hurts," she whimpered.

"Strip her please Abdul," a girl's calm voice instructed.

"What!" She turned her aching neck to regard a young Arab girl sitting on a chair behind her, sipping coke from a can. In contrast to Annabelle's predicament the girl was utterly relaxed, wearing jeans and tee-shirt she reclined with one brown high-heeled boot crossed lazily over the other as she scanned a magazine.

Annabelle tried to get her head round her new circumstances as a thin middle-aged Arab man wearing smelly white robes strolled up to her, a lewd grin on his face to reveal more gaps than blackened teeth.

"No, get off," she angrily squirmed back as far as she could on her toes as he hooked his fingers into the cleavage of her dress. "Please ...," she whimpered in an abrupt change of tack as he produced a curved knife from which the cabin lights glinted. She felt so utterly helpless stretched taut before him, teetering on tiptoe, hands bound far above her head. Grinning again, he fumbled into her low neckline and calmly extracted her boobs. "No you bastard, noooo," she snarled, "haaah," her tone changed as he threatened her gain with his knife.

Slap! Slap! Her head span from him viciously backhanding her face to leave her cheeks stinging painfully.

"You're already in enough trouble for cheek, I wouldn't anger Abdul any further unless you want him to use that knife on anything other than your clothes," the girl's voice drifted to her from behind.

"But he's ..."

"Yes he's going to cut your clothes off, as I asked him to, " the girl's voice sounded bored as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a woman to be chained and stripped. "But I assure you that it'll be far-far worse if you continue to be disrespectful to your superiors. Now let the gentleman do his job without making a fuss - or suffer the consequences."

"But-why? Where are you taking me?" Annabelle quailed as she felt the vibration increasing through the humming floor.

"All, you need to know is that you're leaving London, taking a little sea voyage down the Thames on a nice cargo boat, we're probably past Gravesend by now," the girl didn't even bother looking up from her reading.

"But wh.... ?"

"Now, no more silly questions or you'll be sorry - and you're not in a position to argue are you."

The girl resumed drinking her coke, making Annabelle realise how thirsty she was. Her mouth felt dry with fear as if it still had the horrid guillotine in it. Then with other more immediate things to worry about than her destination she jerked back to face the grinning pervert. She licked her lips in fear as he used his gleaming knife to neatly slit her £1000 dress into two halves, snipping the thin shoulder straps to let it fall to her squirming toes in an expensive puddle.

"Pleeease," she shivered in dread totally helpless before him clad only in a tiny white half-cup bra and thong. The brute grinned, holding her boobs, his filthy thumbs stroking over the silken flesh of the exposed upper portion of her boobs, making her shrink away the small extent allowed by her binding, her eyes wide with dread loathing. It was dreadful, so much had happened to her, so many dreadful things in the last few hour or so that she could hardly take it all in.

"Ok pretty lady we take these off too," he smiled, his wicked knife so slowly teasing the tiny strip of material joining the straining cups until with a whisper each half fell away to spill her precious boobs into his grimy hands. "Mmm, nice." he crooned, nice tits."

"Nooo, please," she sobbed as his dirt-ingrained fingernails circled the taut red peaks of her nipples which to her shame tightened further into his hands as he fondled the rubbery cones. It was awful, and all she could do was continue to strain upwards on her aching toes. Worse, he small shifty eyes dropped below, to her tiny remaining garment covering her charms. "No you don't, get off ...." she desperately squirmed away, turning to implore the seated girl who reading a magazine and almost oblivious to the scene before her. "He's ... he's going to ... stop him," she screamed at the girl, managing to briefly and ineffectually to lash out at the Arab with one foot. He laughed, easily evading her as she wobbled dangerously on one toe, increasing the agonising pull on her arms until her other foot again scrabbled for a purchase. She bit her lip, closing her eyes as the hands slid into the waistband of her thong, easing it down her endless thighs to her ankles. Crouching at her feet he lovingly lifted first one foot then the other until her panties were his prize.

"Nice eh?" The Arab smirked crudely as he sniffed the tiny warm garment, drawing it under his bulbous nose before stuffing it into a pocket of his robes.

Never could Annabelle have imagined she, a beautiful, and famous actress could be kidnapped and stripped to leave her hanging completely naked and utterly helpless before such a filthy beast as who now ran his eyes and hands over her charms. It was almost like a script from her last film, which had somehow twisted into pure sadism and hideously come true. The brute Arab so obviously drank in her quivering breasts, the flat plain of belly with the neat blonde thatch below and her so inviting pert bottom. They were the delights she tantalisingly hinted at for her public, with sometimes glimpses on screen, but basically kept for the privacy of her bedroom or seductions with lovers.

"Get off ... please," she wailed as with one hand he casually bounced her boobs before her terrified eyes, jiggling them crudely and painfully up and down whilst his other hand groped her bare bottom. "Ug, nooo," she squirmed, sweating in fear and shame as a bony finger probed between the perfect cheeks of her bottom towards the tight puckered heat between.

This was an outrage, a shameful and frightening one, she was at the mercy of the fiend, naked and utterly vulnerable. Worse, she didn't know what would happen next. As she continued to squirm up on tiptoe to ease the pull on her arms her eyes darted to the girl for support and was relieved to see her at last wander over. That relief was soon short lived.

"Please, don't let him ... what have I done? You'll suffer for this ..." although she was an actress she was unable to keep a pitiful high-pitched tremor from her voice - until her tirade was interrupted.

Slap!

"Haah," her head reeled from the youngster's stinging slap, eyes blinking away the tears to take in the girl's cruel face inches from hers, her speech checked as her face smarted with pain.

Slap!

"Yaaaah," this time the bitch slapped Annabelle's breasts, which jutted upwards at her with her binding to make the white orbs now with a red hand-print swing and bounce. Her breasts, usually a woman's pride and sensual joy, were being used like a punch-bag and were now just a target for this vicious girl.