Slaver's Dozen (The Klitzman Stories) Page 2

  “Oh, oh, oh, we’re crashing or something!” she yelled. “Everybody wake up! Oh my God!”

  The other girls began to stir. Soon there was a cacophony of excited chatter around the small cabin. Paderovski decided it was time to intervene.

  “Ladies! Ladies! Ladies!” he called out in his booming voice. The girls all quieted down and looked to him.

  “Now don’t be alarmed. We’ve had some engine trouble, but it’s going to be all right.”

  “Why are we flying so low,” Kit asked, her voice trembling.

  “We’re flying low to conserve fuel. The pilot had to dump some fuel to gain control of the aircraft. He assures me that we have more than enough left to reach our new destination.”

  There was a buzz of high pitched feminine voices. “Where’s that, Mr. Paderovski?” Mary called out.

  “It’s a small island just off the coast of Northern Africa. We’ll be there in about a half an hour. They’ve got a large landing strip, fuel and mechanics who can repair the plane. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “You mean we’ll have to get back on this plane after it almost crashed?” Brittany asked. Brittany and Danielle were sisters and the other two of the five blondes. Brittany was older by thirteen months, but you would never know that they weren’t twins. Paderovski had bent the rules a little bit since Brittany was not twenty one, but over twenty two. The sisters were like bookends and had plump, sultry lips, doe like eyes. He would have been an idiot to let them get away.

  “No, no, no,” Paderovski answered. “I can assure you that none of you will be getting back on this plane. Other arrangements will be made.”

  The girls all gave a sigh of relief and began to chatter with each other about their close call. Brenda went up to Mr. Paderovski. “May I have my cell phone back? I want to call my mom and let her know I’m all right.”

  “Why I’m sure that they don’t even know about our problem yet, Brenda.” He ran his hand through her golden hair. “Calm down, Brenda,” he told her. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Not quite satisfied, but too shy to be insistent, Brenda returned to her seat. “What’s for breakfast?” Lana called out. All the girls laughed.

  Forty five minutes later, the plane set down on a small island located about 35 miles off the coast of West Africa. Unusual for an island of its size, it had a modern jet airport facility. When the jet had taxied to a stop, a rolling ramp was brought up to the door by the grounds crew.

  “There’s a van waiting outside, girls. Everybody get in. It’ll take you to where you’ll be staying,” Paderovski called out to the anxious young women.

  “What do you mean, ‘where we’ll be staying’?” Rene asked. She had looked out the window as they were rolling to a stop and to her this didn’t look like any ordinary airport. There was no terminal and lots of black guys were running around in uniforms. And this shit about flying low to save fuel, that didn’t seem right either.

  Paderovski made a mental note of Rene’s truculence. “Everything will be explained in a little while, Rene. Now please don’t upset the other girls.” Paderovski managed to convey a slight menace in his voice. Rene was taken aback. But she didn’t take shit from nobody. She was no schoolgirl.

  “I want my cellphone, Mr. Paderovski. I want it now,” she demanded. Another of the girls overheard her. It was Carol, the long haired, homespun brunette.

  “I’d like to call my boyfriend, Mr. Paderovski, please,” Carol asked, not forcefully, but with just a hint of determination in her voice. “I don’t want him to hear about our trouble on the radio or something. He’ll be worried,”

  Paderovski patted Carol on the head. “Don’t worry, honey, there’ll be phones where you’re going, okay? And I doubt that the fact that a small private jet had engine trouble but landed successfully at a small island airport is going to make the six o’clock news. As to you, Rene, the rules apply to everybody. You can wait along with the rest. I’m not going through my bags for everybody’s cell phones right now. I’ve got arrangements to make. This tour is just starting. Don’t get yourself known as a troublemaker.”

  Rene measured Paderovski’s response. She wanted this tour desperately. She needed the money. “Okay, Mr. P. I’ll play ball.” She turned to Carol, a sweet young thing if there ever was one. “Come on, Carol. Let’s catch up with the others.”

  The other girls were already entering the back of a long, black van. There were no seats and so they all had to sit on the floor. “This is ridiculous,” Kit complained. She was used to star treatment. She was daddy’s little girl. His seven figure income paid for scads of cool clothes and Ipods and video phones and just about everything that she wanted. She wouldn’t have been caught dead riding in a black van back home, no windows, no stereo, no seats.

  Sheila had attached herself to the stuck up Kit. She had always hung with the cool kids at school and Kit was definitely cool. The other girls, although they were pretty and all that, just didn’t have Kit’s class. She wanted Kit’s class to rub off on her.

  “Yeah,” she snorted. “This is bullshit. What kind of way is this to run a tour anyway?”

  Mary had seen quite a lot of girls like Kit and Sheila in high school and she was sick of them. She had picked them out as the high maintenance type right away. Sure, she was there for the thrill of being part of the fashion world too, but she also had more serious goals. She figured that this would probably be the only chance in her life she would get to see the places they were going to. And for free! And she was going to get paid! Sure, they would be busy and she probably wouldn’t get too much tourist time in, but at least she would have gone to these places. And then there was college. She figured with this special ‘experience’ in her background, it would help her transfer to one of the colleges she didn’t get into on the first go round. Princeton maybe, or Barnard. Her board scores had been just a little too low, her grades just a scad short of excellent. But this would put her over the top, she knew it.

  “Come on guys,” Mary said. “Give Mr. P. a break. I mean, how was he to know that the plane would have trouble. I’m sure this is going to be a setback for the tour. We’ve got to cooperate.”

  Karen agreed. She was not, however, in a mood to be quite so polite. “Why don’t you guys just stop complaining? We’re all in the same boat. There’s nothing special about you.”

  “Please don’t fight,” Brenda said. She hated conflict. “We’ll be okay, Mr. P. said.” As far as she was concerned, if Mr. P. said so, it was gospel.

  Rene and Carol had just gotten in the van. The back doors swung closed and the van sped away, almost piling the girls on top of one another. The effect of tumbling over each other broke the tension and there was merriment all around. After all, this was an adventure and what could more adventurous than almost crashing?

  The girls could not see where the van was taking them. They did not see the high barbed wire topped gate that swung open to let the van speed through. They did not see the modern one story buildings, the cafes, the dormitories or the lounges, as the van skirted the outer ring of the exclusive resort. They did not see the open garage door, prepared for their entry.

  The van was swallowed up and descended to an underground parking area. The two uniformed black men who were sitting in the front seats jumped out of the van as soon as it came to a halt. They rushed to the back and opened the doors. “Everybody out!” one of the men yelled. The other banged his heavy, steel centered baton against the side of the vehicle. Bang! Bang! Bang! The inside of the van resounded with the noise. Even Rene was off put. She and Carol were the first ones out.

  “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” one of the guards yelled. A door had opened and another uniformed black man urged them on.

  Rene quickened her step with Carol close behind. The girls emptied the van like paratroopers on a low level jump. They hustled to follow Rene and Carol. They had entered a long, brightly lit hallway. There were doors lining it on either side. Their destination wa
s a door at the end of the corridor where yet another black man awaited them. It led to a large room, with a thick red rug and white walls. There was a circular couch in the middle of the room and a number of easy chairs strewn about. The door slammed shut behind them as Sheila and Kit, taking up the rear, rushed in.

  “What was that all about?” asked Lana.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Back at the plane, Paderovski was taking his time. He had a lot of work coming up and he needed to take the edge off first. He was sitting in one of the comfortable, padded, reclining seats in the Starjet’s passenger cabin. Ms. Bowers was on her knees between his legs. Her mouth was energetically working his cock. Her clothes were neatly folded on the floor next to her. On her right buttock, burned deeply into her skin, was a bright red, cursive ‘k’.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TOUR’S END

  The girls had been waiting in the room for over an hour. The door they had entered from was locked on the outside. There was another door on the opposite side of the room, but that was locked too. There was no telephone, no windows.

  “What is this shit!” Kit exclaimed. “It’s like we were being held prisoner or something!”

  Rene didn’t like it either. But she wasn’t just mad, she was scared. She had a feeling that something was up. There was just no logical explanation for the way they were being treated. Those black guards had looked mean and had treated them like cattle. She looked around the room at her compatriots. They were lounging around the room trying to adjust to the boredom. Carol and Brenda were asleep. Danielle and Brittany were holding hands; they looked scared too.

  Karen had taken a strong dislike to Kit and her snobbish ways. She was tired and scared and frustrated. She got up from her chair and confronted Kit, drumming her forefinger into her chest. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up!” she told her. “Do you think we want to hear your fucking whining!”

  Kit was taken aback by Karen’s hostility. But she wasn’t going to let that trailer park refugee put her down.

  “Don’t talk to me like that, trash mouth,” she said. “I can say anything I want.”

  “Listen,” Mary said. “This bickering isn’t getting us anywhere. Everybody just has to be patient. Someone will….”

  At that moment, the door to the room swung open. All of the girls watched, surprised, as three tall, black men, dressed in calf length, black robes stepped into the room. They were carrying frightening looking black batons and large cloth bags that looked like they contained some sort of equipment. A huge mountain of a man, black as coal, with a cruel, hard face followed them in. He was wearing a reddish brown robe. He closed the door behind him and stood there, taking in the vision of youthful, innocent beauty.

  Kit, stepping past Karen, ready to assert her superiority, spoke first. “Listen, mister, I want to get to a telephone right away. I want to call my father.” Her voice was insolent and demanding. The big black guy smiled and nodded to the other men. The three black robed men advanced as one upon Kit. She shrieked as two of them grabbed her arms and the third ripped her blouse down the front right in two, spilling tiny white buttons throughout the room. She was spun around and the third man yanked the blouse right off of her body.

  “Oh, oh, what are you doing? Let go of me!” she yelled. Her arms were held out as leather bracelets were slapped on her wrists. A chain was passed through an eyehook in the ceiling in the center of the room, about ten feet from the door from which the men had emerged.

  All of the other girls were on their feet and yelling at the men. Two of the guards stepped forward, putting themselves between the still struggling Kit and the other girls. Karen, put off by the ferocious conduct of the men, stepped backwards, away from them. The third man hoisted Kit’s arms above her head and clipped the other end of the chain to her bracelets.

  “Stop! What are you doing? Let me down!” Kit yelled, tugging frantically at the chain which now held her arms prisoner. She had been so engaged in protesting her manhandling, that she had forgotten that her pretty, dainty bra was exposed for all to see. “Oh!” she cried out, mortified. “Stop this! You can’t do this! Give me back my shirt! Oh! Oh!”

  Her assailant pulled a thick, leather gag out of one of the bags and, waiting until she was mid shriek, forced it into her mouth, buckling the belt tightly behind her head. While Kit emitted muffled protests, he took a penknife and cut off her pretty, white, push up bra. Her pale, white globes swung free.

  Kit’s eyes were as wide as saucers. She kicked out at the man who had gagged her, striking him in the thigh. The man was pushed back as a result of the blow. He laughed and said something to the larger man, obviously their leader. Then he took his baton and touched it to Kit’s right breast.

  ‘Crack!’ A jolt of electricity passed through Kit’s body. She gave out a high pitched, muffled scream. When the man held the baton out to her once more, she tried to pull away. Her eyes pleaded to be spared another taste of the electrified baton. He touched it to her left breast. ’Crack!’ Kit howled with pain. Her breast seemed to jump as the result of the charge passing through it. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” she cried as her body sagged, her weight supported only by the chains that held her wrists. All of the fight was out of her. She looked up forlornly at her assailant, her eyes begging for a surcease of his cruel attack. Seeing her surrender, the man rehooked the baton to his belt and stepped up to the sobbing girl. He reached around her waist and proceeded to pull Kit’s bright red, latex miniskirt and the matching thong beneath it to her ankles, all in one motion. He knelt down and unfastened her Gucci sandals, tossing them and her skirt and thong over to the side of the room.

  While Kit was being rudely stripped, the other girls had all gotten to their feet and had backed away from the threatening guards. None of them had the nerve to come to Kit’s aid, especially when they saw and heard the bite of the black man’s baton. Danielle and Brittany were holding on to each other. Carol and a few of the others were crying. The rest looked on, aghast. Their minds could not process what their eyes were seeing.

  The brown robed man stepped over to Kit and began to admire her naked form. Tears were flowing from Kit’s eyes, spoiling her black eyeliner and mascara. The bottom part of her face was covered by a shield of leather. The big man caressed one of Kit’s soft, round breasts, tweaking the rigid nipple. Kit tried to pull away, but the man caught the nipple between his strong, fat fingers and drew her back. He smiled at her, bright white teeth offset by a dark, cruel face. He then turned to the other girls.

  “My name is Rukimo,” he announced in a deep, loud, frightening voice. The girls all fell silent. “I’m going to give you all one chance.” He pointed to the floor about ten feet in front of him. “You will all line up here, hands behind your head. If you fail to obey, you will be punished.” The girls all looked at him in shock. “Now!” he added, his voice booming throughout the room.

  Crying and shrieking, the girls all obediently advanced to where Rukimo had pointed and lined up, elbow to elbow, their hands clasped tightly behind their heads. When they had all settled into place, Rukimo paused to admire the nine frightened young women. Nine pairs of delicate, long legs, eighteen plump, firm, round breasts, nine beauteous, appealing, fresh, young faces stood before him. Walking to the end of the line, he crossed in front of the terrorized young women like an officer inspecting his troops. He walked slowly, taking in the delightful curves and taut bellies lined up at grotesque attention before him. “Spread you legs!” he called out and the girls dutifully obeyed, parting their delicate, well formed thighs.

  The girls watched Rukimo pass by them nervously. Their eyes darted between his huge form and fearsome aspect and the naked form of their tour mate, straining at her chain, tears flowing down her face, her feint whining the only sound in the room.

  After the second pass, Rukimo stepped back. He signaled to one of the guards who took a long, rattan cane from one of the bags. He swished it through the air for effect. Kit eyed the man with
desperate apprehension. He was going to whip her! “Oh, God,” she thought, “please no!”

  The guard stepped over to Kit and maneuvered himself into position at her side so that all of the other girls had a clear view of what was to come. A low pitched moan could be heard flowing from Kit’s mouth. Tears dripped from her eyes. Her breasts quivered expectantly. She gave out an obscured cry of surprise as she felt the chain above her pulled taut, lifting her feet from the floor. Another guard knelt at her feet and drew a belt around her ankles. Kit could neither retreat from the anticipated blows, nor flail out with her legs. She could only accept helplessly what the guard was about to mete out.

  The guard raised his hand and, not waiting for any further signal, struck the poor girl across the breasts with the hard but supple cane. The sound of the cane striking Kit’s soft flesh filled the otherwise silent room. Kit moaned loudly as the kiss of the cane set her breasts afire. As the cane was raised again, she began to plead and beg to be spared. Her voice emerged in the form of a muffled, guttural tongue, the language of some arcane, primitive tribe. As the cane struck her again, this time across her firm, tanned thighs, the unhappy girl screeched in pain. A long, red line formed where the cane had landed, matching the angry red line across her breasts.

  Three more times the cane landed on Kit’s body, once across her taut belly and again across her pure, white breasts and her tawny thighs. The other girls looked on with horror. None of them had ever seen a whipping and the violence of the scene before them was astoundingly shocking. Mary wondered to herself what kind of hard, cruel world they had entered. She yearned to break her humiliating stance and run for the door. But the door was locked. And where would she go anyway?

  Rene watched with the same outraged sense of horror. Her instinct was not to run, but rather to attack. There were nine of them and only four men. Maybe they could overcome them, get one of the batons away from them. She figured that the door the men had come in through, the one opposite the door they had used to enter the room, was unlocked or that the big, heavy man had a key on him. Her palms were sweaty and her mouth dry from fear. She could attack, but would the others follow? She considered her company: the meek, child like sisters Danielle and Brittany, the soft spoken Carol and Brenda. Maybe Mary would respond and Karen, the hard, Irish girl. Sheila was an insecure, in-crowd wanna be. Forget her. Lana, maybe, but that made only four of them. The odds were too long. She held her place as the cruel blows fell on the helpless girl in front of her.