Rough Exile

Fuck, I hated these drugs. They slowed me and slowed time, and made me feel helpless. I could take whatever these men wanted to do to me, but I wanted to be lucid for it. How was I supposed to brace or protect myself if they drugged me to the gills or I was out cold?

When he came for me, I was exhausted and dizzy. He picked me up like a doll and sat, pulling me into his lap. Large hands played with the ties on the bag over my head and tugged the bottom of it up, exposing my mouth again. I was glad for the fresh air, but it did nothing to clear my head.

The muscles cradling me were hard rather than comforting.

What do you want from me?I would have demanded if I’d been able to speak.

I felt his breath on my lips.

The longer we sat there breathing each other’s air, the farther my bad memories receded. I didn’t expect this to be fun, but I’d only expected violence from these men.

When his lips brushed mine, they were gentle, along with the prickle of facial hair. He didn’t deepen the kiss.

Instead, he pulled the bag back down and secured it. The darkness was thick in the bag, and it was hard to remember I wouldn’t suffocate in here—that I’d stayed alive fine with a bag over my head for what had to be a day or maybe two at that point. Time was meaningless, and I’d stopped trying to keep track.

I felt boneless when he put me back on the carpet and arranged my limbs for me.

The feel of the barely-there kiss lingered on my lips.

Which of them had that been?

Loud, angry male voices cut into my thoughts, but the words weren’t English.

What was the problem? Had it been a crew member taking liberties with me?

My mind drifted, and my thoughts grew more disjointed.

Sleep stole me away.

I woke to the feel of buttons being undone. Where was I? Who was touching me?

It took some effort, but I forced my eyes to open. Was my bed sheet pulled over my head? I could see pinpricks of light, but there was cloth touching my face.

The fabric of my shirt parted, and the cups of my bra—was it a bra?—got pushed down and hooked under my breasts. There was a rumble of male appreciation.

A man said something I couldn’t understand. Was it Russian? I didn’t know enough of the language to guess.

Another man replied, then the first raised his in irritation. The depth of their voices made me think of animals growling at one another, but the one who’d partially undressed me was definitely the most annoyed of the two.

I was too exhausted to care why they were disagreeing.

Hands groped my breasts, kneading them with enjoyment. He rolled my nipples between cruel fingers, tugged, then crushed and twisted, making me wish I could at least protest.

Please, no. Stop. It hurts.

The whining words in my head wouldn’t come, and I panted for breath.

The Island—was this sleepover night?

No, this was the other contract I’d signed. The Russians.

Heat flooded my pussy as my body reacted to what it liked—rough handling and my wishes being ignored. I hated that I enjoyed being treated this way.

Why couldn’t I like gentleness?

The other times I’d been drugged, it had felt creepy and taboo, but this time it felt matter of fact, as if I were being handled by a man who took command and wouldn’t hesitate to hold me down and do what he wanted, even if I wasn’t drugged. I didn’t know why that difference made this more acceptable to my twisted brain, but soon he had me writhing on the inside, all the more frustrated because I couldn’t respond.

He let go of my poor, tortured nipples, and I whimpered in relief so intense, a sound escaped me.

Hands skimmed down my body, and the man who was farther away said something that sounded like a warning.

“Watch,” the man touching me commanded.

A finger hooked under the edge of the crotch of my panties and pulled them aside. The air was cold on the heat of my core, and I felt my body respond to being exposed.

“So pretty here.” He caressed my pussy as though he owned it, spreading me wide to brush a fingertip over my throbbing clit’s hood, then pushing the tip of a thick finger into my entrance and spreading the slickness upward to torture my clit.

The man touching me kept speaking in another language, but the other man had stopped responding. Was he really having a casual conversation while he played with my exposed, helpless body?

A few harsh words were followed by the thunk of a door closing.

He sighed, as though he’d lost an argument. Slowly, he stripped me naked, exploring me. He picked me up, cradling me against his chest. Was this the man who’d kissed me earlier? Would he take it easy on me?

He put me belly down on something hard. A table? It was cold, except for my bag. My face was warm. Unfortunately, so was my pussy.

“You act like a queen, with your chin high and your disdainful eyes, but look at you now. Nothing but a beautiful body for me to use. No face. No pretty hair. No haughty words. Just holes for my entertainment.”

What was he talking about? Haughty? When had I ever been haughty?

“I would take my time and torment you, but I haven’t had a woman in so long I find myself impatient.” The purr of a metallic zipper opening was almost lost in the thrum of what I was pretty sure was a plane.

I braced myself mentally, unable to do anything else to defend myself.