Saving Brigit (7 page)

At that moment, someone did scream. Fatima. Her hips thrashed wildly, the suit pumped furiously, and then he let out his own yell of triumph.

Before Brigit knew it, the men were back playing and drinking and laughing. The two who hadn’t had their chance with the prize tossed the dice and threw down cards with the frenzy of men in rut. Fatima was cleaned and given a sip of the mysterious liquid.

The sheik won next. Without hesitation, he ordered the rope lowered so Fatima could kneel before him. Brigit thought he would pull up his robes and take Fatima’s mouth. Instead, without warning, he hauled back his arm and slapped her across the face. Fatima fell to the side. The sheik’s girl rushed to help her back to her knees. The sheik grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Fatima’s head back.

Her mouth bled, and her cheek was reddened. Fatima swayed, but did not make a sound. The girl wiped the blood away and then helped hold up the sheik’s robes. Involuntarily, Brigit started to rise. No one noticed or cared what that bastard had done. The others were involved in a foursome, as though pleasure was their only concern during the intermission of a game. Helpless, she sank back onto her chair.

That’s what the room was about, feeling good, even if a man’s pleasure included a woman’s pain. Brigit wanted to go to Fatima and protect her, a small woman, against the likes of a brutish bastard. More, she wanted her knee in the sheik’s groin. However, neither of those things was going to happen.

The sheik used Fatima’s hair to hold her head erect. He pulled her forward. Her mouth opened, and he filled it.

From what Brigit could see, his cock didn’t reach the size of the first man, but he could easily fill a woman’s mouth and more. And he did, thrusting over and over, grinding Fatima’s nose into his coarse hair.

With a few words, his attendant tied his robes up in some way, leaving her free. She knelt behind Fatima and reached through her legs to rub her sex.

“Hmmm.” Fatima made her loudest noise yet, humming while fully covering his cock and moving her hips wildly over the girl’s fingers.

Did she come? Brigit couldn’t tell. The sheik certainly did. He filled Fatima’s mouth until his cum spilled down her chin. He grunted, released her hair, and pulled out of her mouth all at the same time. He stood, hands on hips, looking down at her. Breathing hard, she leaned forward and licked him clean. Only then did he speak a word that sounded to Brigit’s ears as praise. Fatima nodded and let the girl help her stand while her hands once more extended over her head.

How long can this go on?
Long past the point Brigit would have begged them to stop, Fatima stood tall. She sucked the men twice more, took them in the pussy, in the ass, and in the final act of the night, took them all, one in each orifice. They’d released her hands. The girls held her steady until she gained her breath, and then they’d helped her straddle the sheik. Kneeling between the sheik’s legs, Suit One inserted his monster cock into her bum. They struck up a slow, strong rhythm. Suit Two knelt at the sheik’s head and guided her mouth to his shaft.

The men had stamina, but after the night’s activities, they didn’t last long. Untangling themselves, they’d picked up their clothes and dressed, then swaggered out, giving neither word nor glance to any of the women. Obviously, they thought Fatima undeserving, and the women who’d served didn’t warrant even a nod of thanks.
Bastards.

Fatima lay on the floor for long minutes. When she finally made an effort to stand, the women cleaned and dressed her. At some point, the musician had left. The man who’d stood guard throughout the proceedings strode forward to give Fatima his arm. Slowly, he led her to the cage where she released Brigit. The man supported Fatima on the walk back to the room. Weak as she was, she held the leash firmly.

The first thing Brigit wanted when they gained their room was to pee. She’d sat for hours, unable to do anything but watch the activity in the opulent room. With impatience, she waited while Fatima lifted the sack-dress and untied her hands. Then, after she’d relieved herself, she remembered Fatima had not only been captive the same length of time, she’d been used over and over. Shame flowed through her.

“What can I do to help you?” she asked when Fatima removed the leash and collar and pulled the black sack over her head.

“I am fine, but thank you for offering.” She smiled. “I do think I can sleep.” With a shyness that surprised Brigit considering the way she’d just opened her body to be taken in every possible way, she took care of her toilet.

“Fatima, how can you stand doing this? Those men didn’t care about you—they exploited you. They treated you like a whore.”

Fatima’s gaze fastened on Brigit’s without embarrassment. “That is what I am. You have whorehouses in your country. I heard of them when I lived there.”

“Here we are better. Our clothes are lavish. Our food is good and nourishing.” Smiling and raising her brows she added, “You see it must be, because we need energy to be good at our work. But best of all, our guests are special. They all ensure we gain our pleasure while they take theirs. This is highly unusual, as I understand the business. Can you tell me different?”

“No. But I don’t have experience in this field.” Brigit thought back to what she’d seen, heard, and read about prostitutes in the States. Her impression was that a hooker provided what the customer wanted and didn’t worry about herself. She’d always thought the sexual goal was quantity, not quality, for her or the man.

“I am safe here. Do you see? I am alive and cared for.” Fatima’s eyes softened. “I can think of better ways to live, but I can think of worse also.”

Brigit couldn’t keep her eyes open, and she didn’t know what to say to contradict Fatima. Her family didn’t want her, and so maybe this seemed like a viable alternative. Brigit
did
have a family, however, and friends, and she knew they would walk through fire to find her. If she wasn’t too far up the earth’s asshole, they
would
find her. Her job was to stay alive and well so their efforts wouldn’t be in vain. She’d fall apart and give in to despair when weeks passed with no word of rescue. Then she’d know Omar and his employers had hidden her even from God’s eyes.

“You’re right. There are worse places to be and lots worse things to do than what you—
we
—do. I’ll try my best to keep you from being punished. I’ll try not to get
either
of us punished.”

“Good. And now let us sleep.”

“Good night,” Brigit said.
Hurry, Daddy, Mama, whoever. Please hurry and get me out of here.

The BMW’s lights picked out the stone guard hut to the left of the wrought iron security fence. Rashid Salid marveled—as he did every time Elena took him to her home—that she lived in such an exclusive area of Islamabad. Many years had passed since they’d fought side by side as mercenaries against the Russians in Afghanistan. Then, she had been a scruffy urchin in her mid-teens. She’d been full of Muslim pride and religious fervor, having just “come home” from the Catholic upbringing of her stepfather’s homeland, Ireland. Now, all signs of battle or rough and hard living had been erased, leaving a stunning beauty.

She stopped at the hut and rolled down her window. “Good evening.”

The guard gave a slight bow. “Good to see you, Miss McBride.”

Only Rashid would have noticed that she smoothed her brow with her pinky finger after the man’s greeting. Or rather, only he knew the significance, that she was irritated or anxious. She’d rubbed her finger across her brow frequently back in Afghanistan. Since that time, he doubted if she let anything bother her enough for others to notice the telling action.

“Good night,” she said and then rolled up her window as the gate began its sweeping arc to allow the car through.

Silently they took the streets, climbing up the hillside where the residences were scattered and larger than in the city. They ended in front of an unassuming house, almost out of character for the rest of the area. Elena raised the garage door, and they pulled in. The door closed behind them without a squeak. She pulled the gearshift into neutral and set the parking brake. Save for the purr of the well-tuned engine, quiet engulfed them.

“Dinner was delicious. Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome. I always enjoy seeing you when I get to Islamabad. You know that. The dinner didn’t compare to the company.”

Her gown rustled on the seat as she turned to him. “You don’t come nearly often enough.”

Smiling, Rashid reached out to twirl a loose strand of hair around his finger. “The last time I was here, you were not.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “I do have many clients, and they must all be satisfied.”

“I’m sure you do that.” Rashid had known for years that Elena was a courtesan for very wealthy clients, a confidence she’d shared with him one night after sex. He’d been ridiculously pleased she’d considered him friend enough to confide in, for her profession earned her death in some stringently religious circles. That her clients stretched around the world explained her frequent extended absences from the city and the money that afforded her a house in such an exclusive area.

Maybe Elena had been compromised from the time they left Afghanistan, victorious over the Russians. Or maybe she had come into the battle having been on the streets. Her profession did not concern Rashid. A person did what they must. He’d never fault her for the path she’d taken. Besides, she had done well and whom had she hurt? Rashid’s rationalization allowed him justification for many of the things he had done in his life and formed his own kind of ethical code.

“You know very well I never do things by half. If I aim to please, I do so with my whole heart.” She trailed her finger along his jaw and down his throat. “If I aim to kill, I do that also with my whole heart.”

“And which do you have in mind for me tonight?”

She brushed his lips, whispering close. “You have no need to ask. No one makes me feel like you.”

An old line, but what male didn’t feel an iota of pride at hearing it?

“And I know I make you feel the best, too,” she added.

“Do you intend to test that claim?” he asked.

In answer, she climbed out of the low-slung car and strutted to the front, where twin beams glared against the white wall of the garage.

She reached behind and suddenly the wide cummerbund belt that had snugged her waist dropped to the floor. What Rashid had thought a gown was really a skirt and lacy, short-sleeved top. In seconds, she stood in only a scrap of white lingerie, and then that, too, was on the floor.

Elena’s only concession to opulence that evening had been her jewelry, the same she wore every time Rashid saw her. A diamond tennis bracelet adorned her wrist. Around her neck she wore a simple gold chain from which hung a pendant shaped like a crescent, wide at the top, tapering to a point, and set with small but stunning stones. Her ears boasted diamond stud earrings. Against her dark skin and illuminated by the headlamps, the jewelry sparkled like stars in the desert night sky.

Rashid stared, his groin heavy and full. Her body was as beautiful now as it had been when they’d first made love. They’d come together on the ground behind a boulder after an attack in a Russian patrol. The smell of gunpowder had hung in the air. So had the coppery odor of death. They’d coupled in a burst of passion that shared fear, pride, and the joy of still being alive.

He opened the passenger door and stepped out. By the time he reached the front of the vehicle, she’d kicked off her heels. Her body defined the word perfection. After all these years, her smallish tits remained firm and high. Her waist showed no thickening, and her hip bones protruded slightly. His sex pulsed in excitement and familiarity, but he didn’t move closer, just watched.

Elena tipped her chin, pride and desire warring in her eyes. She ran the palm of her hand up from her narrow hip to her breasts where she stroked the rounded flesh and tweaked her nipple until it pointed straight and hard.

“Do you still desire me, Rashid?” She licked her lips.

“You know I do.”

“Then why do you stand so far?” With amazing dexterity, she scooped her breast up, dipped her head, and swiped her tongue across her nipple. It gleamed in the light.

Rashid’s heart thudded in his chest. He wanted to suck her tit like a baby. He wanted to take her tongue into his mouth and feel its exploration. He wanted her hands on him and his on her as his dick took control of her body. But still he stood his ground.

“I like watching you.” His cock strained in protest, but if he’d learned anything as a fighter and then a mercenary, it was patience and discipline. When it came time, he would find his release that much sweeter. And so would Elena.

She pouted. “All you want to do is watch?”

“Right now, yes. Touch yourself.” He stepped back out of the circle of the headlamps and into the shadows, seeming darker with the concentration of light in the two focused beams.

She moved out of the line to the center of the BMW. Stretching out on the hood, she raised her heel to the bumper. With one hand, she continued massaging her breast. With her other, she reached toward her nether lips.

She was a study in shadow, a moving picture of darkness and light. Dust motes danced in the headlights. A moth flickered around the beam. Rashid narrowed his eyes and stared hard at the woman sprawled on the hood of the little sports car.

He saw her fingers part her pussy lips, ripe and pink and dewy with her woman’s moisture. Slowly she plowed the furrow, dipping her finger into her honey pot and pulling the honey up to the top of her lips where the wet pearl of her clit peeked out.

She groaned. Rashid had to work at stifling a moan of need himself. When she closed her eyes and took her finger, glistening with cream, to her mouth, he loosened his trousers and stroked his cock.

He couldn’t see her face clearly, but he imagined how her mouth worked her finger, sucking, licking, tugging it in for another taste of herself while her other hand pulled at her nipple.