Abducted Bride

I happened upon an ancient Liverpool Library Press stroke book the other day, and found it full of ravishment and light bondage:

cover art from Abducted Bride
“What’s happened to me, What’s happened to me,” she moaned incoherently. She tried to move but she couldn’t. Her body refused to follow the dictates of her mind. She could see the Arab standing over her, an evil grin etched obscenely on his face. It was strange, she was fully conscious and yet could not move. Her eyes could see and her mind could understand and yet she was helpless. She watched him move about the bed, her eyes rolling after him like a helpless bird cornered by a hungry cat. He removed her suitcase from the other side of the bed and reaching under his robe, withdrew a short piece of rope. The rolling eyes widened in terror as he tied one end around one of her wrists and pulling her up on the bed, ran the loose end around a brass rod in the middle of the top bedstead and tied her other hand to the end. She was secured helplessly, both arms over her head.

“There my proud little one. You make a beautiful picture like this. If Shalla didn’t have better plans for you, he would save you for himself.”

Jean’s dress had hiked up over her hips now and the full ripeness of her upper thighs and belly were visible to the gaze of the Arab. He ran his tongue around his lips wetly, enjoying the torment the poor girl stretched out before him was going through. He could feel his cock hardening under his pants as the girl began struggling weakly against the bonds that held her tight. Her legs scissored open and closed weakly as her body fought the deadening effect of the potion. He could see the dark triangle visible through the thin sheer material of her panties, he promised himself he would get more of that later after he had put his lan into effect. He would make some money today from this little American girl. The men on the streets would pay well.

The initial shock of the potion had worn off and she could move now. This was good, he had planned it so that she would only be immobile for several minutes at the most while he tied her down. He had timed it well.

“Please, please,” Jean whimpered, “what-what have you done to me?” She suddenly felt as though she ere descending from a cloud. A moment ago, she was watching all of this through detached but seeing eyes, she could feel nothing. Now the feeling was returning to her nerves and the full horror of what was happening to her tumbled through her unbelieving mind. This couldn’t be happening to her. She had heard about such things, about being raped in hotel rooms in Europe but she hadn’t in her wildest thoughts ever considered it happening to her. It just couldn’t happen, not by this hideous creature leering down at her with those horribly cold and unbending eyes. She would die if he touched her, she clenched her eyes tightly shut as if she could blot away the scene and make it not exist. But it did exist. The taunting voice of the Arab came through the darkness of her closed eyes.

“We shall have ourselves a time today, my dear girl,” he said, “and we shall make some money. Have you ever worked before, my dove?”

Jean lay silently, unable to speak for the shame and humiliation of the helpless position she was lying in. She wanted to reach down and cover herself but the ropes binding her wood only allow her hands to come down to shoulder level. She could not reach her dress to pull it down and cover her exposed thighs and stomach. She clamped her legs tightly together and drew them up, attempting to hide her precious treasure between them. She could not see but she could feel his eyes burning into her there. She squirmed on the bed against the bonds until they felt as though they would cut through her wrists. It was hopeless.

The Arab sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to her bare thigh, running his long fingernails along the inner softness. He suddenly pinched, making a red welt rise beneath the fingers.

“When Shalla asks a question, you must answer. You belong to him now, at least for the moment.”

From Abducted Bride (LLP/101) by Jon Reskind.

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