From her Club Class seat Tanya looked out onto a patchwork of clouds and fields, reflecting on her life and just how very agreeable it was. She'd eaten a surprisingly tasty lunch, washed down with a second little bottle of champagne, and she'd just started on her third. She stretched her arms, making full use of the empty seat next to her. It was nice to have an empty seat for a neighbour. It would be even nicer to have some young hunk sitting there, a footballer or a film star or something, but in real life it was always some lecherous old businessman, asking suggestive questions and maybe she'd like to join him for a drink in his crummy hotel this evening? She was a bit too polite to tell him to fuck off, so she just sat there bored and trying to pretend she wasn't there. So an empty seat was much nicer. Of course she liked travelling with Carlos too, especially when they got hold of a private jet for a weekend and they could fuck halfway to outer space on the couch at the back. But Carlos was a busy man, and this trip was all by herself. Which wasn't disagreeable. She could be pretty sure of some enjoyable evenings, away from his jealous eye. On her own, she enjoyed the stares and silent whistles that followed her everywhere; when they were together, everyone could feel his unspoken threat and quickly looked the other way, pretending they hadn't seen her gorgeous legs that went up to her eyes, and her perfect face, and her just-so curves, and the carefully practised wiggle of her perfect bottom. Which all seemed a waste, really.
Life with Carlos was just so much better than parading up and down the catwalk, wearing ugly clothes that no normal person would ever wear, and impossible shoes, and holding her head just so for the old lechers who pretended to be watching fashion trends. That hadn't been a bad life either, really, but this was just so much even better. Loads of money, as much as she could ever possibly want, designer clothes, holidays to the most exotic places, their gorgeous house in the country and the pied-a-terre in Chelsea and the villa in Spain - no girl could hope for more. It was worth his occasional jealous tantrums, the occasional slap when she looked at another man. He was so contrite afterwards, the last time he went straight out and bought her the latest Ferrari and jewelry to go with it. The Ferrari was just a pain, although it certainly got attention. But the jewelry was nice. And in truth, although it did hurt, it reminded her just how much he was in love with her, so it wasn't really that bad.
He'd asked her to make this trip, as always he was a bit mysterious about the reasons. That was just something you had to accept when you were married to the man who ran the biggest drugs operation in the country - well, that was what he said, and who was going to contradict him? Sometimes she would collect or deliver things for him - not drugs, which was a job for scum, but money and messages. Sometimes he was running some operation and needed to be alone. And sometimes, she knew, it was to give him time with one of his bimbos. She didn't care, he was in love with her, they were just a distraction, she quite liked the thought of him with another girl. If there was anything that annoyed her it was he would never, she knew, do a threesome, which would be a lot of fun. He was built like a horse and could go on for ever, it would be nice to suck his cum from another girl while he fucked her. But for threesomes she had to go elsewhere, very discreetly. Another reason she didn't mind his indiscretions was that she had her fair share of her very own. Very, very carefully, because he would be so cross if he found out. But he was a busy man, and he had much bigger things on his mind than watching her every move.
She spent the night at the Intercontinental, in their finest luxury suite. Dinner in her room, since dining alone is such a bore, but a few drinkies in the bar afterwards. There was nobody there who tempted her though - she loved the Intercontinental, wherever she went, for its careful opulence, but sadly most of the other customers seemed to be elderly bankers. In the morning, after a leisurely breakfast, the limo showed up for her as promised. The driver and his assistant, both very nicely built gentlemen, ushered her out to the huge black Benz. It was a long journey, and she had no idea where they were - she had to produce her passport a couple of times, so they must be in another country. They were in the depths of the countryside, in the last half hour they climed up towards mountains and they didn't see a village or even a house. It was a beautiful place. She wondered what business of Carlos' could be bringing her here. But she had been trained, in the time they were together, never to ask a question, not even inside her own head.
Finally they arrived at a big chateau. It was just like a fairytale, she'd never seen anything quite like it before. It was nearly evening by now. She was welcomed by a very distinguished man in his forties, very sexy, with a gorgeous deep voice and a very cultured English accent. He led her through the house and into a drawing room that was like something out of a museum, antiques everywhere.
"I'm afraid we find it difficult to get staff here, so I must apologise for taking care of you myself," he said, sweeping imaginary creases from a deep armchair and gallantly holding her hand as she sat. "I expect you're wondering why you're here, in the middle of nowhere in the mountains. The fact is, Carlos asked me to take the very best possible care of you for a little while. Something a bit awkward has come up and he wanted to take good care of you."
He served champagne - La Veuve, her favourite - and delicious nibbles, and made small talk about the scenery and the mountains and the weather. And then, with his habitual apology, he said, "I'm afraid I have to leave you now, it's not much of a place but there's always so much to take care of. We don't have the staff to serve a full dinner in the week, one of the maids will bring something to your room. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to stay in your room, you'll be comfortable enough but we have some things going on, construction and so on, and - well, Carlos would be so furious if things didn't work out, I'm sure you know how he is." It struck her as a strange turn of phrase, but she forgot all about it when she saw her room. It was sumptuous, twice the size of the luxury flat she'd had in her independent days, with a giant four-poster bed placed to give the best possible view through the huge window. To one side was a sitting room with a giant TV and a big collection of DVDs, to the other side a huge bathroom with a jacuzzi, a shower, and even a bidet.
She took a long, luxurious bath, taking full advantage of the famous-name foams and oils ranged on the shelves. She was watching one of her favourite movies, dressed in a heavy bathrobe, when there was a knock on the door and her dinner was served. The maid who brought it was wearing a very plain blue shift and, incongruously, black patent high heels, incredible heels that looked as though she could hardly balance. Tanya loved to wear heels, they felt sexy and she knew the effect on the men around her too, but these were just amazing, she'd never seen anything like it. The maid was limping a bit, that was obvious even with the heels. She had unremarkable, dull brown hair, very heavy make-up, and something odd about her face. Tanya couldn't quite see what was wrong, the poor girl must have very bad skin, and she felt rather sorry for her. She tried to ask about the heels, but the maid just shook her head quickly, a frightened look on her face, and said nothing. Probably she didn't understand English, Tanya thought, and although she felt sorry for this country bumpkin of a girl, she didn't try any harder.
The dinner was delicious, veal in a fine sauce, served with an excellent bottle of wine. Tanya took her time enjoying it. There was far more than she could eat, a girl has to be careful if she wants to keep her figure. There was just one odd thing, a fortune cookie on the tray even though there was nothing at all Chinese about the meal. She thought perhaps it was a custom in this country too. The little strip of paper said, "Enjoy every meal as though it may be your last." Well, she'd certainly enjoyed the meal, although she didn't expect it to be her last. She spent the rest of the evening lazily watching her film, then snuggled up between the thick sheets and played with herself imagining Carlos' thick cock inside her, or one of her recent lovers that she'd gone to such trouble to keep secret from him. Soon she came, quietly since she had no idea who else might be about, and fell asleep.
She slept well, but a couple of times during the night she woke up to the noise of screams, almost like a human voice. It must be the wild animals, she thought, although the second one sounded like it was inside the house and made her quite nervous. But soon she was asleep again, nestled in the sheets under the warm quilt. When she finally woke again, it was broad daylight. She stretched her beautiful body in front of the tall window, admiring the view - first the garden, then the trees and the forest, and in the distance the mountains, still capped with snow. In front of the mirror, she admired herself some more. When she was a model she'd been really thin, but Carlos wanted her just a little padded, a nice curve to her belly, perfect buoyant tits with just a little help given to nature, her perfect muscle tone from her aerobics, her cute bottom, her pretty almost-shaven pussy. And of course her long, long legs. She tossed her head, shaking her immaculately cut hair into shape without even needing to brush it, admiring the colouring job that had been done just a few days ago. She pressed the call button beside her bed, and soon afterwards her breakfast was served, by the same maid as the night before. Her limp was much worse this morning, she could hardly take a step, and even through the thick make-up she looked tired and haggard. Tanya tried again to talk to her, and got the same reaction - a terrified shake of her head. She was trembling as she carried the tray, and as soon as she had put it down she scuttled out of the room, staggering on her heels and her injured leg. Tanya thought it was strange, but it wasn't really her problem. The breakfast was delicious and beautifully served, far more than she could eat. Tucked under a plate was a note from her host, inviting her to come down to the drawing room whenever she was ready. There was another fortune cookie. This one said "Be prepared for surprises". Well, she was always prepared for surprises, especially nice ones.
After her long, lazy breakfast, Tanya had to decide what to wear for the day. She's brought plenty of her favourite clothes with her and she spent a long time trying one thing and another before settling on some off-white jeans from Versace, clinging tightly to her gorgeous legs and making the most of her sexy bottom, and a pink silk shirt undone to reveal just enough of her perfect cleavage. She'd agonised over whether she should wear tights or not, before finally deciding on some exquisitely fine off-black ones, new from the packet of course, that set off her feet perfectly. It was a shame that her pretty toes would be hidden, but you can't have everything. She added a gold necklace, a diamond bracelet, and finally her favourite pair of red strappy Jimmy Choo sandals that she'd just bought the previous week. She looked wonderful, irrestisably sexy and yet ladylike. She spent another long time getting her makeup just perfect, and then she was ready to present herself to whoever else was there. She hoped there'd be some hunky men, tucked away in the middle of nowhere like this she could enjoy herself away from Carlos' eyes.
Finally she made her way downstairs. She waited in the drawing room, and wandered outside into the garden. It was a lovely day, the sun shining in the clear mountain air. She heard again that strange noise, almost like a scream, that had bothered her for a few moments during the night, and idly wondered just what kind of animal would make a noise like that. She heard a voice behind her, the Master of the house again.
"Tanya, you look just ravishing. I hope you slept well?" They made small talk for a while, then he said, "Carlos wanted me to show you something. Would you follow me please? I'm afraid it means going down to the basement, you'll have to be very careful with your clothes, it's terribly old and dirty down there."
She followed him through the house and then down the stone steps into the basement. Despite the warm weather, it was cold and damp down there. She shivered, from the cold and because it was really a little scary. They went along a long corridor, then round some twists and turns and through a couple of good-sized rooms. She had no idea where she was relative to the house above her by now. They were in a narrow corridor with just a beaten earth floor, and heavy wooden doors along one side. Not only was it cold and damp, it smelled of damp earth and drains and some other unpleasant smells she couldn't really place. The only light came from a couple of dim bare bulbs hanging from the unpainted wooden ceiling. She wondered what on earth Carlos could want her to see that would be in such an unpleasant place. Then the Master, who had said nothing so far as he led her through this horrid maze, said, "I'll have to leave you here for a moment to get things ready. Please stay exactly where you are, it wouldn't do for you to wander around and get lost, I'm sure Carlos would never forgive me."
She stood there for a long time, or so it seemed, and started to get really quite frightened. She was cold, her feet were starting to hurt from balancing on the uneven floor in her high heels, and she didn't dare lean against the filthy wall for fear of getting her clothes dirty. Finally she heard footsteps. Two men came round the corner, men she hadn't seen before, dressed quite roughly in dirty jeans, heavy boots and old shirts - not at all like the Master's very distinguished appearance. Still, she was glad to see them, and she said so. They didn't reply, but grabbed her roughly and shoved her through one of the doors. She protested, but they just told her to shut up. Inside was a small cell, just barely big enough for her to lie down flat on the floor, and rough stone walls. Now she started to get really frightened. When they twisted her arms behind her and bound her wrists, she screamed, as loud as she could.
"Quiet, bitch," said one of them, and he smacked her hard across the face, once and then again. "Nobody can hear you and even if they could, nobody gives a shit in this place. So shut the fuck up." Anger replaced her fear - how dare they treat the wife of Carlos like this! He wasn't usually a violent man, but she'd seen him break a man's jaw because he didn't think to hold a door open for her.
"You just wait til Carlos hears about this, you bastards" she threatened, but the man just said "Yeah, whatever" and carried on.
Once they were in the cell, one of them held her tight while the other undid her elegant Versace jeans and pushed them and her tights down to her thighs, then rammed himself into her. "No panties, very nice," he said, as he thrust roughly into her. He came quickly, and the men swapped places. The other one pushed into her anus. It wasn't the first time for her, but it had always been done gently before. He tore into her, and it felt as though she was going to split. He thrust in and out of her for a long time, tearing her open each time, until finally he came. Then he pulled her tights and jeans up again, and buttoned them up. They stood her up, completely ignoring her protests and struggles.
"Let's see her tits," said one, and the other produced and long knife and cut straight through her shirt and her bra, leaving them dangling uselessly at her side. They grabbed her tits and squeezed them.
"Not bad, nice shape," said one.
"Not big enough for my taste, and I bet they're not even real," said the other. "I bet they were really tiny before she had them done." He slapped them, hard. "See how they move, No way they're real, the cunt's had them done." They carried on like this, insulting her tits and her body, slapping her around a bit, and taking no notice of her struggles. Then they tied her up and left, closing the door behind them.
Now she cried, in shock and anger. How dare they treat her like this? They were in for a real shock once she got away from here. She tried struggling against her bonds, but it seemed hopeless. Her wrists were held tightly together in some kind of cuffs, and then fixed to a ring low down on the wall, close to the filthy stone floor. There was almost no light, just a crack under the door where the already-feeble light from the corridor could creep into the dungeon cell. Slowly her eyes adjusted though, and she could see a little. Not that there was much to see. She could sit on the floor, her arms behind her and her legs stretched out in front, or she could lay down awkwardly on her side, her arms twisted up behind her.
Gradually she calmed down enough to think about what could be happening to her. She tried to ignore the cum oozing out of both her holes, and the discomfort in her arms and shoulders. Maybe she was being held hostage, for a ransom? That would certainly make sense, although surely they'd still treat her decently? But why would Carlos have sent her there in the first place? They must be double-crossing him. He'd sent her there in good faith, and now for some reason they were using her to get back at him. It wasn't very surprising, Carlos had loads of enemies, as you'd expect. But boy, were they in for it once Carlos figured out what was going on. He'd be expecting her to call within a day or two, and when she didn't, he'd be onto them. And then they'd be in really deep shit. So all she had to do was survive for a few days. Their only possible interest in hurting her was to encourage Carlos to pay up, or whatever they wanted, so they needed her alive and in good shape. She went over and over this story, unable to see any alternative, until she was completely convinced of its truth. All she had to do was hang in there and survive.
Eventually she dozed off, despite the cold and the discomfort. When she awoke it took her a moment to work out where she was. The pain in her arms, the cold, and the dull ache in her pussy and anus soon reminded her. She was very thirsty, and bursting to piss. She called out, "Please! Help me", her dry throat hurting her. She had no idea what time it was, whether she'd slept for an hour or a day, there was just the same faint light under the door. She called out for a long while, on and off, but there was no response. She listened very carefully and she did hear some noises, sounding like sobs and cries, quite faint but not far off. She wondered what that was, but she was too worried by her own problems to bother about it. She tried to squirm around and undo her jeans, so she could pee, but it was hopeless. She struggled until her wrists started to bleed and her shoulders really hurt, but there was nothing she could do. Eventually she dozed off again, doing her best to ignore the pressure in her bladder and her dry throat.
This time she was awoken very suddenly, by a terrible scream, very close. She jumped up and tried to stand, but instead fell painfully onto her side. There was a loud noise, she wasn't sure what, followed immediately by another terrible scream and then the same, over and over. Soon she realised that she was hearing someone being beaten, very very hard. Sometimes in the screams she heard words, pleas for mercy or something, in a foreign language. She was terrified. The beating went on for a long time, and when it finally stopped the screams turned to sobs and whimpers. These were the noises she'd heard, very faintly, from the comfort of her bed the previous night... or whenever it was. There were footsteps, a door opening, then even worse screams, of sheer terror, noises that she'd never heard before, like an animal being torn apart or something. Without even realising it, Tanya pissed herself. Soon her lovely off-white Versace jeans had a big yellow damp patch spreading around her thighs. When the awful screams finally stopped and she heard footsteps again, she called out another time, "Please! Help me". This time she did get an answer, a heavy kick on the door and a shout of "Shut up bitch! Quiet in there! Any more fuss from you and you'll be next!".
This really did shut her up. She started crying, trying desperately to make as little noise as possible. She pissed herself again, ashamed as the warmth and dampness spread out around her. Her throat hurt even more now but there was no water anywhere, not even a patch of damp on the floor. The she remembered stories of people surviving in the wilderness by drinking their own urine. It was a disgusting idea, but above all else she had to survive until Carlos found her and freed her from these terrible people, whoever they were. She squirmed around until her face was by where her bottom had been, almost impossibly contorted. Most of the piss had just soaked into her trousers, but there were a few drops that she managed to lick up. She was disgusted, but surprised that it really didn't taste bad, or of anything at all really. Those few drops were the most precious thing she had ever drunk. She squirmed back into her previous position, and let go of all the piss she had stored up, hearing it splash onto the ground and smelling its distinct tang, then quickly twisted around before it had time to disappear, and licked it up. It tasted worse - if there had been any light, she'd have seen that plenty of other victims had been there before, and left their own shit and piss, now dried hard onto the stone - but at least the dryness in her throat was relieved a little, for now anyway. She thought about the terrible screams she had heard. That meant there must be other prisoners here. Who were they? Why were they there? How did she fit in herself? What could all this have to do with Carlos? She spent a long time trying to think about all this. There were no more screams, but she could hear sobbing and crying and what sounded like pleas for help in a foreign language. Eventually she drifted back to a restless sleep, punctuated by wakeful dreams of Carlos and of the terrible noises she had heard.
More screams woke her up later. She realised that her bowels were full. And there was nothing she could do about it. She already knew that she couldn't reach to undo her jeans. Her bladder was full, too, and she pissed very carefully, controlling her bowels, then struggled round to lick up the disgusting yet precious liquid. Then there was another scream, a long, long howl of terror and pain, and she lost control. She felt her tights fill with hot, disgusting shit, oozing round inside the tight jeans. The stink was overwhleming, she'd never really smelled shit before, this was a thousand times stronger than in the toilet. The combination of the stench and the horrible feeling made her retch. She tried to resist, but soon her puke was added to the mixture, dripping down her chin onto her tummy and the front of her jeans. And there was absolutely nothing she could do. She cried, as quietly as she could, in shame and fear. Her lovely Versace jeans were finished now, that was for sure, stained with piss and shit and vomit and dirt from the floor. But she knew that her only hope was to keep herself together until Carlos came to rescue her, and that was what she concentrated on.
Later, she needed to piss again, and she was getting very thirsty. She did as before, but when she squirmed round to lick up the piss, what she found was a mixture of piss and liquid from the stale shit that still oozed all around her. It was bitter and very nasty, and it made her puke again. Without thinking, she puked onto the only place she could reach both to piss on and with her mouth afterwards. She cried as she realised that from now on, the only way she could relieve her thirst would be with a mixture of piss, shit and vomit.
She had no idea how long she stayed like that (actually it was a couple of days), surviving on her bitter, shit-filled piss. Her arms hurt terribly, and her wrists were raw. She had to shit several times, runny stuff because she was so frightened. Her jeans gradually filled up, a mixture of rotten shit from the first day and fresher stuff mingling in with it, adding flavour to her drink and irritating her sensitive pussy terribly. The itching was unbearable, especially inside her cunt where the rotting filth gradually crept in. There was absolutely nothing she could about it. She had no sense of time, of day or night or how long she'd been there. Sometimes she heard the terrible screams of other prisoners being punished and tortured, and at other times cries and sobs. She was half-awake, almost in a dream between short snatches of half-sleep. All that kept her going was her certainty that Carlos would show up and rescue her. In her dreams he landed in a huge combat helicopter and charged in, surrounded by bodyguards with big guns blazing away. Then he carried her off in his arms, swearing his love for her and the terrible vengeance for her captors.
When the door finally opened again she was almost delirious. She saw that the guard was carrying a big jug of water, clean water. She started to sob with gratitude, thanking him between sobs.
"Shut up, bitch. I'll tell you when to talk." He kicked at her exposed legs with his heavy boots. "You stink. You wanna learn to control yourself. You're like some kind of animal. Want a drink?"
"Oh, please, please, I'm so thirsty, please..." and so on. Gradually, he tipped the jug, in the corner furthest away from her, letting the precious liquid dribble out onto the filthy floor and then run away through the cracks in the stones. She became almost hysterical, begging him for water, pleading him to let her drink before she died, all in a croaky, cracked voice that made it obvious that she really meant it. When about half the water had gone, he put the jug down and said, "So you really want that drink, huh? Open your mouth."
She was relieved beyond imagination and opened her mouth wide, waiting for him to put some cool, fresh water into it. But instead, he unzipped his dirty jeans (what a contrast with her own immaculate Versace ones, at least until they arrived in the filthy cell), took out his cock, and started pissing into her mouth. Instinctively she shut her mouth again, the strong piss splashing into her face and down her bare chest. He stamped hard on her leg with his heavy boot, making her scream, and slapped her face. "When I say open your mouth, you fucking stupid bitch, you open it and keep it open. Now, open it, and drink up, it's all you're getting".
Terrified, she opened up again. She tried desperately to keep his piss in her mouth, swallowing as quickly as she could. It was so bitter, and such a strong taste and it made her gag, but at least it relieved the terrible pain in her throat. A lot ran down her chest, over her tits and soaking into her filthy trousers. Then he put his cock in her mouth.
"Suck me off, bitch. And don't even think about using your teeth, if I so much as feel one I'll smash every tooth in your filthy cunt of a mouth." She didn't dare take a chance, so she sucked him expertly - that was something she certainly knew how to do and under different circumstances would have been very happy to do as well. Finally he came, and she greedily swallowed - in addition to her thirst, she hadn't eaten for days and was starving, although that had been the least of her discomforts. Then finally she did get her drink - he grabbed the jug and poured its remaining contents into her lap.
"Get your head down into that and drink it all up," he commanded. She was terribly shamed, to squirm around like this in front of a man, to lap up the mixture of water, piss and decaying shit that covered the hard stones under her bottom, but she had no choice. And at least it relieved her thirst, for now anyway. Once she'd finished, he gave her a final kick in the ribs and walked out, closing the heavy door behind him.
Another long, long time passed like. Every now and then (actually about twice a day, although she had no idea) she'd be visited by a guard, who would humiliate and abuse her, make her drink his piss and suck him off, then pour a miserly amount of clean water down into the filthy mess around her crotch. Sometimes he'd watch her drink, sometimes he'd just leave. Her discomfort got worse and worse, as her trousers continued to fill with runny shit and as the disgusting mess in there rotted slowly. The guards kicked her, slapped her face, slapped her tits, and a couple of times gave her tits and her belly a few strokes of the stick they carried. The strokes were quite gentle, but she'd never been hit seriously before, much less beaten, and to her it felt like being cut with a sharp knife. Sometimes she pleaded with them for mercy, to tell her what was going on, to relieve the suffering in her arms, to let her take her clothes off. But they just ignored her, or told her to shut up. Her hunger got worse and worse. She was used to not eating, sometimes she'd fasted for days as part of a diet, but by now the hunger was gnawing at her stomach, giving her terrible cramps and pains. The only thing she ate was the guards' cum, and she was pathetically grateful even for that. She was freezing cold, her bones aching with the cold and damp. She stayed sane by thinking of Carlos, of him arriving in his helicopter or a fleet of Humvees, taking her away from this horror and raining horrible death upon her evil captors. She wondered why it was taking him so long, but she simply knew he would turn up.