by Paul Blades
The other girls had been brought to the room too, and Paula could hear their whines and cries near her. After a while, the door opened and one of the girls was taken from the room. A short while later, she was returned sobbing and wailing and another girl was taken. Paula was the third to be selected. When her hood was removed, she saw she was in the middle of an underground, low ceilinged room. It was dark and the room was lit only by a small wattage single bulb that hung from the rafters. The young women who had removed her from the storeroom were the ones from the van and they proceeded wordlessly to undress her.
Paula had been wearing a short, calico skirt. She started to struggle when she felt the long haired, dark skinned, young woman tug at it in an effort to draw it down her hips. The woman gave her a vicious slap across the face. Her voice stilled by the ball in her mouth and the tape, Paula gave a muffled cry at the violent blow. Thereafter, she was cooperative, and she was soon led, crying, hooded and nude, back to her little prison.
Paula didn't know how long she was kept prisoner there. She had to kneel absolutely still since any effort to move caused the leather binding around her neck to tighten. Once every couple of hours, the two black haired girls would return and take the prisoners from the storeroom one by one to let them void in a bucket, eat some crackers and drink some water. It was hot and stifling in the little room. The hours dragged by agonizingly slowly. She could hear the people upstairs moving around, the toilet flushing, the television, the faint murmur of their voices through the floor. She knew when it had become night from the complete and deadly silence that permeated the house above her. Her friends remained mostly silent, as did she, except for the occasional groan of pain from their confined limbs or sobs of grief and fear. It was the interminable darkness that was the worst. It was like she had been transported to a different world, one in which she was all alone. That, combined with the effect of being unable to say a word to anyone, to beg for release, to ask what the cruel people wanted from her, made the pretty blond girl sink into deep despair.
She did not know how long she had been a captive. It was after a long, long time when, after letting her use the bucket and have some water, the women rehooded her and led her back up the stairs. No one had even talked to her since she and her friends had been abducted. She heard words now, the deep voices of men and the lighter, more pleasant sound of women. The voices weren't speaking English. It was a language the young girl had never heard. The sounds were sharp and guttural. Her speculation that she had been kidnapped by Indians had seemed so absurd when she thought of it, but now seemed to be all too probable.
The girls helped her negotiate the steps down from the porch in the front of the house. Paula was ambivalent about the fact of having been brought outside. It was wonderful to be out of the dismal basement. The sun was hot on her naked body and felt good. But she knew that whatever horrible fate awaited her, she had taken a decisive step towards it.
To her dismay, when the feminine hands which had been escorting her released her arms, strong, masculine hands took their place. Rough hands caressed her breasts and ran over her naked buttocks making her squeal, until a woman's voice shouted a protest. Her wrists were untied from behind her back and retied in front. After they were bound in close to her waist with a rope that ran around her torso, Paula was forced to step up into the enclosed well of the bed of a pickup truck. There was a rough plywood sheet on the floor and the men made her lie down on it. The uneven wood scratched her naked back and rear. She felt straps go around her neck, her waist, her thighs and her ankles, connecting her tightly to fastenings that had been screwed into the board beneath her.
The frightened girl cried and pleaded in her mind for someone to save her. She realized she was going to be taken somewhere. All kinds of things raced through her mind from a Mexican whorehouse to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. She felt and heard her friends being laid down beside her. She couldn't tell whose soft, naked, arm, hip and thigh rubbed against hers. Whoever it was, she was sobbing heavily. She heard another thick board being maneuvered into place above her. It settled cleanly with a dull thud into the ridge that had been made there for that purpose. Then there was the sound of lumber or something heavy being loaded on top of the board. When the noise of the loading stopped, there was about fifteen minutes of silence and then she heard and felt the engine to the truck come to life and felt the sensation of motion.
It seemed like hours later that the truck came to a stop. Her body was sweaty and dirty and her throat was parched. A little fan had been running somewhere over her head pulling fresh but still hot air into the small enclosure. During the hot, tortuously long drive, Paula's emotions had run the gamut between dismal, unhappy resignation to her fate, whatever it was, to rebellion, anger and fear. She felt her heart in her throat and a sinking in her stomach when the vehicle finally came to a halt and heard the sounds of its doors opening and then slamming shut.
The lumber, or whatever it was, was removed and the top to her prison opened. She was unstrapped and pulled from the truck.
There were people all around, Paula could hear them. She was appalled and ashamed to be hooded, naked and helpless in front of them. Voices were laughing and she could hear guitar music off in the distance. A rough hand grabbed her breast and squeezed it, followed by a deep, male laugh. When she was steady on her feet, she was led away and, when she was kneeling again, her arms and ankles were rebound behind her to some sort of stake in the ground and her hood was removed.
She was in a large tent. Penny was kneeling next to her. She watched as Jane and then Samantha were brought in, and knelt down next to her. A long pole was laid across the backs of the girls’ necks and connected to tent poles on either side of them. Paula whined and protested through her stuffed mouth when one of the women came behind her and, holding a fistful of her long, blond hair, pulled her up fully erect and leaned her head back against the pole. Another black haired, dark skinned woman placed another pole in front against her neck. It pushed against the bottom of her chin and raised it until it was lifted high. The pressure of the pole forced her to maintain a strict posture, kneeling straight and tall, her torso extended. Her vision was directed upwards and so she could not see, but rather felt, strong women's hands drag her knees apart and tie them off to the knees of the girls on either side of her, forcing her legs open.
The cruelly bound girls were left there for quite a while. The posture was uncomfortable, making Paula's back and neck ache. The width between the poles just enough so that she had no problem breathing. The ball was still in her mouth and the tape still sealed her lips or she would have tearfully begged one of the dark haired women who kept coming in and out of the tent to release her or at least to tell her what was going on. They would stop and look at her and her friends admiringly, speaking that strange language to each other. Some, unable to resist the erotic display of the naked, helpless white girls, would take the time to caress one or more of their heads or stroke their breasts and lower bellies. Paula was embarrassed, but happy, when one of the women brought a bowl and held it between her legs so she could pee in it.
The nineteen year old blond girl was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. There seemed to some kind of big party going on and she was sure her part in it was not going to be something she would like. She yearned for her father, her mother or someone to come and save her. After she had been kneeling there, helpless, for about two hours, a wide hipped jovial, older woman, wearing a long red shift came in and examined each one of the girls carefully. Paula flinched when the woman grabbed her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and pinched and tweaked them until they became hard. She caressed her naked hips and felt the soft, tender inside of her thighs. She placed her hand on Paula's sex and stroked her until she became moist and lubricated, her breath becoming heavy and her breasts beginning to ache. There had been two younger, middle aged women, dressed in work boots, t-shirts and jeans, sitting in the tent, chatting with each other amiably while
watching over them, and the lady in the red dress said something to them. One of the women left the tent and returned with a tray with some food on it.
She had not eaten in a long time, and Paula happily let one of the women feed her little pieces of a thick, rich, deep yellow corn bread. She had a can of Coca Cola and gave her several long, soothing sips. When the dark skinned woman thought the bound, naked, blond white girl had had enough, she forced the ball back into her mouth. She didn't bother putting the tape back on.
About a half hour after the red dressed woman left, eight pretty, young, black haired girls came into the tent. The older woman was with them. One by one, the unhappy white girls were untied from the stakes and brought out the rear of the tent. The area behind the tent was marked off from the rest of the tents by a 7’ high set of canvas panels which whipped and clapped in the strong breeze. The two girls who handled Paula were dressed in jeans, t-shirts and sneakers and kept giggling and laughing to each other as they brought her to a large, tin washbasin that had been placed on the ground. There was one for each bound white girl. They made Paula step into it and commenced to wash her body with pailfulls of steaming hot water they ladled from another, larger tub. They had bars of soap and washcloths and they scrubbed her whole body. She was grateful to have the grime and sweat washed off of her, but her fear of what fate the young, happy, pretty girls were preparing her for was too heavy on her mind to enjoy it.
She could see her friends suffering the same awful anxiety as their bodies too were washed. Penny's eyes were filled with tears as the girls who were servicing her made her spread her legs so they could wash her furry sex. She had long, straight brown hair that fell midway down her back. Her hips were soft and graceful. Her youthful breasts were round and plump, but not too big for her slender frame.
Jane, the tallest of the group, had short cropped, blond hair that covered her head in tiny ringlets. Her breasts were small and pointed and she had slender hips, almost like a boy's. She had trimmed the patch between her legs and all Paula could see was a little tuft of blond hair above her long slit.
Samantha was the buxom one. Her breasts swayed and jumped as the girls who were washing her pushed them about playfully. She was a brunette, like Penny, but her hair was wavy and shoulder length. Her hips were wide and created a concave effect as her taut belly sloped to her mons.
All of the girls were crying and they looked at each other forlornly. It was surreal to be a bound prisoner under the bright blue open sky and with so many seemingly ordinary people around. The pretty, black haired girls kept up a chatter in their strange tongue making the experience seem other worldly. Other women, and an occasional cowboy hatted man, came wandering through the enclosed area. The women paused and watched for a while, exchanged witty or admiring comments to their companions and then left. The men would ogle them and, as soon as they were noticed by any of the women, shooed away. Two older women kept the flames under the main tub burning and, from time to time, one or the other of them would bring a pail of fresh, presumably cold, water to pour into it.
The hot water felt good as it poured down over Paula's head, matting her long, blond hair. One of the girls stood on a stool and worked sweet smelling soap into her scalp. She was standing in front of Paula and her breasts, loose under her thin, faded yellow t-shirt pressed against the distressed girl's face when she leaned over her. After the shampoo came a smooth, pleasant crème rinse.
One of the girls ran off to get a towel and Paula had the momentary urge to hop out of the wash basin and make a run for it. Her heart pounded as she thought of it. She could make the opening in the enclosure in about ten strides. She had run track and she believed if she could get to open ground she might be able to outpace her pursuers. But where would she go? She had no idea where she was. They had driven for a long, long time and the roads they had gone over for the last hour or so of their journey had been rough and bumpy. It was hot and they were somewhere in the desert, miles away from anything. Even if she got away and didn't tear her bare feet to shreds, she would probably die of thirst or exposure before being rescued. And what would they do to her if they caught her? Her hands were bound behind her and she would not be able to defend herself. The girls in the basement where she had been confined for who knew how long had slapped her hard across the face just for struggling when they were undressing her.
In spite of the risks, Paula had just about worked up enough nerve to make a dash for it when the other girl returned with a large, fluffy towel. Her fear and hesitation had quashed her hopes for escape. Her heart sank as she was assisted from the tub. The two girls took turns drying her. The hot desert sun plucked the moisture off of her body quickly. She was then led back into the tent and, once she had knelt and her hands and ankles had been reaffixed to the stake in the ground, her knees reconnected to her friends’ on either side of her, the girls brushed her long hair until it was straight and free of tangles. What kind of girls are these, Paula asked herself dolefully. How could they do this? They had to know that she and her friends had been kidnapped, that they were prisoners. They seemed sweet and kind, not cruel. If only she could talk to them. She tried to beg them with her eyes for help. The only response she got was a soft caress on the side of her face by one of the girls and a kiss on her forehead. When all the girls had had their hair brushed, to Paula's dismay, the poles were put back in place.
The imprisoned girls were given another snack after a little while, some rough bread with a slice of steak on it. Paula could not stop her eyes from tearing as she chewed the little meal as slowly as she could to forestall the reinsertion of the spongy ball she had carried in her mouth for what seemed days. Every time she swallowed, she could feel her neck press against the pole in the front of her throat. With her imprisoned, upturned head, she felt like an animal being fed on a feed lot. After she was given a long drink of what tasted like Sprite, the ball was reinserted.
After a short while, things seemed like they were starting to happen. Women kept on running nervously in and out of the tent. They had doffed their regular clothes and were wearing ceremonial Indian garb, long, white, clingy, doeskin dresses with colorful patterns sewn into it, moccasins, and bands of beads across their foreheads. Some of the women had painted their faces with strange, sinister designs or with broad bands of yellow or red. Paula could tell from when the tent flap opened and closed that it was getting dark outside. People seemed to be walking past the tent all in one direction, garbling their strange language, laughing. From time to time, she caught a waft of English being spoken in terse, clipped tones. The tent seemed to be filling up, with more women staying once they had entered than leaving. She saw the young girls who had washed her, now bedecked in ceremonial garb, take a kneeling position in the back.
The older woman who had worn the red dress came sweeping in. She was wearing one of the long, white, leather dresses and she uttered some commands. Her dress was fancier and more colorful than the others. She took at look at the displayed, young white women, walking down the line of them, peering into their uplifted faces, feeling their breasts and their tummies. She knelt by Paula and, once again, placed her hard, calloused hand over her sex and stroked it, letting a thick finger drag between her lower lips. She peered deeply into Paula's eyes until the pretty, white girl's extended and grotesquely displayed body shivered with fear and her blood ran cold.
The tent had become crowded with the Indian women. Something was definitely going to happen soon, Paula just knew it. She whined and, straining her neck, looked over at her naked and bound friends who looked frantically back. A small, brass bowl was placed in front of each of the unhappy, naked and kneeling, young white women and the big woman clapped her hands. Paula could hear the sounds of drums outside the tent.
All of the women sank to their knees and went silent at the sound of the big woman's clapping hands. She knelt in front of them towards the girls in between Paula and Jane, who was on her left. Samantha and Penny were on the ends. The women all
placed their hands together in front of them palms up and closed their eyes. A single torch now lit the enclosure and the flame leapt this way and that, sending sinister shadows all over the canvas.
Then the big woman began to chant. It was a nasal, repetitive, staccato chant, alien and strange. Every once in a while, the other women would join in. Paula struggled to free her bound limbs. The strange ritual was a dire portent to her. She was ashamed at her nudity and the brash display of her breasts and her sex in front of all these ceremonially attired women. The desperate girl tugged and yanked at her bindings, moaning and crying, twisting her imprisoned neck frantically. After about fifteen minutes or so, without missing a beat, the leader crawled to the little bowls in front of the girls and dropped something in them. She took out a long taper from the fold of her dress and lit its end from the torch. She then transferred the fire to the little bowls and a thin layer of white smoke arose.
The smell was pungent and strange and Paula tried to wave her head around so she wouldn't breathe it. “Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!” she thought. “They're going to burn us! They're going to sacrifice us!” She had read in history class how the Indians used to torture white people and had always remembered a colorful painting of a man being burned to death in the midst of a chanting, dancing crowd of Indians. The terrible image had stayed with her a long time and now she recalled it.
