A Desirable Property

by Nicole Dere

  She meant Khotan, the leader of the group. Krista scowled ferociously at Nicky, and in return she strove to maintain an air of defiance. Krista leaned towards the seated figure, and Nicky could not help flinching away slightly. ‘Take care, slut,’ the German growled. ‘I fix you good, yes?’

  ‘Please,’ I gasped desperately, reaching in my fear for Krista’s arm. ‘You promised – don’t let them hurt Carl.’

  Krista thrust me off, pushed me down into the seat, and I gasped again at the stab of pain in my tender rear as it made contact with the upholstery. She stomped off to the front of the plane and stood talking to one of the gang, the tallest of them. He smiled, and nodded towards the rear of the plane. Krista then came back down the aisle to me. I blushed, aware that many people were eyeing us curiously.

  ‘Is okay,’ she told me. ‘Your man wanted to go to the lavatory. The ones at the back are not quite so disgusting as these up front.’

  I squirmed around uncomfortably on the seat, trying to ease the throbbing in my bottom. I think the shock of the cruel and unjust punishment, and the huge relief of finding that I was not to be killed, had blunted my confusion about what had happened before the thrashing. I began to shiver and to weep uncontrollably, reliving every weird moment of passion Krista had brought to me, and its devastating culmination. The orgasm that seized me was as powerful as any I could recall experiencing. I was horrified. Of course I was. Yet, in the deep recesses of my mind, I felt I was reassuring myself that this was how I felt. The real shame was the way my body had participated, had responded, had burst into that shattering climax. No matter how hard I tried to tell myself that it was forced upon me, that I had no choice but to endure the whole sick episode, I could not convince myself. That was the true shame.

  I had spoken the truth when I told Krista I had never made love with a girl. All I’d had were some silly teenage experiments. Yvonne, a school friend who used to stay with me, and I with her, had talked about it. Lesbianism. We couldn’t even say the word without a guilty snigger. We didn’t really understand it. ‘I wonder what it’s like?’ Yvonne once pondered, and we both blushed, thinking the same thoughts, titillated by the notion of girls touching one another.

  One night we pretended to be fooling, teasing, though in reality we knew we were both half serious, afraid, yet spurred on by our curiosity. We kissed. ‘I’ll be the boy,’ Yvonne giggled. But then, with her tongue in my mouth, my own fervent responses were no joke. We strained against each other, our breasts pressing and merging and our thighs and bellies moulding, until we broke apart with tearful laughter, red-cheeked and privately aghast at the thrills we had stirred.

  We never tried it again, but my waking dreams – those solitary fantasies I was helpless to prevent and which came when, gripped by shame yet driven by compulsion, I would explore and caress my naked body behind the locked bathroom door, or with thighs parted under the bedclothes – would often centre on those wicked pleasures. I imagined making love with all kinds of females, from film stars to schoolmates and teachers. Or rather, being made love to, for I was never the active one, always the passive recipient whose helpless body was brought to fruition by my beautiful temptresses.

  And now it had happened – for real. And yes, I was the victim, I told myself as I wept miserably in that stinking plane. But it did not make me feel less guilty.

  And then I sobbed with relief when, after what seemed a long time, Carl came back. He grunted and flung himself down beside the porthole. He didn’t even look at me. I was deeply wounded. Surely he must have been concerned when I was led away? Why wasn’t he clutching me to him, relieved at seeing me safe again?

  Instead he slumped, his head back against the bulkhead. It was as if he did not see me. He covered his face with his hand, lost in his own despair, it seemed. I wanted to shout at him, to claw at him. The bastard! Suddenly I wanted to tell him, to scream at the selfish bastard, what had just happened to me. I flounced away from him, putting space between us, and rested uneasily on my hip, my body angled towards the aisle. At least my anger had dried my tears, and feeling physically and emotionally drained, I drifted into an uneasy doze.

  ‘Come on, up you get. You are moving. Quickly, everyone into the aisle. Stand still.’

  I stirred, heart thumping. A great leap of hope surged in me. ‘What’s going on now?’ I blurted, blinking wearily at Carl. Even in my hope, I was startled by the ravaged lines of his face. I hardly recognised him.

  ‘We are moving you to a new location,’ the leader announced. ‘We have been given permission to take you off the plane.’ His English was good, his voice precise. ‘Do not attempt to escape, or do anything foolish.’ He held up a thick belt festooned with round, dark objects. ‘We all have grenades and automatic weapons. We will commence firing immediately if anyone of you does something foolish. Most, if not all, will die, I can assure you. Now, move when we tell you to.’

  We were not allowed to take any hand baggage with us. Bemused, half buoyed by renewed hope and half dismayed that there was no mention of our release, we obeyed. We filed off that plane where we seemed already to have spent a lifetime, and climbed onto a bus that waited beside the tail of the aircraft bathed in arc lights.

  We set off on a slow, bumpy journey of what seemed miles. In the distance we could see the lighted airport buildings, several large jets standing before it, but we went nowhere near it. Instead we came to an isolated place, and I heard a voice whisper close behind me, ‘These were the old airport buildings before they built the new extensions.’

  They had been hastily prepared for us. There was dust and signs of neglect all round, except for the long bare room into which we were herded. It was an old passenger waiting lounge. We could see ourselves reflected dimly in the long glass panes. Even then I wondered why nobody came near, why there were no attempts at rescue, though coward that I am, I was glad this was so.

  ‘It is necessary for you to split up,’ Khotan announced, standing on an upturned box and aiming his gun over us. ‘We must have the women in one room, the men in another. It is necessary.’ There were murmurs of protest, mine among them, but we were all too dispirited and broken to argue. ‘You will meet up later,’ he called reassuringly, and I clung to Carl. Was it my imagination, or did he really stiffen uncomfortably in my tight embrace, just as he had on numerous other occasions recently when I had tried to instil some passion into our relationship? When I broke away, I blushed as I saw Krista’s sarcastic gaze fixed on me.

  She gestured with her gun. ‘In there.’ There were about a dozen of us women who filed through a door to find ourselves standing in a bleak ablution area, with a row of three toilet cubicles and hand basins. At one end there was a tiled recess with two showers. ‘Undress,’ she ordered. ‘Quickly! You bitches stink like hell. You all take a shower, now!’ She yelled the last word and we flinched. There were a few gasped protests, but no one refused. Though embarrassing, we were at least all female, and we shuffled swiftly out of our dirty clothes to stand self-consciously trying to hide as much of our naked bodies as we could.

  The water was cold, but we did not need to be told how unsavoury we were, and we jostled to crowd under the two jets, rubbing and bumping against each other, turning under the blessed streams of water and, dignity forgotten, cleaning ourselves vigorously. Then there was a sudden gasp of shock, and the woman next to me said, ‘My God! Did she do that?’

  I looked blank for a second, and then saw that she, and all the others, were staring at my backside. The criss-crossed weals stood out vividly on my white skin, and still smarted at my light touch. I blushed and stammered, then heard Krista’s ringing laughter. ‘You see, ladies, what can happen if you are naughty,’ she mocked. ‘You must be good for me, yes?’

  There was a pile of old but clean white towels on a bench, and we grabbed them eagerly, wrapping them about us, but Krista chuckled scornfully. ‘Leave your towels here, ladies,’ she said, and as she herded us towards the door in single file the snout
of her gun prodded towards one of Nicky Gimburg’s lovely breasts, separating her from the rest of us like a sheepdog singling out a ewe. ‘You, wait,’ she snapped, and Nicky stopped. ‘The rest go,’ Krista ordered, and we filed on, eyes downcast. ‘You, Jane,’ Krista called to me. ‘You wait, too.’

  When we were alone with her, she jerked the gun at Nicky. There was no doubting the menace in her move, or her look. ‘Over there, and face the wall,’ she ordered. For a second Nicky hesitated, and I jumped as Krista clicked the bolt on her weapon. ‘Don’t give me an excuse, slut,’ she threatened. ‘Now move!’

  The athletic figure moved. She stood close to the grimy white tiles, her back to us. ‘Why are you picking on me?’ she asked over her shoulder. ‘What have I done to you?’

  ‘You have annoyed me, slut,’ Krista told her. ‘You need to be taught a lesson. Doesn’t she, Jane? Here, tie her hands to the hooks. Spread her arms out on either side.’

  Nicky’s voice cracked with fear, but she made a brave effort to speak up for herself. ‘You’ve no right to treat me like this,’ she complained. ‘I’ve done nothing to you. You can’t treat me like this—’

  Krista leapt forward and jabbed her gun at the naked figure. The barrel was thrust obscenely between the cheeks of Nicky’s bottom, the tip penetrating the deep cleft until two hollows appeared in the rounded flesh as Nicky clenched her buttocks in fright. I prayed she would not try to fight. I saw every muscle in that wonderful frame tighten. ‘Try it!’ Krista invited, her tone dangerous. ‘Go on, and I will enjoy crushing you!’

  I sobbed in terror. ‘Please, Nicky!’ I pleaded. ‘Just do what she says.’

  ‘There, you see?’ Krista mused. ‘Jane knows how to behave.’ I withered with shame, yet sighed with relief at seeing the athletic figure slump and her shoulders heave in a huge sob of defeat. Her breasts touched the cold tiles as I bound her outstretched wrists to the large metal clothes hooks that protruded from the wall at shoulder height. Krista had flung two short lengths of rope at me. Inexpert as I was, I pulled them tight before I twisted them round and round the metal, and knotted them. I winced at the thought of hurting Nicky, but was even more afraid of what might happen if she tore her arms free. For I knew, and dreaded, what was to come.

  I found soon enough that I had done my job all too well. Sickened, I stood by and watched the wicked punishment Krista meted out. That leather belt was there, curled around her fist, only this time she seemed to use it with far more venom than she had wielded with me. She drew her right arm back, and struck with deliberate fury. The crack of the lash made every nerve fibre in my body tense. It curled around the writhing bottom, and sent a line of fire rippling across the centre of those exquisite flanks. Nicky jerked and her body smacked into the tiles against which she was pinioned while a scream of torment was ripped from her. I watched her shorn head threshing with pain and humiliation. The athletic frame bent and squirmed, tugging against the cords that bit cruelly into her wrists; the cords I in my craven subservience had tied. Another vicious crack fell and another searing welt appeared on the pale haunches, which dimpled deeply and swayed in a hopeless effort to escape their punishment.

  Soon the blows were falling with less precision, which merely served to add to Nicky’s ordeal as the leather bit into the backs of the tanned thighs, or fell across her golden back. The wicked tip of the belt curled around her hips and thighs to add further pain as it bit into the mound adorned by that sweet little blonde tuft. Her buttocks and the area around them were a livid mass of interlaced lines, as though some wild beast had clawed at her, which was no doubt how it felt to the twisting frame. Nicky was howling, begging for mercy, sagging against the ropes that held her, all thought of pride or defiance gone. She blubbered blindly in her anguish and her grief. ‘Oh nuh-no! Please! Oh please! Stop! Please! I beg you!’

  Krista was panting heavily when her arm fell for the last time. Her face ran with perspiration, and her breasts were heaving under the sweat-stained shirt.

  She moved forward, close to the sagging girl, whose body was wracked with convulsive sobs. She leaned close until her lips were brushing the girl’s neck, around which she slipped her hand and held her gently by the throat.

  ‘You see, my dear girl?’ she breathed softly, sensuously. ‘You have got to learn to be a good little slut, have you not…? Have you not?’ she insisted, and gave the blonde head a little shake.

  ‘Y-yes,’ Nicky whispered, tears meandering down her cheeks.

  Krista kissed her behind the ear, and then let her go. ‘Get the slut down,’ she said to me, dismissively. ‘And bathe those stripes for hers.’

  She went out and I moved to pick at the bonds, which had tightened even more. It took quite a struggle to release her. There were twin circles of red around her wrists where the ropes had chafed them. She slumped down on her haunches, her shoulders bowed, her head resting against the tiles. ‘Leave me alone, you cuh – creep!’ she wept.

  I was crying too. Gingerly, I put my hands under her arms. I couldn’t have lifted her on my own, but at my touch she made the effort and stood up, groaning as she did so. ‘Look, I had to do what she told me,’ I protested. ‘She beat me, too. You’ve seen my bum.’ She let me lead her back to the shower stall, where she supported herself, her hands resting on the tiles, while I dabbed gently at her livid weals with a sopping towel. Her breath hissed, and those lovely rounds tautened at every contact. But at last her pain seemed to ease a little, and the violence of her weeping subsided somewhat.

  She didn’t demur as I held her round the waist to help her hobble back out to the main room. The showers had been left running the whole time, but they had not been enough to drown the yelps and shrieks of Nicky, and all eyes were on us.

  A row of thin foam mattresses had been placed along one wall, and the other girls were stretched out, huddled under the single dark grey blanket each had been given. There were two empty spaces at one end, and we moved towards them.

  Then we noticed, and tried belatedly to hide our nakedness, as we saw two grinning African men handing out mugs of tea and chunks of bread. And our embarrassment was quashed momentarily as we stared in astonishment at another figure in full uniform, including a steel helmet, holding an automatic rifle and standing on guard by the doorway.

  Hastily we scrambled to sit down on the mattresses and haul the blankets up over our nakedness. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked under my breath. Nicky had taken the end space, and the girl on my other side was the pretty coloured stewardess. She was as naked as the rest of us, and was holding the blanket modestly up over her breasts.

  ‘Our guards have been changed,’ she muttered anxiously. ‘Looks like President Koloba and his cohorts are in on the kidnapping. That’s why it’s been so easy for the hijackers.’

  No one was talking much, if at all. I sat hunched miserably, trying to keep the coarse blanket from falling from my shoulders while I nibbled at the dry bread and sipped the hot, sweet tea. But I found time, despite my own worry and misery, to wonder how Carl was faring, and when, if ever, I would see him again.

  Chapter 5

  We remained in complete isolation for the next three days. We had no contact with the outside world, and heard nothing of the men from whom we had been separated. Of the twelve of us, there were only three who were married and whose husbands were being held too. One was a petite, delicate-looking girl, Moira Kinsella, with rich chestnut hair which hung in fluffy waves about her elfin face. She had the pale complexion that often goes with red hair, and there was a light dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks as well as her fragile shoulders.

  It soon became obvious that the Koloba regime was cooperating fully in our kidnapping, for Krista, and the three male hijackers, disappeared completely for all that time, replaced by fully accoutred native soldiers who, though they didn’t touch us or attempt to communicate with us, stared appreciatively at our naked bodies as they stood on guard. We hid ourselves as much as we could, keeping to our mattr
esses with our blankets draped round us. It was difficult though, especially when mealtimes came, to keep our breasts covered as we ate. Looking back, I can see how useful to our captors our nudity was. Not only did it inhibit us physically, and stifle any thoughts of resistance, but it helped to demoralise us with shocking rapidity as well.

  By the second day, however, we were already becoming less concerned with hiding our nakedness, both from each other and our male guards. The lack of protective clothing helped to instil the idea of our helplessness, our worthlessness as individuals, and to accept our captivity with passive fatalism. This was all confirmed later, in many frank conversations with Krista and the others.

  We got to know one another pretty well in our enforced leisure. We lay talking for hours, trying to comfort and encourage one another, revealing all kinds of intimate details of our past, things we would never have dreamt of discussing in more normal circumstances. I even found myself, while lying next to Moira sharing the thin mattress, confessing the sorry state of my marriage. The tears came quickly, and soon a comforting arm was around my shoulder as I sobbed my grief. ‘He duh – doesn’t seem to nuh – need me or want me any more,’ I spluttered, ashamed of my disloyalty and yet needing to talk. ‘Even in bed; we haven’t had sex for months.’ I blushed as I remembered the afternoon in the hotel. Was it really only a matter of three or four days ago? In any case, I wasn’t going to go into the sad mechanics of that episode.

  Of the other, single girls, two were part of the cabin crew. The pretty coloured girl was called Anita Simpson. Although, at twenty-one, she was three years younger than me and one of the youngest, except for Nicky Gimburg, who at nineteen was the baby of the group, she emerged as our leader and spokesperson, and did her best to keep our failing spirits up. She still felt she had a responsibility for us, as an employee of the airline.