Saving Brigit

Omar Mamoud picked up his cell phone from the bedside table and walked quietly to the bedroom door of his Las Vegas apartment. There he paused and looked back at Brigit Thatcher’s sexually spent body curled in the center of his king-sized bed. The leather restraints hung loosely from the bedposts. As soundly as she slept, he thought he could make the call from the comfort of his bed, but just to be safe, he moved into the kitchen.

His bare feet made no sound on the imported Spanish tiles. Though the desert temperature already soared outside, the tiles cooled his feet. The air flowing through the house did the same to his naked body. He’d become spoiled living in the United States. These days, Omar preferred sizzling heat only in bed, with someone like the woman sleeping there now. He’d take his fill of her again. And again, and again, until he delivered her to his associates and the bargain was struck.

He pressed in a number and waited for the connection to be made. The line crackled, and then he heard the ring tone.

“Yes?” His brother’s voice was tired, yet firm. Or maybe the poor connection made him sound tired. Tajikistan lay on the butt of the world. It was a wonder they even had telephones.

“She has agreed to come.”

“Good. Make it soon.”

Omar tensed. “He hasn’t defiled her?”

“No. For now our sister is safe.” His brother made a sound, as though he spit. “But it won’t always be so. Do not anger him again. He pays you, and you cheat him. That is why he took Raisa.”

“I know what happened,” Omar answered. Anger clouded his mind. Yes, his job was to procure women for the Claw to use in his brothel hidden high in the mountains of Tajikistan. And true, he had not fulfilled his duty last month.
One
time. That was no reason for the Claw to take his sister. She was pure. “You are sure he has not defiled Raisa?”

“He has put her with the women who care for the females. But he has sworn if you do not present him with a white woman within a week, he will send her down to the whores who service the staff.”

May Allah damn his soul.
“Do not worry, brother. The woman I have will please him. She’s pale as winter sunlight. Her legs are long enough to wrap around a man, and her mouth is large and willing.”

“When do you arrive?”

“We leave tomorrow for Islamabad. I’ll call and tell you when to pick us up.”

“What did you tell her to convince her to come? Or have you told her anything?”

Omar laughed low in his throat. “I didn’t have to convince her at all. She is excited about learning our culture.”

His brother joined in the laughter. “If she does not know it now, she will soon learn her place in the world.”

“She will adapt. She is practically a whore now.”

“Do not forget what is at stake—our sister’s future.”

Omar gripped the phone. “You overstep, brother. I know what is risked.” He disconnected, anger again boiling to the surface.

He threw the phone across the room. The Claw had no right to kidnap Raisa. Omar had worked for the Claw’s organization for years, starting very young and from the bottom, proving his worth with each task. And now with one failure he captures Omar’s little sister? The flower of their family?
It will not stand.

He exhaled. Who did he fool? This apartment, the designer clothes he wore, his car, the life he had come to love—his work for the organization paid for all of it. Even the woman in his bed came compliments of the Claw’s money, which he spread around.

He might not be able to hurt the Claw, but he could expend some energy on the woman, Brigit. His cock began rising before the thought fully formed.

He walked back to the bedroom. For a moment, he watched her sleep, and then he rolled her onto her back. She didn’t awaken. Not surprising after the workout they’d had. She’d soon learn Tajiki men had stamina—and large appetites. He served as her first master, but he would not be her last. He wondered if she had any idea of what lay in store and decided she couldn’t.

Picking up a restraint, he slipped the leather cuff over her wrist. He did the same with the other three straps until her slim, five-foot, six-inch body lay spread-eagle before him. Still she did not wake.

Her blond hair splayed across the pillow and framed her small face. Her pubic hair appeared as strands of gold, coiled into a thin mat above her promising pussy. Against his black sheets, her skin contrasted as day did night.

Only when he crawled up between her legs did she lazily open her eyes. She pulled at her arm, but when she discovered he had locked her in, she relaxed.

Normally he might kiss her stomach or woo her to their encounter. Now he remembered her purpose—to secure the release of his sister. It would be a simple exchange. Her flesh for his sister’s freedom, as long as she remained undefiled. That made Brigit valuable not as a woman, but as a piece of merchandise, to be used, but not to be loved, any more than one would love a shoe.

“You will take me,” he ordered. He reversed position, placing his stiff cock over her face with his mouth hovering over her pussy. Western women enjoyed sex more than women in his country. He found their enjoyment stimulating. No doubt that was one reason for the high price paid for Western women, and especially Americans. They all started as arrogant bitches swearing they’d never bend to the man’s will, but eventually they all did. Omar believed the Claw’s clients liked Americans because breaking them posed particular enjoyment.

He dropped his mouth to her labia and licked. Immediately, the scent of her arousal filled his nostrils, exciting him beyond measure. His hips moved up, forward and down, rubbing his erection along her jaw, her cheek, her lips. Her tongue streaked along his length, leaving fire in its path. He flexed again, and this time, her mouth captured him. He pushed deep, to the back of her throat and a bit farther. He pulled out and then he thrust, at the same time swiping his tongue along the lips of her pussy.

This is what you are. A receptacle for my rod. A means for me to take pleasure. You now know your purpose.

He dipped his tongue into her pussy and lapped at her cream. Thick and flavorful, it coated his tongue. His cock plunged her mouth. Surrounded in wet heat, he plumbed the depths between her lips. His tongue did the same.

Her hips rose as far as the leg restraints allowed. She was close. Had her mouth not been full of his cock, she’d be panting now, moaning, begging.

He took her clit into his mouth and sucked hard. She threw back her head, almost losing his shaft. He adjusted, sinking into her mouth again. Making her suck him while she came let her know who controlled whom.

She wouldn’t stop coming. Long seconds after she started, he could feel her convulsions. He pumped her mouth at a faster pace, no longer working for pleasure, just for mastery.

Finally, he pulled out. She gasped for breath, panting, even now seeking him again. He was right. She was already a whore.

Quickly he turned, driving into her pussy, raising himself far above her on strong arms. He withdrew, then pushed in again with a strength that came from knowing she would bow to his wishes. Confidence flowed from the knowledge he commanded her.

Again he drove, deep and hard. She cried out, not in pain, but in desire. Her eyes looked up, heavy-lidded and glazed with longing.

In he pushed. Out. In. Out.
In
.

He reared back and gave the ancient cry of victory. The sound came from deep in his throat and reverberated through the apartment. For a moment, an expression of fear crossed Brigit’s face. Then she came, gripping his cock like a vise, milking him until he filled her with his seed. Pulsing on and on inside her body, he gave her all he had. Then he collapsed.

When his cock fell free, he rolled off her. He hated to give up this woman. She served him well. But there was more at stake than his pleasure. “We leave for Islamabad in the morning.”

“So soon,” she said, her voice slow and sleepy. “Do you think your family will like me?”

He turned his head and looked at her bound hand and foot, yet compliant, rosy-skinned from her orgasms. Cum coated the inside of her thighs. “They will like you fine. In fact, I have spoken to my brother and know already that you are exactly what he hoped I would bring home.”

“Oh, good. I was afraid I wouldn’t fit in.”

He chuckled. “Do not fear. You’ll fit in perfectly.”

* * * *

Light sparkled on the San Francisco Bay, making it appear a plane of shimmering glass. The breeze blew fresh, and the sailboat skimmed the surface of the water at an exhilarating pace. Thia Williams leaned back on her elbows, her hair streaming behind her like raven’s wings. Wearing only the bottom of a thong bikini bared a good bit of skin, but Thia liked the feel of the afternoon sun on her body.

“Would you like a drink?” Her friend with benefits, Derek Hawkins, captained the boat with skill, as befit a man who spent loving hours on the water.