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Turkish Delights

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Barbaria1

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
This story began as a one-off on another thread, but seems to be taking on a longer life of its own, so I have moved it here so as to have its own thread. If the mods find that a problem, let me know.

TURKISH DELIGHTS

WPWT99093.jpg We went to Turkey for a quick little holiday. Excited and giggling, we filed off the plane, collected our bags and headed for passport control and customs.

"Passport please", said the swarthy mustached border control officer. I presented mine, watching my companion out of the corner of my eye as she presented hers at the adjoining booth.

"Barbara Moore," he intoned, "is this your first visit to Turkey?"

"Yes, it is." I replied.

"Step over to the table, please, and open your bag," he commanded. I did as I was told, noticing my companion was doing the same nearby. He rummaged through my clothing, throwing everything on the floor and when he got to the bottom of my bag, he grunted in triumph, holding up a small clear bag with white powder inside.

"Wait, that's not mine!" I stammer, "This is a mistake. You just planted that didn't you?"

"Shut up and come with me", he ordered, taking me by the arm with an iron grip. Minutes later, we were both herded down some stairs and shoved into a cell.

"Strip!" he yelled at us. "Do it now, or I will have my men do it for you" Glancing at each other, we slowly removed our clothes, hesitating when we were down to our bras and panties.

"All of it," he growled. We looked at each other, and then after undoing our bras and sliding out of our panties, faced him, one hand over our womanhood, and an arm covering our breasts.

"You!" he said, pointing at me. "Barbara Moore! You're first, follow me down the hall for questioning."

I stepped out of the cell, turned and said to my sobbing friend, "Don't worry, this is all a mistake. I will have them call the American embassy and we will be freed."

Then I was propelled down the hall, an iron grip once again on my arm. I heard the cell door clank shut behind me as I turned the corner.....
 
2.​

She can feel the fear engulf her as she is propelled round the corner and into the corridor. She is alone, her friend left alone. The clank as the cell door shuts behind her has isolated them.

Barbara can feel the beginning of bruising on her arm from the iron grip of the swarthy border control officer. There is no natural light here, just a few dim bulbs overhead. Down the corridor, 5 paces, 10, 20, she counts them as each step takes her further from her friend and her fear deepens. He stops her at a heavy door and knocks. She hears no more than a muffled grunt and the officer pushes the door open. She expects a creaking of hinges but the door swings silently, ominously.

There is a bright light and she blinks, her eyes adjusting after the dim corridor. All she can see is a bright, hot incandescent bulb, unshaded, hanging from frayed power cord over a single, heavy wooden chair. The legs and back seem rough but the seat itself seems polished smooth. There are leather straps on the legs, low at the front, just under that smooth polished seat at the back. She shudders. Ankles, wrists. How does she guess?

She can make out the shape of a man to one side but, in the shadows she cannot see his features. Then a harsh voice, a command. SIT. And, despite herself, she obeys.

Under the heat of the bright bulb Barbara can feel herself begin to sweat. Is it just the heat or something else? Nothing is said and the dark shape does not move. Just watches her. She can feel the sweat bead. The beads form rivulets that run down between her breasts, over her belly, coating her sex, dripping from her labia onto that smooth seat. Sweat runs down her back too, between her buttocks. She feels it pooling beneath her anus, mixing with the drops from her sex. Uncomfortable but she does not dare move.

He remains silent, watching. And despite the heat from the bright bulb and the sweat that now coats her skin she shivers.

She sees the man gesture with a quick, sideways nod and she knows the swarthy officer has left. She barely hears the door close.

Only her friend knows where she is and she is locked naked in that cell. Barbara is alone, naked, vulnerable.

A shudder runs through her as he slowly walks towards her.

Barbara Moore, why did you bring drugs here..........the voice is surprisingly quiet, controlled but it drips with menace........you do know that the penalty is.........he pauses..........death.

Pp​
 
3.​

"Ok, now let's be reasonable here. Do I look like a drug trafficker? No, not at all. I am an ordinary American tourists, and so is my companion. We are here to enjoy your country. Why do you just stare at me like that? You know that if you come around in front of that bare light bulb I could see your face better. Do all Turks have mustaches like yours? Is it really necessary that I be naked like this? Maybe you could give me some clothes and we could go somewhere else and straighten this out? Would you mind giving me a phone so I could call the American embassy, please? Why don't you answer me? You do understand English, right? Either do something or I may start screaming for help? You wouldn't want me to do that would you?"

Shit. this isn't going very well. It's really hot in here. I am naked, sweating rivers, and getting very scared about being alone in here with a man who is looking downright dangerous. I don't like the way he keeps staring at my breasts. Oh, why did I decide to do the Turkish holiday. I should have flown to somewhere like Australia instead.
 
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4.​

She can see his face as he moves under the light. Not as swarthy as she expected, no moustache. He looks almost friendly but his voice, though quiet, holds menace. He opens her passport, his eyes scan her details. “Scream all you like Barbara Moore. Scream your lungs out. The room is almost soundproof. No one will hear you. Not even your friend.”

He stands in front of Barbara. She is tempted to lash out, to kick, but she realises he is out of reach, just. “Don’t even think about kicking Ms Moore.” How did he know? He moves behind her, his hands on her shoulders and she stiffens. Then his hands slide over her shoulders and onto her sweat-slicked breasts and she reacts, instinctively, lashing back with an elbow, catching him in his belly.

Quick as a snake. His hands catch her wrist and her arm is twisted high up behind her back. Shiiiit, ahhhh. Too painful to fight him, shoulder suddenly aflame. Then her wrist is behind the chair leg and she feels the leather strap wrap it, buckled tightly. Too quick again. He has caught the other wrist, twists it, more pain, and it is strapped behind a chair leg too. Her arms pulled down, her wrists twisted a little back behind the chair legs, shoulders forced to follow, her breasts pushed forward.

She is sweating profusely now, uncomfortable, so hot under that single bulb. The sweat still runs freely, wet, slippery under her arse. Barbara moves to try to ease the discomfort. Her arse slips on the smooth seat. She knows why the seat seems so smooth. The sweat of prisoners, rubbed in.

She tries to reason with him. Asking for the US Embassy. He laughs. "You picked the wrong small airport, the wrong border crossing Ms Moore. Ankara and the Embassy are a thousand kilometres away. Istanbul and the Consulate is even further. No. You and your friend are alone."

"A lonely border crossing to run your drugs? Is that why you crossed here? Tell me!"

He hands cup her breasts again, his fingers on her nipples, gripping, pinching, she shrieks, her head flies back, catches him, hard. Then his fist crashes into her jaw and her head slumps. Blackness.

Not as swarthy as she expected, no moustache. He looks almost friendly but his voice, though quiet, holds menace. He opens her passport, his eyes scan her details. “Scream all you like Barbara Moore. Scream your lungs out. The room is almost soundproof. No one will hear you. Not even your friend.”

She is sweating profusely now, uncomfortable, so hot under that single bulb. The sweat still runs freely, wet, slippery under her arse. Barbara moves to try to ease the discomfort. Her arse slips on the smooth seat. She knows why the seat seems so smooth. The sweat of prisoners, rubbed in.

She tries to reason with him. Asking for the US Embassy. He laughs. "You picked the wrong border crossing Ms Moore. Ankara and the Embassy are a thousand kilometres away. Istanbul and the Consulate is even further. No. You and your friend are alone."

"A lonely border crossing to run your drugs? Is that why you crossed here? Tell me!"

He hands cup her breasts again, his fingers on her nipples, gripping, pinching, she shrieks, her head flies back, catches him, hard. Then his fist crashes into her jaw and her head slumps. Blackness.

When Barbara regains consciousness her ankles are bound tight to the legs at the front of the chair and there are broad leather straps just above and below her breasts holding her torso hard against the chair back.

He standing close to her, in his hand a thick black device about 20 centimeters long, tipped with two bright brass prongs. He touches it to her left breast, the prongs sharp. Nothing more.

Then his thumb touches a red button and Barbara screams, her body convulsing at the electric shock. He holds it hard against her tit. A second, two, three. Then it stops.

She slumps as he stands back, her head on her chest. Then that menacing voice again. "Answer me Barbara."

And she feels her bladder let go and her piss floods the seat, warm under her arse.
 
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5.​

Now I am not only scared out of my wits, but in terrible pain too. He was so quick and efficiently brutal. He can’t be reasoned with; of that I am now sure. And my desperate efforts to break free were all anticipated, and only resulted in him hurting me, and me binding me naked and helpless to this awful chair … this chair on which so many of his victims before me have obviously sat, sweated, and probably bled too.

I am re-appraising my situation. He is clearly capable of great brutality despite his clean appearance, and he knows he is completely in control. He knows he can break me anytime he wishes.

I am trying to think of how to appease him. Should I admit to a crime? No, he said the penalty could be death. Bad idea.

Should I beg for mercy? Appeal to his conscience somehow? Tell him I will be missed by my loved ones. No, he has probably heard all that before in his line of work, and has no feelings of that kind toward his victims.

Perhaps I can offer myself to him? The thought of doing that makes me sick. It makes the bile rise in my throat. Telling him he can fuck me is silly, I think. He could care less if I offered him my body. After all he can just take me if he has a mind to do so without me asking. He probably prefers it that way.

I just don't know what to do, but break down and cry.

No wait, he is going to do something again. Oh my God, he intends to shock my other breast now.

I barely managed to survive the last shocking. My poor breast is still throbbing from the all the painful twisting and pinching he inflicted on it, and then from the three electrical shocks. The last shock hurt so bad I lost complete control and humiliated myself by peeing all over the chair. I can still feel my pee, warm puddling under me, mixing with my sweat and adding to the polished sheen of the wooden seat of my chair.

I don’t know if I can withstand a similar assault on my right breast. As he comes closer, holding out his cattle prod menacingly, a wicked gleam in his eye, I arch my back and try to twist away, first left and then right. I buck in my chair, my breasts bounce and wobble wildly, but it is all in vain as he presses the bright brass prongs up and into my the tender pliable flesh of the underside of my breast ….

No, no, please, no!!!! My god, have mercy....please stop....Nooooooooooooo
 
6.​

He was pleased with effect the cattle prod had on the woman. She did not expect that. Pissing herself, forced to sit there, feeling the pool of piss and sweat under her arse. She looks like one who would be completely humiliated at that.

He can something in her eyes too. Hating the pain, scared, frightened at what will come next. Humiliated too. He knows she will offer anything to get out, suck him off where she is strapped into the chair, fuck him. Probably even offer up a virgin arsehole too. She looks good. Nice firm tits, a tight arse, nice legs. Would get her nowhere though and she would hate doing what she offered so damn much that she would just take it. No fun. He could rape her anyway, if he wanted. Not one of the border guards would say a word.

No. Breaking her is what he wants. He thrives on the torture. Enough of an admission to get the local judge to convict. Then her hanging. Yes, she will hang. And she has her friend too, auburn hair. Dutch, he thought. There is a gleam in his eye. The beginnings of arousal.

He jams the prod hard up under the woman's right breast, the prongs digging deep. His thumb is clear of that red button but she arches her back, twisting to the left, trying to escape the coming shock. She bucks back to the right. He sees her breast bounce but he follows her arches and the prongs remain needled into her soft flesh.

She pleads with him, with her god, for mercy. There is none and he jams the prongs harder against her breast and presses the button again. She screams, Noooooooooooo, and she arches, as far as her bound wrists and ankles will allow, rigid under the prolonged pulsing shock.

When he releases that red button Barbara's body slumps, limp. Her head on her chest. Her breathing is ragged, short, shallow. He picks up a jug of water from a nearby bench and throws it in her face. She gasps, shakes her head, her eyes open. Sees him watching her, his teeth bared, breathing heavily.

One question. The drugs are yours, yes? Barbara desperately shakes her head. No, no, not mine. Planted. Please. She shakes her head wildly and his fist crunches hard against her cheek. Yes. You will admit them soon Ms Moore but now it is time your friend joined you.

As Barbara slumps against her bonds, he leaves by that silently swinging door, turning off the single bright hot bulb as he goes.

She is left alone, in the dark, her body aching from the rigid spasms she endured under the prod. Pain from red burns left by the bright brass prongs in the soft undersides of her breasts. She is sobbing, frightened, deep, deep fear. No, no, not Pia too. Not her.
 
7.​

Dazed, I slowly look up. The room is dark. He has left. Only a sliver of light enters the windowless room from under the door.

My god, what have I gotten myself into here? Off on a carefree holiday; delighted to go to such an exotic destination. I met this girl Pia on the plane. She lives in The Netherlands, and is on holiday too. Found out we were going to be staying in the same hotel. Everything seemed so good.

Then the rude surprise at passport control and customs.

Now look at me. Naked in a dark cell. My sodden hair in my face after being doused with a pail of water. My own pee and sweat pooling up under my bare ass. Aching all over, the undersides of my breasts hurting....such a burning sensation ... from where he shoved the prongs of his prod into them and shocked me.

The room is so quiet. I can hear my shallow breathing, and can feel the pounding of my heart. I have never been so frightened in all my life.

What kind of man is he? I can't figure him out...silent and efficient ... he takes everything in ... I could sense that he was processing when he would stare silently at me ... thinking carefully about his next move.

He made me feel so naked and vulnerable. And when he delivered pain, whether it was binding me to the chair, or administering the electrical shocks, I could see a gleam in his eyes. He was enjoying it!

Wait! Footsteps in the corridor. He is returning. Voices. I can hear Pia's voice. She sounds terrified. They are coming this way. The sliver of light under the door darkens suddenly. I catch my breath ....
 
8.​

The fairer woman is sitting on the hard bench that extends along the back wall of the cell. She is naked, sweating in the stuffy air. Her head is cradled in her hands. No longer trying to cover herself. She is frightened; has been since Barbara was forced around that corner and out of her sight. The border control officer had returned alone and had returned to his post up the stairs, barely glancing at her body as he passed.

He watches her from the end of the corridor. She seems small, slightly built but athletic. Arms and shoulders, her back strong. Not muscled but toned. Hair tinged red, but not quite.

She hears a clang as the bolt slides back and looks up to see a man enter the cell. Doesn't look too bad, she thinks. Nice enough. Then the menace in his soft voice, You are Pia De Vries? Dutch? She can see him reading her passport so she nods. No point. Get up! She obeys him and stands, her left arm automatically trying to cover her breasts, her right over her mound, fingers extending below, over her sex, a trace of modesty.

He grips her upper arm, tight, and propels her out of the cell, around the corner where Barbara disappeared. She knows there is no point in fighting. Down that same corridor, to a heavy closed door. He opens it and pushes her inside, into the dark, then as a switch clicks, she sees her friend bathed under bright hot light, strapped tight on a chair, sobbing. Barb, what? No. The basta....no further as his open hand stings across her face.

He closes the door silently and pushes Pia in front of her friend. His fingers twine in her hair and he forces her to kneel in front of the chair. Her face level with Barbara's. She can smell the brunette's humiliation and fear, her piss and sweat, acrid now. She shudders, worried, he has hurt my friend and look what she did. What will he do to me? How will I endure? Will I piss myself too? Please.....no....

The drugs? Whose? And he sees the women look at each, each questioning the other. It is one of them. One knows but the other does not.

He grasps Pia's wrist with his free hand and forces it up behind her head, locks it with the hand in her hair. Then the other. Wide leather cuffs, tight around slender wrists, lock them together. He stands, reaches high, and pulls down a thick, strong hemp rope and attaches it to the cuffs binding her wrists.

He reaches up again and Pia feels her wrists pulled above her head, stretching her arms upwards. She is hauled to her feet, then onto her toes, her arms straining now as they hold her weight. She kicks out, trying to find a target but he is out of reach. He is behind her, a strong arm around her thighs, a rough rope slid down her leg, tight on her ankle, her leg pulled wide, the rope anchored. A steel loop embedded in the floor. Then she feels the rough hemp on the other ankle, that leg pulled out, anchored. With her legs spread wide, her toes search for support but Pia can no longer touch the floor, no help for her arms, she hangs from her wrists.

The rope creaks under her weight and Barbara's head rises, her eyes at the level of Pia's thighs. She sees how they are spread apart, above them her friend's smooth shaven mound and labia, so exposed, a bare metre away. She can see Pia's legs straining against the ropes that spread them, desperate to close, to hide her sex.

He is out of the pool of light from that single hot bulb but his dark shape is there to the side, near a bench. He is in Pia's sight but Barbara has to crane her neck to see him. Then a white spot highlights him. Instruments of torture along a bench, metal devices, some sharp, some blunt. Rubber truncheons, how would he use those on a woman? Above the bench a neat row of whips, crops, floggers and a vicious scourge hanging from hooks in the wall.

He watches the woman as he touches each whip, looking for her reaction. She flinches at the long sinuous stock whip and at a much shorter red hide one. She shudders as he passes some canes and crops, floggers too, but when he touches a short, multi-tailed cat, its strands of whipcord, 3 or 4 neatly tied blood knots tied into each strand she kicks in her restraints. He is nowhere near her but she wants desperately to strike out at him and to get away.

She has given him his lead. His favourite is too long for this small room, he will begin with the shorter red hide whip. Accurate, its belly burns but the cracker at its tip can sting like a wasp wherever it touches.

Then, when he judges her ready, the cat, that scourge that will shred her. She will suffer, badly. And he will savour that.
 
I don't think this woman has ever, once, had a pain-free vacation :eek:

Trouble even comes to her at home in the US :doh:

All I know is, I'm bloody glad I'm not her travel insurer :rolleyes:

Great writing, Pp and Barb! Sorry I missed it on the other thread! I've hit the 'watch thread' button on this one!
 
Wragg134 said:
I don't think this woman has ever, once, had a pain-free vacation :eek:

Trouble even comes to her at home in the US :doh:

All I know is, I'm bloody glad I'm not her travel insurer :rolleyes:

Great writing, Pp and Barb! Sorry I missed it on the other thread! I've hit the 'watch thread' button on this one!
Click to expand...
...Has anyone had a 'pain-free' vacation if they fly commercial??? :p
 
thehangingtree said:
View attachment 226566
OK, but I don't see how this has anything to do with flying 'commercial'

Tree

...why are you calling me an 'idiot', Ulrika???
Click to expand...

51126_04.jpg That "thing" kind of reminds me of one of the alien characters on the old Star Trek series. Am I in outer space?
 
thehangingtree said:
I have no idea... I am just getting sauced... what, Ulrika???

No I did not go to church this morning... why would I???

...its Sunday??? ...so that's why the paper is fatter....

Tree
Click to expand...

18lro3319hvdhjpg.jpg Ok, so the resemblance isn't so striking...just a crazy thought that ran through my head before i gagged.:rolleyes:
 
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