When Conley came to, he was on his stomach, hands bound behind his back and his mouth stuffed full of some foul-tasting gag. All the lights were out and the compartment was pitch-dark.
What the fuck had happened? Where was he?
Slowly it all came back to him …
He recalled taking the gorgeous Russian flight attendant back into the Executive Boudoir of his private jet. They had been sitting on the edge of the bed, Helena giving him a slow, erotic thigh-and-neck massage, interspersed with long, languid, sinfully sensual soul kisses.
In two seconds, she’d gotten him hornier than he’d ever been in his entire life.
He’d briefly felt a twinge or two of remorse—after all, he was a believing Christian, a married man and had eight children—but, strangely enough, he didn’t feel all that guilty. The eight Screwdrivers Helena had pumped into him, the lurid massage, the libidinous kisses and the lascivious lap dances had sent his lust soaring somewhere north of Polaris, dispelling any doubts or hesitations as if they were dust in the wind.
His universe consisted of one thing and one thing only—the beautiful Russian woman gyrating her ass on his crotch and exploring his esophagus with her tongue.
And then suddenly, inexplicably his whole world had gone black.
* * *
Damn, he wished he could see something. He was trussed up so tight he couldn’t move a muscle, and the bitch had not only stuffed his mouth with an excrement-reeking, piss-stinking rag, she’d shoved it halfway down his throat. He could barely breathe, let alone grunt.
Still he managed to squirm and emit a weak, mouse-like squeak, which apparently got someone’s attention. He sensed another person getting up and approaching him.
“So you’re awake now, right?”
He sensed Helena’s vague form hovering over his bed.
“Hope the gag isn’t too unpleasant, Director Conley. I didn’t have much to work with and had to improvise.”
All Conley could do was squirm helplessly.
“The only items I had at my disposal were your seriously soiled underwear and your foul-smelling socks. Really, Director Conley, doesn’t anyone wash your clothes? You used to run the FBI. Good help can’t be that hard to find, but we made do with what we had. It all worked out in the end.”
Conley struggled unsuccessfully to force out a sound.
“In any event, I hope you enjoyed your Screwdrivers. Tasty beverages, weren’t they? Of course, I added a little extra spice to yours. Comes from an only recently discovered flower found only in the Brazilian rain forest. One of our scientists discovered it down there. Wow, that extract we distilled from it is mean! That stuff does major-league damage to a person’s insides. I can’t tell you how excited President Putilov was when the man first told him about it. I heard he jumped up and down with excitement. In fact, our president immediately sent a small army of botanists down there to harvest the entire crop. Isn’t that exciting?”
Suddenly, Conley felt an ominous cramping in the pit of his stomach.
Helena divined his discomfort.
“It’s reaching your small intestines about now, isn’t it? Right on time. You are feeling its effects, correct?”
Shit, he was. In fact, his duodenum was not only burning up, the flames were blazing a southern path, spreading lower, lower, hotter, hotter, more and more horrific, every inch of his digestive tract blazing with agony.
“And guess what, Director Conley, you’re our first subject—other than a few experimental chimpanzees, that is. I saw the footage of those creatures’ last few hours. God, those little simians suffered. They went through hell on earth, and you know the most amazing part of their ordeal?”
She had to put a hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles.
The former FBI director twisted and writhed in stone horror but could not force out a sound. Hysterical with panic, he shook helplessly from side to side.
What the fuck is happening! he muttered noiselessly to himself. I thought Tower and Putilov were my friends. I made Tower president. Those two promised to make me a senator. They were going to make me Tower’s VP. We had a deal! Promises were made!
But now a flood of almost indescribable agony was tsunami-ing through his entrails like they were Fukushima at full flood. He could feel his eyes bulging and walling wildly, rolling back into his head, swelling with terror and rage until he feared they’d pop out of their sockets. It felt as if that big beautiful blond-haired blue-eyed Russian bitch had inundated his abdomen with molten lead instead of Screwdrivers. He wanted to scream, but Helena had shoved his dirty, stinking shorts and putrid socks so deep down his throat he could barely inhale, let alone roar.
And then, suddenly, he sensed Helena hovering over him and felt her remove the blindfold, the bright lights temporarily blinding him. Then he could smell her vodka breath and hear her soft clucking chuckles. His vision began to clear, and he could make out her face.
The slut was … smiling.
Aaaarrrggggghhhhh! the former director soundlessly sobbed.
“So make yourself comfortable. I told the captain that you were meeting your wife and kids in Florida and that President Tower was putting you up at that big resort hotel of his on Isle Morado, so kick back. You’re in for a really great trip—the flight of a lifetime.”
Now Conley was uncontrollably hysterical. His back was arching hard enough to snap his spine, and his lips had pulled back in a feral snarl so terrifyingly taut that only the gag, teeth and gums showed, and all the while, Helena’s chortling laughter burbled in his ears, and her scintillating smile glittered merrily in his tear-filled eyes.
“Look at it this way, Mr. Director: You wanted to run with the big dogs? Well guess what? Big dogs bite.”
Then she was leaning over him, kissing his cheek, her treacherous tongue darting in and out of his ear, her breath rasping hoarsely.
Shit, the bitch was aroused.
“Think of it as a little like sexual assault, Mr. Director,” she said, her breath heaving with depraved desire, kissing his neck and rubbing up against him. “Remember what macho boys like you, Putilov and Tower are always saying about forcible rape? When it’s inevitable, just lay back and enjoy the fuck out of it.”
Suddenly she was on him, grinding her crotch against him, up and down, up and down, so close and clinging it felt as if she were him, and he were her. Then the only thing in his whole world were her groans, moans and her violently voluptuous orgasms.
Then she was gone, and he was lost and alone with only the firestorm below and the despair in his soul, racking his brain and inflaming his pain.