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PRISONER OF LOVE
and
VIOLET LOVE
By
Elizabeth Batten-Carew
© copyright March 2004 Elizabeth Batten-Carew
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright March 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
PRISONER OF LOVE
One part of Elaine’s brain screamed at her to wake up — to escape the gripping nightmare that held her prisoner — while the other warned her to remain in the relative safety of her subconscious. But reality couldn’t be worse than this.
A vile, pungent odor settled around her, dragging her back to the waking world, gasping for breath. As her eyelids popped open, the tattered, fraying images of her dream parted to reveal black eyes glaring into her own. It felt as though someone had injected a stream of ice water through her spine as the dream melded into reality.
A collection of broken parts coalesced into a face. A misaligned nose, teeth crooked and yellow, pock-marked cheeks, and black, greasy hair. Harsh hands groped at her body. She felt his heavy, foul smelling body lower onto her own, suffocating her, crushing her. Panic stripped her of the calm that shock had wrapped around her these past few days.
"No!" she screamed.
Summoning a strength she’d believed long since drained, she jabbed at him with her palms, clawed at his face, corkscrewed beneath him. All to no avail. His strength dominated her own. He tore her sodden gown from neck to waist, his guttural laugh searing away her last fragment of courage. Whimpering protests tore from her throat. His eyes glazed over as he stared at her naked breasts. She cringed as he reached for one untouched peak. Suddenly, his hand, only a breath away from her vulnerable flesh, stopped. Growling in a language foreign to her, he pushed himself away.
Gasping in relief, she tugged at the tatters of her robe, covering herself. The dreadful beast exited the cell, the barred door clanging shut behind him. Keys jingled as he fiddled with the lock. He clomped away and she remembered the mark on her shoulder.
Of course. The first day here she'd been examined and marked as a virgin.
Still quivering in fear and revulsion, she heard another cell door open and a woman cry out. Elaine buried her head under the pillow to block out the shrieks.
* * * *
The next evening two guards dragged Elaine from her cell and herded her, along with a dozen other women, into the back of a decrepit old truck. Too many of them, crushed into too small a space, they all sat docile, carried away to an unknown fate. They left their fears unspoken, each woman sunk in her own private hell.
Perspiration streamed down Elaine’s face in the sweltering heat of the enclosed space and her gown, held together with a tie torn from the hem, stuck to her soaked body. Her gaze wandered over the trembling women. Is that what I look like? Dirty faced, dressed in threadbare rags, eyes empty of emotion or hope.
When the wagon finally stopped, the guards prodded them down a narrow back alley, toward a splintered wooden door. It creaked open and the prisoners straggled inside. A bulky woman with a scowling face ordered them to wash, then provided them each with a clean white robe. Elaine watched the grime and sweat rinse from her body and swirl down the drain on the concrete floor. If only she could wash her mind free of the soil of these past few days.
Even though Elaine had guessed what would happen next, she watched in horror as a gigantic man dressed in black urged them onto a stage. Hundreds of ogling males cheered. Drooling, the potential buyers watched as the guard dragged each woman in turn onto center stage to be stripped of her robe, then hung on a hook by the bindings at her wrists. Every one screamed and fought against the humiliating treatment.
Elaine’s stomach knotted and she gagged, knowing if she had eaten in the recent past she would have thrown up. Seeing how the barbarians enjoyed the writhing terror of the female flesh displayed before them, she resolved to get through this with some level of dignity. Being a victim didn’t mean having to act like a victim.
When her turn came she steeled herself against engulfing terror. Walking onto the stage with her head held high, her eyes focused beyond the crowd, she disassociated herself from her body. From the happenings on the stage. From herself. She didn't flinch when the hook pulled up and the ropes cut into her flesh.
Dimly aware of the auctioneer’s voice bellowing over the clamor, she felt like a detached observer, ignoring the riotous whooping as he pointed out the mark on her shoulder. Even in her hazy mental state, she sensed the excitement in the room soar as individuals shouted over the din, one after another, the volume increasing with each bid. Then one voice, loud and clear, dominated the others. Silence claimed the room and Elaine’s attention focused on a white robed man who stood among the throng, but somehow apart from it. The others gaped as he strode onto the stage.
She felt his strong hands grasp her waist and lift her from the hook. His ice blue eyes stared at her from a hard, angular face covered by whiskers. Was this her owner? Her naked body slid down the front of him, the feel of his course cotton robe rough against her skin, her gaze held captive by his own. Fear lanced through her as his huge hands slid around her frozen form, sending shivers radiating from every point of contact. Aware of every hard inch of him against her skin, from shoulder to ankle, she gasped, her lungs suddenly incapable of drawing enough air in one breath. His lips took hers in a hard, forceful kiss, the crowd roaring encouragement.
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