This is a backstory vignette for Kaysa and Christine, the two girls captured and beginning training in the DevTech mansion in Istanbul introduced in Chapter of ‘Balance of Power’
http://ravishu.com/forums/index.php?topic=45950.30. I decided not to include it in ‘Life Changes’ because they are not part of the Burma Lodge scenes and this will be an extended multi-part story of the two girls, from their perspective.
Disclaimer: This is fiction. Do not interpret it as anything else. This is a story with themes of non-consent, rape, reluctance, sexual manipulation, human trafficking and violence. The acts depicted in this story are criminal and are only acceptable in fantasy. If you are not interested in this type of story, please look elsewhere.
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The lost cheerleader - Part 1“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.” Brad yelled at the petite girl standing in front of him, wearing a yellow crop tank top and white denim miniskirt, navel ring sparking in the bright sunlight that was streaming through the hotel room windows. “I’ve had enough of your shit. Here’s two hundred bucks to catch a bus or something and get on the next plane back to the States.”
“Please, Brad. I just. . .” She whined, moving towards him, hands out in supplication. Fear coursing through her thin frame, her heart in her throat, pounding so she could taste copper, vision blurring with tears.
Throwing the money and her e-ticket onto the bed, he stormed out of the room shouting over his shoulder “I’m going out to get a fucking drink. You’d better be gone when I come back. I don’t want to see you again.”
He slammed the door on the way out, muttering to himself and ignoring her continued appeals. Kaysa stood in the middle of the room, devastated and alone.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She and Brad had been dating for about six months, during her senior year in high school. He was such a catch for a girl like her; tall, handsome and rich, in his senior year at Yale, studying business, destined for Wall Street.
She was just a normal girl from a suburb outside New Haven, never dreaming of an Ivy League education. Normal, except for her looks. She was drop-dead gorgeous, model-like with her Scandinavian heritage, angular features, sultry hazel-green eyes and soft amorous lips that made men think bad things. But rather than being blond, she had silky brown hair, that she liked to keep pulled back in a thick ponytail to show off her beautiful features, radiant without the need for much makeup.
It was her looks that had attracted Brad as she pranced around in her cheerleader uniform, on the sidelines of a local high-school football match that his friends had reluctantly dragged him to. Her grace and moves with that tight flexible little body captivated him and made him want to fuck her then and there on the field.
But he waited until after the match and persuaded her to go out for a coffee, even though she resisted at first, not wanting to appear too easy. His knowledge, humour and Mustang enchanted her and soon they were dating seriously. Months later leading to him proposing the trip to the Turquoise Coast in south-west Turkey.
The first week of the vacation had been glorious, swimming by day, partying by night, and fucking all day and night. Kaysa loved sex, particularly with a man she adored. She’d been sexually active since fifteen, when a line-backer had taken her virginity at an after-party. That wasn’t so much fun, the pain, the booze and his loutish behaviour, making her feel queasy and used.
But after that, she’d had a string of older boyfriends who made her feel like a princess and made her cum like a slut. She discovered that with the right stimulation and attention, she had a hair-trigger to orgasm, a trait that was the envy of her friends and the delight of her boyfriends. Her looks and sexuality ensured that they doted on her and made her feel special, going some way to overcoming the doubts and insecurities she had about her other abilities.
She was an average student, but that was not what mattered. She defined herself by her cheerleading and the social status it brought. She was not snobby, but desperately wanted to excel and be the main flyer or chair captain of the squad, to be the centre of attention. Unfortunately, she was insecure and unsure of herself and her lack of self-confidence meant she held herself back at the critical moments. So, no matter how hard she tried and how much she wanted it, she was always a spotter supporting the high-flyers, and over time this became a self-fulfilling prophesy.
These feelings came to a head in her relationship with Brad, because in this she was number one. All her friends envied her, including that cow of a squad captain, Debbie. She relished the attention she got and flaunted the trip to Turkey.
But as the first week drew to a close, it seemed Brad became distracted. The abundance of beautiful European girls with sexy accents and immodest clothes had an impact on his wandering eye. She found him increasingly talking to them, in clubs or on the beach, until the previous night she saw him kissing a blond German girl, his hands groping her like he was a teenager.
Not wanting to cause a scene, she stormed off to their room, seething. Sitting in bed and waiting for him to return. Which he did, two hours later, drunk and smelling of perfume.
“How could you, Brad? You embarrassed me.” Her voice a combination of fighting and whining, reflecting the turmoil of emotions swirling inside her small figure. It felt like cheerleading all over again, being relegated to beta. “Don’t you love me?”
“Aaaaww, babe. It meant nothing.” Slurred words, meaningless content. “Don’t get uptight. I’m here with you now, aren’t I?”
“I can’t talk to you like this.” She rolled over, giving him the cold shoulder. He just put on the TV, grabbed another beer and watched music videos, mentally comparing her to the sophisticated women he’d been chatting to and then the one he fucked that night. He passed out clothed on the couch, rather than get into bed.
Things were no better the next morning, because she wouldn’t back down. He had been getting a bit bored of his ignorant young American girlfriend when there were so many hot cultured chicks around. Ones that he felt were more his style and what he deserved and a potential Wall Street mogul. Being hungover didn’t help his mood nor his reasoning, so he walked out of the room leaving her with two hundred dollars, expecting her to just go quietly.
She didn’t. She tried to talk with him in the bar, pleading, apologising, begging, tears streaming down her face. He just got irritated, went up to the room, stuffed her clothes into her bag and dumped it in the passage, pushing her out the door with a final “Fuck off home.”
And that is how she found herself, hailing a cab for the airport, suitcase in hand, after a long bus ride to Istanbul. The nice cab driver offered her a bottle of water, sympathetically nodding when she sobbed out her whole story as they drove endlessly through the small streets of the old city, feeling more and more drowsy as the trip carried on. . .
She woke with a headache, bad taste in her mouth, blinking against the bright lights of a featureless light olive-green painted room. Lying crumpled in a heap on the concrete floor as if discarded beside a heavy table, but surprisingly no chairs. Her legs were akimbo, flashing her panties, but fortunately no one around to see.
As she tried to close her legs and sit up, she felt her body aching, as if she had been run over by a steam-train. Like when she’d had a heavy drunken party the night before, but she hadn’t drunk anything and couldn’t be hungover. Why was she sore?
“Hey is anybody there?” She shouted into the void of the room, sounds echoing off hard unforgiving walls. Crawling painfully to her feet, walking slowly to the door, banging and repeating her refrain. But no answer.
What had happened? Why was she here? She’d been in the cab, crying, talking, drinking water, feeling sleepy. And then nothing. And now alone in a silent room with no windows. She shuffled slowly around, testing the walls, occasionally shouting, but still nothing.
Her mind started whirring. This was how all those abduction films started, or crime thrillers. The girl locked in a room for ransom, or false accusations, or . . . She wouldn’t let her mind go there. This was Turkey, the land of ‘Midnight Express’, which she’d recently seen on Netflix. But she didn’t have drugs so it would be okay, just a misunderstanding.
No one would ransom her, because her family wasn’t rich. Could it be for Brad? Someone thinking he would pay for her return. Well, she’d just have to tell them it was over. They’d get nothing from that asshole.
“HEY. LET ME OUT. THIS IS A MISTAKE.” Yelling and bashing at the heavy metal door with the fingerprint lock. She was trying to see if she could activate it, when the door clicked and in strolled a tall heavyset man with a mean look. And then another, and two more. They all looked the same, close-cropped hair, unshaven, brutishly ugly, large, at least a foot taller than her diminutive five-foot stature.
