The Abduction of Helen
Six in the evening. Another workday was over. Lena, as usual, locked the safe, tidied the documents on her desk, and began preparing to leave for home. She approached the oval mirror hanging on the wall and looked appraisingly at her reflection—petite, with a slender figure. A beautiful, doll-like face with big blue eyes, a turned-up nose, and full lips. Long, light hair was braided into a plait and pinned into a tight bun at the back of her head. The girl adjusted her red sweater, put on her coat, picked up her purse, clicked off the light, and walked out the office door. A few seconds later, the key turned in the lock, and the sound of receding, light footsteps could be heard.
Lena went down the stairs, flew past the concierge, tossing her a "Goodbye, Auntie Masha!" and fluttered out onto the street.
Thick autumn twilight was gradually descending upon the city. The girl turned up her collar and, rustling through dry maple leaves, headed home. Ten minutes later, the gray bulk of the nine-story building she'd known since childhood appeared before her. The entrance door creaked plaintively, and Lena stepped into the dimness of the stairwell. In the silence, the sound of her footsteps on the stairs to the elevator echoed loudly. Pressing the call button, she began patiently waiting for the cabin to arrive.
From somewhere on the left, the figure of a young man in a leather jacket silently appeared. What an interesting face, Lena thought, studying the stranger. He looked about thirty, with thick eyebrows that met on the bridge of his nose, brown eyes, and a nose with a slight hump. The man turned his head, a fleeting smile touched his lips, and he stared again at the glowing button light in the gloom. The elevator was approaching. Soon Lena would go up to the eighth floor and be home. Strangely enough, the prospect of being in a confined space alone with a strange man didn't frighten her at all. For some reason, the sight of the young man didn't inspire any fear—he didn't look like those thugs shown in crime news reports, who raped or killed women in elevators.
The cabin arrived, the doors slid open, inviting them in. The stranger let Lena go first and followed her in. He stood to the left of the girl.
"What floor for you?" Lena asked her random companion.
"Sixth, please," the man answered in a resonant, pleasant baritone.
Lena was slowly coming to her senses. She could hear voices. Male voices. One was familiar. Where had she heard it before? Episodes from the last day began to surface in her memory. Work... the street... home... the elevator... the stranger... The stranger! The man in the elevator—it was him! And the second one? She was hearing the second voice for the first time. An unpleasant, hoarse voice with a strong Caucasian accent.
"Samir, did anyone see you?"
"Relax, it was all clean. I met an old woman downstairs, she asked what was wrong with the little girl, I said the lady had had a bit too much to drink, misjudged her strength, and now her legs wouldn't hold her," the baritone replied.
"You think she believed it?"
"I don't give a damn," exploded the one called Samir. "They couldn't see me, it was dark as a nigger's ass in that stairwell—I couldn't see my own feet, almost took a tumble down the stairs dragging this doll."
"Alright, alright, don't get worked up," the second voice with the accent tried to calm him. "She's what we need. Should be to his liking..."
The kidnappers' conversation was interrupted by a groan from the girl regaining consciousness.
"Looks like she's coming around," noted the owner of the pleasant voice.
Lena opened her eyes and saw two men leaning over her. Their faces seemed foggy—the lingering effect of the sedative.
"Well, how are you?" Samir asked and sat down next to her on the edge of the bed.
"Who are you? What do you want?" the girl shrieked piercingly and, clutching a pillow, huddled into a corner. She fearfully tucked her legs under her and, with wide-open eyes, scanned the room and the two men.
Samir held his palms out in front of him. "Quiet, quiet... Calm down... You won't be harmed if you don't force us to. Believe me, I really wouldn't want that..."
"Yeah," the second one giggled. "Don't wanna ruin such delicate skin as yours. We'd spoil the gift for the boss." He laughed a booming laugh, throwing his head back.
"Shut up, you bastard," Samir jumped up sharply from the bed and stood face to face with the Caucasian. "Say another word like that, and I'll smash your face in," he hissed.
"You're the bastard," the Caucasian threw back, leaving the room. "My mother didn't sleep around with Indians..."
Samir and Lena were left alone.
"What did that second one mean by calling me a 'gift'? Who are you? Where am I? What are you going to do with me?..."
"Too many questions. I gather you already know my name is Samir, the other one is Murtaz, we work for an influential man. His birthday is soon, and his brother, knowing his taste in women, ordered us to bring an appropriate gift..."
"Am I a slave now?" Tears welled up in Lena's eyes.
Samir rubbed his neck nervously with his palm. "It all depends on you. On your behavior and your master's wishes."
"They'll... they'll be looking for me," the girl whispered, choking on tears.
"Undoubtedly," the man agreed. "But we worked very carefully, so your chances of being home anytime soon are slim."
He looked at the crying girl, and his heart tightened, but outwardly it showed nothing—not a single muscle twitched on his face.
"I'll bring you some food now, then rest, gather your strength. I wouldn't advise trying to run—we're on the fifth floor, shouting is useless—the building is slated for demolition. No one else is here but us."
The kidnapper brought food.
"For your own good," he said before leaving and locking the room door.
Lena listlessly started on the food.
Early in the morning, Samir woke her. Under his supervision, the girl washed up and had breakfast.
"Go to the toilet," he ordered. "We have a long journey ahead."
When the girl returned from the bathroom, she saw a large black suitcase standing in the middle of the room.
Noticing her puzzled look, Murtaz smirked mockingly:
"That's for you. You'll travel to your master in it."
"It's necessary. No one should see you," Samir supported him indifferently.
The girl shook her head and backed away from the men.
"Murtaz, chloroform!" Samir commanded.
The girl screamed and tried to bolt, but the two men caught up with her in the hallway. A rag soaked in sedative was shoved in her face, and she lost consciousness.
The kidnappers carried the limp body back, laid it on the soft lining of the suitcase bottom, and bent her legs at the knees.
"Like this," Murtaz said, devouring the young body with his eyes as he closed the lid and zipped it up. "Ready for shipment..."
The SUV drove about a kilometer through the dacha settlement and stopped at massive gates covered with sheet iron, belonging to a three-story mansion. Samir, sitting behind the wheel, honked twice briefly. A guard appeared, greeted the arrivals, opened the gate leaves, and stepped aside to let the car through. After driving a few meters, the car stopped at the porch. Samir turned off the engine. The front door opened, and three men appeared on the porch. They slowly approached the jeep.
"Hello, Samir, hello, my dear! Did you bring me what I asked for?" asked one of them—a tall, stocky man around forty, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. He extended his hand for a handshake to the man who got out of the car.
"Yes, Vik, I brought it."
"Well, show me then! Where's Lyokha's present?" the owner of the mansion asked impatiently.
"The suitcase is in the trunk."
"She hasn't suffocated in there, has she?" Victor inquired.
Murtaz answered for Samir:
"Don't worry, boss—I drilled holes in the suitcase. Delivered in perfect condition. In soft packaging..."
Victor ordered the suitcase to be taken out of the trunk and carried into the house. The two men who had come with him carried out the task.
As they grunted, carrying the girl up the stairs, the owner warned:
"Don't you dare drop her! Ruin the gift, and I'll bury you alive in the garden! Take it to the guest room!"
Passing through a long corridor, the procession with Victor at its head entered a luxuriously furnished room done in pink tones. The suitcase was carefully lowered to the floor.
"Lovely!" the owner said admiringly when his men opened the suitcase. He lightly patted the girl's cheeks to bring her to her senses.
Lena opened her eyes.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty! You're home. I'm Victor, the traitor's brother. And what's your name?"
"Lena," the girl mumbled. She still couldn't come to terms with her new role as a gift for some gangster. She wanted to scream and cry, but the fear of angering the strangers suppressed that desire.
"Alright then," the burly man began giving orders like a master. "Rest now. Tomorrow you need to be in top form. Wash up and eat. You'll have two maids—they'll attend to you. Everyone else, out. I'll come tomorrow."
Everyone left. Lena was alone. Her legs ached from lying uncomfortably in the closed suitcase. She sat on the huge pink bed and looked around the room. By the window with a view of the garden was a Jacuzzi tub, one wall was taken up by a mirror, next to it—a low platform, in the corner stood a TV, an abstract painting above the bed, a low table—all this made up the furnishings of Lena's place of confinement. Opposite the bed was another door—a toilet with a bidet.
Two women entered the room—gypsies by the look of them.
"Hello, dear!" one of them said, revealing gold teeth. She went to Lena and began undressing her, while her partner filled the tub with water. The sweater, jeans, bra, and panties fell to the floor. The naked girl shyly covered her charms with her hands.
The tub filled. Lena was placed in the water, which already had a cap of white foam floating on it. For an hour, the women washed the captive, washcloths carefully cleaning her high breasts, going between her legs, busily passing over her firm buttocks. Lena's legs were shaved, all hair removed from her pubic area and around her anus. Then the girl, dried thoroughly with soft towels, was laid on the bed. The woman who had undressed her took out a small bottle, poured a little oil onto her palm, and began rubbing it into the girl's skin. A soft wave of bliss washed over Lena as the slippery palms massaged her breasts.
"That's it, that's it, dear," the woman murmured, "and now around the nipples... the tummy... the pussy..."
Lena wanted to spread her legs wider so nothing would hinder this masseuse's hand from caressing her there. The palms moved lower, rubbing the oil into her legs.
"Turn over on your tummy, dear," the attendant purred.
Lena obeyed, and immediately skillful hands began kneading the tense muscles of her shoulders, slid down her sides, pausing only when they rested on her plump bottom. The woman took a tube from her pocket, spread the buttocks, and squeezed a little white cream onto the girl's pink anus, then began rubbing it in with light, circular motions.
"What is that?" the girl asked. Such a pleasant coolness...
"A soothing cream. To prevent irritation from the shaving," the masseuse explained.
It all ended with a foot massage.
Lena was dressed in a soft white bathrobe and led to the huge mirror. The masseuse's partner applied balm to Lena's long, knee-length hair and combed it back.
"We'll come tomorrow, dear," the masseuse said before leaving. "Now rest."
The key clicked in the lock, and Lena was alone again. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and couldn't help but admire herself. Her long hair shone, her skin seemed to glow from within. The girl approached the dish on the table, took two tangerines, slowly peeled them, divided them into segments, and ate them, sipping champagne from a glass in small sips.
For the rest of the day, Lena watched TV, choosing only entertainment programs. She wanted to distract herself and not think about what awaited her tomorrow. In the end, the nervous tension and champagne did their job, and Lena fell asleep.
"Good morning, dear!" Lena heard a familiar voice through her sleep. Opening her eyes, she saw her attendants from yesterday. They brought breakfast. The women patiently waited for Lena to eat. Finishing the meat and fruit, the girl wiped her mouth with a napkin and handed over the dirty dishes.
"We must prepare you. There's still time. Undress, dear."
Yesterday's procedure with washing, massage, and hair care was repeated.
"Lie on the bed, my precious," the masseuse said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Good. Now turn on your side." Her assistant brought an enema bag and, lubricating the tip, carefully inserted it into Lena's anus. The masseuse opened the valve, and warm water in a thin stream began to fill the girl's rectum. When the contents of the bag were exhausted, Lena slowly got up and scurried to the toilet. She sat on the toilet, relaxed her sphincter—water gushed from her anus. Wiping herself with toilet paper, Lena returned to the room. Clothes were laid out on the bed: a beautiful light-gray blouse with a belt, a bra decorated with artificial diamonds, a thong, a packet of tights matching the blouse, and next to the bed stood shoes of the same color with high heels. Jewelry was laid out on the table.
Lena put on the panties; the masseuse's silent partner helped fasten her bra.
"Sit on the bed, dear," the attendant smiled. She took the "Filodoro" tights from the packet, rolled them up, and saying "Foot!" to the girl, began rolling the nylon up from the foot. She did the same with the other leg. The woman made Lena stand up and pulled the tights over her bottom.
She gently stroked the girl's luxurious buttocks and said:
"A beautiful bottom in beautiful tights..."
Then, the deeply décolleté silk blouse and shoes were put on. Nails were painted, bright makeup applied to the doll-like face. A necklace, earrings, thin bracelets were put on in sequence, slender fingers adorned with gold rings. __P_END