Thread: Transporting Taylor (Dere and skittish_butterfly)

The policemen battered Taylor's weary body so hard the wooden bench she was tied down to squeaked as it rocked back and forth beneath her, so hard she absolutely hated them, not that her feelings seemed to matter to them at all. They were pushing so hard into her it felt like they were having a contest to see which one could spear her soul with his cock first, and it was almost a relief couldn't feel her soul anymore, not like usual, not since the goat, so their filthy cocks couldn't actually touch it. She tried to fill her mind with thoughts of anything else besides being raped by two vile, sweaty men at the same time, the cops playing sexual ping pong with her as they pounded her torso back and forth from both ends. The heavier man's cock seemed shorter than her kidnappers, yet just long enough to pushed past her overactive gag reflex and thick enough to stretch her throat like a small snake swallowing a large mouse, forcefully reaming it out like a stubborn clogged pipe. Her only relief was the painful smashing of his hard belly against her nose, his harsh bristly hairs scritching against her upper lip and cheeks, telling her it wasn't possible for him to push himself into her throat any deeper although, that didn't stop him from holding himself there for long suffocating seconds, pushing and squirming ever so slightly as if he might somehow sprout another centimeter to choke her with. Taylor tried to breath through her nose as he held himself in her throat, her fingernails clawing the wood as disgust and panic overwhelmed her, but it was useless. The thinner cop battering her from behind kept her body moving and jerking against the wood forcefully enough that she couldn't stop gagging and retching, unable to breath around the bile and mess rising up around the thick meat plug in her throat. It seemed to Taylor that head policeman must be able to see the starts as they began spinning in dark clouds around her fading sight at the end of each deep thrust, telling him it was time to pull out for a second to give her half a gasp as thick wet saliva ran down her chin and tears down her cheek. And the man behind her seemed to love picking that moment to smack her bottom so hard any breath she took ended up a miserably croaked yelp of pain the other cop immediately choked off again. It seemed impossible to Taylor she could think of what they were doing as worse than her kidnapper's earlier abominations, but she couldn't help it. Even after having been forced to suck a goat, and raped in her ass, it was the her present torment, so unending she feared this might be her last experience of this Earth, that had her tears flowing with a self-pity that should have been utterly beneath the Taylor Swift she thought she remembered. The pangs of desolation she felt stabbing her heart left her questioning her own resolve, her identity as the girl who would succeed no matter what, no self-pity allowed. She tried to swallow the bitter self-pity down into the pit of her stomach but her throat was plugged with thick cock and misery. Taylor couldn't breath, the bare skin and soft flesh of her arms and legs banging uselessly in protest against the wooden legs she was bound to. Her bottom hurt worse than she could tolerate and felt the tears running down her face like a little girl unable to take any more of the pain, not a strong woman who could stand up to anything. And the cocks, her world filled with their cocks, reduced to long hard thick flesh invading her and hurting her, taking pleasure from her pain. The men's grunts grew louder, their sweat dripping all over her shoulders and back and bottom, and their possessive hands gripped and pulled at her hair and burning bottom even harder, trying to see if they could snap her in two around their cocks. Finally the long thin cock pushing into her from behind pressed and stayed deep, forcing her face hard against the fat man's warm belly until her dark vision was filled with stars again. She could hear the man behind her grunting and groaning and then his body going utterly tense against her blazing bottom as she pulse inside her, and Taylor just knew he was filling her with his seed, the man yelping with ecstasy as his cock worked at impregnating her. Taylor couldn't even shudder in disgust, too weak, too trapped, too helpless to do anything but lie limply across the splintery wood and take it. The two men must be a team synchronized by long practice to cum together in their raping, or perhaps it was just the feeling of Taylor's helpless throat gulping uselessly for air but instead just sucking in saliva and mess from her throat and the disgusting scent of his cock, but something set the fat man off too. It wasn't enough for him to just cum down her throat, but he had to jerk painfully at her hair, growling until her eyes blinked tearfully up at him, feeling so close to all her lights going out and hating the thought he would be the one to watch her slowly fade away. But somehow the sight was enough to push him over the edge, and instead of staying buried in her throat he pulled her head up and his hips back, pulling his cock from her mouth just as he erupted. Taylor gasped desperately for breath, all but inhaling his first hard jet of cum, but he came again and again and again, covering her face with rope after thick white rope of it, as if he'd been saving up a lifetime's worth of seed waiting for Taylor's face to finally receive it. She felt the hard spurts landing on her forehead and trickling down in her eyes, landing in her hair, making an utter mess of her. But she lay limp, her head held up only by his painful grip in her hair, until finally the heavier man let go with one hand to smear the last of the cum oozing from his cock across her cheek and then release her hair completely so her head lolled downward, cum dripping ever so slowly from her face. Taylor was utterly beaten, nothing left. She lay limp, too weak even to sob, even the simple act of existing requiring more energy and self-respect than she had left in her aching body. She felt sperm trickling between her legs, aware of its sickening potency and unable to squeeze it out of herself, another load on her face impregnating her mind with despair if not her womb with a corrupt police baby. The vile man was cursing at her in some language, and even without understanding a single word he managed to make her feel lower than a dog. And then they walked away, leaving her draped over the wood, dripping with cum and sweat, breathing unsteadily, listening with half an ear for what they might plan for her next, her other half ear too afraid to want to hear. But she did catch snippets of their words as the policemen pulled up their trousers again, stuffing away their emptied cocks with satisfied sighs she could hear quite clearly. She knew one was sitting next to where she thought her kidnapper had sat down, the fat one from the sound of the chair squeaking under his frame, while a sink short ways away flowed with water into a basin, making her ache for a shower to wash away the filth, a mouthful to gargle away the disgusting taste of sweaty cock, and maybe an preemptive abortion. Taylor tried never to get too tied to any position on the abortion issue, knowing that half her fans wanted choice, half her fans thought it was murder. But at that moment, if she could have had one wish, even before being set free she might have wished for a surgical abortion, a top doctor to go inside her with micro-forceps and extract every last vile sperm one by one from her womb until she could pretend she was clean again. But there were no wishes, not for her, and Taylor gave up even praying for it, knowing she was already full of her kidnappers sperm as well. All her commitment to abstinence over abortion and all it had gotten her was a bellyful of little rapist babies, and she wouldn't even know which devil was the father until it was too late. She prayed for her own infertility, not sure God even answered such prayers. A few words penetrated the haze of her weary prayer. before they left, she's really worried about them using their names so openly. they must plan to kill her right? isn't that what they always said in the movies if they let you see their faces or identify them, then they're going to kill you. She had to do something, assuming she even cared about living anymore. that fear extends as he approaches her, the knife still in hand, which is why she's so aware of it when he sheaths it before lying down on top of her. The fat man's voice. It made her want to puke, as if his cock was food poisoning and his voice like a finger down her gullet. Something about a second turn, talking about her like she was nothing more than a hole he wanted a chance to abuse and impregnate as well. Taylor slumped in her bonds, no point to even struggling, all but resigned to her fate. What did it even matter which man's sperm won the race? At least if he took her from behind, she wouldn't have to taste him and smell him. Taylor recognized a different accent in reply, her kidnapper. No marks. Hand it over. It. She was it. Purchaser. Taylor felt her fate sealing around her. Rape and abuse. How could someone buy her? She was one of the richest women in the world. And yet that's exactly what she heard, she was almost certain. Her throat hurt too much, her lungs still struggling too hard to draw in remedial air to beg them to let her buy herself, to ask her father for more money than however much her purchaser had paid. She just croaked weakly and then slumped again on the wood. She heard more, the fat man spewing his vile dialect and she didn't need to understand him to hate him. Then English again, with an accent that made her shudder. The fat man was sending her kidnapper and Sajur away. Sajur. Taylor tensed on the wooden plank, eyes fluttering with a memory, maybe a TV show or maybe some rape defense class, she wasn't sure, but they had used the man's name Sajur. That meant something, something bad, she just knew it. Five minutes, it was settled. She was going to have to survive five more minutes in this hell before she could be taken to the next level for more. There was an altercation, some sort of male energy in the room Taylor couldn't totally understand but she could feel crackling in the air, and her kidnapper and Sajur slouched out of the room, or at least that's what their footsteps sounded like to her as she stared at the floor, watching long strands of sperm drip from her nose and chin to puddle beneath her on the floor. Taylor tensed instinctively as the softly singing fat man drew near and then touched her, his fingers touching her leg, almost tickling her side. If he was her personal trainer testing her body fat she might have accepted it, but it felt like he was just evaluating her body, judging her, deciding how badly he wanted her. He stroked her and pinched her and taunted her with his English words, implying she could possibly have enjoyed being raped like that. She was too weak and afraid to shake her head until she felt his fingers between the cheeks of her bottom, wet, like he hadn't bothered to wipe his own sperm from his hands yet, and then he pressed a finger at her smallest hole, making her remember being raped there, and she groaned as he pushed it into her tightness. She shook her head, moaning no, no, no, answering his question and everything else with a no. But he just accused her of being a wet slut as he pushed another finger into her, discovering the sloppy mess Sajur left inside her. And he had used his name too. Naidu. Neither policeman cared if she knew their names. She was going to die. Or never be found at least. That's what it meant. She was never going to be able to testify to their crimes, and they knew it. She watched with growing horror as he pulled out a knife, a growing fear he was just going to end her right then, protect his career from the risk of letting the girl he raped survive. When he instead cut the tight ropes from around her wrists and ankles it was scarce comfort, her eyes helplessly tracking the knife in his hand even as he rolled her roughly from the wooden horse to fall with a pained thump and a groan to the hard floor. She landed on her back, staring up at him as he came closer with the knife to stand over her, to stare at her naked body. His boot kicked her ankles apart wider, as if she would have to work very hard to accept his fatness between her legs. Taylor watched him drop his pants, shuddering at the sight of his cock again, like she could smell and taste it again already, his cum still wet and slimy on her face. She wanted to reach an arm, finally free, up to wipe her face off, but he shook his head, and then laughed and knelt between her legs. Her eyes left his cock, focusing on the knife as he stowed it away in the sheath. Her whimper came automatically as he lowered himself between her legs. Maybe it was better if he did just stab her to death with the knife rather than his cock, before she gave birth to a three headed rape baby, before he defiled her body even more. The knife. As he pushed his way up her torso, his cock against her thigh and his face and hot cumin breath clouding her senses, Taylor felt the knife's sheath against the inside of her drawn up knee. It wasn't a plan, in fact for a moment, it felt like she reached for it just to kill herself, but she reached for the knife with a fast reckless grab, made possible only because she felt she had nothing left to lose anymore, even if he did catch her. What would he do to her? Rape her again in the five minutes? But somehow he was so involved in staring into her face, giving her a rotting leer, that he didn't even notice until it was too late. Taylor's hand came away with the knife, not really aware it was pure luck he hadn't bothered snapping the flap over the knife in his hurry to sheath his cock inside her too. Taylor flipped the blade around without even looking, long summers on the Christmas Tree farm spent whittling wooden microphones and miniature guitars coming back to her in an instant. Her other hand needed a target to grip, and before she could reach for his throat, she felt his cock at her opening, slimy and thick and twitching eagerly. Her left hand reached between her legs and gripped his thick shaft while she brought the knife's blade to the root of his cock, threatening the entire thing. The feel of him, thick and slick in her grip, made her grimace, like baiting a hook or gutting a fish. But she'd done those things, and she would do this too. She didn't have any alternative. His eyes went wide with recognition at the same instant her voice weakly coughed the order to him to get up or he would lose it. She kept him tight in her grip as he slowly pushed him self up to his knees on the floor still between her widespread legs. Taylor desperately looked around the room for anything she could work with as she pulled herself up to a sitting position with a pull on his cock that made him yelp and beg her to forgive him, blaming Sajur for everything in panicked English. Taylor didn't like her position at all, sitting as he knelt over her, her hand at his cock, only the knife threatening him to make clear she wasn't about to suck him again. Oh how she wanted his sperm off her face. Take off your shirt, slowly, very slowly, and drop it on the floor next to me. She gave his cock a squeeze, trying to think of it as a thick hard fish she didn't want to get away, making sure he knew he had to do as she said. Slowly, his words trying to talk her out of the knife as he moved, he unbuttoned the last buttons and then pulled it off, leaving himself in a sweat stained undershirt as the blue police shirt fluttered to the floor beside her. She yearned to pick it up and wipe her face clean on it, but it wasn't safe yet. Your handcuffs, take them, from your pants. She gave his cock a jerk and pulled the knife ever so slightly, all but nicking him to let him know she meant business. She was going to die anyway, or suffer for eternity, so what did it matter to her if she took his cock along with her, he had to believe it. Inside, even in her awful predicament, Taylor felt so uneasy with what she was doing, not sure she could go ahead with it if she needed to, focusing only on the threat. She saw his hands shaking as he reached down to his side and managed to get the cuffs free from his bunched up trousers. Now, cuff your wrist to that metal table leg! It looked bolted to the floor, as if the government knew the kind of men who policed its streets and worried they would steal the table if it weren't locked down. She heard the ratchety clicks, then the next, a clanking around the table leg. That's good. Now don't move. Taylor released his cock and scooted away as fast as she could, grabbing at the shirt as she scuttled backward, the red marks of the beating on her bottom making her wince and whimper across the hard floor. But she was out of his reach. Free? Not yet, not exactly. Five minutes. Maybe two were gone already. So she was free for three minutes. What could she do in three minutes? She picked up the shirt and started to wipe her mouth with it, but then looked at the door out of the room opposite the one her kidnapper had left through. Was there another exit? To the outside? Taylor looked at him. She could wipe her mouth on his tshirt, but she would need his shirt and pants at least no filthier than he'd already made them. It took all her resolve to wait a little longer to wipe off the cum on the shirt, knowing she needed it, thinking even of wiping her face on the floor, like a dog with a terrible itch. Taylor shrugged her slender arms and shoulders into the man's shirt shirt, buttoning it up in front of her and covering her breasts from Naidu's leering view. When was the last time she'd been able to cover herself properly? Taylor tried to get up to her bare feet but stumbled, then tried again and got to the other table and picked up a gun lying there. She could feel the big shirt just reaching just below her hips, barely covering her private parts. If she wanted to escape to the outside, she was going to need his pants. And his undershirt to wipe her face clean. She knew where the safety was on the gun but didn't release it, not really wanting to shoot him, not for real, not ready to end another's life no matter how richly he deserved it. Taylor was raised to know the date of a man's death wasn't hers to decide but God's. Some might say God had put the gun in her hand, but then they'd have to say God had put her naked in this room too, and she wasn't ready to go down that path. And she only had two and a half minutes or so left now. She stepped closer to Naidu but not close enough for him to reach her, and slowly raised the gun at him. Yes, I know where the safety is. Do what I say or I'll shoot you in the... the... balls... got it? Taylor lowered her aim, finding it came easy to at least think of the new target. Now, take off your pants too. I need pants to get out of here! And... and your undershirt. Naidu stared back at her, his cock still half hard but fading. Stupid American cow, how can I take off my undershirt now that you've cuffed my arm to the table?! He didn't seem worried she was going to shoot him, so she flicked the safety off. Fine. It wasn't fine, she wanted to wipe her face on the tshirt, but she could find something else once she got out of the room. Just give me the pants. He didn't move. Five seconds. Ten seconds. He just grinned at her defiantly as her precious seconds of remaining freedom ticked away, one pounding heartbeat at a time. Fifteen seconds. Taylor moved the gun a few inches to the side and fired a shot into the floor to his left. The bullet ricocheted and slammed into the leg of her wooden rape table, making her smile like Thelma or Louise, she couldn't remember which one. More bullets. Not much time. Your choice Mr. Naidu. Why couldn't she call him some horrible name he deserved like the way the men spoke about her? Her father called it being raised right, but at the moment it just felt wrong, but the worst thing she could think of was stink face and that would just make it worse, she knew. Naidu began kicking his legs trying to work his trousers off. At that moment, there was a noise, a screeching of tires turning in too tight a radius just in the other side of the door. Taylor's head turned to the noise instantly in a panic her hair flying like she was dancing on stage, except for the locks plastered with Naidu's cum to her forehead. She turned back to the policeman and he was grinning at her, no longer kicking at his pants. I need the pants! Take them off! But he just grinned even wider. Then come take them off me, pretty American whore. Then you can suck me off before they come in the door and this will all be forgiven, mostly. Taylor gasped in shock at the picture developing in her mind, her choices narrowing. And in the end all she could do was flee through the door on the other side of the room, leaving Naidu cackling behind her, regretfully alive and with both balls still intact. She turned in a dim hall, following it to an upward stairwell. She went up the stairs, her bare feet padding on the concrete, and emerged in a foyer with a glass door opening to the bustling marketplace outside. The was a little counter and on it was a small sign including the word Sajur -- the man whose sperm was still up inside her, but at least not here at his desk. If she could get to her father, maybe her life wasn't over, maybe she could have an abortion or a... or a whatever-the-options were. If she really was pregnant, though, she knew she would end it, any way she could. There was nothing behind the desk to wipe her face on, and she ended up tilting her head to wipe her mouth and face on her long right sleeve, leaving a long slimy trail of cum on the blue material. The shirt was longer in the arms than she expected, as if he kept the cuffs rolled up, but for now her hands didn't stick fully all the way out the arms, leaving just her fingers sticking out the unbuttoned cuffs. No time to fix it, not now though. No time to find pants of wipe her face off any better, or the cum in her hair. It was leave now, or stand here waiting for them to catch her and lock her up and rape her again probably. Taylor set down the gun, worried someone would get hurt if she held it any longer, especially with the safety still off. And she pushed the door open to emerge naked but for Naidu's filthy shirt into the teeming market and the midday heat. She expected everyone to turn toward her lewd appearance all at once, to point at her, but with so many dressed in different colored variations of torn rags and unwashed shirts, she didn't stand out as much as she'd feared. Of course, there weren't any other long legged blond girls, barefoot and with cum in their hair in the vicinity, so Taylor immediately checked for some sign of safety or shelter she could flee to and hide from the men she was certain would be chasing her. She looked left, along the row of ramshackle buildings that ended with the police office she'd emerged from, and saw two officers relaxing about 100 yards away at a corner. Taylor took one barefoot step toward them, but then stopped in a panic and marched the other way. She couldn't trust the police, not here, maybe not anywhere ever again. Taylor walked as quickly as her shaky legs could carry her, her bare feet hopping delicately on the hot griddle pavement, feeling the cum curdling in her belly, nauseating her as much as her hunger and thirst, and her surprising need to pee. But she ignored every need in her body, focusing on evaluating every shopkeeper she passed, looking for the one she might be able to trust to help her. The men, young and old alike, all gave her variations of the same look, some openly ogling her bare legs, other's giving her the hint of a look in the eyes but their gazes casually dropping lower like she wouldn't notice as she passed by. How could she trust any of these men not to simply rape her again? Taylor felt like crawling under a table of fruit, curling up in a little ball, and crying until her father just came for her, because there was nothing but rape and fear and self-loathing left in her world. ------------ The heat made Rajani feel older than her 60 years as she slowly worked to sweep up the mess Naidu's men had made of her son's store the previous night. She had told him to set aside Naidu's money at the beginning of the month, but now that she was just a senile old woman good for nothing but sweeping and sewing, he never listened anymore, and look what it had brought them. Half the shop was a mess and they'd lost more in broken merchandise than if Rajesh had simply paid the men to begin with. Rajani looked up from the broken tea set as she heard a small commotion coming from her left and her first worry was a return of Naidu's men, even though they'd given Rajesh a week to pay up. But there were no men, at least not coming for her. They were all staring with a look she wished she remembered better at a long legged blond whore in nothing but a blue shirt. As the woman drew nearer, Rajani recognized the shirt. She looked the woman quickly up and down while the woman was busy flinching from all the male attention, and saw the slick smear on her cheek, the rope-textured indentations at her ankles and wrists, the way she walked as if she'd had a cricket bat forced up inside her. But most importantly she saw the little name badge sewn into the pocket of the blue shirt she barely wore, with the name Naidu embroidered on it. The poor girl probably didn't even know what it said. Rajani stepped out into the dusty walkway, speaking like she did to her many grandchildren, the ones born to her children that still listened to her. Dear, my dear. Her English had always been excellent, and she wished Rajesh had paid attention enough to learn it in school or even from her or the television he loved to watch at the bar. Can I help you, dear. Rajani fussed over the girl and led her by the elbow into her little shop. The girl looked behind her a few times, but followed her with barely a second thought. Rajani could see the girls legs were shaky, and she was in no shape to run. It was her own chair that she offered the blond woman. Here, please, sit for a moment. Maybe.... Rajani thought quickly. Maybe you would be willing to exchange that excellent shirt, such a lovely blue, for an inexpensive sari? You would fit in just like an Indian woman. Would you like that? She wouldn't fit in. Not with that hair sticking out. Not with that figure and the sari clinging to those legs and hips. But that didn't matter. She just needed to keep the girl engaged. Rajani saw the long slimy streak on one of the sleeves of the blue shirt, and then the girl wiped her face and her hair on the other, making the old woman wince with disgust, but she said nothing. The blond just looked up at her. Thank you, thank you that's so kind, I... I would more than repay you. I'm rich you know, and... when I get back... my money... I just want you to know I'd be very, very, VERY grateful for any assistance. The blond said it like she thought her father owned the mint. The Americans always thought they had soo much money and that everyone would do anything at all for a few coins worth of gratitude. The blond looked out the front of the shop and then back to the Rajani. I just, yes, a sari would be perfect. And... I know this is asking a lot, but would you have a bathroom? The girl looked like she was going to burst just asking. And something to eat and drink? I'd be so grateful, like I said. Rajani was careful to smile as hospitably as she could. Of course dear. In the back, there's a curtained off changing area, also the bathroom -- I'm sorry, this isn't quite Nieman Marcus is it? But if you'll change out of the shirt and pass it to me, you can try on this sari. And I'll send my son, Rajesh, to fetch you some food and water -- bottled water of course! She gave Rajesh a pinch on his ear to drag his attention away from the blond woman's glistening thighs, and she started explaining to him in Hindi what was going on. Rajesh, pay attention to me now because this is very important. She turned to the blond woman with a smile. I'm just telling him to get you food and water. Then back to Rajesh, in Hindi, which was all he understood, Go to the police station. Tell... our friend there... she didn't want to use Naidu's name for fear the blond might recognize the sound of it. ... tell him we've found his shirt and he can have it back, but only if he excuses all of our debt, now and in the future, and pays damages for last night of... Rajani looked at the blond whore, doing some thoughtful calculations of how much she might be worth, 200, no 300 dollars. Go! Rajani turned back to the blond and helped her up from the low wooden chair, studiously ignoring how the blond exposed herself in the shirt as she stood up. There, he'll be back in a few minutes with something for you. She led her back into the dim back storage area and pulled open the front of the curtained off bathroom, calling it he changing room for the girl. Go on, change and give me the shirt, and we'll get you fixed up in a jiffy. The blond woman frowned. One last thing, you've been so much help already, I'm really afraid to even impose, but.... do you think I could borrow your phone? Rajani thought quickly, considering how much damage the girl could do with a cell phone in Hindi before Rajesh returned with Naidu. Well, certainly my dear. Take your time. Your gratitude is enough for me. And she held out her own cell phone. Do you read Hindi? The blond shook her head, which relieved Rajani for it meant she would barely be able to use it and because she wouldn't recognize Naidu's name buried in the contact list. Very well, you just press here, on the green button to send a call. The blond woman looked like she was trying very hard not to tell her how much she knew about cell phones. No matter. Rajani just shooed her into the dim curtained off bathroom and sat down at the entrance to make sure she didn't leave. It was a good, good day. Inside the little bathroom, Taylor slipped out of Naidu's smelly, sweaty, cum smeared shirt, grimacing a little at her aching shoulder and muscles. She was so lucky to have found the old shop keeper lady. She could hide back here until her call brought help, with the woman in front probably the best cover she could ask for if Naidu's men came searching this way. Taylor wiped her face one more time, more thoroughly now, and then spat in anger and disgust on the cum stain her face left on the blue material. She was naked now, but it was better than having Naidu's presence against her skin. With one hand she reached through the curtain and tossed the shirt in the direction of the woman, Here you go. It was amazing she was willing to trade a sari for a shirt, but the shirt was probably of a much more durable material. Before trying on the sari, Taylor felt her bladder close to exploding and realized she's scarcely peed since... since she'd been kidnapped... since Antonio was alive. She didn't see a familiar toilet but found a couple boards arranged over some cinder blocks covering a hole in the dirt-covered pavement. Taylor would have ordered her own personal portapotty airlifted in if she'd had her credit cards with her, and if she wasn't sure she'd have pee joining Sajur's sperm in running down her leg if she waited. She tried to squat over the boards without actually letting her burning red bottom touch them and all the germs they harbored, but her thighs and legs were too weary to hold her up that way and she ended up sitting down on the boards and somehow managed to pee anyway. There was no tissue to wipe the stray drops with, but on the scale of all her worries it really didn't matter -- she just wished she hadn't given up Naidu's shirt so quickly. Taylor got up and wrapped the sari around herself, trying it a few ways before it felt even halfway right. She'd have the old woman show her how in a minute, once the food and drink arrived, but a quick glance in the small cracked mirror made it look ok on her, although without a bra on her breasts were a little too obvious through the soft material, and she tried to loosen the top a bit, which set her off on another fit of adjustments that had her wishing Clarice was here with her -- although not really, not given all that the men had done to her. Once she stopped fussing with the Sari, no longer naked, she could turn to the most important thing, the cell phone. She pulled it out and tried to dial her dad's number but got an ominous beeping sound. A few more tries with different dialing prefixes, trying to figure out how to dial internationally, yielded no better results. The old woman just laughed when Taylor called out, asking how to make an international call, saying, So, you will pay for that too once you have your American riches back? Silly girl, you can't make an international call from that phone. it's not in the plan. Taylor sank down to a crouch, overwhelmed with despair at not being able to call for her dad. But there had to be some way to reach him. She tried to call up the email program, a web page, anything she could use to get a message to her dad. How could the woman call this a phone? It didn't even have a browser, no email, no apps or tickers. Scrolling through the contacts they were all in gibberish Taylor couldn't read. It was useless to her. All she could do was dial numbers and what good would that do her? She needed a real phone. Taylor slumped to the floor, getting the fabric of the sari dirty as she sat down in the corner opposite the toilet, trying to think what she could do to get a message to her dad, or to someone she could trust. Diane did all her contact work on tour and at home, and her bodyguards had all the in-country contacts for India. Taylor scarcely even knew any phone numbers other than her parents' and her own, all the other numbers on her phone just contacts in a list, not phone numbers she ever dialed. And she couldn't call the police. And idea, though. She called out again. How do I dial for information on this? I need to reach the American Embassy. Do you have a phone book I could use? The old woman was quiet for a few moments on the other side of the curtain and it sounded like she might be busy with a few customers, heavy feet shuffling around, before she finally answered. Sure, my dear, I've got a phone book right here. Why don't you come out and take it? Taylor started to feel very nervous as the sounds of the other customers she'd heard a moment before suddenly all went silent at the same time. The buzz of the market seemed to grow quieter in her ears as she strained to hear outside the curtain, gleaning nothing. She probably should have peeked out the curtain and just seen the old lady looking for a phone book. What could be wrong? But Taylor's entire world and sense of security had been too shattered from the rapes and the abuse and utter humiliation she'd been through. She still felt the vile officer's sperm inside her as her shaking hand gently set the phone down on the floor. Taylor knew she had to go, just had to run, to get far away. She wanted to trust the woman, needed to trust someone, but she couldn't, she was too much a frightened jackrabbit now to stay in once place, waiting for that devil to find her again. She'd exchanged the shirt for the sari, and the phone was on the floor she owed the old woman nothing more, at least until she came back with her people and could express her gratitude properly. Then she saw a board with a pen and what looked like invoices. She took the pen and wrote on the back of one of the invoices, Thank you for all your help, you are a shining star I'll never forget. Your friend, Taylor Swift. It was at least a down payment for the kind woman. Then Taylor quietly slipped through the back curtain of the little stall and tiptoed out through the piles of boxes, toward the back of the shop, where the sounds of people and motorbikes filtered through an open wooden door in the back wall of corrugated metal a few feet to her left, behind a pile of boxes. It was a back alley with people walking past, scooters zipping along with good pile high on the mounted racks. Taylor needed to slip out, disappear in the crowd, hopefully just a tall blond needle in a swarthy dark-haired haystack the police and her kidnapper wouldn't be able to find. And she would find someone who could get her to the US Embassy, someway to reach her dad.