Thread: Transporting Taylor (Dere and skittish_butterfly)

Dawn came fast in this benighted corner of the world, and the horizon's solid belt of blue grew wider as the SUV drove towards it. Life was emerging onto the dusty backstreets as the first farmers began to make their arduous way into the distant heart of the city. Martin had to maneuver carefully through the carts, cars and general chaos of the morning rush hour in Mumbai. Even with the windows up tight and the cold AC blasting, the sound and stink of the suffocating surroundings still got in. Years of sleepless patrols and powerful uppers had long accustomed Martin to a perpetual, paranoid wakefulness. But he still felt wired and on edge from the night's efforts. The repeated rapes of the delicious slut had been as exhausting as they were exhilarating. The electric combination of adrenalin and fatigue had him even more tense than usual. Transporting Taylor was always going to be the hardest part of this operation, and now that it was underway he felt vulnerable for the first time. Martin knew it would be the better part of the day before they arrived at the harbor. There were many gamuts to run before then. Getting through the urgent morass of life that swelled around him was one thing. Avoiding any and all attention was another. The sight of a suspicious-looking foreigner traveling with intent would not got unnoticed by observant locals. In light of the chaos surrounding Taylor's recent murder, the situation was even more unpredictable. Gripping the wheel tight with sweaty hands, Martin knew he was going to have to make a difficult concession in order to assure his success. Calling on his contacts in the local police was the very last thing he wanted to do, especially after the bombing. He knew they would want something in return, and after the double-cross yesterday it certainly wouldn't be cash. It would take the trade of Taylor's body if was going to get their help. That was an awful risk she was already becoming disheveled and marred and that would only get worse after an ordeal at their hands. But in his wired state, juggling such dangerous gambles just seemed like business as usual. There would be plenty of time to fix her up on the boat, he thought, especially when Alena gets her. That nasty old bitch could turn a pig into a supermodel, he reflected with a grudging respect. He eased the SUV in behind a gaudy truck, with its unsteady load of crammed goods threatening to topple down on top of him. Joining the steady crawl of the column along the dusty road he took up his phone and dialed quickly. His fingers seemed to feel fat and awkward as he fumbled with the phone, still feeling unfocused and stretched. With tense urgency he listened to the sqwark of the dial tone, drumming his fingers on the wheel. A few miles ahead, in the office of the local police district commander, a desk phone throbbed. It belonged to Inspector Naidu, the rotund and diminutive embodiment of the law for this part of Mumbai's outlying areas. As greedy and corrupt as he was mean and ugly, Naidu had a long shared history with Martin and his missions. The fearful locals he was supposed to protect had dubbed him the Ogre. Taylor's whole abduction had been planned by him, and although the subsequent bombing hadn't, he had certainly profited from it as it destroyed any connection he had with the crime. The death of some of his juniors meant nothing, as he considered them eminently disposable. As his pudgy hand reached for the phone, Naidu's sharpened instinct told him exactly who it would be. Only Martin would have the temerity to call him on this line, or even to call him at all after the previous day's antics. The lazy Inspector had found himself far busier than he liked, pretending to investigate the very attack he had planned. He had barely finished snarling a greeting into the phone when he heard the Englishman speak. It's me. I want an escort. I'll never get anywhere at this rate. You can have her for an hour if you can give me a lift to the ship. Naidu smirked at this reflection in the window. This whole thing was working out better than he had even hoped. Of course, he purred into the phone after a moment's hesitation. Won't hurt to make the prick sweat, he thought. Pull off the road and send me your GPS data, I'll have a van to you right away. Then he hung up. Martin hated the fact he was placing the whole thing in this man's hands again. But he had no choice. He texted his coordinates to Naidu's pager, slowly edging the SUV away from the seething morass of traffic. A half-built and long-abandoned concrete shell stood nearby, allowing him to hide the vehicle from view of the road. He parked it up among the jumbled bricks and steel rods, then got out to ensure there was no-one else about. He could still hear the chaos of the road, but a few feral and starved dogs were the only living things nearby. Already he could feel the heat of the day rising fiercely, pricking his skin and setting a dull throb pounding behind his temples. The stink of feces and fetid rot seemed to hang over everything. While his stomach insisted it needed something inside, Martin could not bring himself to eat anything. Instead he sat down in the shadow of the SUV, chainsmoking and swilling tepid water from his army canteen. It seemed a lifetime before the battered police van showed up, and Martin heard the crackle of stones beneath the wheels at it rolled towards him. He stood before it in the curling clouds of red dust as it rolled to a halt, engine idling. With lithe urgency a tall, sinister man jumped out from the driver's side. Martin recognized him as Sajur, Naidu's youngest brother and devoted henchmen. With a thick mustache, sunken eyes and lanky body, the grim Sajur was the very personification of a stock Bollywood villain an image he enjoyed cultivating. He first opened the rear doors of the van then crossed over to join Martin. The two men didn't speak to each other at all as they returned to the SUV and picked up the box. Together they carried it awkwardly over to the van, with much sweating and swearing. There were a few dull thumps as they stumbled and Taylor was thrown about inside the crate, banging off the sides. They slid it slowly into the back of the van, with Martin jumping in alongside it as Sajur closed the doors again. Soundless all the while, the lanky thug returned to the drivers seat, activated the van's wailing sirens, and headed back out onto the road. Even with the full blare of police lights and horns, it still took a half hour to travel the few miles to the station. Martin took full satisfaction, at least, in that the knowledge he may not have made it at all was sobering. He sat in ruminative silence the whole way, hoping the next part of this wouldn't go as badly as he feared. The van pulled into the station's small concrete garage. It was as hot as an oven in the growing noon heat. Naidu was alone in there, the room empty for anything apparently significant save for a long flat wooden horse. He opened the back doors of the van, grinning broadly at Martin's grim, tight features. Standing back as Sajur came around, he watched with a smirk as the pair dumped the box on the floor. He handed Martin a crowbar, and with a sullen look the mercenary flipped off the lid of the box, exposing the blinking and trembling Taylor. Najur wasted no time, knowing he wanted to make use of every moment of her shock and fear. The name Taylor Swift meant nothing to him, but her looks and body were all he needed to know. He had never had a white woman before, and was utterly drunk on the idea. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he marveled at its softness as he pulled Taylor cruelly to her feet. She felt like a limp sandbag in his grip. Keeping her upright in the box with one hand, he appraised her like meat with the other, slapping and groping her all over. He and Sajur chattered quickly in Hindi as they discussed her obvious physical merits. Martin sat aside, helping himself to a beer from a nearby small fridge and watching proceedings with a dulled apathy. Taking one arm each, Naidu and Sajur lifted Taylor out and dragged her across to the wooden horse. She was laid down flat on it, her savaged wrists and numbed ankles bound tightly with thin cords to its four legs. Both then undressed quickly, fumbling to get out of their sweaty tight uniforms as they ran hungry eyes over the helpless girl bound before them. Then with brute force they took her from both ends Naidu sliding his stubby cock between her cracked lips while Sajur pounded his own long, thin rape rod into her burning pussy. Taylor was spitroasted between them, unable to even writhe in agony as they brutally double-fucked her.