Taylor scurried along the corrugated walls of the narrow alleyway, clutching the extra material of the bright sari in one hand as she tried to make her way unnoticed. Years of experience had taught her both how to avoid and attract the attention of the paparazzi, but nothing prepared her for this. Everyone she passed stared at her like she stood out, which she probably did even though she was trying so hard not to. Worse, even the men smoking in the dimly lit openings to the backs of the stores she passed all seemed to track her with their eyes. Taylor's fears grew as she realized she was failing miserably when not attracting attention mattered more than ever before in her life.
Her eyes scanned for some obscure way out, any little nook or path to let her avoid having to wade through this steady foot traffic , but it seemed there wasn't any more out-of-the-way back alley around, and even this one was far too crowded for Taylor to feel comfortable. She had to get far away, had to get to the embassy, somewhere she'd be safe, and she had to do it without a crowd of emaciated brown fingers all pointing out her escape route to Naidu or the kidnapper or anybody else trying to track her down and drag her back into hell.
Then she saw it, not a side route but the back of a filthy little cafe -- an internet cafe! She couldn't read the sign, the crazy script looking a little seedy, but the image of the computer and the single misspelled English word "Intrnett" making it clear. Taylor crept closer, peering through the back door. A few people inside seemed to be involved in various sorts of gambling games and the smell of tobacco was overpowering, but there were a number of tables with open computer keyboards and smudged monitors available.
One last sidelong glance at the passing merchants and shoppers in the alley, so many of whom seemed fascinated by the sight of a tall blond woman in a colorful sari even if they didn't realize it was Taylor Swift, was enough to overcome any doubts Taylor had about the shady little cafe and the furtive men tapping away at the keyboards inside. She crept inside and sat down at the table right by the back door, trying not to draw any attention to herself, to seem as if she'd just been there all morning.
Taylor looked at the screen saver and thought about Skyping her dad, or at least emailing him. Or she could log into her site and put out a global message identifying where she was and what was going on -- that she was simply alive even, and not burned to a crisp on some remote Indian blacktop. The computer was her answer, a way to reach out and get help. The mouse was sticky, and she dropped it immediately, half expecting an assistant to step forward and offer a squirt of purell without even having to ask. But even if she was free of her kidnapper and the crooked, disgusting rapists who passed for policemen here, she wasn't home yet, and she had to pick up the sticky mouse, still no assistants in her life, no one to help her yet. If she could just reach Dad, though, everything would be ok, back to normal, or at least she could try to pretend, even if she was broken inside forever.
The screen saver disappeared with a flick of her wrist, but rather than a browser window, she was met with a login screen asking her for her payment code. Taylor's mouth dropped. Why did she have to pay? She didn't understand. Wouldn't the proprietor make money just by having people drink coffee while they browsed? To Taylor, access to the internet was a human right, not something to be paid for.
Besides, it didn't matter how much it cost to buy a "deluxe browsing bundle," although Taylor might be one of the richest women in the world, she didn't have a single Paise to pay with. She tried typing in the names of several famous Indians, like she was a movie-spy guessing a poorly chosen password, but it didn't help. Real life could be so inconvenient, but this was more than inconvenience. She had to find a way to get a message out to her dad. It was life or death -- worse than death, actually.
Taylor bent down to look under the table, hoping to find a way to turn off the computer and repower it, the way the techie guy always did when anything went wrong with her laptop. She was fumbling around back by the power cord when she heard an annoyed harrumph behind her and she slowly sat up. Before she even turned around, a young male was already haranguing her in warp speed Hindi, and Taylor felt like she was going to shrivel up inside from the harsh words she couldn't understand. She'd been abused so badly, her body still aching and dripping from the mistreatment, that she just didn't have her usual reserves of confidence and good will to stand up to it.
She was apologizing in English and slowly turning in her seat to slouch off further down the alley in search maybe of someone who would make a phone call for her, when the young man gasped. Taylor raised her eyes at the sound of it. He was maybe twenty, certainly less than twenty-five, in her age range -- her demographic as she thought of it -- with a pleasant enough shape to his face and stubbled jaw even if his dark hair was a little lank. And he was staring right at her, like he'd just spotted a major American celebrity and couldn't talk yet.
Taylor felt a surge of energy run through her, lifting her from the chair so she could stand over him, well aware how much more glamorous she often seemed when people realized how tall and perfectly model-thin she was. And the sari wasn't actually a bad look for her, not when she was actually trying to use the attention it attracted rather than avoid it.
"Hi, that's right, it's me." She smiled, trying to let her mouth dazzle even though she couldn't completely get the vile taste of semen or the feeling of a man's thick cock on her lips out of her mind. "Taylor Swift." She had to make him think it was a privilege to be in her presence.
"I'm Prakash. I know you, I know your songs. I've watched your videos." He seemed to blush, if that was possible for an Indian guy, at the mention of her videos. It was hard for Taylor not to glare at him, at the implication of what he used her videos for. Taylor had learned all too well over the years how a lot of guys, and even a few girls, responded to her image in the videos, the perfect clothes, the makeup and yes, her hard-earned body. She'd come to view it as just a risk of the business. But after being raped and tortured, it made her burn inside to think of being used as some sexual outlet, even if only her videos rather than her actual body.
But she needed him, needed his computers. She reminded herself that however pervy or disgusting he might be with her on YouTube, a sad and lonely guy jerking himself off while watching her and thinking about her was nothing like the male barbarity she'd faced. It was hard, but she reminded herself to keep some perspective, and she just nodded uncomfortably and then looked around at the computers. "Do you... I need to send out a message, an email or a skype. But..." She laughed as she ran her hands along the pocketless sari, drawing attention to her long lean curves under the soft fabric as she did, "well, you can tell, I don't have my wallet with me."
She thought maybe her approach was a mistake. Maybe she should just come out and say she was raped, being chased by kidnappers. But she couldn't stand the thought of being seen in public as the victim, of having to accept all that had happened and admit it was real rather than a bad nightmare that was almost over. It felt better to use her celebrity to coax a little computer time out of a smitten male fan, if felt almost normal.
"Perkash, if you could let me have some free time on one of the computers, I'd be so grateful. You could... you could take our picture together, at the computer, and then hang it up on the wall." Taylor just assumed that any businessman would die for the chance to show her picture, to claim she'd actually been in their establishment. It always worked.
Prakash looked at her, then quickly at the other guys in the room, none of whom seemed to recognize her or be paying any attention to them at all really. He turned back, licking his lips. "I don't think my customers even know or care who you are, really, Miss Swift." His accent was so strong it was a struggle to understand him, even though she realized he was speaking English. "And I'm not supposed to, you know. Rules. But..." He glanced down briefly, as if embarrassed to be revealing some great secret. "Sometimes, in an emergency... if I'm properly convinced..."
He said the word "convinced" with what Taylor took to be a leer, and she recoiled briefly before catching herself, keeping her mind on the task. She needed to get her dad's message out. "I... I, Perkash, I can be quite convincing," Taylor started. But she went silent as the guy put his hand right on his crotch, stepping a little closer. "Let's just say though... why don't, you know, you can give me some time and then, tomorrow I'll pay you, cash, like...." -- she tried to think of what would sound like a lot, but still believable -- "a hundred dollars." He rubbed his crotch a little more obviously. "Two hu... a thousand dollars. You know I have the money, just not on me, but, but my word is good, surely you..."
"No, one blow job, ten minutes." His eyes were blazing, like this was the biggest moment of his life, like pitching a record exec for a first contract. Only he wanted a blow job.
Taylor slowly shook her head, "No, I'm sorry, how about two thousand." She instantly regretted having apologized, wondering what part of her made her apologize for not giving a seedy fan a blow job in public. That was not her. Frankly, she should have slapped him just to make sure her honor remained intact in front of anyone else who might have heard, but it didn't even occur to her. She tasted the bitter memory of sperm on her tongue and looked away.
"No blow job, no computer. Best I can do is send an email from *my* account, that way any response, I get it and I know you pay $5000 tomorrow to see it." He seemed to have switched gears seamlessly and quickly, but one way or another he clearly thought he could screw her.
Taylor took a deep breath, and then nodded. "Deal." She took a gambling slip for some lotto game and a blunt, stubby pencil from the table and began writing while he waited over her.
--
To: taylors.dad@gmail.com
Dear Dad. I'm alive. Don't believe the news. I can prove it it's me, I'm really alive. We're the only ones that know you really got that scar when I hooked you by mistake fishing at the pond on the christmas tree farm, not from a racquetball accident. Dad I was kidnapped. It was horrible and I came so close to giving up but I never forgot all that you taught me. I would never give up Dad, never. I wouldn't let you down like that. I escaped. I'm still in India but you can come get me. They were going to try to get me to Saudi Ara
--
There was a racket outside that made Taylor stop writing. She straightened up and looked out the back door along with Prakash. A crowd was surging past the open door, more of an unruly mob actually. Suddenly one face turned to peer into the cafe in the brief second while marching past, a look of sudden recognition on his face.
Prakash said something in Hindi and jumped toward that back door, reaching for a heavy wooden board, but it was too late. The man came back, several others with him, shoving their way in past Prakash and staring at Taylor. They kept saying 'chor, chor,' at her, not to her, and other things which sounded quite horrible, and drawing closer to her, close enough she could smell cumin and yesterday's sweat.
Taylor shrieked at them. "Leave me alone, you... it can't be the whole damned country!" She was close to tears, the shakes taking over her limbs as she felt like a trapped animal. Her heart pounded and her eyes darted around the room looking for some way out. There was the front door, but even more men and a few women too were pouring in with their resentful looks all trained on Taylor.
"Perkash! Help! I'll... I'll double... triple..."
Taylor saw Prakash's regretful little shrug as he shrank back against the hot corrugated metal of the little cafe's back wall, shrinking away from the crowd pouring in. "I'm sorry Miss Swift, what can I do?"
Taylor shrieked in fury as the first man reached a hand out for her, slapping it away. She yelled one last time for help she knew already she wouldn't get, "Perkash! Please don't let them..." Futility clogged her throat and her final words barely made it out at all, "my letter... please... send it!"
Her legs went in motion without her thinking about it, Taylor suddenly barefooting her way across the dusty floor so abruptly a few of the men actually looked surprised, as if they expected Taylor would have learned by now to willing submit to the gang rape they clearly had in mind. Her thoughts were gone, only panic and flight in her eyes as she pushed and shoved her way past two men who were even skinnier than her and practically flew out the door.
At least she was away for a second. She felt like she was in a zombie movie, the only person left alive in a world filled with evil out to get her. The way that everyone in the street cried out and turned to her the moment she emerged only reinforced that feeling and she started running in a random direction, no plan but to run as long as she could. She couldn't remember if she was running away from Naidu or straight into his arms, and the crowd that seemed to be looking to rape and lynch her was so big that she wasn't running away from them but running through them, as if she thought that as long as she kept moving they couldn't touch her.
She tripped briefly on her sari, stumbling, her flight not so much a run as a panicked short shuffling of her feet, the clinging sari around her legs only allowing her the shortest of strides, like she was representing India in the 100 meter dash at the Geisha Olympics. She didn't make it far, pinballing off a few of the bulkier men crowding the alley, and she landed with an undignified "oof" and a puff of dust at their feet.
Taylor was breathing hard as she stared at the rocks and dust and dirty sandaled feet, each panting breath doubling as a small cry of horror as she felt hands reach for her before she could even stand up, clutching at the beautiful sari and pulling on her. She twisted around and screamed, defensively trying to slap them away, but more hands grabbed her arms too, pinning them down to the ground. Taylor screamed, her body writhing and bucking against the men's grip in a blind panic, scream-sobbing how they couldn't rape her again, not again. She still felt the semen inside her, tasted it, and wished her body could vomit it out, but the hungry eyes staring at her body and the rabid shouts drowning out her own pleas convinced Taylor there was only more of the same ahead of her, her escape from her kidnapper and Naidu just an illusion. Her life felt doomed to fall from frying pan to fire, like fate wouldn't be satisfied until she'd fallen to the very lowest level of Hell.
She heard and felt a shredding, the sari ripping open and exposing her belly and her legs. Hands touched her bare skin, making her scream again and twist uselessly. Every hand she escaped was quickly replaced by two more. Taylor's only hope was that she would pass out or die and they would all do it quickly, maybe finish and leave her broken and in tears before Naidu arrived for his turn, so maybe she could crawl to the Embassy.
As she twisted and rolled over, more of her sari shredding in the process but at least managing to keep her legs closed and shield her breasts from the groping hands, she felt the men start to hit her on the back with their sticks. It was hopeless, and she collapsed from hands and knees, her face and hair down in the dust as hands lifted her and turned over her nearly limp body.
That's when she heard the sharp piercing voice of an old woman screaming. The crowd's yelling subsided to a loud angry buzz and the hands loosened on her sari, some even letting go. Taylor looked up and over her head to see what was going on, men shuffling aside, practically shoved from behind, and then the old woman from the shop showed up, staring down at her. The woman's face was a mask of intense fury as she glared at Taylor and the crowd, yelling like some avenging angel. Taylor almost sobbed with relief. The woman had somehow forced her way through the crowd to reach Taylor, her walking stick right in front of Taylor's face with a few flecks of blood testifying to the woman's determination and bravery.
Taylor started to whimper her thanks, her eyes still wild with panic at the men crowded so tightly around her. But the woman's gnarled fingers just reached down with scarcely a glance for Taylor and grabbed her hair, pulling her back through the crowd as the woman just glared at the crowd around her. The crowd's noises grew more restless, realizing the old lady was taking their prize from them, but it was like no one knew what to do to her. Maybe it was taboo to hurt an old woman, even though it was perfectly fine to gang rape a young woman in broad daylight? Or maybe they were afraid of her, afraid of her bloody stick and the way her furrowed brow and wrinkled grimace gave her an awful look of determination. Taylor crawled and shuffled and stumbled behind, yelping with pain at the grip in her hair, but so grateful the woman was saving her from the crowd. "Thank you, thank you..." she kept saying but the woman just hissed at her and Taylor went quiet except for the gasps of pain whenever a stick hit her back side or her legs, following silently as she could, not wanting to distract her ancient savior from the task of keeping the crowd at bay. It was so hot, she could feel sweat all over her, sure her thighs were slick with curdling semen as well, but Taylor ignored it, ignored everything but crawling after the painful saving grip in her hair.
A shot rang out. Taylor had watched enough movies to recognize the sound immediately. The woman released her grip on Taylor's hair and Taylor slipped back face down to the dust, her head lifting up to see what happened, worried someone had shot the woman trying to save her.
It was the devil in what was left of his policeman costume, Naidu wearing just his heavily belted trousers and sweat-stained tshirt. He was glaring nastily at Taylor down on the ground, with only the old woman between them to protect her with all the moral conviction of Gandhi himself, the resolute resistance of the aged who have so little left to lose perhaps all that was keeping her from his clutches. Taylor's mind spun with thoughts of gang rape behind her and torture in front of her, and she wormed her way in the dust just a little closer to her protector, the old woman her only hope.
Naidu's voice was so loud, and Taylor winced at the sound of it, recognized it right away, a deep part of her connecting it directly to the memories of her rape. The crowd moved away from her like she had the plague, her disease being Naidu's attention, and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees as all that body heat pulled back. Only the old woman stayed with her, hand reaching down for her again, unfortunately finding only a grip in her hair but Taylor stayed quiet, wincing in pain from the scratch of the fingernails and the rough upward tug but aching too badly for the woman's protection to say anything to distract her from her stare down with Naidu.
The old woman sounded like a witch, hissing with incomprehensible threats, standing between Taylor and Naidu. Naidu nodded for some reason, staring right in Taylor's eyes with a look that told her more than she wanted to know, and then he stepped forward, approaching them. Taylor whimpered, trying to pull back, but the woman's grip in her hair pulled her up to her feet instead, crouched over at the woman's side and cowering from Naidu as he finally stood right in front of them.
The woman was so brave, facing him down, but Taylor just wanted to run. Naidu reached and his hand grabbed Taylor from the woman. He was just too strong, and Taylor cried as she looked back at the woman tearfully. "Please..." The woman just shook her head as she watched Naidu drag Taylor a few steps away from her. Naidu roughly grabbed Taylor's wrist and slapped a metal cuff on her, then pulled her other struggling arm in front of her and locked it to the first. She was handcuffed, a criminal under arrest probably as far as anyone else could see. If she had even the tiniest shred of anything to be grateful for, at least there were no paparazzi here recording her fear and tears and shame.
Naidu's whispers were cruel, making Taylor sob as she looked back to the old woman, her eyes pleading for help she realized all to clearly just wasn't possible or realistic, even for the brave woman. Naidu's laugh made her shiver with horror pulsing cold through her veins, feeling like a battered ball in a game of whose-slave-are-you-now.
He yelled at the poor woman who'd tried to help her, the gun still visible in his hand. Taylor sobbed to her one last time as the muttering old lady retreated to her shop, probably expecting Naidu's men to come and burn it down for interfering with what seemed like nature in this godforsaken pit. "Please... I'm... I'm sorry." But there was no help coming, not from the old woman or anyone else. It was just Taylor and Naidu again, and she moaned fearfully, making him laugh again and call her words a man as low as him had no business using to one of the world's top pop stars.
Taylor dragged her feet but Naidu was too strong, too insistent as he pulled her along with him. She was too afraid to pay attention to landmarks, but she knew they had to be going back to the police station through this back alley now. She shrieked for help, crying out she was being kidnapped, but men just laughed, as if tourists being arrested and complaining over the unfairness of it all was a daily occurrence here. No one lifted a finger as Naidu dragged her back to his den of rape.
They turned a corner, Taylor struggling with tears in her eyes. Naidu's skinny partner, Sajur, the one whose sperm was festering inside her even now, was standing proudly over a man on the ground. Her cries for help died in her throat at the sight and she started pulling away from Naidu's cruel grip even more desperately, but it did no good. He jerked her forward, and Taylor yelped at the bruise she was sure he'd inflicted on her upper arm. Despite her bare feet slipping and pushing against the dusty ground it took but a few slaps and shakes for Naidu to drag her over to Sajur, and there she was, looking down on the motionless body of her kidnapper, either unconscious or dead, Taylor didn't much care which.
The skinny cop lifted the limp body of the kidnapper he'd knocked out. Taylor gaped at Sajur's unexpected wiry strength, and couldn't help noticing how proud he looked, as if he'd taken out a vile criminal for the public good, when Taylor knew it was only so the two of them could rape her without a third wheel nagging at them to hurry up.
They walked the short distance back to the police station, Taylor's screams and desperate struggles growing more intense with every reluctant step until they had her through the steel back door and she heard it slam shut and lock with resounding finality. Not one person had done more than point or stare, apparently convinced she was the bad person here. Or perhaps everyone knew how bad these two were and just didn't want to get involved. Did it matter to Taylor? She was too scared to figure it out as they dragged her deeper into the bowels of the old world building's concrete-lined basements. They stopped to lock the kidnapper's body in a cell, which must have meant he was still alive, but then they took her even deeper, and Taylor's cries faded to a sullen whimper, as down this deep it seemed no one but these two rapists would ever hear her voice again.
Dragged into a tiny room with no windows and just a single bulb, Taylor was shaking with terror and the dank sense of cold in her heart despite the sweat still running down her body under the torn sari. Sajur reached for her cuffs and pulled her arms up with a grip on the connecting chain before she could even realize what he was doing. The click of the chain on the solid overhead metal bar locked her arms up over her head, and she stood staring back at them, wiping the sweat of her forehead against the sari in the crook of her right elbow. She hated having her wrists cuffed up high like this. It left her brain torn between an intense wish for the two men to be taken far away from her before they could take advantage of this even more helpless state, and a desperate fear they would leave her alone here, unable to sit or rest or lie down or sleep, just stand until she probably collapsed and her hands turned purple as she dangled from the cuffs.
Naidu didn't let her doubts or hopes linger long as he immediately followed Sajur's work on her wrists by bending down to her ankles. Taylor danced around barefoot on the hard concrete floor, trying to keep away from his grip, but he soon had one of her ankles in his beefy hand, pulling it up high enough she couldn't muster any power to twist or pull away from him. The sari stretched and ripped a little more as he pulled her leg up, straining her aching tendons until he had a hard leather cuff locked around her ankle and then pulled it up even higher to fasten it to the bar beside her wrists. Taylor winced from the discomfort of it, certain she could feel Sajur's sperm squishing around inside her and leaking out even more as she all but did the splits until her free leg pulled up from the floor to in his grip. Another cuff, another upward pull, and then he had her dangling almost immobile from the bar, cuffed hand and foot, the sari stretched tight across her legs and the shreds hanging beneath her.
Naidu's disgusting hands jerked on the fabric, and Taylor turned her face against her arms, hiding her eyes as he ripped the sari even more, exposing the fact that she hadn't been able to find anything to wear beneath it yet. They ripped more and more, until just tatters hung from her nearly naked body. She could feel the air and their eyes on her naked breasts, between her legs, almost hyperventilating with fear as she remembered all they done to her before and waited for the horror she could tell they had in mind for her this time, especially without the kidnapper there to rush them. This time, she could see in Naidu's eyes especially, they weren't going to rush. Taylor whimpered but she didn't beg, knowing already it would help.
She groaned and twisted her hands in the painful metal cuffs as the weight of her torso pulled painfully down on her trapped wrists. The rest of her weight supported by her cuffed ankles hurt too, but it was her wrists that hurt most, and they hadn't even done anything worse than tear her sari open and laugh at her helpless nakedness.
The waiting, hanging painfully and knowing it was coming but not exactly what or exactly when, was torture without touching, and it seemed to go so slowly, every second making her feel worse, her wrists hurting more, her folded up body hanging from the bar feel weaker. But it was clear the two rapists, so angry with her, would only wait so long before starting round two on her. Taylor felt like she did sometimes when an opening act went an extra song or two beyond the agreed set, waiting for the show to begin, like the waiting would never end. Only this time, as much as she hated it, she didn't want it to end, not like her concerts. She only had rape and torture to look forward to, not adulation and the love of her fans.
Then things sped up. As the men started moving, Taylor tried so hard to turn her brain off, to reach some sort of zen state of nothingness, where she couldn't be touched, or at least wouldn't feel it, wouldn't be affected by it. She'd never mastered it, the meditation, always tried too hard because that's how she succeeded at everything. And it didn't work now either, especially because the two men clearly knew how to wield misery as a weapon.
It was Sajur who gripped her hair and tugged her head back, then knotted some sort of cord in her hair with a weight on the end. It was so heavy her neck muscles strained just to keep her head attached to her shoulders, and she couldn't lift her head even a bit, her neck fully bent backward. Taylor cursed his gratuitous cruelty through gritted teeth, until she realized the point, how she couldn't possibly look forward to see what they were doing, just looking at the ceiling and a bit of the wall behind her as her body began to sway back and forth from the bar a little from Sajur's activity.
Then Naidu delivered the payoff. There was a wooden clanking sound, nothing to see but the sound making her tremble as she hung so painfully. There there was a touch at the lips between her legs. Fingers spread her, exposed her fully once again to their eyes, she could feel it. But that wasn't nearly all, not nearly enough for Naidu. As she felt something heavy and wooden against her softness, just starting to press roughly into her, Taylor briefly couldn't help wondering if this was all her own fault, if he would be so cruel to her if she hadn't attacked him and tried to escape. Maybe he just would have raped her another time or two and it would have been over. But as he shoved and worked and forced whatever the thick, hard thing was into her, making her hurt like he was ripping her inside even though it might have only felt that way, she realized this was simply a man's cruelty set free on her, the way he was, and not her fault. Nothing she could do but take it.
He kept shoving it in, and it felt like he was battering her internal organs as he didn't stop. It must have hit her cervix, as she began shaking and jerking on the cuffs until she felt like the bones in her wrists might break, it hurt so much. Taylor screamed, her throat taut and straining like trying to hit the longest highest note she could.
But it wasn't enough for him. Naidu wanted more than her screams. It was like he wanted to destroy her, sexually and maybe every other way too. How else to explain what came next. The heavy thing was still shoved deep inside her, fucking her almost senseless with it, in and out, making her scream. Finally, he paused ever so briefly, the weight of it pulling on her opening, making sure she felt it with every agonized twitch and twist of her body. But then he pulled it out and she felt it slam against the sole of her foot. She knew it was the same thing he'd forced up into her from how wetly it smacked against her. She could feel it leave a line of vaginal blood across the bottom of her bare foot. Or maybe it was Sajur's sperm or something else utterly humiliating from inside her, she couldn't tell anymore. She was sobbing too loudly as he hit her again and again.
It was sheer agony. First one foot and then the other. Her feet twisted and rolled, the pain so intense she thought she would pass out, wished she would. The agony lanced into every delicate little part of her feet, making her toes quiver with pain, the misery lancing like a bolt up her tightly bent legs, making her feel it everywhere in her body, like every blow echoed all through her.
It went on and on, and she couldn't believe her feet didn't just fall off, that they didn't just go numb at some point. No, no numbness, just pain, every blow adding to the last, until she was sure she would never walk again, and sure Naidu didn't really care if she did, as if he only needed her on her back or her knees, or dangling from handcuffs.
The painful beating of her feet didn't pause at all as Sajur's pants dropped. He had stepped behind her, so that Taylor was staring up at him as the heavy weight in her hair kept her head all but motionless. He was stroking himself, his cock hard just from watching how she was abused, a sick bastard getting off right in front of her, and she couldn't even look away, just close her eyes and wince and jerk with each painful blow to the arch of her foot. She cried out in agony and saw it just made Sajur redouble his lurid efforts, until he was groaning and staring at her, his own eyes narrowing. Taylor closed her eyes just in time as his cock exploded in his hand. She felt one rope of his cum land on her chin and neck and run down her breasts in front of her, having actually shot so forcefully at her it went over her face. She wasn't so lucky with the next burst nor the next, as he made sure to deposit a good part of his disgusting load all over her face.
She cried out as another blow struck her left foot, now hanging almost limp for its beating in the cuff as she was too exhausted to fight anymore, the pain too much. As her lips opened for her scream, a last bit of Sajur's cum dribbled across her lips, and she spit it out like she swallowed chlorinated water swimming laps at the pool. With her head back the way they had her, the cum on her cheek and chin ended up dripping up her face rather than down, getting in her nose and running across her eye on its way to its final destination as a gooey mess in her dangling hair.
Taylor's body shook on it's own, like the pain signals rippled through her and wouldn't let her be still, but on her own she could do nothing, feeling utterly limp and broken, not just her feet which she was sure would never heal, but her heart and soul too. This hurt so much worse than before, all the more so for her close brush with escape and freedom, her hastily scribbled letter to her dad the only sliver of hope left from her doomed foray in the market. But as her torture went on, Taylor couldn't really imagine being saved, couldn't imagine living like usual again, trying to pretend everything normal and she was in control of her life after this. All the success and control of her circumstances she'd felt in her life, especially as her stardom had grown, she realized it was all an illusion. What good was money or power of fame if she could simply be snatched from the road and raped and beaten like this, Taylor Swift? She had no control, never had. She'd just been lucky enough not to be taken by these men any sooner, that was all.
The beating of her feet finally stopped, even as the pain went on and on. She felt like he must have broken every tiny bone and twisted off all her toes and then shoved matches in the gaping wounds where her toes had been and lit them. She hurt, so badly, and the cum still dribbled across her eyes and up her forehead. But at least he wasn't hitting her feet anymore.
She felt wooden rod again between her legs and tensed automatically with a groan for him to rape her with it again. But instead he held it between her cheeks, grunting like a beast with the effort of forcing it into her bottom. Taylor had tried so hard, had moaned and cried and screamed but hadn't begged or pleaded, until now. The rod forcing her ass wide, working up inside her so unbearably tight and deep, made her shake, babbling as the tears ran out of her eyes and mixed with the cum on her forehead, begging him to stop, "please please please, no god no, please stop." Her feet arched and her toes curled and she shook in her cuffs but nothing helped, it only made her hurt even worse, but he just twisted the wood inside her and pushed it deeper, working it around in circles like he wanted to stretch her out until she ripped.
Just when she was sure she couldn't take anymore without tearing and bleeding, he pulled it out, making her groan and sob from the long slow pull. No sooner was it out than she heard his zipper, the sound of fabric and metal belt buckle dropping to the floor. "No... no no... please..." This was so much worse than her kidnapper, two of them, so helpless, the utter agony and knowing escape had been so close only to fall into their hands again. Taylor's slender body was racked with sobs as she felt Naidu force his cock into her ass.
Naidu was growling at her again, but she just moaned and cried in pain and incredible shame at what she was helpless to stop. He demanded her to beg his forgiveness. For what? For trying to escape from more of this? To stop her own rape? But her wordless whimpering just made him angrier, his thick cock thrusting harder in her now, making her body rock back and forth with each stroke as she hung from her wrists and ankles, his cock battering her. He insisted even louder, more crudely, for her to apologize, and gripped her slender legs with his thick hands, she could feel it, and somehow that let him drive in even deeper, making her scream at the pain, in fear at the damage she was sure his battering ram was doing to her insides.
All she could see was Sajur staring at her face like a rapt kindergartener staring at his own fingerpainting, his eyes locked on her eyes wincing with pain, her mouth an open scream. All she could feel was the throbbing pain lancing through her feet and up her legs with every beat of her heart, the trickle of cum and tears, and most of all, Naidu's cock happily inside her again, battering at her innards, driving her misery to new heights.
She saw Sajur reach for the jar and piss in it while looking at her, and the look in his eyes made her try to shake her head, but the weight in her hair made it too difficult, her neck too tired. "No, please, no, don't, please, stop." But her begging wasn't good enough for Naidu or Sajur. She grunted as the angry thrusting cock went even deeper and harder into her guts and Sajur lifted the jar full of his piss over her. Taylor blinked fearfully and snapped inside. "I'm sorry, please, please, I'm so..."
Too little, too late, it seemed. Her mouth was open for another stab at the word sorry, but it all fell on deaf ears. Sajur just poured the jarful of piss over her face and mouth in one big dump, filling her mouth with the vile taste and making her choke and drown on it in her nose as well. The smell was beyond vile and she was coughing and sputtering it out of her mouth, sure no amount of toothpaste and mouthwash could ever erase what he'd just done to her -- assuming she was ever lucky enough to have such things again in her life.
Taylor kept her eyes shut, not wanting any more piss or cum to blind her, not wanting to let out anymore tears even though she couldn't stop them. It was too much for her, especially as they laughed over what they'd done, the look of misery she could feel on her face and knew Sajur must be delighting in. Taylor just hoped her suffering wasn't enough to make him hard yet again, that he was done raping her, although if the alternative was more torture and humiliation, Taylor had no idea what was worse, not that anyone cared what her opinion was.
Her mind slowly slipped into some barely functional animal state as his cock continued to batter her bottom, the pain shoving her every thought into the smallest darkest corners of her brain and taking over, as if pain were all there was room for now. Naidu grew more disgusting and cruel in his words, every thrust into her ass and slap of his body against her dangling bottom making his threats more frightening, revealing the depth of his anger toward her, and she knew he was just going to fuck her to death, or to the very edge and then beat her the final little bit needed to end her. It was over, this was the rest of her life, right here, being ass raped and beaten, and then it would be over. She couldn't even pay attention to his specific words any more. They didn't matter. He'd do what he wanted to her and she couldn't stop her.
She screamed before she realized the ringing in her ears was two more gunshots, these set off not in an open market but inside the tiny room. Was she dead? She hurt everywhere, so how would she know if she was shot? But then she felt Naidu's cock pull out of the tight grip of her ass, making her hurt as much in retreat as she had from the initial invasion and penetration. What was going on? Then Sajur went down, slumping against the back wall and sliding to the floor with blood running down his neck. Had Naidu shot him? Where was Naidu?
Then she heard the distinctive voice of her captor, her original captor, the first to rape her, the first to abuse her, yelling at the other two rapists. He was angry, shooting them more, again and again. Taylor hung limp, her holes exposed but empty at least, her feet twisting again in pain from the beating that felt like it had never ended. She couldn't see him, but she could hear his fury, and she wondered if he had saved a bullet for her. Probably not. He wasn't that considerate.
She heard his voice, closer, coming straight at her even though she couldn't see him. He called her bitch rather than slave. Was that progress? He called her a screamer, and Taylor couldn't process whether that was an insult or a simple statement of fact, but she took it in silence, too weary and afraid to say anything. He was still talking, something about a beating, and she tried to tense, thinking another beating was coming, but her body didn't respond. She couldn't move and couldn't talk and didn't understand him any more as the room started spinning somehow and then it got darker as the bulb seemed to dim. Finally Taylor was plunged into utter darkness, the world finally taken away from her fully. Somewhere down in hell, Naidu had to be pleased with that, expecting her to join him there any minute.
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