As I stepped out into the street, the heat of midday hit me hard, immediately making it seem hard to breathe. I'd read about heat like this, but never actually experienced it until today. But I didn't care, I was finally here!
"Kirsten, I can't believe you're wearing that sundress, don't you remember what they told us, you know, about what's considered acceptable attire here?"
Those words were spoken by my best friend Jessica, who was not just my roommate for the summer but also the only person I knew in this strange new country. As she followed me out of the hotel where we'd spent the night after our long flight the day before, I turned back towards her and flashed her a mischievous smile.
"Come on, Jessica, it's so hot! Plus, we're only going out for a few minutes. I'll change into something more conservative before we go to meet our host family, I promise."
"And I bet you didn't put on any sunscreen, either - you'll be burned after just one day here!"
"What are you, my mother?"
We looked at each other and burst into laughter. We were both so excited to be so far away from home - it was a first for both of us after a fairly sheltered suburban childhood, and we fully intended to make the most of the experience. Jessica and I had known each other since we were little, were roommates now that we were students at State U, and now, the summer after our freshman year, had signed up for the same study-abroad experience.
I could barely take in all of the foreign sights, sounds, and smells as we walked down the street towards the open market, which looked even more amazing than it had in the photographs we'd seen from home. Jessica immediately got out her camera and started snapping pictures, but I decided that there'd be plenty of time for that later, and just strolled up the street, catching what I could of the conversations and admiring the various crafts for sale in each booth.
After a few minutes, I turned to say something to Jessica and realized that she was no longer at my side. After a moment of nervousness, I caught a glimpse of her several yards away, engrossed in a conversation with a local, and realized it wouldn't be the end of the world if we parted ways - we could certainly both find our way back to the hotel.
I turned back in the direction I'd been walking, and something caught my attention. At the end of the street, a couple of young men were quite obviously robbing one of the booths, and a frightened old woman was huddled in the corner, clutching what she could of her belongings. Even though I'd been warned during our orientation meetings back home that we should be watchful for street crimes, I was shocked to see something so obvious happen in broad daylight, and even more shocked that nobody seemed to be doing anything about it.
One of the robbers even looked in my direction, looked me up and down, and smiled, before running off down the street. That did it, I needed to get help, especially now that I'd seen the culprit's face so clearly. I looked around in hopes of seeing someone in a position of authority to whom I could report the crime. I ran to a corner, looked to my right down a narrow street, and spotted the police station - another familiar sight from orientation pictures.
I practiced the Spanish in my head on the way there, so I'd be prepared. "Ayuda, alguien esta siendo robado!", which, I was pretty sure, meant, "Help, someone is being robbed!"
I ran up the steps of the old building, opened the door, and said out loud what I'd been repeating silently in my head. "Ayuda, alguien esta siendo robado!"
My words had no effect on the sultry room. There were five officers in the room. One had his feet up on his desk and was enjoying a cigar. Two others were engrossed in a conversation over some paperwork. The other two were playing an animated game of cards.
I repeated myself, louder this time. After a pause, the cigar-smoking officer got up, walked towards me with a smile, and took my hand, leading me down a hallway into a small room, motioned for me to sit down, and shut the door behind us, sitting down across from me, an old wooden table between us.
I wanted to urge him to follow me outside, to catch the thieves red-handed, as I was sure they were still in the neighborhood, but my three quarters of college Spanish failed me. I sat there, mute, waiting for him to start questioning me. Even if he couldn't catch them right away, I told myself, at least I could give my statement, and describe the culprit.
The officer didn't say anything at first, taking a few more puffs on his cigar as he looked me up and down. I suddenly felt very insecure in my surroundings, especially given my weakness with the language. I realized there was one question I could ask him with my meager vocabulary:
"Hablas inglés?"
He seemed irritated at the question, and began speaking very quickly in Spanish, using words I couldn't understand. Even the words I did recognize moved far too quickly for me to make any sense of why he seemed suddenly so angry. I didn't understand what was happening. Didn't understand a thing. Wait, that was another phrase I knew how to say, and I just managed to fit it in as he took a breath:
"No entiendo?"
He stopped his verbal barrage, stood up, walked around the table, and once again took my hand. Thinking it was a friendly gesture, I put my hand in his, and he pulled me to my feet. He gripped my hand firmly, pulled my arm behind my back, grabbed my other arm and did the same, and before I knew what was happening, he had me handcuffed. I tried to turn to face him, but he grabbed me firmly by the shoulders and kept me in place. His hot, sweaty hands began to rudely, roughly move over my body, easily finding their way into my sundress. Just as I tried to scream, he put one hand firmly over my mouth, and in my helpless state with my arms behind my back, I could do nothing to stop him from what he did next.
He pushed me down onto the table, my breasts squeezed painfully against the hard wood, forced my legs apart with his feet, and pushed my dress up to my waist. He fumbled for a moment, his hand still over my mouth, but managed to unzip his pants, a tear escaping the corner of my eye as I did my best to prepare myself for what was coming.
I wanted to fight, but somehow I also knew that if I did fight, it might just be more painful for me. He tore my panties completely off in one aggressive motion, and pounded into me, hard. When I cried out, what should have been a scream but what was muffled by his hand into just a small whimper. I tried again to relax, to think of something else, and found some solace in the belief that this man's vulgar view of sexuality was probably matched by a lack of stamina.
The tears streaming down my face now, dripping down to the desk below, I felt him begin to jerk, before shooting his load deep inside of me. He pulled out, pulled me up to a standing position, and made me watch as he walked to the other side of the table, used my torn panties to clean off his cock, and tossed them to the corner of the room before zipping up again.
Without another word, he opened the door, and led me down another hallway, down a flight of stairs, and now down a darker hallway and finally into a cell, closing the door before motioning for me to come towards him so that he could undo the handcuffs, and then turned and quickly walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
And what a mess of thoughts they were. For a moment, they returned to the robbery I'd witnessed, the event that had led me here, and I rehearsed the Spanish in my head once again, trying to figure out if I'd said something horribly wrong to the officer. Then I became aware of the pain between my legs, my pussy sore from being pounded raw. I wasn't a virgin, but I also wouldn't call myself experienced, and had certainly never been treated so roughly.
I paced around the cell, remembering what Jessica had said about my sundress. Could that have been it? Was I dressed in a way that was considered inappropriate in this culture? I looked down at myself, through the tears and past the dirty handprints which stained the fabric. Back home on campus, this dress, and my body in it, would certainly have attracted attention, but would never have been an invitation for rape.
The fabric was light blue, matching my big blue eyes and bringing out their color even more intensely than usual. The thin shoulder straps were snug against my skin, and the top was perfectly fitted around my C-cup breasts and firm, flat stomach, before the skirt filled out, leaving my tight ass and sexy thighs to the imagination - that is, to anyone who didn't rudely take me from behind without warning. My long blonde hair, which I usually wore up when in class back home, was down today, cascading down over my shoulders and down my back. No, there was nothing wrong with how I looked.
