Dangerous Places

Authors Note:

I wrote this story because I was sick of those 3000 word fuck tales that start of with a guy wanting to fuck and end up with him accomplishing that! In sheer rebellion to this growing trend, I wanted to write an erotic thriller with a complex plot and deep multi-dimensional characters – characters who feel, who think, who have political views, who have political/racial biases, etc. People who are like you and me (not walking talking sex objects that we see in most sex stories). So if you are looking for those short sex stories that promise immediate erection followed by immediate relief then I suggest you skip this one. I also suggest that if you decide to read it then you read it in one go because once you start reading it, it may be hard to break in the middle.

Copyright Issues:

You are free to save, print and distribute as mush as long as you are not making any money from it. If you want to sell it or make money from it in any way, then I would like that you get in touch with me for permissions. Thanks.

Chapter 1:

The airport lobby was busy as usual. Two flights had landed at the same time and passengers of both had to disembark in the same lobby. While Air-America’s passengers were waiting in a long cue, KLM passengers were still busy hurling their suitcases off the conveyer belt. The extra security measures after 9/11 dictated that all passengers who even “looked suspicious” were to open their entire luggage for the customs and security officials. Unfortunately no one had specified to the customs or security officials what the word “suspicious looking” was supposed to mean! Thus it was interpreted to mean anyone and everyone of Middle Eastern/ South Asian origin. People with Arabic names or some who just looked Middle Eastern were separated from the rest of the passengers for detailed checks. After undergoing body searches, men and women were made to empty all the contents of their luggage on the desks. From lipsticks, key chains and sealed tissue papers, Security officials carefully examined every single item before finally handing them back to the passengers. If something “suspicious” was discovered, such as verses of the Koran or Arabic literature, the passengers were called to explain what the literature was and why it was being carried. In the post September 11 world these people were the new “niggers” of America.

Outside the lobby, an anxious crowd waited to greet the newly arrived. As the passengers came out dragging their luggage, these relatives rushed with open arms to embrace them. Not far away from where these emotional re-unions were taking place, a man sat silently in a corner reading a newspaper. He was holding the paper in front of him in a way that prevented people from seeking his face. He would often remove the newspaper and gaze at the approaching passengers and then lean back on the chair once again stretching the paper in front of him. Suddenly, the glass door slid open and the blonde airhostess came out trotting in her high heel shoes. Dressed in Air-America uniform, she walked gracefully, dragging a small- wheeled suitcase behind her. Her strides were long and graceful and there was a certain aura of ‘arrogance’ in her walk. Yet it was a graceful kind of arrogance, the kind that made men turn their heads in her direction. Just by looking at her one could tell that she was a gym rat – the kind of women you see on fitness magazines. Though not a bodybuilder, she had a visible “tightness” to her figure that could only have come from lifting weights. While most athletic women tend to be flat-chested, this was not the case with this goddess. With high riding breasts that seemed no less then a large C cup, she had the kind of body that would make most men uncomfortable around her.

Leaving the newspaper on the chair he stood up and started following her. Unaware of his presence she walked a few paces ahead of him, swaying her tight round hips with each stride. From her ‘onion shaped’ hips, his eyes went down to her lower legs and he could not help but admire the shape of her calves. They were nicely shaped, well developed calves that ended in narrow ankles. She was obviously walking very fast as within a few minutes they had left the taxi stand behind them and were in deserted parking area. She made her way to the red Neon with tinted glasses and opened her trunk. After placing the suit case inside she slammed it close and went to the front seat.

Sitting in the car she started loosening her hair. The rubber band tying her blonde hair was removed and tossed out of the window on the street. She was still adjusting her hair in the mirror when suddenly her cell phone vibrated in the purse and she opened the zipper to reach for it. By the time the cell phone was in her hands, the call had ended and there was an “I LOVE YOU” message on the caller display. Recognizing the Senator David Gifford’s number on the caller display, she smiled and placed the phone back in her purse. Within a few minutes she was on the highway totally unaware of the pick up truck that was following her.

Her marriage with Senator David H. Gifford was almost three years old. She clearly remembered how she had met him the first time that October evening. It was the inauguration of the communities local Fitness Club and David H. Gifford, the ex-Marine turned politician, was the Chief Guest for the ceremony. Though Gifford was a famous man, both as a politician and a war veteran, she was not the least bit excited about meeting him. Politics was never her thing and neither was international military conflict. She was the chief fitness instructor at the club and her job was to give demonstrations on the exercise machines. She wanted the ceremony to be over soon so that she could go home and fill the new fish tank she had just brought. Her gold fish had been swimming in the small crystal bowl for almost a week now and she thought the new over-sized aquarium would be a nice and spacious change for them.

When David H. Gifford finally arrived he was very different than what she had expected. At forty-two years of age, his posture was upright and alert and he looked more a soldier than a politician. Yet in his manners he was gentle and friendly with an air of charisma that really impressed her. He had watched her closely as she showed him the electronic stair climber and the treadmill etc. After the dinner, just minutes before he was about to leave, one of his assistants approached her with a handwritten note from Mr. Gifford. It read as follows:

Dear Madeline,

I usually don’t write notes to beautiful women. In fact I NEVER write notes to beautiful women but to be honest, there is something about you that is making me write this one. I would be extremely grateful if you could accompany me to dinner this weekend.

Coming Saturday 8:00 pm. I will wait for you in front of Garden Terrace main entrance. It would really make my day if you show up.

Yours,

David H. Gifford.

The small piece of paper left her totally baffled. She knew she looked hot but was she really THAT good??? Was she really good enough to bring Senator David H. Gifford to his knees? She decided to show up at Garden Terrace but she had made up her mind that if this guy was some rich playboy, expecting a quick and easy fuck, then she was going to break his heart big time. Finally, when Saturday came she went to Garden Terrace and found his limo waiting there. To her surprise he was as much of a gentleman as he was at the inauguration ceremony. They went to Baton Rogue- one of the most expensive restaurants in the city and enjoyed a long conversation over fine dinner. Gifford dropped her home in the limo and thanked her for the wonderful time. This romance did not end there as Madeline began to receive gifts and flowers from him. They went out a few more times and Gifford ended up proposing to her.

It had been three years to their marriage and the sex was as good as ever. Gifford was a very sexually charged man. In spite of his busy schedule, he would have sex with her three times a week. The kind of sex he was into was wild and dirty sex that would leave them both exhausted. He would return from golf, hot and smelly and find her sweating up on the treadmill. After locking the door he would grab her and rip her panties off. Then he would throw her on the bed and they would fuck like wild animals. This smelly, animalistic sex was what he really enjoyed and had taught her to enjoy too. In the midst of this wild sex life, a few articles had appeared in the newspaper portraying Madeline the aerobics instructor as the Senator’s ‘trophy wife’. She was his sex goddess and in spite of his money and status, he was a ‘worshipper’. At least that was how media tried to portray their relationship.

She took the exit from the highway and started heading towards fields. There was green uninhabited land on both sides of the road and she lowered her window to smell the breeze. After a few minutes on the lone scenic road she began to approach the railway crossing. There was no one for miles except the pick up truck that had been behind her since she left the airport. The light at the crossing was red and the electronic barrier was down. She stopped at the crossing and started adjusting her hair in the mirror. In the reflection she could see the pick up truck, which had now stopped just behind her. She was still adjusting her hair when the door of the pick up truck opened and the driver started walking towards her window.

As he came and stood next to her she looked at him closely puzzled about his intentions. Dressed in a heavy and rugged cargo jacket he was a bronze skinned man, most likely of Middle Eastern/South Asian origin. His hair, long and straight was backcombed and curled just below his ears. With raised cheekbones, his face was hard and bony with a trim beard line forming a shadow across his jaw. Through this slight beard shadow, she could make out a two-inch scar that seemed like a knife wound.

“Something is hanging…” He spoke with a strong accent and his words made no sense. She could tell his English was weak.

“Pardon me?” She looked confused. “Something is hanging from the back of your car.” He said pointing to the rear of her car. She opened the door and stepped out to check what was “hanging”. As she approached the rear of her car, a train began to appear from the horizon.

“What do you mean something is hanging from the rear of my car?” She said looking at her trunk, which was closed. At that very moment he grabbed her arm from the back and brought her down with a violent tug. She found herself lying on the concrete kicking fiercely in the air as he tried to mount her. Her first reaction was that he was going to rape her. She began to yell and punch madly at him as he placed his weight on her chest. She screamed for help but her screams were muffled by the sound of the passing train. He had straddled her in such a way that her left arm was trapped under his knee. With her right she pounded at his jacket but he totally ignored her struggle. With an expressionless face he pulled out a bottle of liquid and began pouring it on a handkerchief. As a few drops of fluid fell on her face she smelled that it was liquid Anesthesia! He wanted to make her unconscious. At that moment she realized that this guy was not a rapist! He was something even more dangerous.

After soaking the cloth in the fluid, he brought it to her face and pressed it against her nose and mouth. During this struggle, one of her shoes had come off and she was now rubbing her bare heel against concrete. Gradually, she began to feel heavy and her right fist, which was mercilessly pounding at his jacket, began to lose its ferocity. She had resisted like a tigress but now she knew the struggle was over. The last thing that she remembered was pounding at his chest and his cold, expressionless face staring down at her.

Chapter 2:

It was a beautiful foggy morning with grayish mist covering the trees. The fog was so thick one could barely see ten steps ahead. All that was visible of the large trees was their trunks, as the tops had disappeared completely in the mist. There was a lake on one side but it was still and silent. There were no waves or movement of any kind in the water. A wooden boat was tied to the jetty and the edge of its oar could be made out from the fog.

A confused and disoriented Madeline stood gazing into the gray haze that dominated the greenery. She had no shoes and could feel the wet grass under her bare feet. Suddenly through the mist, she saw the outline of what seemed like a double storied house. With sluggish footsteps she started walking towards it. Her head was throbbing and there was a strange drowsiness that made her sway with each footstep. As she got closer to the house she realized that it was much larger than she had expected. In fact it was a red roofed mansion with gray stones and large windows. There was a rose garden in front of it with a large white water fountain. Through the thick fog it seemed like a palace built in the clouds. As she staggered into this exotic rose garden she realized that there was something familiar about the place. There was a paved pathway that lead to the main door with fresh pink roses on each side. She knew she had been here before. In her disoriented state the place looked familiar but her mind was too foggy to place it. “Where am I?” She thought to herself as she walked towards the main door. “What is this place?”

Suddenly she woke up in the back seat of the pick up truck with wrists handcuffed and feet tied together with a nylon rope. She was till dizzy from the anesthesia and felt extremely weak. Stretched on the back seat she raised her head and looked at her kidnapper sitting on the drivers seat. Through his deep-set eyes, he looked at her in the rear view mirror and she dropped her head on the seat again.

“You don’t know who my husband is…” She moaned in a weak voice. “I am the wife of a very important man… the FBI will track you down and skin you alive if you hurt me.” With that last words her voice shivered and she broke down. Yet she tried to conceal her cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks on to the leathered seat as she wondered what this man wanted from her. She examined her body and realized that her clothes had not been removed. She had not been raped or molested. But that scared her even more. She had looked into the eyes of this man when he had taken her down. There was no emotion in his eyes when he over powered her. There was no anger - no hate. He was swift in his movements, too detached from what he was doing and too professional. She raised her head again and looked outside the window. They were driving through industrial area towards the east. Looking at the factories and the hardware dumps along the road she estimated that they must have been around fifteen kilometer away from the railway crossing from where she was attacked.

Suddenly, a cell phone rang in the front seat. He looked at his wristwatch and then leaned towards one side to pick up the phone. With one hand on the steering wheel, he pulled the phone to his ears and started talking in some language she could not understand. She knew it was some Middle Eastern language but it was definitely not Arabic. As an airhostess who dealt with international passengers a frequent basis and she had enough experience to tell that the language this man was speaking was not Arabic. Her intuition was confirmed when he said “Khuda Hafiz” and hung up the phone. “Khuda” was the Persian word for ‘God’. She was aware that Arabs never used that word. They used the Quranic word “Allah.” This guy was either Iranian or Pakistani and she understood that her kidnapping was politically motivated.

“You are a fanatical Bastard do you know that???” She spoke with a trembling voice. “You come into this country without visas, on fake passports … you hijack planes, slam them into buildings. You blow things up and kill innocent people! Damn you ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS!”

He looked at her through the rear view mirror and then his expressionless eyes returned to the road. His behavior showed he had understood little of what she had said and relieved by that she rested her head on the seat again.

They drove for another ten minutes and soon they were entering what seemed like a factory compound. It was a large factory compound but the place looked deserted. There were three main buildings in the factory compound. As they drove past the first one she saw a large red and black sign that read “Storage Area 1.” Then they passed in front of the second identical building and the sign read “Manufacturing Area.” Finally they passed in front of the third building and this time the sign read “Storage Area 2.” Soon they were out of the factory compound and in front of what looked like a three story apartment building. With a steel fence around it this building looked as deserted as the factory compound. There was an old blue and white sign that read “Residential Suites.” From the other side of the fence she could hear the barking of dogs.

After pulling the handbreaks the man calmly turned around to face her, his eyes as expressionless as ever. Leaning across the seat he brought his face close to hers and looked into her frightened blue eyes. He then spoke in perfect English:

“This country originally belonged to the Native Indians… It belonged to the Mohawks, the Chippawas, the Apaches! When your ‘white’ ancestors came from Europe, they neither had a valid VISA nor any landing papers. So don’t you EVER call me an illegal immigrant! It is YOU who is illegal here.” With this he turned around and stepped out of the car. “This whole country is illegal.” He said and closed the door.

Totally baffled, she looked at him as he walked towards the fenced gate.

Chapter 3:

Dressed in his towel robe, Senator Gifford stood in his balcony gazing at the open sky. The night was silent and the sky was clear. The wind was blowing against his face and he continued to stare at the glittering stars. There was something soothing about them. Three hours ago he had come home expecting his sexy wife to be waiting for him in the living room. It was a Saturday evening and he had come home anticipating the wild and dirty sex they had reserved those evenings for. He has hoped she would be all hot and sweaty from her workout- her toned body glistening with sweat. The very thought of it had given him a hardness in his pants as he sat in the back seat of his limo. But he had found the place empty. He had then called Madeline on her cell phone and bells were ringing but no one was picking it up.

About half an hour later he had gone under the shower feeling a tinge of anger for his wife. “Shed better have a good excuse for not showing up.” He had thought as he showered. The erection that he had had was still hard and he found himself stroking his shaft thinking about his wife. When he came out of the washroom in his towel robe the wall clock was showing 9:00. By now he was not angry but seriously concerned. Madeline always called when something happened off schedule. He knew something had happened to her. The suddenly his phone had rung and something he just knew that it was regarding his wife.

Eddie Stewart the Police Chief was on the other end. He told him that an abandoned red Neon was found at the railway crossing. It was registered in his wife, Madeline Gifford’s name. When the vehicle was found, one of the doors was left open and a high heeled shoe was lying on the road next to the door. There was no sign of his wife but it was obvious she had disappeared after a violent struggle because stains of liquid anesthesia were on the road. The Chief believed this kidnapping was politically motivated because of the professional way in which it was done. He had said he could not reveal any more information because the case was now being handled by the FBI and several agents were already on the trail of the kidnappers.