And then there was the devilish predicament she found herself in at present. In mere moments, she would be ass-fucked by some Middle Eastern potentate, and the entire incident posted to the internet. Could Abby in any way be said to have opted for this? Had there ever been a moment when she could have charted another course?
Her mind wandered back over the preceding days, reviewing the different choices she'd made, trying to decide whether she could have done anything differently... Like (she recalled), there had been that hop out of Nairobi, less than a week ago. What if she'd simply refused to get on the plane? Would that even have been possible?
And if she had, would circumstances have contorted to drop her into this same pickle anyway...?
Abby leaned back into the seat of the Gulfstream, as Nairobi dwindled to a hazy blur in their wake. It was more than two years since she'd been on a plane like this one, and it dredged up strange and unsettling memories.
On that previous occasion, Abby had been flying to Berlin in the private jet of a Moscow oligarch--whisking her husband off to freedom after his violent and baffling detention by Russian authorities. It had truly been a blessing to see Steven redeemed from captivity that way. And yet, she could only shudder to think of the sins she'd incurred in order to make it happen.
The owner of that jet had been a man named Yevgeny Brosaev. He was a very powerful figure in Russia, not to mention a donor to Steven and Abby's international pro-life crusade--and so, in her desperation, she'd turned to him for assistance when Steven was imprisoned. Unfortunately, she'd soon discovered he was not the righteous man she'd imagined, but just one more lost soul, in thrall to the temptations of avarice and lust. And the price that wicked man had demanded for his help? It was... well, it still made her blush.
Abby had never told her husband what she'd done to get him released. Naturally, she'd wrestled prayerfully with that decision. Was it shame and cowardice that held her back? She told herself it wasn't. After all, she'd acted from good Christian motives when she submitted to the villain's demands (hadn't she?). So really, it must have simply been part of God's plan for her. And if God ever did want Steven to know, He was perfectly capable of bringing the truth to light Himself. The fact of the matter was, Brosaev had captured it on video...
Over time, Abby had come to peace with her decision--realizing that by keeping the secret, she had actually furthered God's purposes in the world. The entire incident had bolstered Steven's faith tremendously. In his ignorance, he looked back on his rescue as a bona-fide miracle, and it made him an even more zealous minister for Christ than he'd been before.
It appeared that Steven's mind had returned to that earlier flight as well. He nudged Abby with his elbow, murmuring in her ear so the people in the neighboring rows wouldn't hear him. "Remember when we were on that Russian businessman's plane? That was crazy, right? But I still don't really understand how you ended up in those clothes..."
Abby cringed at the image he conjured up. That evening, Brosaev had stranded her at the Moscow airport wearing a loose bandeau-top with a propensity for falling down around her waist, and a hot-pink micro-miniskirt that only arguably covered her crotch. And nothing else. She'd ended up flashing every traveler and baggage-handler in the place, before finally meeting Steven at the jet.
"I told you dear," she fibbed, "it was those ridiculous Russian security procedures. They had an all-female team screen me in a private room, and it was, um... very invasive. And somehow, they ended up shredding my entire outfit in the x-ray machine. After that, I had to wear whatever they could scrounge up." Even now, she couldn't believe Steven had ever swallowed that story. Maybe he just trusted her that much. Or maybe he had enough sense not to probe any deeper.
"Well... we did end up having a good time on the plane, didn't we?" He glanced at her, gauging whether she found the innuendo roguish, or vulgar. On the flight to Berlin, after giving Steven the first blowjob of his life, Abby had straddled him, right there in the aircraft, and taken him to completion. It was by far the most daring sex they'd ever had, and she guessed it remained one of the high-points of his life. But he obviously feared she'd find the allusion to it crass.
"Yes, it was very special." She smiled and patted his hand, causing Steven to grin conspiratorially.
When they'd been having relations on that other flight, the passenger cabin had been empty. Well, Abby corrected herself, it was true that the stewardess had strolled down the aisle halfway through--meeting the American woman's eyes with a glance that said: 'I work for Brosaev, so I've seen it all before.' Fortunately, Steven had been too transported to notice. He would certainly have lost his erection if he'd realized they were observed.
Today, however, most of the seats on the plane were occupied--filled with pastors, outreach directors, and missionaries. Steven, feeling emboldened, glanced around, voice still low. "Too bad we have so much company. I wouldn't have minded staging a repeat performance."
She nestled her head against his shoulder. "Hold that thought, dear. Once we get to the hotel, we'll have plenty of privacy."
A few hours later, at the Sheraton Djibouti, Abby plucked their freshly-used condom from the nightstand with tips of index finger and thumb, and dropped it in the wastebasket. Then, pulling on a robe, she paced to the window, looking out at the white-crested azure of the Arabian Sea and listening to Steven's quiet snores.
Lovemaking within the bounds of marriage was perfectly respectable, of course--Abby had always told herself that. Yet, the reality was that for most of their years together, she and Steven had both been very uptight about sex. The conservative religious upbringings they shared colored even marital intimacy with a scarlet tinge of shame; a tinge far too intense for mere logic to erase. Oh, when they were co-leading the newlyweds-group at church, they did their best to sing a different tune. But once they found themselves in the bedroom, embarrassment and discomfort had made intercourse more of a duty than pleasure.
Since that trip to Russia, though, things had changed. Abby felt freer than before--french-kissing, giving her husband oral sometimes, even (gasp!) hinting at what she liked and wanted. And gradually, she'd dragged Steven along with her, in his halting, starchy way. Their couplings had become more interesting and enjoyable, and she'd managed to climax with Steven on more than one occasion.
Even so, Abby couldn't help suffering grave doubts when she recalled the events that had given rise to this transformation. Was their newfound intimacy really proper? Could such a good truly arise from the fruits of sin? In these moments, she sometimes despaired of herself as a fallen woman in God's eyes.
When it came right down to it, it wasn't so much the things she'd done on that desperate day in Moscow that made her feel this way, nor the things she did with her husband now. The real problem lay in the indecent way the two
mingled
in her psyche. When Steven was inside her, and their bodies were most in sync, Abby would sometimes squeeze her eyes shut and discover her mind filled with... Brosaev. The billionaire's imperious manner; his booming energy and charisma; his powerful, animated body; his (Lord forgive me) deliciously beefy organ...
For you see, that had been the price to free Steven. The Russian businessman had made her break her vows before husband and God--made her give herself over to him, take him in her mouth, let him implant his seed in her womb. At an earthly level, the experience had opened her eyes to what sex could be. But at what cost to her eternal soul?
So, Abby found herself leading something of a double life now. Most of the time, when she was thinking straight, she recognized that the thug's actions had been those of a vile, depraved sinner. She prayed for him, and for herself, with sincere repentance in her heart--and felt God's presence, assuring her that He understood why she had yielded herself. It hadn't been for her own gratification, but to save her husband; so that he could care for his family and continue doing the Lord's work.
But then there were those occasions when she was carried away by the throes of passion, and Yevgeny returned to haunt her--tantalizing her with the extremes of sensation and arousal he had given her, extremes she hadn't experienced since. At such times she understood that even with a world between them, the oligarch still owned a piece of her.
That was how it had been just now, with Steven.
Her husband stirred and sat up. "We've gotten a lot better at that over the years, haven't we? I know it's blasphemy to say it, but I sometimes think that's exactly what the rapture will be like. Now aren't you glad you came on the trip?"
