Turkish Holiday Ch. 01

She heard bottles clinking then a wooden thud. It was probably what had awakened her. She could tell the sun was still very low on the horizon, the yellow light streaming in through spaces between the dark curtains on the windows. She had to get out of here as soon as possible. Oh god! What have I done?! Fear finally gripped her. Where are my clothes?!

She raised her head and looked about the room. She squinted and was surprised when she saw what had to be her dress folded neatly on the dresser. Her sandals, panties and ripped bra next to it. Someone had picked them up and placed them there. She wondered who.

She heard more clinking bottle sounds coming from the barroom. She carefully moved Melik's head off her stomach. He stirred and then twisted, nearly falling off the bed. She slowly sat up, then worked her way between the two muscular male bodies to the foot of the bed. She got up. She was dizzy for a moment. She quickly went to the dresser.

In the mirror she saw her lipstick smeared and the same with her eye liner. She saw crusty white flakes on her cheek, neck and breasts. Her stomach knotted tightly again as she quickly brushed it off with her fingers as best she could. She stepped back and looked down at her pussy. More white flakes were on her inner thighs. She rubbed it off, then grabbed her panties. She almost fell over getting them on while standing. She grabbed her dress and hurriedly pulled it on. She picked up her sandals but didn't put them on.

She heard one of the young men moan. She turned around and looked at the muscular young naked bodies. More visions of the previous night flashed through her mind. She felt nauseous, the worst thing was remembering that she had loved nearly every moment, she had never been so animal-like, so possessed by lust, so willing to please and be pleased. Her anus clenched. It was very sore, so was her vagina. She nearly started crying remembering how her bottom had been deflowered, defiled really, but she also remembered how after the initial shock of it, the pain of it, that both of those things had lessened when her anus became accustomed to the size of Amand's uncle's cock. She wasn't sure now, but she might have had an orgasm from what he did to her. She shut her eyes tightly, recalling how much she had enjoyed feeling like a slut during it, an uninhibited sexual animal. She had been a depraved slut last night. Again she felt like vomiting. It wasn't her fault! It was her cheating bastard husband who made her do it last night!

She heard more glass bottles tinkling, then a squeaky sound. She opened her eyes and looked at the young men once more. They had given her what she had craved last night but she could never let it happen again. Never. She suddenly realised they also could have robbed her and just left her on some deserted road. She mustn't ever take a chance like that again.

She had to get out, leave, get back to the hotel and the guest house. Fear gripped her again. She didn't have her purse! They did rob her! She moved to the door and silently opened it. She saw the hallway door open to the bar. She tip toed down to it. There was a stack of crated bottles at the end of the bar. She stepped into the room and tried to remember at which table they had sat. She thought it was the one towards the entry door and near the end of the bar. She tip toed to it. Chairs were on top of the table, turned upside down. She looked around the top then beneath the table. She needed money to get back to the hotel, she'd have to get a taxi! They had stolen her purse!

"Ahh... English lady awake."

She jerked up. She clutched her sandals and bra to her chest. "I... where's my purse."

"Eh? What is what?"

"Give me my purse... my... my bag... my... my money." Her head was throbbing in pain. How could I have done this! Her fear skyrocketed as Uncle, whatever his name was, started walking towards her. She started backing away.

"English lady... come... come." Ibrahim beckoned her with his thick fingered large hand. "You come."

She thought about where his fingers had been last night. "I... I want my purse." Her arse bumped then pressed into another table. Her body stiffened when Uncle's hand gripped her upper arm then tugged her towards him. It took her a few moments to realise his hand wasn't gripping very tightly, he was just nudging her.

"You come now. Come. Money."

Her heart was racing as she let him lead her. She still held back a little. In her frightened and hungover state, she had no idea what he meant about money. Was he talking about paying for the night in the room? He led her to the bar. He didn't let go of her arm as he leaned over the dented but polished wood top and reached under it. His hand rose with her purse. He presented it to her.

"You look. Money. All money." Ibrahim released her arm.

Beatrice started breathing again. She opened her purse. She saw the Euros in the pocket. She hoped it was enough to get her back to the hotel and house. She felt his hand take hold of her arm again.

"English lady, you... ahhh." He made a circular motion with his palm in front of his face.

"What? I... I need to leave... leave... right now."

"No... no leave. You... you... ahhh...." Ibrahim exhaled. His jaw clenched for a moment. He pulled her again.

"Wha... what are you doing? I... I want to leave." She started panting, nearly hyperventilating. She pulled back on her arm, but his hand tightened. Again her fear skyrocketed.

"You come."

They went through a door. She saw a little kitchen. A doorway led to a small sitting room. He pulled her to a short hallway. She saw a fairly large bedroom with a large bed. Her fear rose more. He tugged her to the door on the other side of the hall. He made the motion with his palm in front of her face again. She pulled back on her arm even more and leaned away from him. She was on the verge of screaming. He exhaled sharply and tugged her through the doorway. She saw it was a bathroom.

"You... you water." He made the motion around his face. Then pulled the curtain open on the shower. "Water." He picked up the bar of scented soap from the dish. "This... water. You... you do." Ibrahim smiled, released her arm, then exited the small bathroom, closing the door behind himself.

She saw a small slide bolt on the door and quickly stepped to the door and locked it. She exhaled and tried to gather her wits. She opened her purse again and fished around for the little bottle of ibuprofen she always took along when traveling. She found it and took two tabs, cupping her hand to drink water from the sink faucet. She looked in the little mirror. She did look awful. She couldn't let anyone at the hotel see her like this. She definitely couldn't let her travel companions see her in this condition. She looked at the bolted door for a moment, then pulled her dress up and off.

She took a shower, at first hurrying, but then the hot water felt so good she slowed her movements. Her vagina, especially her labia were very tender, undoubtedly friction burned and bruised, but she was surprised her sore anus wasn't more tender. Actually, it wasn't nearly as irritated as her vagina. She finally turned off the water, pulled the plastic curtain back and stepped out of the shower stall. She looked at the hanging towel for a moment, then opened a narrow door which she hoped was a linen closet. It was. She took out a folded towel and dried off. She combed her hair with her fingers. It would dry and look presentable by the time she got to the hotel. She cupped her hand under the faucet and drank water for a minute. She toweled her face again, then put on a little makeup and lipstick.

She thought about taxis. Would there be any in this village? Her stomach knotted again as she berated herself for getting so smashed, and getting herself into this situation. More flashes of the previous night coursed through her mind as she got dressed. Her sore pussy clenched as she remembered one of her intense orgasms. She put her sandals on last. She took a slow deep breath and tried to calm herself.

She opened the door and quietly returned to the barroom. She saw Amand's uncle sitting at a table drinking something orange in colour from a glass bottle. He looked at her.

She stopped five feet from him. "I... I need a... a taxi. I want to leave right now."

"Hotel, yes?"

"Yes. I... I need a taxi." She again wondered if any taxi existed in the village, especially so early in the morning. She realised she probably had two hours of sleep at most.

"You come... I take." Ibrahim stood and motioned with his head. "You come. Hotel. I take."

Beatrice glanced at the door that led to the bedroom where Amand and Melik were sleeping. Would she be safer with them? Would they get up if she wanted to leave right now? She looked at husky man again, still unsure of his name. "Hotel, yes? You'll take me to the hotel?"

Ibrahim nodded. He was getting irritated. "Yes. Hotel. Hotel. I take. Come... come."

Bea swallowed. "All... all right. Hotel. Yes. Hotel."

She followed him out the side door. The sun was blinding especially with her throbbing head but she saw a small van. Uncle got in on the driver's side, she opened the door and got in on the other side. The interior was spartan but surprisingly clean. Uncle started the engine. The small lorry lurched forward. She opened her purse glad to find her sunglasses inside. She put them on.

Ibrahim glanced at her, then mumbled something in Turkish. He chuckled to himself, then in English he said, "Pretty... sexy... movie star lady."

Beatrice felt the furthest thing from a movie star. Visions of the previous night continued flashing though her mind. Without thinking she glanced at Uncle's crotch. Her stomach knotted remembering how she had virtually gobbled his huge member, how its gigantic head had intrigued her so much. In a odd way, it had been very alluring, almost like some sensually shaped, spongy confection. She exhaled as the van made another turn onto a cobbled street. She had been holding her breath and clenching her sore pussy and anus as she remembered her actions of the night before. She didn't want to admit that having that huge monster in her arse pumping gobs of cum had been the hottest erotic experience of her life. She refused to admit it. Only an unmitigated slut would think that. She forced herself to relax each orifice.

The van made two more turns then slowed to a stop in front of what Bea imagined was a shuttered shop. Uncle turned off the engine. Her stomach knotted with fear. She looked at him with wide eyes. "Hotel... I want to go to the hotel!" She saw an irritated expression appear on his face.

Ibrahim nodded. "Yes... yes, hotel. First... you... present. I... ahh... give you... present. Here. Come. You come." He opened the door and got out. He walked around the snub nosed front of the van and opened the passenger side door. "You come. Now. Come. Present."

"I... I want to go to the hotel."

"You come now." He reached for her hand and when she yanked it away, he gripped her arm firmly. "You come.... present."

Bea considered screaming but she was afraid he'd get violent. What could he do that he hadn't done to her already? She knew there was a lot more he could do and could have done last night. Her head was pounding so much that she couldn't think straight. She held back slightly, grabbed her handbag, and let him pull her out of the lorry. She slowly realised if he had something depraved and horrible in mind, he could have done it already.

He let her arm go on the sidewalk. She watched his hand form a fist. He pounded it like a hammer on the aluminum roll down shutter. The noise made her headache worse. He shouted in Turkish, then pounded again. A minute later she heard a man's voice inside shouting a response. Uncle yelled another sentence, then smiled. He turned towards the small walkway between the shop and the next one. An old man came around the corner. He had a set of keys in his hand. He was grumbling in Turkish then stopped when he looked up at Uncle and herself. He smiled and spoke Turkish to Uncle. Uncle laughed and responded. Bea became more nervous.

Ibrahim turned to the English woman. "You like cafe?"

"I... I want to go to the... the..." She exhaled. "Yes, fine, a coffee... okay."

"Good. You cafe and... and present."

She watched the old man unlock and raise the shutter door. He unlocked the shop door and stepped inside. Uncle motioned for her to go in. She did. She thought they were entering a cafe. Surprisingly, it was a shoe shop. The decor was basic. There were four chairs in a row, aluminium arms, red plastic covered seat and back cushions, a small counter top with a cash register.

Ibrahim moved around the English woman. He looked at her, smiled and pointed to one of the chairs. He then went with the old man to the back of the small shop and disappeared through a doorway with beads on it instead of a door. She could smell the aroma of strong coffee. Without thinking she looked at some of the display tables and racks. It was a woman's shoe shop. Most of the offerings were very cheap knockoffs of designer shoes. She sat on one of the chairs, put her purse on the next chair, closed her eyes and tried to stay calm, which she recognized she was, at least about being in a shoe boutique. It was partially her hangover making her so full of tension, that and what she had done the night before. Was it guilt? Was it fear of herself?

Uncle and the old man reappeared. The old man was holding a small try. Small cups, a coffee urn, and a bowl of sugar were on the tray. Uncle sat next to her. The old man poured a cup of coffee and Uncle took it. He poured another and then raised a spoonful of sugar. He looked at Beatrice and smiled. Bea nodded and he stirred the sugar into the thick coffee. He presented the tray to her and she picked up the small ceramic cup. He poured one for himself, added a little sugar then set the tray on the counter. He pulled an old shoe fitting stool in front of her, then picked up his cup and sat on the stool facing her. He sipped his coffee.

Beatrice did likewise. It was sweet and hot and very strong. She could feel the fine grounds on her tongue. She wished it was a large glass of ice water. She saw the old man staring at her sandals. He sipped his coffee again, licked his lips then smiled. He looked at Uncle a few moments later and spoke in Turkish to him. They argued back and forth for a few minutes, then he smiled and looked at Beatrice's sandals again for a minute. He looked up and smiled at her. Uncle said something to him and the old man nodded, stood up and put his cup on the tray before he went to the back room again.

Ibrahim sipped his coffee again. "Now, present. I... I to you. Present."

Bea just wanted to leave. She certainly didn't want any gift if that's what he was talking about. She was exhausted and couldn't understand what was going on, nor why it seemed Uncle wanted to give her a present. For what he did to her last night? She shut her eyes for a moment, again trying to deny how much she had ended up loving it. Her eyes fluttered open. The old man returned a moment later with a large bowl of water and a sea sponge floating in it. Two small towels were draped over his arm. He sat on the footstool and placed the metal porcelein bowl to the side. He placed the towels on the seat next to her, then looked at Bea and smiled. He leaned down and gently cupped the back of her left foot.

"What... what are you doing? I..."

Ibrahim spoke, "You do. Present."

The old man looked into her eyes again and smiled. Bea exhaled and let the gaffer raise her foot to the incline of the shoe stool. She watched his old and gentle fingers deftly unbuckle the thin strap of her sandal then he raised her right foot gently and removed her shoe. He leaned forward and raised her other foot, and took that sandal off. He took her right foot in her hands and began kneading it, his fingertips seemed to find every spot that made her sigh and relax. She wondered if the present was a foot massage.

Uncle raised his arm, putting it behind her resting it on the chair back. Bea tensed thinking he'd put it around her shoulders but he didn't. She sighed again watching the old man's hands work her foot. It did feel very nice. He kept it up for a couple minutes, then moved it to his thigh. She saw a bulge in the crotch of his black, baggy pants only for a moment as he took her left foot in his hands blocking the view of his crotch.

His hands felt wonderful. It actually seemed as if it was helping her splitting headache. She decided to enjoy it. She closed her eyes as his thumbs and palms massaged her foot for another two minutes. She got so relaxed she lay the back of her head against Uncle's thick muscular arm. She felt the old man shift his legs, closer to each other as his hands raised her foot, her other one coming closer, then both were resting on his lap. His hands massaged both her feet then. She became more relaxed. Then one hand disappeared. She realised she was on the threshold of falling asleep. She vaguely heard a metallic sound, a zipper actually, then a very large finger stroking against the soles of her feet. It was odd he had a softer large finger, maybe it was his thumb, no, not his... Her eyes opened wide. She jerked her head up. She felt the old man's hands grip her ankles. She tried to pull her feet back. She saw the old man breathing heavily, a look of fear and concern on his face.

The old man spoke in a pleading voice, "Please pretty English lady. Please... please."

"No!" Suddenly her blond hair was gripped tightly and her head was yanked back. "Oh!"

Ibrahim growled, "English lady, yes... yes, you do.... you do, then... then present. I present you. You do now. You do."

"Please pretty English lady," the old man was nearly whining. "Please pretty lady. Pretty feet, so pretty." He felt her stop struggling. He slowly pulled her feet back to his lap. His hands started massaging again, just as before. He spoke to Ibrahim softly in Turkish. Then looked at the woman. "Pretty English lady? Yes, please, yes?"

Bea didn't know what to do. She was trapped. She didn't like Uncle gripping her hair. She was panting from fear again. She thought of her cheating husband. He had ignored her for years, even though she had been so disciplined about going to the health club, keeping trim, slim, and toned. And now here was a man, albeit an old and foreign man, who was obviously a pervert, but still a man begging her to let him enjoy her feet. Her feet for godsakes! She had offered everything to James, and now here was a man begging to feel and touch her feet. "Yes.... yesss... Uncle... let go of my hair. Please." She wasn't sure Uncle understood but the old man said something in Turkish to him and Uncle released her hair, then he petted her shoulder.

"Good.... good English pretty lady." The old man smiled into her eyes. One hand continued caressing her feet as the other gripped his throbbing old weapon. He rubbed it against the soles of her pretty feet. He kept that up for another minute, then rose to a crouch, held both her ankles as his other hand moved the stool back. He knelt down and held her ankles and started raising and lowering her feet, rubbing them against his surprising large, stiff cock.

Bea looked on with a odd curiosity and amazement that her feet could excite an old man, any man so much. Of course he was a pervert, yet still, she always had thought her feet were pretty and obviously so did the old man. Without really making a conscious decision, she started to assist the old man, turning her feet slightly inward, helping him move them up and down his stalwart rod, curling her toes on the upstroke to tickled the tip of the head. His manhood felt smooth and warm.