The Egyptian Trap
The Egyptian Trap.
Going to Egypt in winter — what could be better? While we have frost, snow, and blizzards, the sun is shining there, people are swimming and sunbathing. In a word — paradise. However, not everything there is so smooth and wonderful. It's not for nothing that tourists are taken through the desert with an escort.
Several, sometimes up to a hundred buses and cars, gather into a convoy and only then set off. They say that once Bedouins slaughtered the passengers of an entire bus. And then there was that incident with Natasha. She went to admire the pyramids and agreed to ride a camel. A Bedouin took her on his humped beast a couple of kilometers into the desert and refused to bring her back until he had extracted a hundred bucks from her.
Armed with a bunch of instructions and horror stories, I still ventured to fly to Egypt alone. I chose Hurghada. There's sand on the beach, fellow countrymen make up a good half of the people there, and overall, as it turned out, it's a good place for a vacation. At first, I enjoyed all this splendor, forgetting about everything in the world. I wanted to relax, to truly rest from work.
Although at "work" I didn't overexert myself too much, being, simply put, a call girl. This profession entails a lot of negative aspects, though, like any job you don't like. I liked mine, especially if, besides good earnings, I managed to get pleasure too. It didn't happen very often, but still. Mostly I had to deal with all sorts of old geezers who couldn't even fuck properly. I had to use all my skill to get such a guy going. But such guys had money, and not a little.
In short, I got fed up with all of them to hell and, dropping everything, flew to Hurghada. After several days of enjoyment and peace, when, basking under the rays of the Egyptian sun, my skin began to acquire a delicate golden hue, I started catching interested glances from the men vacationing at our hotel more often. But, in the end, even that became tiresome, and I finally ventured on a trip.
There really were a great many of those very Bedouins prancing on camels by the pyramids, but I tried not to stray from the main group, feeling their oily gazes on me. Our guys were also looking at me with interest, and one guy was quite openly hitting on me, hoping for further continuation of our acquaintance. His name was Sergei and, in principle, he could count on success. After all, I hadn't had anyone for a week already, and he was really quite something, to my taste. Finally, closer to evening, we set off on the return journey. The sky was darkening before our eyes, and soon nothing could be seen outside the window. The road, straight as an arrow, was lost in the headlights' light and the silent desert surrounding us. Only occasionally was the minibus interior illuminated by the light of oncoming cars rushing past, which were becoming fewer and fewer.
I started dozing off again but was immediately awakened by loud voices. The bus was parked on the shoulder, and some people were crowding around the open door. The guttural voices coming from there gave away their nationality. Our driver was trying to explain something to them, but they weren't listening, interrupting him, constantly glancing into the cabin.
— Passport check, — the driver finally gave in. — Pass them here.
Half-asleep tourists, grumbling discontentedly, began taking out their passports. The whole procedure took about twenty minutes. Finally, the bus started moving, and I sighed with relief, leaning back in my seat. About an hour or an hour and a half later, the procedure repeated. At another checkpoint, they checked passports again. And what they were looking for there — only God knows, or Allah. When we were stopped for the third time, many of the tourists began to grumble quietly. I also tried to protest. But then the most angry one lowered his tone when one of the controllers suddenly climbed into the cabin.
— Stinking bastards, — I couldn't help myself either, getting on the bus one of the last.
Sergei moved to the back seat next to me, obviously hoping to grope me in the dark. I didn't object, although I was thinking of sleeping. When the checkpoint melted into the darkness, we all sighed with relief. Despite the late hour, sleep wouldn't come after what had happened, and I sat leaning against the window, continuing to curse those damned Bedouins to myself. But, as it turned out, we rejoiced in vain, and especially me.
Not even ten minutes had passed since we continued our journey when we were stopped again. With a loud rumble, a large dark "jeep" blocked the road. At the same moment, another car pulled up behind the bus. Our driver slid off his seat, literally shrinking in size before our eyes. Muttering something frightened under his breath, he opened the door without hindrance, and two ugly mugs barged in immediately.
In one of them, I recognized the very one who, just a few minutes ago, had been waving a pistol. Knitting his bushy eyebrows that met on his nose, he began slowly looking over the passengers, rolling his bloodshot eyes. His gaze jumped from one face to another, as if looking for someone specific. My heart sank into my heels, and, as it turned out, not without reason. Noticing me, frozen on the back seat, he made an imperious gesture with his hand, inviting me to get out. Where to?
— Pasport –control, — he growled and suddenly, grabbing me by the sleeve of my blouse, dragged me towards the exit.
The murmur of indignation that arose among my fellow travelers instantly died down as soon as this Bedouin pulled a pistol from his holster. Everyone fell silent, staring frightened at the "controllers." I immediately realized why they had chosen me as the victim. "Bastard" — he's a bastard even in Africa. Could they really have understood?
Throwing a pleading glance at Sergei, on stiff legs, I hobbled to the exit. Four silent Egyptians, breathing threat, surrounded me, scorching me with fierce, malicious looks. Not a single person among my fellow travelers, including Sergei, dared to even squeak in my defense. The driver also sat silently, shamefully hiding his gaze. The Bedouin's guttural voice suddenly cut through the silence. He shouted something to the driver, and he immediately began to fuss, twitching, trying to start the bus.
Dousing us with acrid fumes, his machine coughed, jerked, and, curving around the jeep, suddenly began to move away, picking up speed. I froze with my mouth open, not believing what was happening. The red lights of the departing bus were fading before my eyes. In a couple of minutes, I was left alone in the company of four gloomy individuals; meeting even one of them in a dark alley could have ended in a heart attack.
However, their intentions didn't remain a mystery for long. The one with the pistol, obviously the senior, pushed me in the back, ordering me to walk. I obeyed, although a cold chill instantly gripped my back. Of course, the tough life of a call girl sometimes presented me with unpleasant surprises, but those were just flowers compared to my current situation. What do they want from me? Maybe they really want to check my documents again? I reached into my purse, trying to find my passport there, but it was immediately snatched from my hands. If only I had a can of pepper spray there...
That was just a dream, though even it wouldn't have helped. Peering into the dark, sullen faces in the headlights' light and seeing nothing human in them, I once again experienced real fear. In all their eyes, a beastly malice shone, mixed with wild lust. Obeying the not very polite pushes in my back, I headed towards the jeep, frozen on the road. The Bedouins, talking about something, followed. One of them, slightly ahead, opened the rear door in front of me. I stopped hesitantly, but then received an impressive kick in the rear, which made me lose my balance and, thrusting my hands forward, sprawled on the seat.
At the same moment, not letting me get up, someone's large bulk fell on top of me. Gnarled fingers slid over my legs, yanking down my shorts with one jerk. Following them, my torn panties flew under the seat. I tried to break free, but unsuccessfully. Something hard and hot poked into my buttocks, and I understood that this was the end. No, I wasn't afraid of rape; during my "work," I had to endure all sorts of things, but here, in this godforsaken place, in the company of these thugs, I felt very uncomfortable. Hairy hands unceremoniously spread my legs, I jerked my whole body, tried to break free, but... A wild pain made me howl. It felt like I was being impaled on a living stake.
Immediately, another guy slipped into the car from the opposite side. Grabbing me by the neck with one paw, he began feverishly fumbling in his pants with his other hand. His cock, emerging from the folds of his clothes, seemed huge. When he shoved it under my nose, I almost vomited from the smell emanating from it, as well as from its owner. He impatiently jerked my hair, moving even closer. I had to submit. My mouth was filled with monstrous flesh — I could barely breathe. Snorting loudly, he forcefully shoved his cock even deeper into me, reaching my throat.
The violence continued for a good half hour. By the end, I no longer comprehended who, where, and with what was tormenting me. Barely catching my breath after the first portion, I had to take in another, then another. They were tireless. Talking loudly and laughing, they fucked me in every hole. Finally, this horror ended. Tucking his cock into his pants, the bearded Bedouin threw me some dirty towel, and I could at least wipe myself and somehow put myself in order. The car doors slammed, dousing me with suffocating fumes, both vehicles turned around and sped off into the night. In farewell, that fierce-looking Arab wagged his finger at me and muttered something in his own language.
Tears blurred my eyes as I, cursing everything in the world, started walking along the highway. My legs were disobedient, a fog filled my head. If only some car would pass. Though now I would be afraid to stop anyone. For a good half hour, I hobbled along the road until I noticed a bus parked on the shoulder. To my surprise, approaching closer, I recognized the familiar license plates. The driver opened the door, didn't even look at me, and immediately started the engine, not waiting for me to take my seat. A deathly silence reigned in the cabin. Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes. It was like I'd been at a "subbotnik" (communal work day). — And today really is Saturday, — flashed through my mind. What a vacation. You wouldn't wish such humiliation on your enemy. So, girls, watch where and with whom you travel. Better to stay home.
Three days later, I returned to St. Petersburg and tried to forget about what had happened.
SAS