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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
WATERMELON MOON
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Chapter Three
Willette was still hanging between the poles. She had to go to the
bathroom badly. Aram had advised her that if she wanted to pee, she
should just do so in her undies. Through a grimy window set high in the
wall Willette spotted the moon. Watermelon moon. Was it half empty, or
half full? Tonight it seemed half empty. Willette wondered why she
called the slice of moon, with exactly half its surface lit, a watermelon
moon. Surely a slice of lemon would be more appropriate? But she had
always called it watermelon moon, ever since she was a little girl.
Fortunately the light in the room was dim. Aram had torn her skirt
from her, but she still wore her bra and panties. Just when he seemed
about to rip those off too, angered by her response that she knew nothing
of the goings on at the airport, he had been called away.
A small, portly man slipped into the room. He also appeared to be of
Arab origin, but he was much uglier than Aram. He did, however, have a
gentle looking face. "Don't scream and I'll let you free," the ugly Arab
whispered to Willette.
"SÑsure," Willette agreed. To her surprise the next thing the ugly
Arab did was reach behind her and unsnap her bra. Willette's breasts
bounced forward. Her lacy white cups hung tenuously upon them. The Arab
slipped a finger beneath the small slip of fabric that connected the two
cups of her bra and lifted it. Willette's breasts tumbled forth.
Willette's glossy white cones glowed nakedly in a shaft of moonlight
that managed to pierce the grime of the room's lone window. Along the
uppermost curve of her breasts, where they joined her chest, her bra lay
uselessly now, no more than an ornament. Eagerly the Arab seized both
her breasts with his pudgy hands and sucked one of her nipples into his
mouth. Little slurping noises could be heard as the Arab supped at her
mammaries. For Willette, the time seemed to pass with agonizing
slowness. No doubt for the Arab, however, it passed all too quickly.
"So pretty," the Arab finally said, lifting his head from her breasts
to admire her. "You would not be pretty long with Aram. I untie you, then
you go. I go with you." Willette, sensing the man's intent, nodded. The
man pulled a large lock cutter from a pocket on his overalls. Willette
shuddered. If the man was a loony...her perky nipples were closer to the
Arab than her chains were.
Fortunately, the Arab kept his word. It was indeed the chains that
were cut off her. Willette gained her balance, standing freely on the floor
for the first time since she had awoken. She reached behind her and, with
trembling hands, managed to rehook her bra.
"No," the Arab said. Before Willette could even think how to react,
he lifted his lock cutter and snipped right through the bit of material that
held the two cups of her bra together. The cups fell apart, away from each
other, exposing her titties. "You make less trouble for me out there if you
topless," the Arab explained. Willette could only look down at her breasts,
shorn of their last vestige of modesty. Her bra cups hung loosely,
uselessly, on either side of her mammaries.
The Arab stuffed the lock cutter back into the deep pocket on his
overalls and took her arm. Much as Willette detested the Arab, she would
have to go with him if she hoped to escape. Or was this all just a set up...a
set up by Aram to test her 'loyalty'? Was he waiting just outside the door
to this room to punish her?
Willette was led out of the room into a dingy hallway strewn with
trash. There was no time to pick her way delicately over the rubbish. She
ran right through it, kicking it up with her open-toed heels. The ugly Arab
ran beside her, panting loudly, though he seemed to be trying to restrain
the volume of his breathing as much as possible.
The ugly Arab kicked open a door at the end of the hall. A chain on
its handle kept it from opening all the way, and each of them in turn had to
crawl underneath the chain to get out the door. The ugly Arab led Willette
up the side of a steep, sloping knoll. It was hard for Willette to climb in
her high heels. She stumbled twice, and the Arab had to help her get back
up. The Arab hurried her over to an old Buick. With an odd sense of
gentility, he opened the passenger side of the car first and stuffed
Willette inside.
Willette watched as the ugly Arab scurried around the back of the
car. If only she had the key to this thing! The Arab opened the driver's
side door and plunked his butt down on the seat. He drew forth a key from
his pocket. Willette took a deep breath.
"This is where you get off," Willette said suddenly. She grabbed the
ugly Arab by the crotch. The technique was only moderately effective.
The thickness of his overalls kept her from getting a really good grip on
his loins. The move, however, did allow Willette to grab away the car
keys. She stuffed them into the front of her panties. The Arab had never
gotten his car door closed, and now Willette gave a mighty push. Perhaps
the Arab was just too fat and weak to resist her strong, well toned
muscles. Perhaps the lock cutter in the bib of his overalls made him top
heavy. In any event, the ugly Arab tumbled out of the Buick onto the
street. Willette scooted her bottom across to the driver's side of the seat
and stuck the key into the ignition. The engine sprang to life and she hit
the gas. The car's tires squealed as she peeled away from the Arab. The
door on the driver's side of the car swung loosely, still unclosed. Behind
her the fat little Arab lay in the street, his arms and legs flailing the air.
A moment later Willette thought she saw several men, one of them Aram,
rush up the hill. She rounded a corner and fled into the night.
Willette knew where she must go. There was only one place. If she
did manage to escape any Arabs that might follow her, the police would
never believe her. Visions of Tawana Brawley flashed through her mind as
she envisioned herself standing in the police station in only a pair panties,
damp with sweat.
If she didn't manage to outrun any pursuing Arabs, she might be shot
down by the terrorists right on the steps of the police station. Willette
knew she needed someone who could think fast. Someone who was
experienced...not a bunch of young studs whiling away the late night hours
down at the stationhouse. She needed one man, who could act quickly, not
three or four men mired in procedure and bureaucracy. When Willette had
gotten drunk and danced at the nightclub several weekends ago the lonely
man had seen her in her wet T-shirt and panties. Well, now he could see
her in just her panties.
Willette heard the squeal of rubber in the distance, behind her. She
knew now that there would be no escaping the Arabs. She had not been
given enough time to make good her escape. She was ahead by a minute,
but not much more. She didn't even know this part of the city all that
well. Could she afford to careen around in back streets, trying to lose the
terrorists? That might well land her in a dead end alley. Willette opened
the accelerator to full throttle. She whipped past a speed limit sign that
read 35 mph. She would head straight to the lonely man's house, at top
speed. Nothing would stop her. Nothing, not even a police car.
Willette was shooting past a sign on the highway that warned the
maximum speed was 55 mph when she heard a siren behind her. Below the
sign it had read, "Conserve Energy." That's just what she needed now,
wasn't it? She reflected with scorn on the proponents of engine
regulators that would prevent cars from going faster than 55. Just what a
criminal would have too, wasn't it? He'd be ready, willing, and able to
blow up an airport, but console himself with a car with a regulator on its
engine.
A few hectic minutes of driving later Willette came to a screeching
halt in front of the lonely man's apartment. She burst from her car, even
as the police car careened into the alley behind her. She was in luck! The
lonely man was just walking back to his apartment from the dumpster. So
this was the time he emptied his garbage now, right smack in the middle
of the night! Willette prayed that the man really had what she knew he
needed to save her life...again.
"Lonely man! You've got to save me!" Willette cried. She ran up to
him, her breasts bouncing violently. The man spun about. She crushed
herself into his arms.
The police car's driver hit his brakes. He failed to stop in time. He
slammed into the back of Willette's borrowed Buick. The back window of
the Buick shattered.
"Afraid of getting a ticket?" the lonely man asked Willette. She was
nearly hysterical now. Tears streamed down her face.
"No!" Willette cried. "Fuck the cops! I've been kidnapped! Just like
the killer you saved me from, except these men are much, much worse!"
Willette began sobbing. "Do something!" she cried. Perhaps it was only her
youth and beauty, but suddenly the lonely man seemed electrified. Despite
his apparently slender build, he scooped her up into his arms and ran with
her into his apartment. Behind them a car careened into the alley.
The lonely man's apartment was lit by a single lamp. He dumped
Willette on a couch and she watched as he ran to a metal cabinet. He
fished in his pocket for keys and opened the cabinet. Outside Willette
heard shooting. She knew if the cops who had pursued her couldn't stop a
car in time they would lose in any gun battle to the terrorists.
"Can you shoot?" the lonely man said to Willette. As she listened to
the shots outside he had returned to her and was pressing an Uzi into her
small hands. Not waiting for an answer, the lonely man released the Uzi
to her grasp. Then he picked up a set of plastic ear protectors and fitted
them over her head. In his own hands he held a massive machine gun.
"Get behind the couch," the lonely man ordered Willette. She
scrambled up over the top of the couch and landed behind it. The lonely
man took up position beside her.
"We'll only have one chance at this," the lonely man said. "Wait 'till
they're inside. When you see me raise my gun and start firing, you fire
too." He looked over at her. She felt small and inexperienced in his
presence. Which, in fact, she was. "Just make sure you're aiming in the
right direction," the lonely man added. Willette nodded mutely, her eyes
wide.
"Get down! I hear them coming!" the lonely man hissed. He forced
Willette's face down against the floor and crouched over her. Suddenly the
front door to the lonely man's apartment burst open. A hail of bullets
splattered the room. The single lamp was snuffed out in a shattering of
glass. Bullets tore through the back of the couch.
Willette felt the lonely man slither off her. She watched with
terror stricken eyes as he edged his way toward the end of the sofa. A
moment later and he had poked out the barrel of his gun. He fired.
Willette heard screams and rolled herself to the opposite end of the
couch. Suddenly, timidly, she stuck out her Uzi. Keeping her head behind
the couch, without looking where she was aiming, she began shooting. She
heard more screams, cursing, in Arabic. A moment later and all was
silent.
"Sir?" Willette called out in a trembling voice. She still didn't know
his name, and 'lonely man' seemed like an insult. "Sir? Did we get them?"
"There will be more," lonely man said, rising to his feet. "We must
hurry. We haven't much time." He strode forward and aimed his gun at a
computer sitting on a desk. "Get down!" lonely man called over his
shoulder to Willette. She crouched back down behind the couch but kept
her eyes on him. He fired into his computer. The machine exploded in a
shower of glass. The lonely man kept firing until the computer was
nothing but a hissing pile of shards, still charged with electrical current.
"Sir, what's going on?" Willette asked the lonely man as he strode
back over to her and seized her by the arm. He lifted her to her feet.
"I've been tracking those fuckers for a long time," the lonely man
said. He pointed to walkie talkies lying by the terrorist's dead bodies.
"See those? Their friends know where we are." An Arabic voice spoke
from one of the walkie talkies. The lonely man raised his machine gun and
fired at the walkie talkie. It blew apart like so much butter.
Willette tried not to look at the dead bodies as lonely man led her
from his apartment. A small crowd had assembled outside, mostly in
bedclothes. Peter and John were there, standing in their underwear.
Lonely man waved to the onlookers. "Nice night for some target practice,"
he said, waving his gun. The people shrank back. The lonely man opened
the door to his car and pressed Willette into the driver's side. He jumped
in behind her. A moment later and they were rushing out of sardine row.
In the distance Willette could hear sirens.
A long drive followed, with many shortcuts and switchbacks. Lonely
man seemed to be a pro at driving. Willette wondered what other hidden
talents he had. She glanced over at his arms. They were lean, but
muscular. Despite appearing to be around 30, his stomach was flat and
hard. He still displayed a full head of hair. His face was set in a look of
rigid determination. His eyes seemed less sad now. Or perhaps Willette
was only thinking they were. Willette shivered at the coolness of the
night air, at her predicament that had unwittingly thrust her into the arms
of the man she knew she loved.
"Sir?" Willette asked the lonely man in a meek voice, afraid she
might disturb his driving, get them both killed with her curiosity. "Sir,
what's your name?"
"Dick," the lonely man said without taking his eyes from the road.
"At least that's what they call me in this country. My real name is
Genesserat Al-Hatam El Sabah." Willette gulped. For a moment she feared
she had gone from the frying pan to the fire.
"Th-that sounds Arab," Willette stammered.
"It is Arab," Dick said. "I'm an Arab. I moved to America after the
situation in Kuwait was resolved. Now I work for the police department
here...in a special capacity, of course."
"NÑnegotiating to get hostages free," Willette interjected hopefully.
"Yes, and doing research on various groups around the world that
pose a threat to us here in America."
"Like those terrorists that kidnapped me?" Willette asked. Dick
laughed.
"You must be the successor to the Perils of Pauline," Dick said. "I've
never seen any girl kidnapped twice in less than a month. But then that
first incident was just a weird fluke, a stupid kid with his dad's gun who
had gotten burned once too often by his schoolmates. These terrorists,
they're different. They're here to stay."
"Wh-what do you mean?" Willette asked, struggling to stop the
trembling in her voice.
"You'll notice we aren't driving to the police station," Dick said. He
looked over at her. "You know why?"
"No," Willette said quietly.
"Just before you arrived tonight I learned a startling fact.
Researching files by modem with my computer. Those terrorists, New
World Order? They've infiltrated our police department!" Willette gasped.
"And if you think that's bad, they're in the FBI too, at least I think so. I
didn't have time to track down that end of it before you burst on the scene
with your pursuers."
"IÑI'm sorry," Willette said.
"No! It's not your fault. God, no! I've just got to set you down
someplace and ask you some questions about your former captives and
then find a safe place to stick you."
Willette reached out her hand and touched Dick's bicep. "IÑI want to
stay with you, sir," Willette said.
"Huh?" Dick kept his eyes on the road but his attention was clearly
on her. "Well, you're stuck with me right now, and me with you. But once I
find a safe place to let you off I can assure you, there's no way you're
staying with me. That's absolutely out of the question. I destroyed my
computer, but there's still other stuff on New World Order in my
apartment. I wouldn't doubt it if the very cops employed by New World
Order aren't the ones who go through the stuff in my apartment tonight. If
New World Order's men don't get there first. When they find out what I
know about them they'll want me deader than anyone else in the world,
even our president."
"Wh-why?" Willette asked. Her hand was still on his bicep.
"I'm Arab," Dick said. "I know their language, I know how they think.
That's one reason why their case was turned over to me when they first
were discovered. No doubt the CIA has files on them too, but, all modesty
aside, I'm the best when it comes to this sort of thing, even if I am only
employed by the city police department. One of the reasons I kept this
local job here is so I would seem more innocuous. One doesn't expect a
mere hostage negotiator who does a little research on the side to know all
that much. But I do."
A bit later they pulled into a motel. Willette found herself sitting
on the edge of a bed, her Uzi in her lap. She still wore only her panties,
and her heels. Dick sat on a small metal chair near the bed, and began
methodically taking apart his gun.
"Don't clean your gun until I get mine clean," Dick said. "Can't have
both of them down at once." Then he looked up. For what seemed like the
first time that night, any night, really, he suddenly realized just who she
was. "God! You don't even have any clothes on!" Dick cried. "Forgive me,
I'm so used to working with other policemen. Policewomen, whatever.
How can we get you some clothes? Do you feel safe with that gun in your
lap?" Willette nodded. She didn't want Dick to think of her as just a
frightened little girl.
"I'm fine," Willette said. "You just clean your gun. We can get me
clothes later."
"Well, put that blanket around you," Dick said, pointing to the
bedcover folded across the end of the bed. "I feel like a criminal just
looking at you."
"I'm 18," Willette protested, even as she obeyed Dick by reaching for
the blanket.
"That's nice," Dick said. "Have you even graduated from high school
yet?"
"Next month I will," Willette said, unfolding the blanket. She set the
Uzi aside, on the bedsheet next to her thigh. She wrapped the blanket
around her and shivered. Her feet still felt cold.
"I'm sorry about this," Dick said, returning to the cleaning of his gun.
"I should do better by you, but I'm in a tight jam. This motel isn't much
safer than my apartment was. It'll just give us a little breather so I can
get these guns cleaned and ready for more action. Then we're going to
have to steal somebody's car and do a lot of driving."
A little later they were both back on the road, having permanently
borrowed the automobile of some slumbering motel guest. Willette was
still in her panties and heels, but with the blanket wrapped around her
now.
"Dick?" Willette asked the man beside her.
"Yeah," Dick grunted, not taking his eyes off the road.
"WhoÑwho will help you?" Willette asked.
"Help me? You mean, fight the New World Order? I don't know.
Probably nobody. I don't know who I can trust."
"You can trust me," Willette said quietly.
"You? Well of course I trust you," Dick said. He patted Willette
reassuringly on her thigh. "Your skin's cold," Dick said. He looked over at
her. "I'm worried about you. We've got to get you a hot bath and tucked
into bed."
"Don't worry about me," Willette said. "I can shoot my Uzi at those
crooks and I can keep warm in this blanket. Some of me, anyway. And I
want to help you fight against New World Order. At least, I don't want to
see you get killed by them."
"I don't want to see me get killed by them either," Dick said,
returning his eyes to the road. "But I'm even more worried about you."
"Well, don't worry about me," Willette said, and she leaned over and
rested her head on Dick's shoulder. "You can protect me, and I can protect
you, and together we'll both come out of this alive." Willette gave a sigh
and closed her eyes. A moment later she drifted off to sleep.
30
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