Delilah Is Traded For An Old Jaguar

"Dammit, I want a horse. That bee-atch Susan thinks she is the coolest for riding a horse around."

"I can't stand that rich cunt with her perfect tits."

"I'd run moonshine just so I can have the big butt of my horse fart in her face."

Delilah, 19 years old, waved her arms. Her blond, long hair was straightened and patted with gel to look thick and smooth. Now hair strands went every which way after her tantrum. She wore a red apron imprinted with "Pretzels make me happy." She stood behind a glass counter in the walkways of a mall with high sky lights and big leaf jungle plants. Her butt was big from a lack of exercise, yet shaped into nice rounds due to her young age. Her cleavage was full sized and padded up from the fat that she had put on standing behind a food stand in the mall since a year ago, when she had graduated from high school.

A dark-olive skinned man with silver-reflective sun glasses leaned forward over the counter. He had an expensive suit that made him look dusty old rather than James Bond suave. The white shirt collar between the black jacket was open without a tie. His full lips with the dark mustache opened for a moment, before he decided to speak, as if telling a secret.

"I know how you two lovely ladies could make enough money for a horse in a month."

"Fuck off, you pervert. I ain't sucking your dick." Delilah through a cheap, tiny paper napkin in the man's face.

"You misunderstand me, respectable ladies. This is a very legit business. I represent a recruitment agency for house hold help in Arab countries."

"Why would I go into a war zone?"

"I forgive your ignorance, because we need to educate the West better. The fighting has been over in years. We have many rich oil families that need house hold help. We have brought in women from Sri Lanka. They are very cheap – a dollar a day. However, they are so poor that they have never seen a toaster oven, let alone know how to operate it. So, we started recruiting Americans in minimum wage jobs. Please, I do not look down on you. I started at the bottom as well. Now look at this rich Armani suit that I am wearing."

"Delilah, this could be our big chance," screamed the blond girl next to Delilah.

"The contract is very simple. You come for a month to work with a loving family. They will treat you like family. Arab hospitality is famous. Because of the lack of entertainment like movie theatres and strict religious rules on the outside, you will probably spend the whole stay at the family's residence. In exchange for having to put up with the lifestyle limitations, you get paid three times as much as the best employer in America would pay you."

"Wow!"

"Delilah, you don't have a boyfriend. You live at your parents place. You don't have a cat to feed. You should do it!"

Delilah treaded left and right in her sneakers thinking. She bit her full lip that was painted in a candy pink. Her body was chubby. It only made her appear more cozy and friendly. She seemed like an affectionate homebody with a sexy round face. She was pretty short as well.

"Okay, how do I do it?"

The man walked around the counter, put her arms around her, and started walking her toward the mall exit. She let him keep his arm around her, because she was eager to please the man. The fabric of his suit felt soft. His walk was a bit hurried and unstable betraying the richness of the suit. From a few words of small talk it appeared that he was simply a hired recruit that like her had gotten a bundle of money. He wasn't rich or a powerful business man.

A black stretch limo waited in the red curb zone on the street going around the mall. A driver with suit, black leather gloves, and square limo hat opened the back passenger door. Delilah bowed to crawl into the limo on her knees. There was a mini bar with liquor bottles and small lights behind them. There were small mini-TVs everywhere. There was a big empty space in the center of the passenger area.

The man pulled a clip board out of a suit case.

"Here is the deal. You sign the work contract. We have a few fake letters. The letters are from a pretend family. As far as the embassy is concerned for the visa, you are going on a cultural exchange program. We prefer that you tell your parents as well that you are going on a cultural exchange. That also makes it easy for you to get a leave of absence from your employer. We got all the fake paper work for it here. Overseas, your family will provide you with everything, food, water, a bed. So, you have zero expenses. Upon your return, we pay you in cash. So, you don't have any taxes to pay. You get to keep all the money."

"I dunno. That's it. I just sign here. And, in a month, I have a horse?"

"It's that easy. Of course, you'll have to clean a few carpets and cook a few meals. They love American fair like burgers."

"I'm really good at cooking."

"I believe you. Just sign here."

"Okay."

Within two minutes, Delilah stepped out of the stretch limo. She stood on the curb in front of the familiar mall. She felt like a millions. She held the fake family exchange papers in her hand. She'd have exotic stories to tell. She'd own a horse. She'd show that bitch, how cool she really was. She'd get a boyfriend. They'd go on awesome road trips.

The day that she stood at the airport gate felt so unreal that she feared inhaling to deep could break the reality into a million pieces like a broken mirror. The airline attendant checked her papers without care, without realizing how special her first trip abroad would be. And, then she would fly across the big ocean to an entirely different continent and culture. She looked excited at the tall floor to way high ceiling windows that opened up the view to the air field.

She watched all the dressed up people with shiny luggage swishing to their terminals. She herself was wearing a pink velvet workout trainer with a zipper-hoodie sweater. White letters over her butt said JUICY in bold. Two white strings ran down from her ears to the iPod. She listened to sexy hip hop music to get into the mood. She dozed through the long plane ride enjoying the regular interruptions for pretzels, drinks, movies, blankets, and captain announcements.

Her eyes were wide open at the sight of Bahrain. All the land was in a barren yellow brown. The airport buildings were white with flat roof tops. Palms were planted in many places. Stepping off the plane was like stepping into a wall of heat. A dingy old bus drove from the plane to the terminal. First class passengers were routed to a gilded hallway. Coach passengers had to step down a barren white, dirty hallway. An enormously long line for the security and duty check stopped her. The crowd in the line consisted clearly of migrant workers. They had huge bags. Their faces looked skinny, gray, and hopeless.

A tap on her shoulder made her turn around. "Miss Delilah, please come with me." An Arab with big black sun glasses stood behind her. He was dressed in a long white traditional dress. His mustache was so huge and puffy that it almost looked like a fat whale. Yet, it was meticulously trimmed to avoid interfering with eating by hanging too low. The man took her carry on stroller out of her hand. It was funny to watch his white dress move around his legs. It kind of looked like a female dress stretches and moves, yet he was a man, walking like a man.

"I will take you past security. We have a special relationship with the chief of airport security. Can I have your passport, cell phone, and wallet."

Delilah handed it all over to the men. She watched the police officers with big black sticks. They swung the sticks around, as if they were ready to use them. A few birds flew below the ceiling. They must have gotten trapped inside. An Indian man had numerous giant plastic bags. The security guards made him unpack everything and put it individually through the scanner. They looked at the men with disdain. The line behind glared at the man with anger. The man looked fearful at his prized posessions.

Out of the building was the airport road and pick up area. Palm trees were everywhere. Delilah had gotten familiar with the impressive heat and glaring sun. There was a definite two class society: Poor migrant workers and rich Arabs. The Arabs were either dressed in luxurious suits or traditional desert clothing.

"Can I have my things back?"

"We'll hold onto them for safekeeping. You'll get them back on your return trip."

"Oh my baggage!"

"Don't worry about it. We'll get it. Please get in the van."

There was a big delivery van with no signage. The back door was partly open. Delilah lowered her head, held onto the wall and pulled herself up. It was dark in there. Pausing for a moment to let her eyes adjust, she saw that there were no seats. Five other young girls like her were sitting on the floor. One girl was also in trainers like her. Another girl was dressed up with a pencil skirt, black blouse, and high heels with thin black leather strips. One girl was dressed up with sexy LA fashion. Her t-shirt was see-through to expose the lace pattern of her bra beneath. Her skirt was short and exposed her midriff. She wore flip flops.

There was a somber mood in the loading bay of the van. Everyone was dressed up in their own special way to express the excitement about the trip. Yet, the taking of the passport, the dingy delivery van, and anxiety about an unfamiliar one month contract set for a somber mood. There were no windows or lights in the back. Only the half open door let the girls see the dark shady silhouettes of each other.

Another girl appeared in the opening of the van. "Yo, I need to call my parents to let them know that I arrived well." The van door shut without response. Delilah could not see the new girl. "Hi, y'all. I'm Benita from Texas. Could someone hit the light switch!" After a moment, soft noises indicated that Benita was sitting down. The engine turned on. The van set in motion. Bumps, swings, and turns were felt in the bodies of the girls. That was the only indication of their unknown journey in a country far away from home.

After half hour, Delilah could feel the forward dip in the car. They were driving into some kind of underground structure. There was a lot of loud screaming noise from Arab man speaking in their Arab tongue. It kind of sounded like a cocktail party with everyone speaking excited. There were a few voices that sounded louder, like market criers. She could not make out an individual voice. Even if she could have, she did not know a single word in Arab. The van stopped. The driver door slammed.

She could hear the driver talking next to the van. The voice was swift and focused. Then, the van door opened. The light was blindingly bright after the eyes had attuned to the darkness. Outside seemed to be a ramshackle underground factory or parking. There were many white pillars. Everything was bearing and unswept for months. One girl was grabbed by her arms and pulled out. The door was slammed. The crowd seemed to grow quiet outside. A minute later, the voices crescendoed like a wave before it breaks.

Delilah was too stunned and busy to take in any hint about what was going on. However, one of the girls in blackness of the van started whimpering. Her soft cries carried the wetness of her tears. Another girl spoke in shock, "we got tricked." Panic set in Delilah's stomach. The door opened again. The arms of the driver fished in the darkness, got a leg, and started pulling. The girl screamed. She tried to hold onto the van. She got another girl's arm. The girls tried help her hold her back in the van. The girls hands fished for a good hold on her body. Hands were grabbing her boobs, touching her lips, squeezing her biceps. The men outside were stronger and pulled her across the van floor. The door shut again.

There was a face slap outside the van, the immediate whine of the girl. The sound of torn clothes was audible, because it was close to the van. The crowd seemed to cajole in frenzy. Everyone in the van tensed. The van door opened again. Delilah weakly called out, "I'm coming out on my own. Please, don't hurt me." She could feel touches on her butt, as she leaned forward under the low ceiling. They were the well wishes of the remaining girls.

The outside was an abandoned underground parking. A couple flood lights lit up the place leaving black shadows in every corner. About forty men were crowded into a tight gaggle. A man dragged away the previous girl by her hair. The girl's head was at his hip. She struggled every which way. Yet, the pain of the hair pulling kept her in check. Her pants were gone. She was walking in her thong underwear.

Delilah's hands were quickly cuffed behind her back. The swiftness and strength of the driver's hands made her hands move, as if she had no control. She felt the hard metal against her wrists. A skinny leather leash was tightened around her throat. The driver walked her like an upper class British dog with a loose u-shape in her leash. The skinniness of the rope made Delilah realize that any misbehavior of her would quickly dig the leather string deep into her flesh.

The crowd quieted. All eyes were staring at her. They were upraising her boobs, her cheeks, the whiteness of her skin, the blond hair that is rare in the Arab world. The crowd respectfully parted for the driver to make space. The driver lead Delilah with slow restraints movements to the center of the crowd. The men were dressed in slacks and traditional dress. Their eyes were dark. The corners of their lip played with disdain. They had horniness and excitement painted in their faces.

The driver called out something. He drew out the words. His voice was strong like a Shakespeare actor's. They echoed back from the barren walls. The moment he finished, the crowd started roaring. The crowd pushed in. Hands grabbed Delilah's boobs hard. Two hands moved through her hair. Three fingers tried to feel her lips and pushed into her mouth. A hand groping her butt made her want to sit down. Yet, the driver raised the leather string around her neck to force her to straighten. Thus, she was dangling like a fish, reacting to all the hands man handling her. Yet, her head stayed high and erect, as she tripled left and right and turned.

The men were in frenzy. Hands from backrows tied to reach forward only getting air. Helpless men were shoved against her propelled by the crowd. Her clothes started moving around. Her sweat pants were already half way down her butt. Fingers were curving around the top of her panties to feel the fabric. The driver forced her mouth open, lifted her lips to show her crystal white, bleached teeth.

A man spoke above the crowd on purpose in broken English: "I'll give you my old Jaguar for the girl. I don't need last year's model, when I got this year's model."

The driver screamed a word what Delilah took to mean "sold." The crowd let go of her. The new man hurt her by grabbing her wrist hard. The driver removed the hand cuffs and the neck leash. The new man twisted her arm behind the back and grabbed her neck from behind hard. Thus, totally under his control, he walked her to his car, a shiny, brand new Jaguar. The driver put away the newspaper to open the door. The new man pushed her into the car ahead of himself and made her move across the seats.

"Hi my name is Aafiya. You must not be frightened. We may have customs that seem exotic to you. However, you will be treated very nicely in our family. My wife's name is Badra. My son is Da'wud. He goes to college at Oxford. He returned for his first summer break. He is about your age. What is your name dear?"

"I am Delilah. They told me that I would be household help."

"Oh, yes, you will do the household chores."

Aafiya wore a suit. He had dark hairy hands. His haircut was very conservative. He was trim, yet not exercised. His eyes were brown. His face was on the long side and had hard features. His shave was impeccably smooth like baby skin. His breath was smelly from cigarette smoke. His shoes were brown leather shoes with gold embellishments. The leather was so fine that it seemed more like a sock than a shoe.

The landscape passing the Jaguar was barren desert. Every once in a while, there was rubble along the street or a road pole. Otherwise, there was only barren, hard-baked dirt. The radio played Arab music with the silly ringing instruments that sounded like horrible Christmas music. In the distance, the capital of Bahrain was approaching.

"I am sorry dear. You are not properly dressed for our country. I have to ask you to make the rest of our voyage in the trunk. We are soon going into the city, where people will be able to see you."

On cue, the driver pulled over at the side of the road. The tires crunched the crusty-dried desert dirt. Delilah sat dazed and frozen. Aafiya got out, around the car, and opened her door. Delilah got out. The trunk snapped open on cue. They driver had released the button. Aafiya looked deeply into Delilah's eyes, while he opened the trunk fully. The trunk was like a big hungry mouth. Delilah's eyes were big and fearful.

"I have to ask you to give me your shoes. The trunk opens from the inside. Should you try to run, I want to make sure that I don't have to run too far to catch you." There was a tentative, pleading gesture in his eyes that made him seem sincere.

Thoughts ran through Delilah's head that she was captured. She did not move. Aafiya confidently pushed his index finger into her mouth. He pinched her cheek between the index finger and the thumb. Delilah felt a sharp pain and her body being completely controlled by a psychologically well placed little gesture. She was like a big dumbo controlled by a little thing. His other arm reached down and ripped the shoes of her feet without untying.

He carelessly tossed the sneakers into the desert. He pulled her low ankle socks of her feet as well. The socks were warm, fuzzy, and moist. Delilah had beautiful moist, nubby, and curvaceous feet. Her toes were painted turquoise and were beautifully glossed for a nice shine. The skin on her feet was so young, fine, without any folds. Desert dirt pieces stuck to her soles.

Aafiya looked at Delilah for a moment. He seized up her body. Delilah avoided his gaze. Her gaze fell on the desert dirt. She noticed that the particular spot was littered with young girly clothes. There were high heels, skirts, t-shirts, hats, bras, even lacy underwear littered all over the floor. From only having lost her footwear, she did not seem to have done as bad as other girls. Some of them were apparently stripped completely naked like an animal.

His hands pushed her back into the trunk, folded in her legs, and pushed her head down. The trunk lid smashed down right in front of her face. There was only a small space in the trunk. Delilah was curled in fetal position. Her back felt the rubber of the spare tire. The new car smell was very thick in the trunk. She felt the carpet like surface of the trunk. It felt rough on her skin. Exploring the space with her hands, she could feel the sheet metal of the trunk lid. The handle to open the trunk from the inside glowed green. She did not dare open the trunk. The car might be going a hundred miles or they might be in a crowded place in the city.

Delilah could not keep track of time. The exhaustion of constant adrenaline jarring moments had set in. She half dozed through the car ride. Two short horn blows woke her up. The trunk clicked open. Aafiyah opened the trunk. Delilah raised her head. They were in the driveway in front of a villa. The plants, trees, and shrubs were radiantly lush. Purple, blue, and yellow flowers were everywhere: Little purple once clustered in the tree, yellow big vase-like in plants on the ground. The driveway was made from expensive Italian marble. The villa was clearly shaped by a master architect. There were so many architectural features to it.