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Rupali Chahal tried desperately to control
her frightened breathing. It
seemed impossible that the soldiers did not know she was
there. Only twenty feet away
she could hear their grunted conversation, their alien tongue making every
syllable they spoke seem menacing.
It had been a near
thing. The village headman had
given her just enough warning to vacate the house before the Japanese
arrived. She had no idea where
her parents or the rest of her family were; she could only hope that they
too had escaped.
She crouched lower behind the bales of
rubber. Sooner or later the soldiers
would move on and then she could look for her
parents. At that moment another
voice spoke up, shouting loudly.
She tried to pull herself into the ground trying to make herself as
small as possible. Even the smell
of smoke and the crackle of flames could not move
her.
She stayed where she was, too frightened to
move. The heat was overpowering,
but she feared that any attempt to leave her hiding place would lead to her
discovery. If she was captured
by the soldiers… the thought was too horrible to think
about. And then her hiding place
began to burn.
The stink of the burning rubber almost suffocated
her, but the thick smoke gave her the opportunity she
needed. Coughing violently she
lurched from her hiding place and staggered toward the edge of the
forest. She made it more by good
fortune than skill. Once in the
shelter of the trees she fought to keep from
coughing. If anyone was close
by she would certainly be discovered, but as luck would have it the Japanese
soldiers seemed to be elsewhere.
She remained where she was only long enough to get her breath back
and then headed deeper into the forest.
The heavy vegetation surrounding the plantation
provided refuge, but it was not without some trepidation that Rupali found
herself among the huge trees and thick
undergrowth. In the last few
weeks there had been a number of strange disappearances, especially concerning
young men and women. It was rumoured
that a demon prowled the forest, snatching the unwary and taking them back
to his lair for brutal torment.
Rupali’s father had laughed at the idea, claiming that it was
more likely a tiger, but he had cautioned his children to keep close to the
house.
That warning was far from her mind however,
as she plunged through the dense foliage.
Thick stands of bamboo mixed with large-leafed plants, and huge trees
made progress difficult and she didn’t pay much attention to where she
was going. Her only concern was
to get as far away as possible from the soldiers who were burning down her
home. It wasn’t until she
was well into the forest that she realized she had no idea where she
was.
She turned in a slow
circle. Thick forest enclosed
her on every side. Even the sunlight
did not penetrate to the forest floor.
As a matter of fact she could not even see the sun, nor could she
remember where it was when she had fled.
Had it been behind her or in front – or perhaps out to the
side?
She leaned against the bole of a gigantic
tree and tried to get her bearings.
She could not go on much longer.
She was tired, thirsty, and she realized,
hungry. She hadn’t eaten
since the morning dish her mother had prepared for her and her well-padded
stomach growled in protest.
A sharp pain in her wrist temporarily took
away her thoughts of hunger. She
jerked her arm and gave a squeal of fright, shaking away the biting insect
that had been attempting to dine on her.
She also moved well away from the tree and any other potential insect
predators it might conceal.
Insects chirped in an almost deafening
chorus. Although the plantation
her father managed for the absentee Dutch owners had been surrounded by forest
she had never liked it, choosing to stay within the safe confines of her
home. She wished now that she
were a little more familiar with her
surroundings. There might be
edible plants right next to her, but she had no way of recognizing
them. More important, however,
was water. Her throat was burning;
so dry she could barely talk, not that talking was
important. Although she seemed
entirely alone she couldn’t be sure that the Japanese soldiers might
not be close by.
For most of her life, Rupali had led a sheltered
existence. Her father’s
position as manager of a rubber plantation in southern
However, faced with her current situation
she had little choice but to try and make her own
way. She began to
walk. Since she had no idea where
she was, she moved in the line of least resistance, following what she hoped
was a path. By pure luck she
happened upon a clear flowing stream.
Eagerly she knelt and drank, not caring whether or not the water was
safe. Her thirst satisfied, she
stood up and considered her next move.
She was still hungry, and she was a girl used
to having regular meals. Already
she felt a little weak and her stomach, which had previously growled in protest,
was now angrily demanding that she fill it.
“I’ve got to eat,” she
thought. “I can’t stay
here.” She scooped up a
little more water and swallowed. It
seemed to ease her hunger pangs a little; then she got to her feet and moved
off once more.
She jumped at every unusual sound and shied
at the flutter of every leaf. She
was most unsuited to a walk in the thick growth of the
forest. Dressed in only a sari
and wearing simple sandals upon her feet, she was already
exhausted. It didn’t help
that her heavy body was decidedly
unathletic. She had always hated
sports or exercise of any kind, and her rather indulgent parents had allowed
her to avoid household chores. Her
mother’s cooking had done the rest, resulting in a hefty 220 pounds
distributed over a five-foot-six- inch frame.
It wasn’t until she reached her fifteenth
birthday and became interested in members of the opposite sex that she discovered
that she was not exactly ideal marriage
material. On learning of her
appearance potential grooms had shied away and two years later she was still
unwed and likely to remain so unless her father could come up with a larger
than normal dowry.
However, none of these things mattered
now. What was important was finding
something to eat and that meant finding some sort of human
habitation. Surely the forest
couldn’t go on forever.
But it
did. Night found her disheveled
and exhausted, still plodding wearily along the trail; and with night came
special torment. It began as
a low moaning and increased until she was surrounded by a swarm of humming,
biting insects.
At first she just slapped at
them. Then she tried walking
faster until finally she was charging through the darkened forest like a
maddened elephant. She didn’t
run far, however, her exhausted and overweight body would not allow
it. After five minutes of crazed
stampeding she collapsed in a wretched quivering heap, her sari ripped almost
to shreds and her bloated body covered with insect bites.
She spent the rest of the night in utter torment,
huddled in a tight ball attempting to minimize the insect
feast. Close to morning she fell
into an exhausted sleep.
It was near
“I think we should just leave
her. She’s
huge. I doubt we’d get anything
for her.”
“Her face is rather attractive in spite
of her bulk and her skin tones are very
good. She might be worth bringing
along to entertain the men. It
will be easier to convince them to leave the other girls and boys alone with
her to amuse them. She is also
the plantation manager’s daughter.
It might be possible to ransom her.”
“How do you know that?” the other
voice asked.
“I’ve saw her when I scouted the
plantation. She was sitting on
the veranda of the manager’s bungalow and I made sure I asked who she
was.”
“Alright,” the second voice agreed,
“but if the fat bitch slows us up we leave
her. The Japanese are
everywhere.”
Rupali opened her
eyes. Two men stood over
her. She saw at once from their
skin colour and general appearance that they were
Javenese. In spite of her exhaustion
and fear she was outraged by their manner of speaking about
her. She was, however, far too
weak from lack of food and water and the ordeal of her escape to offer even
the slightest resistance.
“Get up you fat slut,” ordered the
man closest to her. He was thin
and of medium build, but his features were twisted in
scorn. He was clearly enjoying
the humiliation of a young girl of a higher social
standing.
For a second she just lay
there. It was long enough for
the thin man to boot her heavily just below her heavy
breasts. “Move you little
bint, or I’ll rope you and drag you by your fat
neck.”
Rupali dragged herself to her
feet. Her mouth was too dry to
speak and she was in no shape to resist.
The thin man pushed her down a narrow trail through the
forest.
“We should tie her anyway,” the
other man said. “If we’re
going to bother with her we should make sure she doesn’t try to run
off.”
The man who spoke was much more heavily built
than the first. A heavy scar
ran across his face beginning at the right eyebrow and running to the left
corner of his mouth. He didn’t
have to scowl to look as if he would very much enjoy murdering
her.
The thin man
laughed. “Tie her
up? I doubt she can run faster
than a water buffalo in a padi.”
He pushed Rupali again.
“Move, bint or I’ll leave you here to feed the
rats.”
Rupali
moved. She was too terrified
to do anything else. It was fortunate
that she did not have to go far.
She and her escorts soon came to a small forest
clearing. In the centre of it
was a stockade. Several other
men of mixed ethnic background were lounging before
it. Rupali recognized several
Indians, a few Javanese, and a number that were Chinese and
Malay. There were even a few
she did not recognize at all. They
were about as ugly a collection of cutthroats as she could ever have
imagined.
Approaching the stockade the thin man switched
to Dutch. “Open the
gate. We’ve got some more
merchandise.”
“Merchandise?
Looks more like livestock to me,” jeered one of the
men. His remark brought a round
of laughter from the others.
Apparently Dutch was a language they all used; no doubt solving the
problem of their multiple ethnic backgrounds.
Inside the stockade Rupali
collapsed. Willing hands took
her arms and with some difficulty pulled her into the
shade.
“Poor girl,” a female voice
said. “Looks like she’s
been dragged for miles.”
“Give her some water,” another female
voice said.
Rupali felt a cup held to her
lips. She drank greedily, but
the water was taken away.
“Slowly. You’ll
make yourself sick if you drink too
fast.” The cup was returned
and Rupali drank more slowly.
Rupali opened her eyes and saw that she was
surrounded by about a dozen women.
With the help of the two closest to her she managed to get to a sitting
position. “What is this?”
she rasped. “Who are these
men?”
“Slavers,” the woman holding the
cup answered. “And we are
their prisoners.”
Looking about the compound Rupali noticed
that all of the women were young and
attractive. The oldest could
not have been more than about twenty and the youngest perhaps
twelve. After accepting more
water she was able to ask a few more
questions. She learned that all
of the women had been captured in the last few
weeks.
Her desire to learn more was distracted by
the pain in her stomach. “Is
there anything to eat?” she asked plaintively.
She almost expected a mocking response, but
the young woman who had given her the water merely shook her
head. “We will be given
food later. I am afraid that
our morning meal has come and gone.
Food doesn’t last long here.”
Rupali
groaned. Her stomach protested
and she reached for the cup of water
again. She had never eaten less
than three meals a day in her life.
Usually it was more like four or five and the thought of having to
wait hours to feed her raging stomach filled her with
dismay.
However, she had little choice in the
matter. She was forced to wait
until the sun began to dip in the sky.
During that agonizing time she managed to learn a bit more about her
prison.
She discovered that the
compound in which she was held was divided into two parts; one for women
and one for men. There were about
an equal number of male and female captives, numbering about thirty in
all. She had plenty of time to
meet and learn the names of all the women on her
side. The one who had brought
her water was called Citra. Only
a few years older than Rupali, she was the wife of a village
shopkeeper. She had been in the
compound almost a week and had learned the routines required by their
captors.
Most of the captive women were of the same
social level as she was. A few
ranked higher, but in the confines of the stockade no one took on superior
airs. All of the women were equally
wretched and frightened, fearing what was going to happen to
them.
Evening came at
last. A starving Rupali would
have downed her bowl of rice in seconds had Citra not stopped
her. “It’s all you’re
going to get,” the woman said.
“Take a few minutes to eat.
You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”
Rupali slowed
down. She found that although
the food was plain, there was enough of it, as Citra explained:
“We’re to be sold as sex
slaves. We won’t be worth
anything if they starve us to death.”
Citra spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, but
it was plain she was fearful of what was going to happen to
her. The best she could expect
was to be sold to a brothel as she was no longer a
virgin. Rupali would normally
have expected better; perhaps to become part of a wealthy man’s harem,
however, her body mass was against her.
Most men preferred women who weighed less than 100 kilos and although
she had lost weight in the last couple of days, she was nowhere near being
the sort of women a man would consider as a mistress or second
wife. Like Citra she could expect
little more than to be consigned to some cheap
whorehouse. The thought had her
in a state of terror which lasted the three days she was in the
stockade.
Unfortunately, her captivity was replaced
by something just as bad. On
the fourth day there was an unusual amount of
activity. Food was brought to
the women several hours before dawn and then the gate of the stockade was
opened and the women were ordered out.
As they were taken out one by one an iron
collar was placed about the neck of each
woman. As the collar closed about
her throat Rupali felt all hope leave
her. The reality of her situation
was now driven home with brutal clarity.
She was a slave and completely at the mercy of her ruthless
masters. They could do anything
they wanted to her and she was helpless to
protest. She had been reduced
to little more than an animal to be used as her captors
wished. As the chain securing
her to the other women tightened she almost fell, too weak to
stand.
“Move you fat bitch,” growled the
man nearest her. “Or we’ll
fuck you right here and then cut your throat.”
The threat forced to Rupali to her
feet. Absolutely terrified, she
shuffled forward, wondering what horrible fate lay in store for
her.
Purwanto rubbed the scar on his
face. He was certain that the
fat Indian bitch was going to slow them
down. It would be very bad news
for her if she did. They had
no time to waste. The early arrival
of the Japanese had upset his comfortable little slave
trade. However, all was not
lost. He should be able to get
the latest shipment out of the way before they completely took
over. Unlike many he had known
the Japanese were coming and had actually supplied them with intelligence
to aid in their invasion. He
was looking forward to the day when the war was over and the Japanese had
established their empire. There
would be no end of new business
opportunities. In the meantime,
however, he had to move his captives before the Japanese moved into the area
and decided that they had a better use for
them. There was, however, time
for something he had always wanted to do.
With a grin he headed toward the road that led to town and the battered
truck he had parked there.
The rumble of explosions told him that the
Japanese were not far off, and from the edge of town he could see the plumes
of smoke a few miles away that indicated just how close they
were. So much the better; he
might be able to use the fear of the invaders to his
advantage.
He pulled up outside the local
theatre. With any luck Anom would
be inside. She was devoted to
her art and he doubted that she would panic and leave town without attempting
to take some of her creations with her.
He was in
luck. He found her in the back
of the theatre packing the artistically crafted
wayang kulit puppets
she designed into a large box. She
looked up as he entered, a flicker of fear crossing her
face. It was immediately replaced
by one of relief as she saw who it was.
“Purwanto,” she smiled, “I’m
so glad to see you. Have you
come to help?”
“You’ve got no idea how glad I am
to see you,” Purwanto thought.
“But for different reasons.”
He did not answer for a few seconds, preferring
instead to take in the vision before him.
He had known Anom for a long time. Or rather he had known her husband
for a long time. Ever since he
had seen her Anom was someone he had wanted to know better, but as the wife
of his best friend she was beyond reach.
Now, however, things had changed.
The collapse of the Dutch before the assault of the Japanese meant
that men like him were now in charge; or soon would
be. And that meant that what
he had merely wanted he could now take.
“I’ve come to get you out of
here,” he finally answered.
“I have my truck outside.”
“Thank goodness,” Anom responded,
brushing her long dark hair away from her face as she knelt on the
floor. She was a delightful creature,
petite and slender, with perfect oval features and large luminous brown
eyes. He had been careful to
cultivate a friendship with her, hoping to gain her
trust. It was about to pay off
now.
Anom got to her feet, her movements as graceful
as a dancer.
“
Purwanto
nodded. “I’ll help
you,” he said. “We
have to move as fast as possible.”
Anom smiled her thanks as Purwanto picked
up one end of the heavy box. She
was a highly skilled artist. The
puppets in the box were worth a fortune to any practitioner of the art, which
made Anom and her husband the perfect team; she as the puppet-maker and
“Get in,” Purwanto said as he secured
the heavy box in the back of the truck.
“We can’t go yet,” Anom
answered. “We have to wait
for
“We don’t have much time,”
Purwanto answered. “The
Japanese are only about a half hour away.
That’s too close for comfort.”
“I’m not going without him,”
Anom replied, her mouth setting in a stubborn line that in no way detracted
from her beauty.
“Alright,” Purwanto
conceded. “Get in and
we’ll take the truck to look for him.”
Anom slid into the front
seat. This close to him, Purwanto
could smell the soft scent of her
perfume. “He’s down
at the market,” Anom said.
“We should be able to find him without much
difficulty.”
Purwanto put the truck in gear and stepped
on the accelerator.
“Wait. This isn’t
the way,” Anom objected.
Purwanto’s only answer was to step down
harder on the accelerator, increasing the speed of the truck to a point where
it would have been dangerous to jump from the vehicle.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Anom
asked, her voice rising in alarm.
“This is the wrong way.”
When Purwanto did not respond
she reached across and grabbed the wheel.
“Stop the truck!” she shouted.
The truck veered wildly to the right and Purwanto
cursed as he wrestled it back onto the
road. Swearing again he stepped
on the brake and brought it to a halt.
Then he dealt with Anom.
She put up quite a fight after recovering
from her shock as he attempted to tie her
up. She was a lot stronger than
she looked and it took all of his strength to pin her to the seat while he
bound her hands in front of her.
“Stop!
What are you doing?” Anom gasped as he forced her hands over
her head and tied them to a bar at the top of the
cab. It was at that time it suddenly
dawned on her that he was definitely not going to take her to her
husband.
“Please,” she
begged. “Don’t do
this. Let me
go. I’ll tell
Purwanto
laughed. “I doubt you’ll
ever see
He drove on for another fifteen minutes until
he reached the rough trail that led into the
forest. This was as far as the
truck could go. Putting on the
emergency brake, he turned to Anom, and untying her from the truck, used
the rope to pull her from the cab.
“No,” Anom
whimpered. She was no longer
defiant, perhaps suspecting what his intentions
were. Instead she begged him
to let her go. “Please,
I won’t tell anyone. Just
let me go.”
The fear that now clouded her face made her
even more desirable.
“I’ve always wanted you,” Purwanto said, “and
now you’re mine. You might
as well cooperate.”
“Cooperate?” Anom asked, her features
twisting in fear.
“You’re going to rape me!”
“Not rape,” Purwanto
answered. “I want to make
love to you.” He was breathing
heavily at the thought of possessing that beautiful
body. Her tight-fitting red and
green sarong revealed every line of her exquisite body and she struggled
on the end of the rope like a fish caught on a line.
“I could never love you,” Anom
protested. “My love is for
Guntar, not someone who betrays his trust and resorts to
kidnapping.”
“Stupid bitch,” Purwanto
growled. “Don’t you
realize that I can do anything I want with
you?”
Anom’s answer was to twist on the end
of the rope. Somehow she managed
to angle her body so that she could bring up her knee.
“Nnggh! You little
bitch!” Purwanto
cried. He was doubled up in pain,
but somehow he kept hold of the rope.
Swinging her around, he brought her within reach and drove his fist
into her jaw. The petite woman
folded like one of her puppets whose strings had been
cut.
Still cursing at the pain between his legs,
Purwanto picked her up and carried her to the back of the
truck. Lifting her supine body
he placed her on top of the box containing her puppets and began to remove
her clothing. She woke up as
he stripped the sarong from her torso, revealing her high, rounded
breasts. She screamed and tried
to get away, two actions that merely served to arouse him
further.
Using his weight, he pinned her to the box
and continued to unravel her clothing, revealing her long legs and the dark
triangle at the apex of her thighs.
Her breasts quivered as she struggled, a sight he found most
erotic. Her efforts to escape
excited him even more. There
was no chance for her to escape. He
was much stronger than she was and her bound wrists hampered her
efforts. Bit by bit her clothing
was removed until she lay naked and panting in fear, completely at his
mercy.
“Now, bitch,” he
grunted. “I’ll show
you what its like to be taken by a real man.”
Anom’s scream as he entered her, merely
made the rape that much more enjoyable.
He had fantasized this for more than five years, ever since laying
eyes on his friend’s bride.
Now he had her, and her cries and frantic struggles added immensely
to his pleasure.
She was amazingly tight for a married woman,
a discovery that pleased him greatly, as did the desperate thrashing of her
body. His hands closed on the
smooth contours of her breasts, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh and
pinching the small, dark nipples as she screamed in protest, and then with
powerful thrusts of his pelvis he showed her his power.
Half an hour later her screams had subsided
to sobs as he finished her off.
Grunting in pleasure he heaved himself off her quivering body pulled
his trousers back on. He would
have preferred to have taken more time with her, but he did not want the
column of slaves to get too far ahead of
him. Jerking her to her feet
he removed the rope from her wrists and looped it around her
neck.
“Get dressed,” he ordered, “and
be quick about it.”
Still sobbing, Anom complied while Purwanto
picked up the few items of value he had left in the
truck. Then, jerking his captive
forward he moved off into the forest.
Tonight he would enjoy her again and this time he would not be
rushed. He grinned; the life
of a slaver certainly had its positive aspects.
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