I roused out of my stupor, slowly adjusting to a semi-concious state once more. The shades of sand gradually came into focus, as I began to feel. I wished I couldn’t feel, at least for a while. My shoulders ached from the odd angle the shackles bound me to the wall. My sides burned from the last “sand treatment” I had received. They seemed to think I knew something, but every question they asked in their broken English didn’t make any sense.

I was known for having a rather fierce temperament, which did not help me in this abyss of a prison. I knew I was somewhere outside of Quarzazate, Morocco, in an underground chamber. With sand. So much sand, so many shades. I didn’t know sand came in so many varied and subtle colors. The sun trickled down through the grid, which I assumed had to be iron, and played along the walls and floors, a dim illumination, reflecting the stark brightness of above.

Every time they asked me questions, I grew more and more angry and frustrated. I’d always had an issue of keeping myself in check at times when I probably needed to do so the most. Then they would give me the “sand treatment”, which consisted of rubbing me with their coarse gloves, laced with sand. The more they did it, the rougher they got, rubbing it into my sides, exactly where they had rubbed the last time. It stung and hurt like hell. I’d lost track of how many times they had done it now.

I never saw their faces, they were like the sand creatures in Star Wars, the Jawa. They wore clothing over everything, even their faces. Sometimes I could get a glimpse of eyes, glaring at me. I think I glared back. I was in and out of consciousness so much, and so dehydrated that I began to have trouble differentiating between what was purely in my imagination and what had actually occurred.

I’d heard this was a torture technique, because what goes on in the mind can amplify and make any threats and torture done in reality so much worse.

I tried to see if my wrists and hands had gotten smaller, perhaps I could slip through the shackles this time. No such luck. I felt as if soon I would be a dry husk, and my bones would just slip out.

Then she came in. How can you tell if someone is male or female, clothed as they choose to be? This one, I knew somehow, wanted me to know her gender. She wore her clothing a little tighter, so I could sort of make out her curves. Just a little. It was in the way she walked, a slight sashay that we females seem to do almost subconsiously.

She had come in a handful of times before, and just watched. Watched as they laid their rough gloves on me, rubbing the harsh sand in, over and over. Watched as a couple of them got out their heavy floggers, slapping just hard enough to make me flinch and cry out. Never enough to leave lasting marks. I was never quite sure why. Perhaps they had someone to answer to as well. I could tell they enjoyed my torture, my pain. I’m pretty stubborn, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could endure. It had been over twenty-four hours, or so I felt from the sun’s comings and goings, since they had last given me any water. It was dirty water, tepid and with sand always in it to a degree, but at least it was wet.

This was the first time she was in alone with me. She had a flogger in her hand as well, but it looked a little different from the ones the others had held.

Smack, it went, against the wall beside me, hard. I flinched and moaned, fearing that she might be harsher than the rest.

She stepped in front of me, sliding the thin fabric down from over her eyes. I was fascinated, I couldn’t help it. They were a deep blue, a blue like the depths of the ocean. So unusual for those that I had met in this part of the world. She came closer, I was going to swim in the ocean, I thought to myself. Yep, I was losing it.

Her mouth slowly came down towards mine, then kissed me, hard, forcing my mouth to open. Then, I felt the water, cool, refreshing, in my mouth. Oh my God, she’s giving me a drink.

I knew we were likely being watched. She pulled back, leaving me panting, and grabbed my face roughly. “Don’t forget where you are, and what will happen to you if you don’t decide to play nice, Tabitha. This place is unforgiving, and so are we.”

I retorted, “For the twenty millionth time, my name is Adele. I have no idea why you think I’m this Tabitha person!”

Apparently, Tabitha was pretty high up in one of the major smuggling operations, running along the Moroccan border. They thought I was her when they seized me from the Bizmoune cave some days back. I’m an ancient jewelry appraiser, and when archeologists discovered what might have been the most ancient jewelry find of a lifetime, they “politely asked” me to join them. Which means my so-called friend Troy booked me a plane ticket and hotel before I even knew what was happening, called me and informed me that I was leaving for Essaouira in a week’s time.

“You need a little adventure in your life, you haven’t been abroad in five years!” was his comment as he talked of the amazing find. I don’t think he meant the kind of adventure I’d ended up having. I admit I was intrigued and surprised that my name was that well-known in the world of archeology, especially so far away from Arcadia Lakes, South Carolina. The next week, I found myself looking at a sea of ancient amber, red ochre, and pearls from an ancient inland sea, dried up long ago. The pieces were so well preserved, it was incredible. As luck would have it, there were some salt deposits from that inland sea, and the jewelry happened to get anointed, for a perfect show some 148.000 years later. Amazing, truly amazing.

Then came the kidnapping. I knew I shouldn’t have stayed so late, past all the others. I lost myself in time and history, and paid the price. They were but shadows in the moonlight, the rocks and sand reflecting on their faceless forms.

Back to reality, and here and now. Or was I dreaming again, in one of my fits of sleep?

She ran the leather strands of her flogger along my skin, then flicked it along my thigh, along the sides of my breasts. At least they let me have clothing, scant though it was. A tan tunic of sorts, thin and short. No matter, it was so hot and dry here that I had forgotten my sense of modesty long ago. The men had groped and fondled, and there was sand inside me where it definitely did not belong. It just added to the burning that was on the outside of my body.

Her gloves came off. She began to feel me, tracing the contours of my sides, making me cry out due to their sensitivity from the sand burns. She smacked me there, causing me to flinch and try to break out of my bonds. She laughed, talking to whomever might have been observing at how fun it was to cause me to react “like a scared little Fennec.” (I later found out that was a fox, but it could have been a dirty curse word for all I knew at the time.)

Then she came close, and \whispered in my ear, making me shiver. ”I’m going to hit this flogger, very close to your body, against the wall. Harder than last time. Whimper like it hurt.”

I nodded briefly, looking into her eyes. I wondered why she was doing it. She just said, “trust me”. I heard it, right after that, the sound that I didn’t have to think to flinch, react, and cry out. It was so loud, so all-encompassing. I don’t know what the wall behind me was made of, but it was definitely unyielding and echoed whatever was done to it or next to it. She smacked the flogger, expertly, so close to me that I could feel the edge of the leather strands. She then proceeded to kiss slowly, alnng my skin, making me tingle and cry out in a very different way. I wondered if she had done that before, and with whom. Ugh, why should I care about that? I can’t possibly have any sort of feelings for anyone down here, in this hole!

She backed off and said in a loud, harsh tone, “This one is dirty. I can’t torture and properly play with a dirty prisoner! I’m going to wash her.”

One of the guards in another room laughed, in that way that lets you know you would never find humor in it. “Here’s the key, make sure she gets real clean if you know what I mean.”

She opened the shackles, then manhandled me roughly into another chamber. The place was less hot, less illuminated. She put me up against something softer than a wall. Of course, softer was a relative term to me at this point. I was facing away from her, into the soft mass of something. I felt a wet cloth moving over my body, cleaning me, getting rid of the sandy grime. She worked my legs last, moving slowly upwards towards my most intimate parts. I felt her breath catch as she began to clean there, then worked her way inside. It gave me some relief; the pain of sand inside can drive one mad. Relief, then something more. I was getting hot, but not from the heat of the room.

She turned me around, cleaning my face, my shoulders, my breasts. My auburn hair spilled over my shoulders, she pushed it back to cup my breasts, fondling them. I ached, but not from the pain any longer. It was for her. I wanted her, more than I’d ever yearned after any man. I felt her tongue, so hot, circling my nipples, causing them to become hard and pointed. Her fingers caressed downwards, tracing a trail down my naval, and further. I felt a finger inside me, caressing me in a way I’d never been caressed before. I moaned and writhed, helpless against the tide of my emotions as her other hand kept me firmly pinned against the wall.

Next thing I knew, her body was against mine, her fingers playing with both me and herself at the same time. My breath came faster and faster, and soon my body was moving against hers, against her hand, seeking something, anything, for release. Her body molded itself more firmly against me, and she rubbed directly against my clit. We both came, crying out and sagging against each other, our breaths calming in the afterglow.

I realized, finally, that she had undone the front knots of her clothing, and she was beautiful. She must have spent many a year doing nothing but the things that are taxing on the physical form, for she was perfection. At least to me. She also happened to be my savior at the moment. That will make anyone seem perfect.

“I’m going to get you out, and when I do, go to Tabounte. I’ll meet you at the Dar Widad, two nights hence.”

I nodded again, not sure enough of my voice to say anything.

She hustled me back into my clothing, then gave me a longer robe, made of rough material, similar to burlap.

“Keep your head down, and your hands behind your back, like I have you tied up.”

”Okay,” I whispered shakily. Before we left, she drew a small flask from her pocket and gave me a drink. I’ve had my share of alcoholic enjoyment, but never was I so grateful it was water that time in the flask that time, and it had no sand in it.

We walked down a long, narrow corridor. The mining cart came into the edge of the tunnel, squealing loudly. Before I knew it, she had hoisted me up and into the cart, pushing my head down. Away I went, into the darkness, the cart roiling along the track at what seemed astonishing speed.

I felt in my robe, and there was an inside pocket. I felt some Dirham, and knew she had left it for me to get to Tabounte.

Fast forward to two nights after my escape, and I was sleeping hard. It had taken quite some time to get to the Dar Widad, and then I had to wait a while until a bed opened up at the hostel. It wasn’t much, but I was able to shower for as long as I wanted, and had bought a decent change of clothes. Those were now on the floor by my scant belongings as I fell into oblivion.

I was awakened by a hand, softly running along my body. She smelled like Musk Elil, the night jasmine. A strong, powerful, overwhelming scent, just like her. I looked at her, seeing all of her for the first time. Her eyes popped from the darker skin, her jet black hair flowed around her like a dark halo.

“What’s your name?” I asked, breathlessly.

“Raven.”

“That’s beautiful. Like a dark horse. You’re my dark horse.”

A couple of others in the hostel came over to us, a guy and a girl, and began rubbing us. They watched as we made love in the light of the silver moon, streaming in from the high windows. This time, we took our time and got to know every curve and crevice of each other. Her fingers made me tingle, everywhere. I roamed my fingers and nails over her body, with the same abandon. She ended up on top, as I somehow knew she would, kissing and tasting me and taking me over and over again, bringing me to the brink then back down before finally ultimately giving me release as her body presssed urgently into mine, crying out her own release, while the other two watched, entranced.

The next morning, she was gone. I woke refreshed, but not sure what I was doing in Tabounte. It took a while for all the memories to come back.

One of the ones who had watched us last night came to my bedside. “Raven said to tell you she will find you again, just give her a little time.”

I smiled, somehow knowing that wherever I was in the world, there was no doubt she would find me once more.