The Alpha's Breeder

By taytay91 All Rights Reserved ©

Fantasy / Romance

Twenty Nine : Where?

My ears were ringing and there was a painful migraine expanding across my temples like someone was squeezing my head in the palms of their hands. My brain felt sluggish, moving at the pace of a snail. And I knew that this was from the affects of whatever drug was in my system.

With much force and will, I managed to open my eyes to look at my surroundings. At the first initial glance, I found myself at a loss for words.

My eyes trailed from the many signs, trying to piece together the image that I was seeing.

It was obvious that I was at the airport, because most of the signs were directions for different terminals and gates. There was security at the checkpoints and people dragging their luggage in through the front entrance.

Although my eyes were open, I didn’t have any control of my body, like I was trapped inside of my head. I couldn’t turn my head, and could only sit upright while watching everyone move around me.

As I glanced down, I noticed that I was seated in a wheelchair, being pushed forwards by someone in the back. Someone had dressed me in a black trench coat, probably to cover everything that was underneath.

“My wife is very sick, she can’t stand or walk on her own,” the voice of a man, from behind me, said as he wheeled me towards the security checkpoint.

If I can get out of this wheelchair, I will show him who’s the one that can’t stand or walk.

He continued to push the wheelchair forward until the TSA workers could thoroughly check me to make sure I didn’t carry any prohibited items with their scanners. The male behind me handed them 2 passports and some other documents to which they accepted after the luggage was pushed through the scanning equipment.

I prayed that whatever document he gave them would not work. But I knew that he wouldn’t have taken me here if he had any doubts about getting caught.

The staff quickly swiped the passports, typing something on their keyboards before tickets were easily printed. They didn’t ask any questions, most carrying this bland unemotional face as though they hated their job and couldn’t wait to get their day over with.

The man pushing my wheelchair took the documentations and pocketed them in his long trench coat and wheeled me away. Once done, they let him push me past, moving on with the next passenger as the lines started to get longer.

Although I tried to look at them with a pleading look, my facial muscles remained the same. I was frozen into place and rather helpless. And the words ‘help me’ were stuck in my throat, laying tormented in the recesses of my lungs.

I was in and out of consciousness a majority of the time that I was moved from destination to destination. Every few hours he would give me sedatives through a syringe that he had in the luggage, making sure never to miss a shot or get caught while giving it to me.

Throughout the travel, I was never given the opportunity to ask for help or escape because of the drugs in my system. It was obvious that he knew what he was doing and I couldn’t do anything about it.

The frustration was quick to turn to hopelessness.

And when the final shot came, I was put under for a very long time.


“Miss? Miss? The plane has landed already,” a feminine voice called through the darkness, breaching past the bleary black that I was encased in to finally reach out to me.

It was almost like the feeling of being jolted back to life with a defibrillator. I gasped sharply for breath, expected clean fresh air but was met with a rather sickening, yet familiar, stench of urine, sweat and musk.

My head hurt badly, a strong headache gnawing painfully at the initial intake of breath while my eyes were wide open but my vision was still blurry. There was also this loud buzzing in my ears when my vision tried to focus onto the scenery before me.

I squinted my eyes from the bright light that nearly blinded me before closing my eyes to get used to the light until I could fully open my eyes like a newborn baby.

I almost had to double take at the oddity of my current location.

The clean and neat rows of chairs and cabin walls told me all that I needed to know.

I was inside of an airplane and a pretty flight attendant dressed in a dark blue uniform was crouched in front of me with her hand on her knee. She was calling out to me yet hesitant of touching me.

I didn’t even want to touch myself.

The mess that I was currently coated in was just plain nasty. No one would have really noticed unless they paid extremely close attention.

I was still wearing the black trench coat so she couldn’t see what was underneath, but the smell was a great deterrent. Because those men certainly did a good job at covering me in their scent and concealing Eros’, since they had managed to put me on a plane and land me here without him noticing.

It was obvious that they didn’t want to talk too much in case I would recognize their voices later on, if I managed to come back to the pack. Just the thought of it make my blood riled and, for the first time, since high school, I had a hit list.

With only 2 names on it, but still.

One was Zanthos.

Surprise surprise.

The other happened to be the dark voice of the male who had spoken while they all jerked off over my paralyzed body. I have memorized that voice to heart and I am assured that I would be able to recognize it if I hear it again. If I manage to see Eros, I am sure that he would be able to scent the rest of those men, who had done such a disgusting deed, and possibly help me exact revenge.

Because, not only have they dug a grave for themselves, they were going to willingly climb in it after Eros is done with them.

Zanthos better pray to whatever God he believes in and keep watch because I will be outside his window waiting for the chance to give him a taste of what he gave me.

And I am sure that he will enjoy it as much as I did.

I do remember a really blurry memory of saying ‘yes’ to something in my drug induced stupor and someone calling me ‘Emira’ to get past TSA.

And I remember crying and saying something repeatedly against the lines of “I want to get out of here” and ”I want to go home”.

There was really muggy conversation from someone next to me that I can’t recall along with some questions from airport security that was bypassed with my answers that I can’t remember.

“Miss?” The flight attendant called again and dragged me from my morbid thoughts. I realized that I was probably wasting her time sitting here with my head in the clouds, since all the other flight attendants were staring at us.

I’m sure they probably thought that I was either crazy or a prostitute. Notice how both options were rather grim.

“Where is this?” I asked after clearing my throat awkwardly. My lips were dry and cracked from lack of water ever since the whole kidnapping incident. And I don’t consider semen to be water.

Gross.

Thank God that none of it got in my mouth.

“We are in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan at Manas International Airport, miss. Do you need help with that?” she politely asked with patience, that I clearly didn’t have, after noticing me fumble with the seat belt like an idiot. Please excuse the fact that my brain was currently on a leave of absence.

I shook my head, watching my dirty matted hair flap about in front of my face before I finally managed to unbuckle the seat belt. I shakily got back onto my feet, almost stumbling onto my face because my legs were rather numb from sitting for so long.

Offhandedly, she made a move to catch me but had pulled her hand back as quick as she had made that gesture. And I can’t really blame her for it.

Just one look at me and I bet that most people would shy away too.

My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, probably 10 shades of red at my current mortifying predicament.

“Ky...Kyr..Kyrgyz...” I stuttered, trying to repeat the word and failing rather miserably.

“It’s Kyrgyzstan,” she repeated before motioning towards the open door of the aircraft, where the other attendants were waiting patiently in an orderly manner.

Kyrgyzstan?

Where the hell is that?

“...”

I wanted to ask again but I’m sure that I will still have no clue as to where this is anyways, so I didn’t say anything after that. Geography was never my strong point. I forgot everything I didn’t use after I left school.

Glancing around at all the empty luggage storage compartments, I was unsure of how to proceed. Because it was obvious that Zanthos didn’t want to give me anything to work with.

There was nothing in my pockets after I dug through it in hopes of finding something.

No money.

No phone.

No identification.

Nothing.

In the end, I don’t even know how I managed to walk off of the airplane and into the airport.

My mind was still slightly buzzed from the after effects of the drugs and thinking took more effort than I had thought. Shakily, I managed to seat myself on one of the waiting chairs, noting how everyone at the other gates stared slightly before quickly diverting their gaze.

This made me wonder what the people sitting next to me said or did when they realized that I was their seating partner.

I sighed deeply, shaking my head to clear the drowsiness that just wouldn’t let me concentrate.

On top of everything, I had no passport, meaning that it was impossible to get back on a plane and head back to the United States, unless I miraculously sneak in with the luggage. But that’s probably not going to work.

So in other words, I am stranded.

Now that I think about it, I should have just stayed on the plane and refuse to leave until they take me back to America. But then again, they might just call security and drag me out like they did to that one guy on the news.

I was stranded in the middle of nowhere in a country whose name I can’t even pronounce!

What kind of cruel joke is this?

I was scared to leave the airport because I was afraid of the unknown. And I felt like I had a better fighting chance inside of the airport where I could find someone who spoke the English language. I was afraid that my current physical attributes might give people the wrong impression.

I shivered at the thought.

After asking a couple of airport staff, I quickly figured that they did not have a public shower in this airport. There was only an airport lounge with showers, but it was only offered to those with a departure boarding pass and you have to go through the security to get to it. Without any identification or money, I doubt that I can get very far if I decide to sneak in.

With a long sigh, I got back onto my feet and looked around at all the signs in search of the bathroom. Although there was a language barrier, the universal sign for bathrooms didn’t change. I didn’t have to worry much since the signs also came in English.

Thank goodness.

Every where I walked, people cleared the way, probably from my stench. I currently had the powers of Moses and his staff, able to part the sea of people to create a path for myself to walk through.

It definitely wasn’t something to be proud of.

I lowered my head and quickly walked into the bathroom, ignoring everyone like they ignored me. Most of them were quick to leave and move on with their business.

I ignored all of their quick glances and stood in front of the hand sink, staring at my own image replicated in the mirror.

I looked terrible.

Even worse than I was when I packed makeup onto my face to hide my true features in thick layers.

My face looked pretty worse for wear but not as bad as I thought, mainly tired looking with no hints of jizz on it. There was a giant bruised bump on my forehead from when the door hit it that was easily hidden with my hair.

I swept a patch of hair off of my forehead and flinched when I noticed the condition of my hands. The knuckles were all bloody red with open cuts and bruises, feeling extremely raw and painful. I guess I didn’t realize how hard I went about punching those bastards that kidnapped me.

My eyes were blood shot and there were patches of white that was peeling off of my skin and I didn’t have to guess to know what it was.

Altogether, I looked like I was in an abusive relationship or took on a client who was really into BDSM. I’m exaggerating, but still.

Just the thought of what had happened and the stench that was plastered all over my body, I couldn’t help the sour feeling in my throat.

Before I could stop myself, my stomach heaved painfully and I bent over the trash can full of used paper towels. I literally puked out everything that was left in my stomach, which was pretty much nothing except for yellow acidic liquid, until I was dry heaving with tears running down my face in messy streaks.

I felt extremely humiliated and ashamed. And it wasn’t even my fault.

An event this gross and cruel, I would never wish on anyone.

Although I didn’t get raped, I felt ultimately sickened by just the idea of something like that happening to women all around the world. Those who did these disgusting acts to women are sick bastards that all deserve to have their penis’ cut off, cooked, and fed to them.

Heaving one last time, I quickly washed my entire face with water and the antibacterial soap that was provided by the airport. The hand soap was really harsh on my face but I am willing to take that over all the semen and piss on my skin.

People were still giving me weird looks when I washed my arms, neck, everywhere that I could under the faucet with the hand soap. But most had a time crunch to get to their own destinations so they didn’t watch me for too long.

Then, I took off my shirt and pants, uncaring of their probing and judgmental gazes. What’s the point in disappointing them?

So, I ended up standing in my cotton panties and bra, slightly cold when I started to hand wash my shirt and pants.

Can you imagine how much of a psycho I must look look right now? In my underwear washing my body and clothes in a public bathroom with women shaking their heads at me like I am insane?

Yes.

I can too and I was extremely frustrated because of it.

With a agitated sign, I continued to wash the clothes. The water that came down when I wrung the fabric out almost made me throw up again. The yellow liquid was rancid and took almost 5 washes before the water came out cleaner.

My hands felt like they would fall off and they burned a lot because of the scratches and cuts on my knuckles.

The only complaint I had was the stupid faucets. They only stayed on for several seconds before shutting off due to the sensors and the need to save water now-a-days. If I wasn’t in this situation, I would have complimented on the fact that this airport was trying to save water, but, as of now, I was annoyed.

It took me a lot longer than was needed if the water actually just ran like normal faucets. The longer this took, the more people stared and the more embarrassed I was getting. How are they sure that people cleaned their hands properly with such a rushed timing of the water faucets?

I silently shook my head and powered through everything, cleaning the rest of my body with my newly cleaned t-shirt.

I wasn’t a exhibitionist, but I didn’t care at the moment. Cleaning off the disgusting piss and semen on my body and clothes was the only thing on my thought process.

The scent in the bathroom became rather nauseating at this point because someone had taken a dump in here five minutes ago and it smelled vicious.

And, after what seemed like hours, I had finished cleaning all of my body, hair and undergarments while standing in wet clothes. The hand dryers were pretty useful at this point. I dried my panties and bra along with my hair, squatting underneath of the hand dryers until my legs got numb.

No one dared to approach to dry their hands.

And all I have to say is, if I ever see Zanthos again, I am going to strangle him with my bare hands.

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