Snow Walk

SNOW WALK.

Gudvagen is a tiny village in the Norwegian province of Sogn Og I Jordane. When it had the only halfway decent port in the area. The fjord leading to Gudvagen lso trails along to the larger town of Flaam a fair way uphill, however there was no way to reach Flaam except by road and good fortune that the snows didn’t come too heavy until the railway was built. The railway brought people, the roads improved another port was built, and Flaam became quite the destination in the area. A picturesque place, but Duarte had always preferred the tiny charms of Gudvagen. The village was small but suitable to his needs when he needed to supply. Downhill from Gudvagen and some distance from the fjord, to all intents and purposes in the middle of a forest, he kept a snug little c whi which he liked to visit from time to time because he felt that it cooled his blood.

Duarte trudged stolidly through the brittle crunching snow, his wide snowshoes leaving comically huge footprints behind him. The sun had only just risen, and the world seemed, to Duarte, to have not quite warmed. There was a colourless quality to the landscape that was breathtaking, and gave a rich feast to his watering eyes whenever he looked up. The sky was so deep a blue tht set seemed to fade to a jade green almost when he stared into its blank expanse long enough. The snow was everywhere, and perfect though the first fingers of summer were caressing the earth from under its linen white blankets. The trees, standing rigid and straight as a thousand poles on all sides were entirely black in the dim morning glow. The light was not yet strong enough to require snow goggles, which Duarte found essential in this environment so alien to his Mediterranean heritage.

Silence. After a time the constant low snapping and creaking of the ice bound tree needles faded into the background and Duarte was presented with an expanse of utter quiet. The snow deadened sounds, reducing everything to a low murmur next to his ear. He refused to mount a snowmobile, he found them aggravating and loud and so the only accompaniment to his thoughts was the steady trudge of his snowshoed feet.

Duarte was breathing hard and sweating when he reached the door of the cabin, under his thick layers upon layers of winter clothing. Everything was an effort here, the snow made a struggle out of every venture out, at least for Duarte. The natives hardly seemed to notice sometimes, he thought, but no matter how often he came here he was still alien to this place. Perhaps that was part of the appeal.

He stepped across his threshold, leaving the snowshoes neatly outside, and stamped his chilled feet as he shed his outer and inner jackets. He stepped gratefully onto a thick woollen rug that lay at the bottom of a set of wooden stairs. He wriggled his toes and smiled, feeling warmth return. The bottom floor of the cabin was largely open-plan, one long rectangular room with stairs leading upward to the bed and bathrooms. There was a tall, wide iron stove dominating one side of the room in the middle of the wall, easily capable of heating the entire place when its belly was filled with roaring coals. A low table set in front of the stove, and a couch behind that against the opposite wall. The rest of the room was taken up with records and a player, fridge and cooking area, and general shelves filled with books and knick-knacks. It was a place that held an air of, if not being lived in, then being ready to accommodate at a moments notice.

Duarte walked directly into the middle of the room and faced the couch. He reached behind him for the brandy bottle sat on the table and sat down heavily. Looking up, he stared into the open grate of the stove, where red and orange flickered brightly. He frowned, because when he had left that grate had been closed. Casually, he set down the bottle and reached under the table, where a .22 revolver was taped to the underside. He stood and walked upstairs almost nonchalantly. The stairs led directly into the bedroom. He looked around quickly, and immediately spotted the irregular lumping under the bed cover. Withrim rim smile he walked over and twitched it aside, cocking the pistol with an unpleasant sound at the same time.

Duarte had, over several years, perfected the art of concealing sheer amazement beneath a veneer of nonchalant acceptance. Although he appeared outwardly no more surprised to find two young ladies asleep in his bed, inwardly he was shocked and more then a little angry.

“São você? por que são você em meu cama?” He asked softly. It was enough to awaken one of them. She sat up with a start and saw the gun. Immediately she made conciliatory gestures and gibbered in english. “What,” repeated Duarte, “are you doing in my bed?”

An hour later, and Duarte had the whole story.

Amazing as it seemed to him, he had been struck by a travelling salesperson, of sorts. One of the girls, the one who remained asleep, wore a grubby white shift dress. Her wrists were cuffed together behind her back, and a wide leather gag about a size too large was belted cruelly around her head, around which she sighed and drooled gently as she slept. The other had been dressed in sturdy thick woollens and looked as though she had shrugged her outer layer of clothes off and gone directly to bed. As it happened, this was not the case. She had unpacked her cargo first, and after waiting two hours for Duarte to come home curled up in bed. Needless to say, the cargo was the other girl. Duarte stepped up to the bedroom carrying a mug of hot tea, which he handed to the girl sat on the edge of the bed who waited with a smile. The prisoner next to her was still curled up, but awake. Occasionally she would moan softly or whimper.

Duarte handed the mug over and sat down himself. He set the gun down on the bedside table, he didn’t predict needing it.

“So, Rachael,” he began.
“Please, just Rae.”
“As you like. How did you trek all the way up here? It’s not an easy trip. How did you even find the way?”
“I took a snowmobile from Gudvagen, it’s still around back. I suppose more snow must have fallen or you would have seen the tracks. And everyone in town knows about the foreigner out in the woods, you’re almost a celebrity.”
“I am?”
“Well they don’t get many Portuguese here.”
“I suppose not.”
“And you hardly ever say a word to anyone when you come here.”
“No,” he admitted.

Rae sipped her tea and smiled. Duarte could detect nervousness. “Are you sure about this?” He asked.
“Very sure. I know what I’m doing,” she replied. She patted the other, smaller girl on the hip and elicited a moan, “five thousand American and she belongs to you.”
“That is very cheap you know, especially if she has been trained as you claim.”


Rae blushed, realising her mistake. But it was too late to ask for more, not without looking even more foolish. Duarte sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“This is all very strange. I don’t usually buy when I’m here, I come here to rest. And when I buy, it is always from people I know. How did you even find me?”
“I know a mutual friend of ours,” replied Rae. She mentioned a name, and Duarte nodded. Yes, he was just about foolish enough to have revealed a little much to this girl. She was American, she said that they both were. She had full cheeks and even beneath the unflattering jersey she wore, Duarte was painfully aware of fine, rounded breasts. If he had to put ages to them, he would have guessed that they were just about out of high school, no more then a year or two between them. Rae introduced the prisoner to Duarte as Sam, and lifted her head by a handful of hair, drawing out a pained cry through the gag. Duarte looked her over, and nodded appreciatively. Sam was smaller all over, but didn’t suffer for it with curved hips just short of boyishness and thick dark hair that Duarte found especially pleasant.

Duarte stared at Rae, until she shifted a little uncomfortably. “This isn’t something you just fall into as a hobby,” he said slowly, “you could get yourself into a lot of trouble. It’s very difficult to cover your tracks well.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Rae replied a little smugly, “I took her from Bimini, international waters. By the time anyone back home realised what was happening, it was far too late.
“Imagine for a moment I take you up on all of this,” said Duarte slowly, “five thousand is nothing in this world. You wouldn’t be able to run very far on that.”
“Oh I’m not doing it for the money!” Replied Rae, just a little too quickly. Duarte sensed a history between these two girls. What had Sam done that Rae would go to such lengths to repay her for? Duarte sighed, and settled back on the bed, sitting upright against the bed head. He signalled to Rae and nodded.
“Very well. Let’s take a little look at your product then, have her stand.”

Rae nodded, and sla Sam Sam on the leg harshly. Sam whined and almost fell off the bed. With her hands cuffed she could hardly balance, but fin finally staggered to her feet. She was shaking noticeably, Duarte could see shivers run through her slender legs. Rae prodded at her but she didn’t seem to get the message. Flushing with annoyance Rae had to stand up and physically drag Sam to the middle of the room before the bed for inspection.

“Not as well trained as you claimed,” said Duarte with an indulgent smile that Rae found patronising. She unbuckled the gag and tugged it from Sam’s lips. The girl gasped and licked her numb lips, taking in gulps of air inbetween shallow sobs. Duarte noticed that she did not cry out though, nor cry. She clearly knew what was happening to her. Rae took a tiny key from around her neck on a slim chain and uncuffed Sam, who just stood a little aimlessly and uncertain. Duarte nodded, and motioned to Rae, “strip her.”

Rachael looked only too pleased to oblige, taking a sadistic glee in slowly raising the shift dress, up over Sam’s knees, over her thighs. Duarte watched carefully. Sam seemed too afraid of what might happen to resist. It certainly fell short of training, but it appeared to Duarte that Rae had effectively drilled into this girl a fear of disobedience. He smiled slowly, more in surprised pleasure then a genuine erotic sense of place.

Rae stood very close to Sam, behind her, and dropped the shift before it rose any higher. She whispered into Sam’s ear, “you do it… now.” And took a step back. Sam suppressed a sob and swung her arms loosely at her sides, silently pleading for it not to be so with a frantic look at Duarte, but no salvation was coming from there. Her knees pulled together and for a moment it almost seemed as though she would crouch, or perhaps curl up into a ball. Rae said something to her that Duarte didn’t quite catch. Sam stood up slowly and closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. She took a deep breath, then another. Taking hold of handfuls of materishe she awkwardly pulled her skirt upwards. The white cotton passed the ridges of her thighs and with a jerky motion she tugged it up off her body, holding it above her head for a moment before dropping it to the floor.

Duarte knotted his fingers together over his stomach and watched. The poor thing was clearly scared, but more scared of not obeying. He could see a few bruises on her, she had been slapped around but not, he would say, excessively. As the hem of the skirt rose and revealed a neat little pubic wedge he reached beside him for the packet of cigarettes he always left on his bedside table and thumbed one out to his lips. He smiled around the cigarette as he lit it. He drew in and sighed out smoke, as he gazed at her almost pubescent breasts. Already he imagined how she would squeal if he attached clothes pegs to her small nipples with their wide surrounds of pink, deeper then the pale white of her slim bosom. He made a circular motion in the air, and Rae dutifully turned Sam around, and back again to face him. Duarte was pleased by her bottom and showed it with a grin. Rae smirked back at him, a palpable air of avarice about her like a halo of greed.

“You want her then?” She asked. Sam bit her lip and remained as silent as ever, the gag had been a little extravagant and unnecessary in Duarte’s opinion.
“Whatever would I do with her?”
“Anything you like. Five thousand, and no questions asked.”

Duarte finished his cigarette and stubbed it out. He reached for the packet and silently offered one to Rae, which she politely refused. He took one himself and lit it.

“How old is she?”
“Does it matter?”
“It would seem not. How did you find her?”
“We’re old friends.”

Duarte looked at her pointedly and she just shrugged with a grin, “she needs to learn not to piss me off.”
“You know you wouldn’t be getting her back- we are not discussing a rental agreement.”
“I know.”
“What did she do?”
“You mean, why would I sell my friend? It’s complicated.”

Duarte gave her another stare, but she was not forthcoming. He decided it would be wiser not to press the point. He looked directly at Sam. She gazed back at him a little glassy-eyed.

“Five?”
“Yes, that’s all.”
“Alright, a deal.” Duarte stood up and moved to a dressing table. He took from a drawer a manilla envelope, and from that he took notes, counting under his breath. Rachael looked fit to burst as he turned back and handed over a sheaf of notes. Sam was breathing very quickly by now, her naked stomach pulsed rapidly with it. Her hands twitched to cover her breasts but Rae knocked them aside with a sharp look. Duarte nodded at the girl and beckoned, and Sam dutifully stepped before him. As she passed, Rae casually slapped her on the buttock, a parting gift perhaps, but she didn’t even seem to notice. Duarte breathed a word, and Sam obediently knelt.

“You know there is no going back, you have sold her.”
“I know, it’s fine,” replied Rae, “I have my money and I’m happy.”
“I’m not a service to dispose your unwanted acquaintances, you know.”
“Oh I know, I’d never… I mean, normally I wouldn’t ever do anything like this. Please believe me, this is a very special situation.”

Duarte just shrugged. He offered her more tea, or mulled wine. She declined, already making excuses to leave. Her business done, she didn’t show any particular desire to stay. He and Sam watched her snowmobile chug off across the snow. The sound was flat and tinny, the crackling of the stove behind them was louder. He stood leaning on the door jamb, she knelt beside him, one hand tentatively on his calf. Duarte looked down at her, then joined her in contemplating tnow now and the distance gone between them and the world which the cabin seemed no part of.

“Why did she sell you, Sam?”
“Because…” Sam shivered and pressed her hands together, sandwiched between her thighs.
“Why?”

Sam looked up with almost pleading brown eyes, but Duarte wasn’t watching her. She swallowed, and took another breath. Her shivering seemed to worsen and then still.

“Because… I asked her to.”
END.


For a couple of girls who know who they are.

All review appreciated.