The slave girl Read online

  The man was in his thirties, possibly Egyptian, probably her jailor. His soiled uniform was nondescript, signifying little. His mien and stature were unimpressive. But he was male! Hatefully, Corey Gibson's hand covered her breasts. Her visitor smiled understandingly and turned his attention to her pubic hair. In an angry gesture, Corey gathered her tether and dragged it to the far wall. Leaning against the stone she offered her visitor nothing but her back and bottom.

  "Is very nice." The approval was warm. "You stay like that all day?"

  In a cell like this she could never win. But her responses had become instinctive from her lost status. "Go away. Leave me alone."

  "I do that, you starve."

  She was hungry. Her mouth was dry from the drug."Push something through the bars." It was the bitterness of Miss Corey Gibson that spawned the order.

  "I wish to see your cunt. Turn it round. Put hands behind back. Then you get food."

  She was an animal in a Zoo. To be looked or laughter at, or viewed with lust. The hateful cell quadrupled her nudity.

  "Send Mr. Aslam." She demanded curtly.

  "He no come. You do not ask."

  Corey sighed in defeat. She could not face the wall all day like a naughty girl in school. Presumably others had seen her nakedness, this oaf might as well have a look too. She turned round and walked half way to the bars. "Very well." She said coldly. "Look at me all you like. I'll even put my hands behind my back. But please bring some water."

  He was pleased. After scorching her with the longest leer she had ever known he produced keys. It was whilst he was unlocking the door Corey gathered up the slack of her chain.

  "You be good white girl I feed you nice, maybe some wine…"

  The nude prisoner flung her chain around his neck and heaved. The plate and the carafe skittered across the floor. His hands reached for her, he was choking. Corey Gibson heaved again.

  She might have won. Surprise had given her an advantage. But she was seized from behind and thrown sprawling. She gazed up fearfully at two dark and resentful visages, one of which was rubbing a tender neck.

  "You bitch. We teach lesson."

  One went for the rope. The other stood guard. She did not move.

  "You stand. We tie."

  "Drop dead."

  They handled her with expert ease. The weight of knees on her spine pinned her face down on the floor. They tied her wrists with care. Then roped her elbows so that her forearms were welded as one. They went away, laughing. The sound of the door and its locks was, for Corey Gibson, a knell of doom. Weeping, she stayed where they left her, hurt and shamed and without hope. Her breasts thrust against the stone floor without love. She guessed her nipples inverted, they too would sense despair. But after a space of minutes she struggled to her feet and went to the bench. There was no thought in her mind save that that her elbows were hurting, scorched by their bindings, tugging back her shoulders and her breasts. She tried to wriggle her arms and hands but could not. They were tied tight. She was helpless. The collar round her neck became a greater mockery than before.

  It was then her experiments began. Surely she could roll or lay in some manner to ease the nagging pain. It was as though her elbows had become enemies, determined to subdue. She thought, longingly, of the handcuffs of hazy memory. It was when she finally desisted that she wept once more.

  After awhile she stood again and paced the floor. It was an act of defiance against her tether and the ropes on her arms. Pain was her only companion in the solitary cell. Corey Gibson used it in resentful fury against all that had happened. Driven by the masochism of anger, the daughter of the Planet Corporation lowered herself to the floor and painfully gathered to her lips the spilt food and water her guards had not bothered to remove. She recognized it as the most debasing act of her life.

  It was close to evening before her jailor came again. He did not immediately open the door but stood surveying her through the bars, his grin amused, his eyes genuinely curious. Corey forgot her nakedness and her strained breasts. Most of her consciousness was concerned with pain. She had asked herself again and again what she would offer, or be compelled to give, to get rid of the ropes upon her arms. They were now a part of her, deep in her flesh, a persistent scorching misery. She faced him without shame and said a non-committal, hello.

  "You be good girl now?"

  She fluttered her wracked shoulders in helplessness. "I can't be anything else, can I?"

  "What you give me if I untie?"

  "If you'll enable me to escape I can make you a rich man!"

  He shrugged in scorn. "No talk that stuff, is silly."

  "I haven't any money. I haven't anything… net here."

  "You got good cunt."

  There it was! Out in the open. Fastidious as she had once been, Corey Gibson knew herself unwilling to face death or injury to preserve her virtue. If the slit between her legs was a weapon she would use it ruthlessly. "I'd be no good." She said reasonably. "I hurt too much, and with my arms tied like this I can't lay down properly."

  "You lay down. You spread legs wide open. If arms hurt more, that good."

  "You want to shame me, don't you?"

  "Right!" He glowed approvingly at her perception.

  "You lay on arms. You spread the legs. Achmed comes in and fucks."

  So this was Aslam's revenge! She was to be made humble. The bound girl wondered if he was listening beyond the bars where she could not see. Temporizing, she asked: "I'm helpless. You can rape me easily. I can't do a thing to stop you?"

  "Is better you willing. Is nice you spread legs."

  Achmed's grin was avidly anticipatory.

  Did this oaf know he was being as psychological in her subjection as his master? Or was it that all men secretly desired the willing submission of the open legs? Was the blatant offering of her bare loins some tribute to their potency? Corey did not know. But, looking her jailor in the eye, she said: "Untie my arms please. I will then do as you wish."

  "You do now. Like you are."

  "How do I know you'll untie me after?"

  "You trust Achmed. You want I untie now, then tie again tighter after good fuck?"

  Corey sighed. Achmed held all the cards. Awkwardly, she lowered her nakedness to the floor, gasping at the pain from her bound arms. Without protest, she spread her legs as far as they would go. In caustic bitterness she supposed a humorist might liken the sound of the three padlocks to her wedding bells.

  When the ancient act had moaned itself to consummation he did not help her rise, but stepped away and watched her painful struggle from the floor. When she reached her knees he ordered: "Now you clean with mouth."

  Corey Gibson was not surprised. This too would be part of the ancient rite. She took the glistening member in her mouth and dealt with it as competently as she knew how.

  "You enjoy?"

  "Yes, Achmed, I enjoyed." She was bitterly ashamed of the truth of her admission.

  "Achmed enjoy too. You give good fuck. See, I tell! Is better with hurting arms."

  She could not hate him. As her captor's fingers tugged at knots she could almost feel gratitude and a faint warmth that he was actually keeping his word. Corey gasped and cringed in the agony of the peeling of her bonds. When the ropes from elbows and wrists were tossed aside she uttered a heartfelt: "Thank you… Oh, thank you, Achmed."

  Then in surprise and shock: "My arms…! They don't work…!"

  He laughed at his tribute to his binding of her limbs, and goodnaturedly massaged her bruised flesh with knowledgeable hands. Corey stood in joyous agony, wallowing in the unexpected kindness.

  "You make me tie you again, girl?"

  "No. I'll behave. I promise."

  "I tie anyway. But not now."

  "but why, Achmed, I can't escape… and I've promised!"

  "Is for punish. You no ask."

  Corey did not ask. She ate her supper hungrily. Achmed stayed and watched, then remained for an hour to share a bottle of unexpecte
d wine. Corey sensed in him a loneliness she might exploit. Wistfully, she asked: "Is this collar and chain locked on mu neck to punish me too?"

  "Right!" The exclamation accorded her good marks.

  "Am I in a prison?"

  "Right! But is most private."

  "Does it belong to Mr. Aslam?"

  "You ask that too much, you be whipped."

  He would answer no more. Exhausted, she slept upon the boards.

  The plumbing was simple. A pail of water. Another pail with a broken cover. With breakfast came a bowl and a towel. Both were taken away an hour later. The daughter of vast wealth learned to squat above the empty receptacle in full view of any interested party. She wondered if Assef Aslam had a hidden spy hole through which to view her shame.

  "Now I tie for rest of day." Achmed held the rope as for a gift.

  Corey did not demur. She needed this man as a friend. Guided by a prompting hand, she thrust her breasts against the bars and looked out across the courtyard. Achmed raised her arm to shoulder level and tied its wrist to a bar, then the other. Miss Corey Gibson stood with arms stretched wide. But not in pain. She was simply tied to the bars of her cell and left alone. The links from her collar trickled down her back. After awhile she would be very tired.

  It was not long before the men began to dig. One with a bar, one with a shovel. They were not too distant into the courtyard, and from time to time turned her way and laughed. Corey was surprised and relieved that they did not come and paw her nakedness in its open invitation. She would have had to stand and endure. She could not back away from the bars more than a few inches. It was not until they planted the post solidly in the ground that she knew fear. After the two of them had tamped and pounded and gone away, the seven foot timber stood starkly in its punitive promise of pain.

  So she was going to be whipped! The references had not been casual or to tease. The additional refinement of compelling her to watch the implanting of a whipping post for her special benefit was in keeping with the rest. No doubt there would be a considerable period of suspense before she was taken out and bound to the implacable object now awaiting her nudity. Corey wondered vividly how she would behave. Suppose she screamed…! She winced at the mere thought.

  But the post was not for her! before long, Corey watched a small procession walk sedately to the newly erected facility. Three men and a woman. The woman might be thirty. She was expostulating vehemently with her companions, but did not drag her steps. All of them spoke a language Corey did not understand. It was an argument of questions and answers, a concerned exchange of views that stopped short of becoming physical. The tied girl watched in amazement through her bars as the woman, with a gesture of disgust, stripped herself of covering. naked, she thrust herself against the post and embraced it with bare arms as though it had become a familiar exercise. Corey Gibson gasped in shock.

  The woman was as white as she herself.

  One man had rope. He crossed the passive wrists and bound them tight. Another had a hammer and a huge nail. Between them they thrust the tied hands high until their owner stood upon her toes. The nail was inserted beneath her bonds and hammered half its length into the wood. They stood back. Their work was done. The third man held the whip.

  Corey Gibson knew guilt. Her tied wrists prevented her turning away. But she could close her eyes. She did not have to watch.

  She watched.

  Fascinated. Repelled. Curious to assess a punishment of which she knew nothing, but which would almost certainly be inflicted on herself before too long. Was it bearable? By watching, could she gain a comforting reassurance…?

  She beheld the lash make its arc. She heard it splat upon bare flesh. The woman flinched and looked back pitifully. That was all. At the fourth stroke the victim screamed and fought the post. Corey supposed a woman would always try to keep silent and would always fail. The victim's bare legs raised and kicked pathetically. The witnesses exchanged experienced comments. The whip drew back and flashed again. Corey winced at its impact and the feminine scream. She winced fifteen more times before the three men took their whip and went away. The bound woman embracing the post remained standing on her toes. She could move but little. Her legs continued their testimony of anguish. Soon they too were still.

  To the naked girl tied to the bars the scene had been in profile. Corey could not properly see the whipped back or striped buttocks. There were marks where the lash had curled beneath a raised arm, angry red welts distance could not hide. But she reluctantly concluded she had not witnessed a true flogging. She could see no blood. The woman had not fainted through all her twenty strokes. The whip, therefore, was not lethal. What she had seen was probably normal for this place. Undramatically routine. Miss Corey Gibson shuddered.

  The whipped woman eventually became aware of an audience. She turned her head to look at Corey but found nothing remarkable in what she saw. Perhaps naked white girls tied to the bars of their cell was commonplace. The distance between them was far enough to inhibit speech. The day passed slowly. The whipped delinquent remained embracing the post with her tied arms. Corey clutched her bars. That was all.

  "Why was that woman whipped, Achmed?"

  "She foolish woman. She very rude."

  "Who to?"

  "You ask questions or you be rude, you go to post too."

  Corey sighed. Her conversational gambits seemed limited. She smiled winningly at her jailor. "Tell me, Achmed. Was that a cruel whipping she got or just a light one?"

  "Was light. Her master very kind."

  "Was it the sort of whipping I'd get?"

  "If not too bad." Achmed grinned. "You nosey. You want I whip you? Achmed like whip girls."

  "No, thank you. It's just… well, I've never been a prisoner like this before. I don't know… about anything."

  "Is nice for you." Achmed beamed approvingly. "I teach."

  "Do I really have to be tied up every day, Achmed? Or do you do that to me for fun?"

  "You look very pretty when you tied up. Achmed enjoy."

  "Yes, I know I look pretty. But does someone order you to do that to me?"

  "You want I fetch whip?"

  Corey abandoned her probing. Achmed could be prodded only so far. She was by no means sure he would use the whip on her. But the post in the courtyard was a warning. As things stood he was, in his own fashion, kind and amiable. But why not? He used her as he pleased. She was totally obedient, a model prisoner. Common sense told her it was best to be pliant and await.

  Chapter 2

  Her fall from the immaculate had been so great that she rejected middle class scruples about her body. If her breasts and vagina were weapons she would use them. After Achmed had loosed her from the bars, tended her needs and left her chained alone for the night, Miss Corey Gibson sat nakedly on her wooden bunk and ruefully reviewed her second rape. Rape was not the right word. Butt all the other terms she could think of seemed equally inadequate.

  "You like me fuck you before I go?" A beaming smile.

  "Whatever you want, Achmed. I'm naked and there's a chain on my neck. I sort of belong to you, don't I?"

  "Not what Achmed ask. Ask if you want good fuck."

  The pound of flesh again! Aslam's trick. In this strange prison a girl was expected to ask politely for her rapes and say thank you after. But the metal collar fastened round her neck was a constant counsel to prudence. There was also another factor which her own honesty forbid her to ignore. She was lonely. All day she had stood tied to the bars. When her jailor had come to free her at the end of day she had been glad. It was good to speak again. Achmed's conversation might be limited but it was amusing and good natured. Worse still was a final admission of defeat. Achmed was a skillful lover. After the initial shock of social denigration she had enjoyed his piercing of her sheath. In the end her moans had been the most ardent of the two. Without Achmed the cell, the bars, the chain and the collar on her neck would have been doubly defeating. Miss Corey Gibson, daughter of the Planet
Corporation, made a frank admission.

  "You fuck beautifully, Achmed. Please fuck me again?"

  "Much more better."

  "But are you certain Mr. Aslam won't mind? I thought I'd been kidnapped for his special enjoyment?"

  "You forgot Mr. Aslam. Achmed tie you every day and fuck you every day. You most lucky girl."

  "I suppose I am. Are you going to tie me again tomorrow, Achmed?"