The slave girl Read online

  "Of course!" Achmed smiled away so stupid a question. "Girls much best with no clothes and pretty tie."

  "What position would you like me in, Achmed? A girl can be fucked so many ways."

  "Achmed know all ways. You bend over touch floor. You spread very wide the feet. Achmed fuck pretty ass."

  Miss Corey Gibson supposed there was no end to what a kidnapped girl might learn. With a sense of high discovery, she bent forward and placed her fingers on the stone.

  "Much wider legs."

  She had forgotten her legs. She could understand their importance in the buggery of a girl. She spread them far apart. The chain from her collar looped down mockingly.

  One of the ten most beautiful women in the world awaited sodomy by a socially unacceptable male.

  Corey Gibson came to understand captive compensations. The small comparisons by which her days and nights were made to yield perspective. She consoled herself with the comfort it was better to be tied than whipped. When she was untied, and until she was tied again, there were blissful hours in which she could use her limbs as she wished. HEr collar and chain were no more than the warning finger of authority. They irked but prevented nothing. After solitary confinement in bondage her nights and the small communion with Achmed were something to look forward to. It was absurd. But she was intelligent enough to see things as they were and to husband her strength and her courage.

  In the morning she could not forbear to ask: "How long will I be imprisoned in this cell, Achmed?"

  All she got was a chuckle: "You be glad you here. Much worse outside."

  "But why? What's worse out there?"

  "Much hurt. People give you pain. You see post…?"

  Corey Gibson saw the post. It stood like a nemesis, as though waiting for her alone. With simulated goodwill, she said cheerfully:! Oh alright. Don't tell me. Now. how would you like me to stand?"

  "Very kind tie. You sit."

  But first, the heiress of Planet stood to have her wrists crossed and tied behind her back. It was done with the air of a minor prelude to a major symphony. She was then guided to the bars.

  "You sit on floor. Push feet outside."

  With tied hands it was awkward, but she was developing a technique.

  "No. Not both through same. Two bars between."

  Corey shrugged. Obviously her pubic hair must be blatant. She extracted a foot and inserted it to display her loins more shamefully.

  "Is better. I push, you wriggle."

  She was almost as close to the bars as yesterday, but not quite. The two between her thighs prevented actual contact.

  "Very simple. You look pretty."

  Achmed freed the long chain from her collar and replaced it with a short length which, with its padlock, rested beneath Corey's chin. The other end of it was now padlocked to a crosspiece in the bars. She could bend her head forward to touch the iron but she could not bend back.

  "Very nice. Not tire."

  "But, Achmed, I will tire, terribly. My legs all spread… and I can't move anything that matters."

  "Achmed enjoy. You damn well like."

  She supposed that summed it up. She belonged to men now. They would do as they pleased with her. Woefully, she remembered Audrey Cotswold's explanation of ownership. Undoubtedly she was owned. As a reminder of beneficence, Achmed chided: "You no smile, Achmed tie elbows real tight." Miss Corey Gibson smiled.

  It was not a good day. It belied Achmed's optimism of "very nice". It was demeaning and frustrating to have her feet and legs protruding out beyond control. She could move them, but not withdraw. Any motion to back up was at the expense of her neck. After one vigorous attempt to improve her plight she desisted. Another struggle with her bound wrists was equally fruitless. She would have to sit out the cramped and shaming hours until Achmed chose to come.

  She saw the two small boys as implicit to her exposure. No doubt Achmed had sent them. They regarded her with big brown eyes and discussed her merits in their own tongue. Then they tickled her feet. Corey hated them with a passion. Try as she would she could not control the spasmodic jerks and winces their fingertip evoked. She wished her ankles were tied fast, to relieve her of involuntary motion and rob them of the delight they found in her futile efforts at evasion. They did as they pleased with her extruded limbs. She could deny them nothing. When her struggles hampered their efforts one held her ankles while the other inflicted their mild torture. It took a demeaning hour before the reflexes of the bound girl dulled enough to spoil their fun. They then turned their attention to her breasts and hairy thatch. Grubby fingers made what the captive suspected as virgin explorations of a woman's nipples, breasts and vulva. She was sitting on enough of the latter to deny them total freedom with her sex. Frustrated but happy, they went away to leave her nursing the pain of their pinching and probings. So far, her day had not been dull. She thought longingly of New York.

  The pair of little girls were worse. They came armed with whippy little cuttings from a tree, slender withes that could not injure but would hurt. They listened to their victim's pleadings as to any other curiosity. Corey could not tell if they understood a word she said. Once more she was discussed, this time with female wisdom. Then they whipped the soles of her feet.

  It was as though the bars separated the woman from her limbs. Corey's legs fought a lonely and losing battle against the female urchins. They kicked and writhed but could never evade the small scorching cuts delivered with intent venom. If Corey Gibson denied them her soles they moved up to the inside of her thighs. They knew where to hurt. They knew where to evoke feminine response. The girl within the cell could gain no relief by motions of her body. She had to sit. The chain from her collar controlled her implacably. It was as though she watched someone else punished yet bore their pain. When they tired of her they left Corey with smarting thighs, inflamed and red, and tingling soles she could not see.

  That evening Achmed admired her innocent wounds and coupled with her twice in vigorous ardor before padlocking the long chain back upon her collar and leaving her to the dark.

  The following day brought change. In response to Corey's spuriously cheerful query: "Well, how are you going to tie me today, Achmed?" Her jailor produced a wide and portentous grin and one single length of rope. "You have very happy day." He promised genially.

  The turning of her back and the crossing of her wrists was now an automatic reflex. Achmed's cords deftly robbed the naked girl of arms and hands. She stood, in passive obedience, to be tied. But, within, she was a turmoil of apprehensions. When a black bandage was bound across her eyes, swathe after swathe to rob her of all sight, she cried out in desolation. "Please, Achmed, don't… Oh, don't put me in the dark, please. It's horrible. I… I… Oh, please…!"

  "Is nice change."

  "But I hate it! Oh… Achmed!"

  "You want gag too?"

  "NO, I don't! Oh, damn!"

  Corey felt the padlock loosed from her collar and heard the chain fall. Then a handcuff was snapped on her right wrist above the rope.

  "We go for walk. I lead."

  "Achmed, I'm frightened. Please let me see?"

  "Is best not see. Trust Achmed."

  Upon her bare skin and within her lungs the air was different from the cell. Corey walked blindly where she was led. Perhaps in this change there might be hope. She wondered how many eyes beheld her shame. Soon there came sounds and voices and then, again, the confined atmosphere of walls. She was thrust sideways against stone, her tied wrists were raised behind her back, but not enough to hurt, she heard the clicks of a cuff. Then, surprisingly, her wrists were freed. Achmed's pleased chuckle announced arrival.

  "You got hand. You take off bandage." His steps receded.

  Corey Gibson remembered the games of childhood. She would now take off the blindfold and be greeted by hilarity. But, strangely, now she was loath to part with it for fear of what she would see. The cuff on her wrist had been tightened before he left. Its mate was attached to hold
her captive where she stood. It would be foolish to remain blind…! Fumbling with her free left hand, she tugged at the knots behind her neck.

  It was a sizable square room, flooded with light from high barred windows. Corey discovered her handcuff was clipped to an iron ring set into the stone of the wall against which she stood. Except for the one loosely prisoned wrist she was free to move. Across from her, against the opposite wall, two other girls stood as she was standing. They were young, they were pretty, they were clothed in jeans and shirt, they were lightly colored. Their right wrist bore its handcuff in the familiarity of resignation. She sensed they had stood thus before.

  They gazed at her white nudity with only a perfunctory curiosity. When she spoke, they only shrugged and exchanged a few words between themselves in a defeating dialect. Their apathy was unaffected by a new arrival, marched in by a pair of lithe negresses who cuffed her to a ring and departed without a word as though glad to dispose of a nuisance. The newcomer tested her handcuff, found it secure on her wrist, then leaned back against the wall with the same air of having walked a familiar path. But, seeing her, Corey gasped in joy.

  The girl was white.

  Corey was agog with curiosity. "Do you speak English?"

  "I should, I'm from Wisconsin." The voice held little warmth.

  "My name's Corey. I've just been kidnapped."

  "Good for you! Were you a whore before they picked you up?"

  "Good heaven no!"

  "You are now. Welcome to the club." "But I don't know anything about anything." Corey wailed. "I've been locked in a cell. I don't even know what country I'm in."

  The girl from Wisconsin evinced a faint interest. "We're somewhere in the Sudan. I don't know just where. Doesn't matter much, we can't escape. I've been here eighteen months."

  "What do you mean about… whores?"

  The voice became a bitter sneer. "Ever heard of Abdul Nour?"

  "The guerrilla? Of course! He's always in trouble with someone. The Press calls him'The Desert Despot?."

  "That's who you belong to now. The bastard has an army. I think his troops have more standing cocks than artillery. We're here to service'em. They don't get paid much and we're for free."

  Another arrival made a diversion. A dark beauty who accepted her handcuff without concern. She grinned and winked at all present, then leant back and closed her eyes.

  "My name's Josie." The white girl continued. "I expect we'll see each other around. What did you do to make'em mad?"

  "I haven't done a thing. Like I told you…!" Corey tensed in dismay. "What is this room… all us girls… handcuffed?"

  "Hell, don't you know that either?" Josie was amused. "We're all here to be punished."

  "All of us? What on earth for…?"

  "To keep us in line." Josie shook her head in commiseration. "You sure are new! Anytime a girl fails to please a soldier he can complain and she's brought down here and punished. Punishment day comes once a week. They keep a tally. I expect they'll bring a few more poor little whores down as they get through the soldier they're with right now. When they've got us all standing round the wall they start the show."

  "But how many girls…?"

  "?Bout twenty. Half of'em will likely show up here. It's hard to go seven days without hurting some bastard's feelings. I'm here because I bit a guy's cock… I got so mad the way he rammed it down my throat."

  Nine girls! All resigned. None fought. They accepted their handcuff and awaited their penalty. The big stone chamber took on the air of a dentist's waiting room. But lassitude vanished when the negresses carried in the bench. Each girl tensed against her linkage to the ring.

  It was the same as with the whipping post. Corey Gibson knew she could not close her eyes. This whole scene was beyond credulity, the passivity of the girls was an affront. Surely they should fight! In some way protest their femininity! Unhappily, the new recruit realized they were only being sensible, just as she was sensible with Achmed. This was a land where girls were property. She watched, breathless.

  Josie was first. She made no fuss. When the head harness and the phallus was made ready she smiled in sardonic recognition and opened her mouth for the ugly male thing to be thrust deep inside. When all the buckles were tight there would be no expelling it. She was effectively gagged. The sinister straps compressing her features were oddly erotic. Catching Corey's eyes, she winked. When her handcuff was unlocked she calmly stripped naked. Without prompting, she walked to the bench and lay upon it on her back.

  The bench was versatile. Corey watched, cringing yet enthralled. At the back of Josie's head a rod rose, at its top a hook. Next, the two wardresses briskly strapped her down. Arms down each side, legs spread, belly cinched tight. Then they produced the glass jar…!

  Josie knew instantly. Corey, incredulously, guessed. In full view of the strapped-down delinquent each negress held the receptacle between her legs. When their bladders were empty the jar was nearly full. Josie eyed the yellow fluid bleakly as the stopper was screwed in place, from it trailed a rubber tube…! When the jar was hung on the waiting hook the loose end of the tube was inserted into the base of the phallus within Josie's mouth. A tap was turned. Her eyes widened. She swallowed. Convulsively, she swallowed again…!

  "When you drink our piss we stop whipping."

  The English was unexpectedly clear. Each negro girl now had a short whip. Standing one on each side of the punished girl they began methodically to whip her breasts, one to each of the taut globes. Josie visibly writhed, her head tossing wildly. But she was helpless. Her punishment had begun.

  Corey understood. The punishment fitted Josie's crime. The leaking phallus in her mouth was exacting a frightful price for her moment of temper. The whips were not cutting the skin of her breasts, but they would hurt in a beastly horrible way no girl would want on two of the most secret places of her being. Josie gulped and gulped in an agonized race against the splatting thongs beating their measured tattoo upon her flesh. After what seemed to Corey Gibson far too long a time, the hateful bottle was empty. The whippers stopped. Josie's breasts bore scarlet testimony of her penance. When she was freed she was too shamed to meet an eye. Downcast, she pulled on her clothes, said her'thank you? to those who had whipped her, and walked slowly from the room.

  "You bite a cock, you see what you get." The dark inquisitor smiled benignly at the handcuffed girls. "Never no shortage of pee."

  Execution on number two was swift. Taken from the wall, her handcuffs were snapped behind her back. She was laid on the floor, her feet spread and raised to two pulleys high above. When her bottom lost contact with the floor suspension stopped. Dark hands explored the sundered loins, the soft thighs, the plump and pouting vulva so cruelly exposed. Dark heads nodded approval. The bench was pushed aside. On the floor, the clothing the victim had stripped from herself before being tied helpless made a small pathetic pile, infinitely feminine, infinitely pathetic.

  Using the same whips, the mahogany mistresses intently whipped the innocent cunt, the loins, the inside thighs. The punished nakedness writhed amazingly but could turn no part of herself to where a whip could not find her flesh. The swish and slap became a steady rhythm. The punished female skin glowed pink, red, scarlet. The girl moaned piteously but did not scream.

  Corey understood what she was privileged to witness. This was simple punishment for a misdemeanor. It was not torture. It designed no injury. The girls were valuable, they must not be harmed. But their lesson was severe. When number two was freed, much of her scorched flesh was hidden between her legs. Strangely, she kissed each of her punishers, thanked them sweetly, dressed without haste and went her way. Corey was ashamed of a pulsing heat between her own thighs. Surely… surely… she could not be finding pleasure!

  It was all insane. These girls were made of sterner stuff than she. The cuffed audience watched intently but without visible fear. They evaluated each punishment and the receipt thereof. They were connoisseurs. Awaiting their turn they e
njoyed the show. Corey wondered if they too suffered the throb within their sex. She suspected they did. It was one more lesson…!

  Number three, with an innocent lack of affectation, engaged her punishers in conversation while she undressed. The operation was unhurried, the verbal exchange pleasantly animated. Corey wished she spoke the language. She suddenly sensed that these girls were all in the same boat. The girls with the whips might themselves be whipped next week. There was a happy camaraderie between them. Some sterner authority must have conditioned them to the rules which they now accepted without resentment. They had violated a code. Now they were punished. It was simple.

  Yet the punishments were shrewd The one that took place now left Corey Gibson a'quiver with conflicting emotions. One of the whippers tossed aside her whip and stripped naked. She was a superb mahogany statue. Abdul Nour's troops should consider themselves fortunate. Any Las Vegas line would welcome these luscious bits of femininity. Corey wondered where they had been kidnapped.