The slave girl Page 5

  The stripped girl stood erect, hands clasped behind her neck, legs wide apart. She was smiling. The one to be punished knelt within the arched thighs and clasped them lovingly while her wrists were joined by the handcuffs to ensure that her loving grip could not be withdrawn. Her seeking mouth raised and nuzzled black pubic hair. Her tongue slid forth like a serpent seeking the sundered slit. A sigh of dark emotion rippled round the room.

  "I whip her back until she makes Amrah climax." A new and more wicked whip was in a dark hand. The statement had been made for Corey's benefit alone. She nodded understanding. Dark eyes smiled. "Amrah fight climax long, long time."

  It was exquisitely female. A man might have devised it but it was a punishment for girls. Corey flinched in horror at thought of herself kneeling there with urgent tongue while a whip laced her back. How could a girl possibly apply her energies thus under such awful pain?

  The tongue had been busy within Amrah's sheath for several moments before the first lash spilt crimson across its owner's shoulders. The dark head thrust more vehemently into the pubic patch, hands strained at metal cuffs. The second lash was delivered after such an interval as to tell Corey this punishment was not beyond consummation. Amrah's breasts thrust forward joyously, her full lips were moist in heat. The naked girl who bore the strokes thrust herself into female loins with concentrated determination. The whipper changed sides and struck again. The body of the handcuffed nudity swayed and shivered, but the busy mouth did not relax. Amrah's smile had become fixed on infinity her mouth was slack.

  Corey counted seventeen strokes before the dam of Amrah's control burst asunder. Throughout the explosive orgasm the innocent tongue thrust and probed assiduously until the cessation of repeated agony told its task was done. The kneeling girl slumped, her forehead now pressed against the moist heat where her tongue had plied its trade. When her handcuffs were removed she kissed the pubic patch before her face, she kissed the whip that had wealed her back, she kissed the hand that held it. Her'thank you? was passionate. Again, Corey was astounded. The girl was in the grip of sexual excitation. Even whipped as she was, her loins were pulsing. Corey was coming to understand the primitive vulnerability of girls. Almost with love, she watched the slender nudity don its clothes and retire to resume its assuagement of the lusts of men. Caustically, she realized the girl could scarcely wait for the rampant thrusts.

  Number four undressed casually. Pulled the bench back into the centre of the floor, then mounted and knelt on one end, waiting. Two smiling girls raised stanchions, inserted boards, the nude delinquent leant down until she was on hands and knees. One more board spanned her waist and was thrust down on its fellow below. The girl was captive by a set of stocks which held down her slender middle and forced her to remain as she was. The locked boards divided her. She could look back but would see nothing of that portion of herself which was to be punished. The bench was indeed versatile. It provided a bar to lock across knee hollows, and clamps for slender ankles. Number four had become a well protruded bottom. Corey pictured herself like this. It would be too humiliating for words.

  The informant was again helpful. "Fatalla just plain bad girl. Fatalla gets little ass plain whipped."

  It would be awful to have your bottom stuck out like that where it was invisible to its owner and to know it was to receive cut after cut of whips also out of sight. Corey watched in empathy as Fatalla supported the top half of herself on rigid hands and arms and looked back apprehensively at the blank wall of boards beyond which her bottom awaited its fate. She was still looking when the first blow fell. She yelped in shock and turned to face ahead.

  Amrah and her companion whipped from each side. The whips might not be lethal, but the girl who received their stripes was hard pressed not to scream. Corey saw the sweat droplets form on the young forehead and beneath armpits to trickle down the helpless arms which bore no bond but were captive to their owner's need to sustain her weight. From time to time one of theother reached back, but they could not find the bruised flesh they sought. Defeated, they returned to their tiring task.

  The fleshly impacts were almost without pause. The bare bottom tried hard to weave, to sway, to find any surcease at all. But it was captive to the thrust of boards. It flinched, it quivered as the scarlet grid was latticed on its skin. But that was all. It was perfectly postured for its possessor's punishment. Fatalla's moans mounted and progressed to small cries of dark distress. When she screamed, Corey Gibson climaxed into orgasm. Shocked and ashamed, she was thankful no one was looking. All eyes were on the tableau upon the bench.

  Corey had lost count of the strokes bedding themselves into the pathetically helpless posterior. It seemed their number did not matter. The whippers and the whipped tallied the punishment by other means. It ended suddenly to leave the room in a hushed silence, broken only by Fatalla's sobs. The whipped girl had screamed several times. But had borne her punishment with stoic fortitude. Corey felt blushingly certain she would disgrace herself when her own time came. She suspected she was being left to last. Sometimes she tugged at the cuff upon her wrist. It seemed impossible so trifling a bond could hold her captive to await such pain. But hold her it did. She could believe in truth that, from this place, no girl could ever escape.

  Punishment day followed its course. Amrah and her colleague dealt briskly with delinquent bottoms., breasts, backs, pudendum and soft thighs. No two punishments were alike. No two responses from punished flesh were similar. Corey Gibson twisted against her handcuff and cringingly and apprehensively awaited her own turn. When the last punished maiden had dressed and gone, she found herself confronted by two pairs of laughing dark eyes.

  "Soon we whip your pussy."

  "And her boobs and bottom."

  They laughed delightedly. Then provided another surprise. "I have been very bad." Amrah informed coyly. "Talifa now punish me." Grinning impishly, she arranged her nakedness upon the bench.

  Arms down each side, wrists strapped, tummy cinched tight! Amrah was enjoying Corey's incredulity. "When girl is bad she must be punished. Is no use to make fuss."

  Talifa roped passive ankles, raised them and pulled them back over the tight tummy, over the taut breasts, back and back to tie them down to each corner beside their owner's head so that Amrah was looking up at her own pubic hair. Her bottom reared invitingly and thrust into view the dark lips of a plump pudendum from between soft thighs now equally accessible. "Now I be caned with nice thin cane." She explained proudly. "It hurt much on bottom, sometimes it hit poor cunt."

  Amrah did not scream. But she suffered. Corey could not doubt the anguish, it was written plainly upon the dusky features from which it slowly erased the smile. There were moans and gasps and sad strangled sounds as the whippy cane bit shrewdly where it hurt the most. Sometimes it was set aside to allow Talifa to smile the archly pouting lips of her colleague's errant cunt.

  The short thongs beat down wetly into the female cleft so that the strapped and tied mahogany beauty tested the quality of her bonds with frantic thrusts and surgings which left all of her exactly as it was. Amrah was being most competently punished.

  When she was loosed from the bench Amrah sobbed in overtaxed emotion. The two dark girls clutched each other in a spasmodic embrace, seeking and giving forgiveness. The bare arms clung until the sobbing slowly died. Then, as though by preconceived decision, the two of them advanced upon the naked white girl chained to the ring in the wall.

  Corey felt like a child, a kitten, like any helpless creature handled and directed by superior strength. Muting useless protest, she obeyed the directive of a hand in her hair. She sank to her knees, her right arm reaching up, held by its handcuff, ensuring docility, inhibiting nothing. When Amrah straddled her helplessness to thrust her pungent sex against expectant lips it was no more than the white captive had expected from the start.

  Guilt! A wicked excitation! Outrageous tumesence! The fervidly demanding perfume of girl! For Corey it was one more of the revelations of h
er sex. Amrah was luscious, heart's ease. Her soft wet thighs and hairy lips swollen by the whip regaled the white captive's mouth and tongue and nostrils with a nectar wholly feminine. Needful of penetration, the kneeling girl used her one free hand to reach and clasp a beaten buttock and draw closer the scorching slit within which her tongue was searching avidly. Beneath her fingers were the hot red weals left by the cane on Amrah's female flesh. All else was forgotten.

  Corey was not punished. It was as though someone conspired to her confusion. When the laughing dark skinned girls had kissed her lovingly and departed she stood alone against the wall and played idly with the handcuff that held her there. She wondered what it was going to be like to be a whore.

  Achmed came in late afternoon. His smirk was wise.

  "You much enjoy. Girls tell me you good with tongue."

  She was shamed that he knew. But said no word as her cuff was unlocked from its ring and she was led by one wrist from the room. The blindfold lay crumpled on the floor behind them. She hoped it forgotten.

  The place was huge, a complex of buildings. Some of stern utility, some of ancient luxury. She saw little as she was hurried back to her cell. But she did discover it one of a dozen in a single line. All similar to her own. The first was empty, but what she beheld in the second stopped her in her tracks, her eyes widening in shock. But her cuffed wrist was ruthlessly yanked, in pain she stumbled on beside her jailor. Achmed was in a hurry. He relieved her of the handcuff, locked the chain and padlock back on her collar, then fucked her with a savage intensity which matched her own erotic arousal of the day. Refusing to answer questions, he left and locked the door, leaving the naked ravished girl still panting on the floor, one hand toying with the chain from her collar, her mind busy with a vision.

  As Achmed had dragged her past the second cell she had focused on a scene still vivid in her mind. It was of a naked girl tied against the bars as she had once been. A girl who gazed out wistfully at a freedom denied. A girl whose neck bore a collar and chain as did her own.

  The girl was Audrey Cotswold.

  Abdul Nour did himself well. Between his military forays and the receipt of Russian largesse he lived in a small degree of splendor. Any political loyalties he might cherish came second to material benefit. His very private office was a case in point. It was lush! To Miss Corey Gibson it was nostalgically reminiscent of the Planet Corporation's luxury back home.

  Corey was alone. The office was waiting, but not for her. She was in it but most certainly not of it. She was a discordant note, an anomaly. She supposed someone had a sense of humour. As usual, she hurt.

  Miss Corey Gibson was naked. She was suspended by her bound wrists, a taut strained arm rigid beside each cheek. To emphasis her nude femaleness her crotch had been opened wide and thrust into blatancy by the expedient of roping her ankles far off to each side and slightly in advance so that her lower half was a foot closer to the desk than her top. She could quiver in rippling spasms of effort but could not change position. It was as though her cunt and pubic hair awaited an interview with someone behind the desk while the rest of her watched.

  The ring in the ceiling from which she hung, and the stanchions off to each side to which her feet were tethered could scarcely have been installed for her special benefit. Abdul Nour evidently preferred his females at a disadvantage when interviewed. No doubt the long wait in the vacant luxury and the incongruity of their own condition compared to what they saw around was conducive to a softening up of feminine fortitude. Corey cringed in misery at thought of a man seated and regarding her across the polished surface of the desk.

  Abdul Nour did not match his office. Probably he rarely used it. He was not as modern, he was not as polished, he was not as clean. He belonged in the desert and wore the clothes for it. He was of no great stature but exuded the unnamed force all such men have. His English was perfect.

  "Miss Corey Gibson!" His bow was brief before he took his seat. "I am Abdul Nour. This is my headquarters, the home base of our Cause. It is called Amphala. You are my prisoner." His tone was briskly genial. "May I complement you on a magnificent growth of pubic hair?"

  The suspended daughter of the Planet Corporation knew herself one vast blush. She would not plead, but waited in silence.

  "You were kidnapped by Assef Aslam. My men relieved him of you and brought you here. I bid you welcome." He pressed a button on the desk.

  A servant girl, a tray, two drinks. A glass was held to captive lips. Corey drank avidly. Her host raised his in a toast. "To the two finest breasts I have ever seen…!"

  Her blush could blush no more. Without hope, she pleaded: "Could my feet be allowed on the floor please?"

  "Don't be a silly girl." Said Abdul Nour.

  "Then… please… Why am I here?"

  "You are a useful property."

  Corey Gibson hated the stress of her bondage. How could any girl maintain a rational conversation when nakedly spread and obscenely bound?

  "Why are you imprisoning Audrey Cotswold?"

  "She is a useful property too."

  "You mean you're going to make us… whores?"

  "Not immediately, Miss Gibson. Try not to dramatize. Oh, by the way, I'm Harrow and Oxford in case you're wondering."

  "Didn't they teach you better than to hang naked girls on the end of a rope?"

  The frozen silence told Corey of error. She had said more than a slave girl should. Her pulse quickened. It quickened more when Abdul Nour rose, took the slender cane from a drawer, and eyed her open loins. In stunned stupification at her own stupidity Miss Corey Gibson absorbed the four cuts between her sundered thighs in a reasonable silence. She could not control the wild jerking at her tethers. Her host viewed this evidence of pain with satisfaction.

  "You were saying…? Miss Gibson?" His interest was polite.

  "I should have kept quiet. I'm sorry."

  "Do I detect a slight bitterness?"

  "Can you blame me?"

  This time it was a single stroke, viciously aimed, delivered upon her sex with force. Corey screamed. Gasping and sobbing she made amends: "Forgive me. I was wrong. I was foolish. Please forgive me." She made her voice girlishly contrite.

  "Ah, a better tone." He laid the cane on the desk and resumed his chair. "I have granted you a number of demonstrations of the effect of whip and cane on female skin. I hoped you would vicariously benefit. I was wrong. You need a proper whipping from neck to knees."

  "Please… please no!" Corey sought the proper words. "I'll be obedient, I promise I'll be obedient. You don't have to whip me." In desolation, she added: "I'll watch my tongue. I won't be impudent."

  "Hmmmmmmm." Abdul Nour was faintly pleased. "Then you recognize the whip as essential to the female rationale?"

  Her sex scorching, her thighs aflame, Miss Corey Gibson ate crow: "Yes. Girls need to be whipped. Without the whip we are silly creatures. I was silly and rude. I'm sorry."

  The guerilla Leader smiled. "I take your assertion with a grain of salt, Miss Gibson. But you read your lines well. I suppose you have guessed how much I, and others, enjoy the humiliation of a white heiress?"

  "Yes."

  "Hmmmmm, that one was honest. I understand Aslam intended to mortify your pride. It's a worthy project which I'll carry forward myself."

  "Thank you."

  "Well, well! You give good measures, Miss Gibson."

  Corey looked him in the eye. She was weary, her hurts were bitter, her exposure a constant shame. What she said had the ring of honesty. "Since the first chain I have known there was no escape. I determined to do what I must to avoid punishment. It's silly to lose my freedom and be constantly whipped as well. I accept the fact of my enslavement. I will do whatever a slavegirl must to avoid penalties."

  He nodded, assessing her wracked nakedness. "If you were not tied would you lay and open your legs for me?"

  Corey tensed, surprised. "If you wanted me…! But surely you know Achmed takes me every evening. Would you want m
e… after?"

  Abdul Nour was delightedly amused. "You are one of Achmed's perquisites of office, Miss Gibson. Do you feel he has robbed you of something?"

  "I've been so damn lonely and frightened I've enjoyed it." Corey exploded into honesty.

  "Could you not enjoy it with me?"

  "Yes, I suppose…" She was blushing again. "It's just that… at home… men don't want to follow another."

  "For fear they might catch something?"

  Their eyes met. Corey could not help herself. She laughed with him at the picture evoked. "Forgive me." She pleaded, grinning ruefully. "I'm lost… I'm so damn lost."

  "but you would obey me, even in that?"

  "Yes, of course. I've supposed it the first requisite of obedience in a girl." She twinkled at him. "I'm told the thing between our legs doesn't easily wear out."

  "Miss Gibson, you begin to show a quality."