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?"
"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 enjoyed 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.
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 her 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 me… 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."
"Thank you." Her blush matched her stammer. "But if… I mean, if I do what… what those other girls do. If I have to be a… a sort of a whore for the pleasure of your soldiers… I?d try and be good at it. I honestly would. But then…? Would you want me sexually than?"
He studied her intently. "That?s important to you, isn?t it?"
"Yes." She twisted against the ropes. I?m not sure why."
"North American mores, that?s all. It once affected marriagability. The principle of soiled merchandise." Abdul Nour gazed, pointedly, at her sex, her breasts, her navel… then her face. "I would want you after a thousand men." He said simply.
"Then you will give me to your men?" Her heart was thudding.
"No, I will not, not yet." Again the intense scrutiny.
"Either you are unusually intelligent or your time in the cell has worked miracles."
"I am glad I please you." Corey?s wits were working hard. "Am I permitted to ask a favour?"
"Not if it?s relative to your being untied."
"No. I realize you want me like this. But could Audrey Cotswold and i be chained in the same cell?"
"You are lesbians?"
"No. But, tied up all day, and then the night… It?s so lonely."
"Suppose I had you chained to opposite walls, a short chain?"
"If that pleased you.. yes."
"Half a loaf better than no bread?"
Corey flung her hair aside. "Is that not the axiom of slaves?"
"I will consider the idea. Miss Cotswold has her uses. I am fortunate in collecting both of you. Would you care to marry me?"
Shock! Outrage! Hastily quenched derision! Corey fell back on a cliche: "You must be joking?"
"I am not acceptable?"
"I did not say that. But I have to ask: Why marry me when you possess me utterly now?"
"Marriage gives me more of you than a whipped vulva."
Corey shook her head distractedly. "I just don?t understand. The way I?m tied… like this. It?s not the way a girl gets proposed to."
"You are privileged. You have a proposal anyway."
Abdul Nour saw the anguish in his captive?s eyes. It was easy to read her thoughts. "May I explain a plan?" He asked gently. It is not a foolish plan."
"Yes, of course." Corey omitted that she had no choose.
"I take you to Cairo, to the best hotel, the finest wardrobe. You announce our marriage to the Press. You grant interviews. It is all of your own free will, your love for a man and for his Cause."
Corey glimpsed logic. "Yes." She said slowly. "Go on."
"The thing a guerilla needs most is respectability, recognition, money. I hold Assef Aslam. You can give me what he can not."
"But I could go to the police! I could fly back home…!"
The obvious burst from Corey?s lips without caution.
"Could you? Are you sure?" Abdul Nour was smiling at her animation. "You have forgotten Audrey Cotswold. I hold her as security for your good behavior. For a minor disobedience on your part she will be whipped. For a major defection she will die unpleasantly."
It was neat and tidy. Corey could pick no flaws. "Please untie me." She begged. "I can?t think properly like this."
Abdul Nour whipped her four more strokes.
He went away.
Miss Corey Gibson hung suspended and alone. She hurt, hurt, hurt! In utter bafflement she wept.
It was Corey?s worst day. Her wrists screamed protest, her stretched legs implored release. She longed for covering, even a handkerchief over her pubic hair! But she hung in shame before the great man?s desk… It was hours before Achmed came.
"You have nice day?"
"Oh, Achmed… Ohhhhh, oh noooooo."
"Cell feel good after. Nice chain."
It was different. This time her hands were tied behind her back. It did not occur to Corey to complain. Achmed was a relief. Soon she could not complain. Her mouth was stuffed with rag, a bandage was wound several times across her lips and tied behind her head. She could utter no word, nor could she scream. A rope to her collar was her tether as Achmad led her from luxury back to prison.
It was a different post. It was placed where she could not see it from her cell. Audrey Cotswold was bound to it with considerable skill and an eye to aesthetics. She was gagged as Corey was gagged. The two girls exchanged anguished stares.
"I do real good job of tie." Said Achmed complacently.
He had indeed. Corey recognized its merit. Audrey could not move. She was clamped tight against the post by ropes above and below her naked breasts. By her neck. Her waist was doubly cinched, her hands were tied at the back as were her elbows. Her knees also bore the tight tight bands… Below them, Corey could not see. The tied girl?s feet were buried by a pile of tinder dry bits of wood, twigs, branches, paper and assorted inflammables. "Is not nice way for girls to die." Achmed insinuated.
The gags were a refinement of cruelty. The need of the girls to speak blazed from their wide and anguished eyes. Corey was choking with the urgency to tell Achmed this must not happen, that this lovely girl must not die by fire, that she herself would do anything… anything demanded… that she must be taken to Abdul Nour…!
But she could utter no word. She turned to her grinning jailor and shook her head again and again.
"Our Leader want you to be very good girl." Achmed explained blandly.
Corey nodded and nodded again. What more could she do? Nonchalantly, Achmed struck a match. Looking straight at her, he dropped the small flame on the outer fringe of kindling.
It flared instantly. Corey screamed against her gag and tore free of her leash. In frantic disregard of pain she stamped her bare feet up and down on the eager birth of conflagration.
"Is lucky girl." Achmed observed complacently. "You love her very much." He looked down at the blackened and scattered twigs and at her feet. "Is hurting?"
Corey shook her head. It had been too swift for injury. It was not until she had been led to her cell and the gag taken from her mouth that she was able to seek motives.
"Achmed, she?s not really going to be burned…? She isn?t! Is she?"
"Not if you very good girl."
She sighed in relief. The girl bound to the stake was not a trick, she was a demonstration of intent, a warning. Abdul Nour was serious in his fantastic plan. In one of the swift analyses with which she was constantly confronted, Corey ruefully supposed she would be better off as his wife than as his army?s whore. "Are you going to untie Audrey?" She asked hopefully. "It?s too cruel for her to stay tied like that… not knowing?"
"Give good scare. Very frightened of burn. She be very good girl too when let loose."
"Achmed, please untie her now. Oh please! And what?s going to happen to her… afterwards?"
"She make good whore. When you naughty girl she get whipped. You run away she get burned." Achmed disposed of such trivialities with a wave of the hand and a benevolent smile. "Now you give Achmed fine fuck."
Miss Corey Gibson folded her nudity to the floor. Wryly, she supposed she was no worse off today than yesterday. Laughing, she pointed out an omission: "Achmed, my hands! We?ve forgotten my hands. They?re still handcuffed behind my back."
"No forget. Is good that way."
What did it matter! Obediently, the daughter of vast wealth arched her back upon her manacled wrists and spread her legs.
Alone, sitting on her bench before seeking sleep, Corey Gibson reflected on the nature of girls. Girls were property. Girls had to do what they were told. Scarcely more than a couple of centuries of social usage had rubbed off on them its patina of equality. But it was easily erased. A few days as the captive of men had brought her to where she was, grateful for the emotional release of being fucked by her jailor every evening, thankful when she was not bound with rope, finding a strange pride in being desired by the male, even as a whore. Escape no longer bothered her. Girls did not escape! It was as simple as that.
Corey was amused by the sudden realization that Achmed had gone away and forgotten her handcuffs. Even more significantly she had forgotten them herself. A girl must indeed be both physically and spiritually enslaved when such an acceptance of chains was carelessly automatic. She made her familiar tug against the steel bands. They were tight as ever. She would not escape them. She shrugged away the loss of her arms in resigned indifference. She was still sitting on the boards when Achmed returned with Audrey Cotswold.
Corey did not believe Achmed cruel. What he did now must be under the spur of urgency, orders, or a preoccupation of his own. It was done swiftly in silence. Her own exclamations died unborn against the gag he thrust into her mouth and buckled behind her neck. Audrey was already gagged and twisting her arms fretfully against the handcuffs at her back. Her collar was instantly tethered by chain and padlocked to the opposite wall. Corey?s own chain was unlocked, gathered to half its length, then locked again. Two startled girls stared at the bars as the door slammed shut behind their departing jailor.
It was frustrating to the point of tears. Confirming instant suspicion, each chained girl stepped out to touch, to make contact with beloved flesh. Their tethers snubbed their necks within a yard of union. They stood, so close, helpless, defeated, denied, and gazed at each other pathetically. They made strangled sounds against their most efficient gags, they motioned despairingly with heads compressed by straps. Convinced of the denial of their need of each other they returned to their respective walls. Audrey sat on the floor, Corey on her bench. Both were equally hard on female bottoms.
They slept. Both girls had become inured to chains, their metal collars, and an unsympathetic surface on which to lay. It was the deepest dark of night when Amrah opened the barred door and unlocked the padlocks at their necks. Without pause, she used the shorter chain to join their collars four feet apart. Padlocks clicked again. Hurriedly, she pushed them from the cell to the waiting figure of a naked girl. It was Josie. Josie?s plight was a duplicate of their own. She grinned a mute greeting. But gag and handcuffs permitted no more. In seconds she was collared and linked to Audrey?s neck. Where one went, so would the others.
"We get away." Amrah?s whisper was both urgent and demanding. "You better trust Amrah or we get caught."
She emphasized her demand by a firm tug on the leash she had prudently fastened to Corey?s slave neck iron. Dazed, the three helpless girls followed where they were led.
Should she have struggled, kicked, resisted this nocturnal rescue? Perhaps! But Achmed had left the two of them sufficiently helpless to enable Amrah to handle them with ease. There had been little choice. And suppose Amrah was a friend! Suppose she was leading them to freedom! The method of her doing so was not illogical. Three dubious and argumentative girls would have been far more difficult than the three gagged nudities now slipping so silently into the night. They were a package Amrah could control. She herself would be fleeing her enslavement as an unpaid whore. But the keys! Where had Amrah got the keys by which to take them from their prison? Corey rejected the stress of speculation as she strove to appease the pressure on her neck. If they were being led to freedom by this unorthodox handling, so be it! Freedom, by any means, was vital. Nothing else mattered.
Eight padding bare feet, the clink of chain. Whispers of sound in the desert night. Amrah led them along the great wall to the door. When it closed behind them the sound spoke of no return. Beyond them now was limitless space, but in the foreground the dark shadow of a truck.
Two men in desert garb. Then the incredible! Amrah passed to them keys, like coins in payment understood. She broke a string from her bare waist and gave them the handcuffs it had borne. She turned her back to present them with her wrists. She looked back across her shoulder with a wide grin as the cuffs clicked to make her captive too. Corey?s leash was padlocked to Amrah?s collar so that now it was four naked girls who stood in line to await the convenience of men. One by one they were lifted into the truck by strong male hands. The tailgate was raised and fastened, the engine whispered into life. Corey looked back at the rapidly diminishing immensity of Amphala, a place she had known only as a prison cell. Somewhere within the walls the brigand who intended to take her to wife would be fast asleep.
It was a miserable ride of snubbed necks and tangled female flesh. Amrah was the only one with speech but she used it little. The others could ask no questions. "Now we get sold in slave market." She informed her companions with an immense and beaming complacency. "Rich man buy. We have fine life. Much better than whore to army."
She giggled happily. "They want you too or won?t take me. Now we all set." The innocently naive admission explained much. Now, Amrah?s proud satisfaction with an astute deal added more. "Men buy our keys. In Amphala they pay much money in bribes to make us free. We lucky girls."
Corey supposed it depended on the way a girl looked at it!
Conversation languished. The truck rumbled and jolted. It was hard to find comfort. She suspected that girls chained together by their collars might easily become irritated with each other. There was a constant snubbing and jerking and the tossing of angry heads. The four prisoners did the best they could by sitting on the bed of the truck and leaning against one unstable side. Three jaws ached from gags, four sets of handcuffs irked eight slender wrists. "Is nice long ride to safe place." Amrah informed brightly.
Corey would have liked to kick her.
It was indeed a long ride. It took them into dawn and a country of scattered brush and trees. It took them to a tent and five more girls. Lovely girls in varying shades of coffee, and linked as they were linked. With the truck in view they were marshaled into a waiting line, sullenly curious, enticingly nude. Two sets of chain were joined to make a slave coffle of nine girls. One end of it was padlocked to a tree. Gags were taken from three grateful mouths. Handcuffs were unlocked from thankful wrists. The collars and linking chain would deny escape.
Three men in quiet discussion. The passing of money. One of the trio returned to the truck and drove off in the way they had come. The remaining two turned their attention to their chained merchandise.
Corey was fingering the metal circlet on her neck. It was heavy with chain. Even with her limbs free she had never felt more helpless. But her main concern was the men. They were rangy masculine types, one bearded, one clean shaven. They wore the desert haik. Un hurriedly, they took inventory.
Strangely, no girl spoke. They were prodded and positioned but maintained the silence of resignation. The finality of their enslavement and the obvious intent of their condition left nothing to say. They had been captured into slavery and would be sold. There were no protests. The girls were frightened. Their new owners had steely eyes and a no nonsense approach to their abasement of nine girls. They commented to each other in the desert dialect, pointing out salient features on each slave. There was no other communion.
Corey was made to stand with her hands clasped behind her neck. Their satisfaction with her body was all too evident. She was costly merchandise. Grim lipped, she endured the fingerings and probings. Her fortitude was shattered by a mid-western voice.
"Some sort of an heiress, aren?t you?"
A Yankee slave trader! Why not, they did everything else! Sudden hope wilted under the sardonic gaze. Her response was forestalled by Audrey?s angry outburst.
"You idiot! She?s Corey Gibson… The Plant Corporation. Neither she or I belong on this damn chain. You can get ransom for us. Tomorrow you could be rich and us on the way home."
An amused and interested regard swung upon the girl?s heaving breasts. The voice was tolerant. "Shut your trap, kid."
"But, I tell you…!"
"You don?t tell us nothing we don't ask! You want that little ass of your?s whipped?"
Audrey Cotswold subsided into hurt silence. The sardonic eyes returned to Corey. "M?name?s Seth Burdett, and I asked you a question."
"Yes, I am Corey Gibson."
A rapid exchange in Arabic. Burdett nodded at her and winked. Attention turned to the next in line. Corey felt piqued. She exchanged a cocked eyebrow. But what could they do! The were helpless.
It was Seth Burdett who gave them their set of rules. Like recruits in boot camp they stood attentively in line. His mention of a whip had earned respect. "We march at night, sleep by day. We?ll cross country where a truck won?t go. That means there?s no one chasing us." He grinned up and down the naked line. "Don?t any of you girls aim to be rescued or escape. That ain?t going to happen. Any of you want to give trouble she gets her back sliced good with a whip. Any questions?"
A long silence was terminated by a pale feminine voice. "Are we slaves… Mr. Burdett?"
"Thought that went without saying, kid. In case you don?t know, that way you?re chained?s called a slave coffle." He guffawed. "Keeps you in line."
"Are we going to be sold?"
"Of course. And let me tell you, you?re damned expensive stuff."
Corey took her chance. "Will you arrange ransom for Audrey and me, Mr. Burdett?"
"Too much hassle, Miss Gibson. Sorry."
"The sum could be huge."
"Miss Gibson, when you stand up on that auction block you?re going to be shocked out of your socks by the price some guy?s going to pay for you. We?re taking you to where the money is."
The chain seemed heavier. Their value as merchandise made them doubly captive. Corey tried another approach.
"Please, must we be chained? We can?t run away in this wilderness. You could control us without all this hardware on our necks."
"You?re dreaming, kid. We take these little coffee colored cuties off the coffle, they?d melt into that brush like they weren?t even there." He guffawed again. "You probably wouldn?t be far behind, but your white ass would be easier to follow."
"It?s so demeaning. We keep tugging at each other."
Burdett remained indulgent. "Hell, girl, that coffle is about the most humane way we can handle the nine of you. You want to tell me a better way?"
She could not! It was infuriating to think of their condition as desirable or convenient, but for the life of her she could think of nothing else. To be linked wrist to wrist would be far more inhibiting. To be bound with rope would be painful in the walk ahead.
Burdett laughed at her chagrin. "Mustafa here wants we should give you white girls a damn good whipping right at the start, just so?s you know where you?re at and don?t ask fool questions." He winked sardonically. "But with you two I can figure the adjustments you?re having to make… don?t suppose it?s all that easy and seems to me you?re doing O.K. So I?m good natured. But don?t crowd your luck."
"You don?t have to sell us into slavery."