Captivation

by Sarah Fisher

  Without questioning the woman’s instruction, Alex did as she was told, aware as she stepped into the bubbling water that Mustafa’s eyes were on her. She couldn’t help but admire the graceful negress as she slipped off her harem pants and thin top. Her body was the colour of dark coffee and intimidatingly yet beautifully muscled. Her sex was also shaved, and in one of her outer lips three silver studs sparkled. Seeing Alex’s eyes resting on her shaved pubis Antia grinned and stroked them fondly.

  ‘Three sons,’ she said in a proud voice.

  Alex stared in astonishment. ‘You have children?’

  Antia nodded. ‘That’s right. Three sons and a daughter. Mustafa likes his women to breed. He’s particularly proud of the boys. He sends them home to be raised as little princes. The more sons you bear him the higher you rise in the pecking order.’ She stroked her tight flat belly. It seemed impossible to Alex that she had any children at all.

  Slipping effortlessly into the scented water, the coloured woman soaped her hands and began to wash Alex’s body. Her touch was both deeply soothing and strangely erotic. Alex’s feelings of anticipation were heightened by Mustafa’s presence, seated above them bearing silent witness. Alex moaned softly as the coloured girl cupped her breasts, easing away the tension and bruises with her skilful touch. When her long fingers worked lower, down over her belly, Alex felt a tremor of pleasure that shook her to the core. The woman really knew how to excite - was this part of Mustafa’s plans for her preparation, or was Antia making the most of the situation? She heard Antia moan softly as a finger found its way into her tight quim. She knew she was already wet, and opened her legs a fraction so that Antia could stroke her with a cupped hand.

  Antia’s caresses were stunning in their intensity; if this as the treatment she could expect in Mustafa’s harem perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible if he did bid for her - this was sheer heaven. Just as the first acute spirals of delight began to form in her belly, Antia’s clever hands disappeared. Alex opened her eyes dreamily.

  Antia smiled. ‘Sorry babe, but we’ve got to get on - after all, the master’s waiting.’

  Alex glanced up towards the balcony. Mustafa was staring down into the bathroom, eyes glittering darkly. Alex struggled to suppress a shudder - her previous sense of calm rapidly dissipating. Antia helped her out of the soothing water and up onto the couch. She arranged her so that she was facing the balcony. Totally exposed as she was, Alex wondered what might follow. To her surprise Antia continued the massage, using the same oil that suffused the house with its pungent odour.

  This time the coloured girl’s touch was deft and professional rather than erotic. Alex winced as she eased her knuckles deep down into her tender flesh. It was deeply satisfying, in an odd way, to be handled with such skill. Glancing up she saw Mustafa had moved closer to the rail to get a better look at the body he would soon be exploring. His expression was intense.

  ‘Now,’ purred Antia. ‘A little garnish.’

  Alex stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked softly.

  Antia smiled down at her. ‘Relax, it won’t hurt.’ From the table by the couch she took a large bowl containing a brush. ‘This is a special stain, it was used by ancient courtesan’s at the palace of some king or other to heighten their allure. Mustafa likes us all to use it.’ As she spoke she began to outline Alex’s nipples. Where the oily paste touched her skin it darkened to a rich crimson. The contrast to her milky white skin was vivid.

  ‘Oh yes, that look’s good. You’re going to make our master very happy. Now, open your legs.’

  Alex glanced up at her hesitantly.

  Antia smiled. ‘I promise, it won’t sting. I just don’t want to spill any - it stains whatever it touches.’

  Alex did as she asked, closing her eyes tight as the brush worked its way across the most secret recesses of her body. She flinched as Antia opened her legs a little wider, trailing the soft brush back so that it circled her anus. She could imagine the view that Mustafa was enjoying.

  Thinking her preparations were over Alex relaxed a little and opened her eyes, just in time to see Antia cracking open a long necked plastic vial.

  ‘Please, what’s that?’ she queried anxiously.

  Antia’s eyes sparkled eagerly. ‘Lubricant. Breathe deeply, and try to relax - this won’t take more than a few seconds. It won’t hurt if you don’t fight it - I promise. I just want to make sure you’re ready for our master.’ She paused and eyed Alex, recognising the slight confusion on the English girl’s face. ‘This’ll help to smooth the way.’

  Alex blushed deeply as the coloured girl’s skilful fingers splayed the tight corona of muscles around her bottom and slid the neck of the vial home. She breathed deeply as advised and waited, and then an oily warmth permeated through her most secret place. She gasped as Antia withdrew the slender container and began to stroke her tightly puckered entrance, working the ointment in deep. After washing her hands in a basin she cracked a second vial and urged it deep inside Alex’s sex. The ointment also filled her there to the brim.

  Alex lay for a few seconds watching the coloured girl tidying away the remains of her work. Antia smiled down at her.

  ‘Do exactly as he tells you, and don’t - whatever you do - fight him. It won’t be long now.’ From somewhere beneath the couch she produced a pair of ornate wrist bands which were linked by a silver chain. Alex stiffened anxiously as Antia gently but firmly took hold of her wrists and snapped the cuffs into position.

  Antia’s expression was gentle and comforting. ‘Remember,’ she whispered, ‘just do everything he says - everything. He’ll only hurt you if you give him cause to; if you try to resist him.’

  Alex stared up into her dark feline eyes; all her fears suddenly returning. Antia helped her to sit up, added ankle chains which matched the wrist chains, and then wrapped a wisp of sheer blue silk around Alex’s throat. She folded a matching sliver of silk between her legs, tying it on each hip. Standing back she glanced up towards the balcony and her master. Mustafa nodded.

  Antia took a cloak of blue silk and wrapped it around Alex’s shoulders. Finally, she produced a matching scarf and used it to blindfold her trembling charge. She took the opportunity of closeness to whisper furtive words of encouragement; she understood the turmoil of emotions the English girl was experiencing.

  Alex felt Antia’s strong hand close around her elbow.

  ‘He’s waiting.’

  Alex nodded, her throat suddenly too dry to speak. She allowed Antia to guide her through the cool building, the soft padding of their bare feet on the cold marble the only sound to accompany them.

  Peter Tourne hadn’t intended to accept Mustafa’s invitation to watch his protégé’s initiation into the harem - but the temptation had ultimately proved too strong to resist. He’d followed the limousine driven by Mario, to Mustafa’s villa, in his Porsche. He’d watched Alex’s preparation on close circuit TV, and now sat on one of the plush couches in Mustafa’s private first floor suite, sipping strong sweet coffee, and awaiting his host’s arrival. Mustafa grinned as he threw open the doors to the room.

  ‘A few minutes more, my friend. I’m very pleased with the way she behaves. You’ve taught her well, Peter, but then again, I should expect nothing less from you. Would you care to stay here and participate? Or perhaps you would prefer to watch from the privacy of one of the guest suites? There are camera’s set up and ready to capture the moment.’ The Arab paused. ‘I could send one of my girls in to keep you company?’

  Tourne hesitated, and then nodded. He knew very well the direction his host’s tastes were likely to take, and wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the same room when Alex was exposed to them.

  ‘That would be perfect,’ he said as evenly as he could. Mustafa clapped his hands. From nowhere a houseboy appeared, dressed in flowing robes that mimicked those of his master.

>   ‘Take Mr Tourne to the Peacock Room, and see to it that he has everything he requires.’

  Tourne followed the boy from the room. Looking down into the hall below he saw the blindfolded Alex being led by the black masseuse to join Mustafa. She was completely oblivious to his being there.

  Alex strained to work out where she was being taken. She could feel a little of the warm oil Antia had applied smearing between her thighs. Her companion was silent now, guiding her only with the lightest of touches on her elbow. They climbed a flight of stairs, and then she heard a knock. Doors opened in front of them.

  She guessed from the rich smell of oils in the air that she was finally in the presence of Mustafa. Something brushed the chain that linked her wrists - and then she was jerked forward. It took a second or two for her to realise that a leash had been snapped midway along the chain. The thin robe she was wearing was peeled away with a grunt of satisfaction.

  As the seconds passed, Alex shifted nervously from foot to foot, aware that unseen eyes were savouring the details of her nakedness. She tried to imagine what Mustafa could see - and what he was thinking. Firm hands turned her around. Fingers brushed intimately between her thighs, and she wondered what on earth would come next... The dark side of her mind had already guessed.

  Peter Tourne, ignoring the girl crouched at his feet, watched on the TV screen as one of Mustafa’s servants pulled the leash down between Alex’s legs; connected to her wrist chain it had the effect of bending her double like a hairpin. It was designed to snap onto the chain that linked her ankles.

  He knew that the Arab wasn’t interested in the girl’s breasts, her face, her talents, or her company; his only real pleasure was in the tight dark closure that nestled between the cheeks of her darling bottom.

  The servant untied the loincloth from around Alex’s narrow hips and pulled it away. Across the room Mustafa stood unmoving, while the black girl who had prepared Alex ceremonially parted his robes with the air of a squire preparing her brave knight for battle. The Arab was hugely endowed. The coloured girl knelt before him and respectfully cupped his shaft in her fingertips, pressing a kiss to its head before beginning to oil it.

  Across the room another servant - a handsome boy - was standing in front of Alex, supporting her shoulders.

  Mustafa pushed his attendant away and took up his position behind the bending Alex. The coloured girl crawled after him, and without any further preliminaries she guided his cock straight into Alex’s sex. Tourne could see Alex flinch as the huge bulk of the Arab breached her. After a stroke or two he saw her stiffen as she felt the Arab withdraw. He saw her hold her breath as Mustafa’s cock brushed her tensed buttocks. Tourne willed her to relax - to submit, to give herself over to the insatiable Arab. He watched her mouth open, and then heard her gasping shriek as the coloured girl fed Mustafa into her lubricated anus.

  Tourne knew that Mustafa was a far bigger man than his own driver Mario, and he could see Alex’s body instinctively trying to repel his advances. He watched Mustafa lock his fingers in her hair and jerk her head back.

  ‘Come along, little English flower,’ he heard the Arab hiss. ‘This is not what I expect. Let me in or I’ll have one of my servants flay the skin off your back. Ahhh, that’s much better - pant, relax, and let me take you.’

  Alex shrieked again as every muscle in her body complained at the cruel contortion. The Arab slid a little deeper into her, making full use of the lubricant Antia had meticulously applied. She understood that compliance would ease the path, but found it hard to overcome her initial revulsion. As the Arab began to move deeper still she thought she would tear. Aside from the throbbing pain in her backside, her whole body complained at the way she was bound. The chain that linked her ankles and wrists was so short that every thrust threatened to rip her arms from their sockets.

  Alex struggled for every breath. As she gasped for air she suddenly felt sick, overcome by the pungent odour of the body oil Mustafa was wearing. She felt a delicate touch between her thighs and realised someone else was trying to ease her discomfort. She guessed it was probably Antia. A fingertip brushed her clitoris, and despite the demanding column of flesh in her bottom, she shuddered with a pleasure that could not be denied.

  As Mustafa finally reached his goal and his hairy belly came to rest against the up-curve of Alex’s perspiring buttocks, she felt dizzy with a mixture of humiliation, suffering, and undiluted rapture.

  Chapter 12

  It was barely lunchtime when Antia took Alex to Peter Tourne’s waiting limousine. Used and discarded, Alex felt filthy. Her body was so sore that she could hardly sit down on the plush leather seats. She flushed with shame at the memory of how her body had responded so positively to the strange demands and desires of Mustafa. Once he’d had his fill of her he’d simply walked away, leaving her to be freed by unseen hands. The blindfold had been removed, and she’d been taken back to the bathroom to collect her clothes.

  Alex stared unseeing at the countryside as Mario drove her back to the villa. She wondered if Mustafa would now bid for her at Simon Bay’s sale; the idea of which horrified her. Worse still, there would be others there, unknown men and women who might demand even more from her.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms across her chest - she couldn’t let Simon Bay sell her, there had to be a way to escape from these people. Where on earth was Laurence? And how could she possibly explain to him what had happened to her since her arrival on the island?

  Alex was so deep in thought that it only seemed a few minutes before the car drew up in front of the portico to the villa KaRoche. She barely looked at Mario. Not waiting for him to open the car door for her she slipped across the seats and hurried inside the villa. The housekeeper was dusting in the hallway, and looked up at the sound of Alex entering.

  ‘Is Mr Tourne in?’ she asked, some of her old confidence returning.

  The old woman shook her head. ‘No. He go out after you leave. I not expect him back until after lunch.’

  Alex nodded, her mind formulating a plan. ‘I’m going to shower and then work on the mural this afternoon,’ she said in a firm voice that brooked no contradiction.

  To her surprise the old woman was almost deferential. ‘Of course. Would you like me bring some lunch?’

  Alex paused; the very thought of food made her feel nauseous, but perhaps it was because she still smelt of the Arab’s pungent perfume. After a second or two she nodded - she might feel different after a shower, and besides, if she was planning to escape it would be foolish to leave on an empty stomach.

  Once back in the guest cabin she sorted through her luggage and found a pair of faded jeans, a thick black cotton shirt, walking boots and a light jacket. Stuffing her passport, wallet, driver’s license and a few other essentials into a canvas holdall, she stowed the things at the back of the wardrobe and went into the bathroom. She didn’t look in the mirror, afraid of what she might see. After a long shower she ate lunch, then picked up her art box and went downstairs to the gallery. It was cool and silent by the pool. She opened the box and began to work.

  Outside, in the heat of the day, Peter Tourne arrived home from his luncheon with Mustafa. He was as preoccupied and distant as his slave girl.

  Part of him regretted accepting the Arab’s invitation; Mustafa had used Alex like a mindless vessel, as unfeeling and dispassionate as anything he’d ever seen. For Peter Tourne this was not how the game should be played.

  He climbed the stone steps to his bedroom, wondering how his protégé was feeling. At the door he hesitated and considered what he might do if he found her waiting for him.

  His room was empty the windows open a little to catch the breeze from the sea. Picking up the phone he tapped in a number - he had to ensure that Mustafa didn’t get the chance to buy the English girl. His first call was short.

  ‘What do you want me to do wit
h her?’

  The reply was a barking laugh. ‘You’re not getting sentimental are you, Peter? I thought we’d already agreed that I should buy her once she was trained.’

  He felt a sense of relief. ‘At the auction? Will you go to the auction? Simon Bay’s very keen to take delivery as soon as possible. What worries me is that there’s at least one other purchaser who’s very keen to get their hands on her. The bidding will go through the roof.’

  There was a thoughtful pause at the end of the line. ‘Perhaps we can come to a private arrangement then? I’d like to see her on the block, but if you’re prepared to deal now...’

  Tourne nodded. ‘Yes - yes I am,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll ring Simon and let him know there’s been a change of plan.’

  ‘Good, if we can come to an arrangement over the price I can pick her up tomorrow, if you like.’

  He relaxed a little. ‘That would be perfect. What’ll you offer me for Alex...?’

  When the deal was concluded he dialled Simon Bay’s number. After that brief call was finished he pulled off his soft leather shoes and threw himself back onto the large bed.

  It was early evening when he went in search of Alex. To his surprise she was sitting downstairs at the poolside staring at her completed creation on the wall. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear his approach, and for a few seconds he had the chance to watch her unobserved. Alex Sanderson was exquisite - as tiny and delicate as a perfect English flower.

  The last of the evening sunlight blazed in her auburn hair, whipping the tumble of curls into a flaming halo. For an instant his eyes moved to the mural she’d created - it was exactly the fantasy woodland peopled by strange mythical animals that he’d envisaged. Erotic images suffused the greenery. It was a masterpiece. Tourne realised that somewhere during Alex’s education and initiation he’d lost sight of the work she’d created. It was almost as if he were seeing it - and her - for the first time ever.