by Paul Blades
For several minutes, the two young women explored each other’s tongues. “So this is a kiss,” Alliyah thought. “It’s like the taste of a luscious fruit, better.”
Fatima broke off the kiss and gently pushed the Princess’s hands from her hips. With one motion, she pulled her teddy over her head, revealing her slender, curvaceous body. Her nipples had hardened with lust for her young mistress. Her breasts felt taut. She sensed the lubrication of her sex.
The Princess’s eyes gorged themselves on Fatima’s flesh. Shadows flickered over it as the light of the candles danced about. It seemed mysterious to her, exotic. It was like her own, but different. Alliyah felt the slave girl’s hand take hold of her wrist and raise it to her breast. She watched, amazed as Fatima placed it on one of her soft, round orbs. The flesh was hot, yet supple. When Fatima released her wrist, she kept her hand in place, gently squeezing the heavy orb and then cupping it. Her eyes were fixated at the firm nipple and the circle of rough flesh around it. She felt Fatima’s hand on the back of her head, gently pulling her forward. Startled at first, she looked into the slave’s face. Seeing only the French girl’s tender smile and soft, wet eyes, she allowed herself to be pulled closer to the delicate mound. She parted her lips and took the hard button of flesh into her mouth. She nearly swooned as she engulfed the breast’s tip, sucking on it, tasting another’s flesh for the first time.
Without the need for further encouragement, the Princess brought her body closer to Fatima’s. She was holding both of Fatima’s breasts now as she suckled passionately. She turned her oral caresses to the other breast and heard the slave girl moan. She answered with a moan of her own.
Again, Fatima gently pushed the Princess back. Standing next to the bed, she pulled Alliyah to her feet. They were about the same height and their eyes met. Fatima placed her hands on the Princess’s neck and tenderly drew the shoulders of the sheer nightgown down her arms. Trembling, the Princess let the garment fall to the floor around her. She was naked. She had thought that the process of disrobing before this sensual, experienced young woman would be awkward and disconcerting. But the other girl’s tender and appreciative gaze made her nudity seem natural. Fatima stepped forward and rubbed her taut nipples against Alliyah’s. A jolt of electricity shot through the innocent girl. She felt the other girl’s arms wrap around her and pull her closer. Their breasts and bellies were pressed together. The sensual melding of their flesh was overwhelming to Alliyah. She had never dreamed that sex would be like this. She circled her own arms around Fatima, pressing their bodies closer together, enjoying the sensuous warmth of Fatima’s skin. Her virgin sex burned with desire. When she felt Fatima’s lips on hers she opened her mouth hungrily. The two women were overcome by passion. Their mouths feasted on each other’s, their hands seeking out soft and tender flesh.
The French girl slowly edged them back over to the bed. She guided her royal lover down and onto her back. Their lips were still joined as she lay her body next to Alliyah’s and drew her hand across her breasts, down her stomach and to the throbbing lips below.
As Fatima placed her hand on Alliyah’s sex, the Princess let out a long, low moan. She spread her legs wide to receive Fatima’s caress. Fatima took one of Alliyah’s teats in her mouth and bit down on it softly. Alliyah’s moan turned into a soft cry. Her body felt strange, as if all of her cells had been awakened. Her breathing had become heavy, her pussy hot. Delicately, Fatima teased the hard nub of pleasure at the apex of Alliyah’s wet gash. Alliyah was now rocking her hips, trying to grind her sex against the hand that tormented her. She could feel a surge of pleasure as her pussy throbbed. A wave of delight passed through her body. Her arms clutched Fatima closer. She sought out her lover’s lips. As their tongues merged once more, Alliyah’s passion was released. Wave after of wave of intense pleasure flowed through her as her pussy pulsed and throbbed. She began to cry out, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” as she came for the first time in someone’s arms.
Fatima had been pressing her pussy down on Alliyah’s thigh, rubbing her clit against the hot tight skin. When she felt the throes of passion flow through Alliyah, her own orgasm was sparked. She grabbed the moist nether lips of the girl beneath her, and pressed her thighs vise-like around Alliyah’s leg. She shuddered as her whole body received her cunt’s blessing.
When their orgasms had subsided, the two women lay in each other’s arms, dazed and contented. Their bodies were covered with perspiration, their skin glistening in the candlelight. Overcome with happiness and delight, Alliyah began to cry.
Twice more that night, the two women made passionate love to each other. Alliyah could not get enough of Fatima’s flesh. She rolled on top of the young girl and held her hands tightly over her head. She drove her tongue into Fatima’s mouth and pressed their sexes together. It seemed natural for her to be rubbing her clit on the French girl’s. Fatima was a delicious fountain of pleasure at which she yearned to drink. She learned to fondle Fatima’s sex, learned to crave the pungent aroma of her moist slit.
When the girls had exhausted their forces, they just lay there holding each other, gently caressing each other’s bodies. They were both experiencing a dream like state, but of quite different varieties. Fatima dreamed of being the master of her own fate, of living free, loving whom she wished. Alliyah dreamed of a life of sensual pleasure, of keeping this warm sensuous lover for her own.
Unfortunately, neither dream could come true. The women had fallen asleep in each other’s arms when, just before dawn, the Queen entered the room. She looked with knowing delight at the intertwined women. The slave girl had done her work well, that is as it should be. Now she must return to the harem, for she was the property of her son.
The Queen shook Fatima awake. The girl woke up suddenly, afraid, uncertain of where she was. When she saw the Queen, she knew that her idyll with the Princess had come to an end. She was a slave girl once more. A well of protest rose within her. But fear ruled her. Obediently, she slipped from the bed and fell to her knees before her mistress. The Queen stepped behind her and affixed her wrists together. As she was doing so, the Princess awoke. She was surprised to find herself alone in her bed. When she saw the French girl being bound, she felt sorrow. Her lover was a chattel owned by her brother. She had heard the stories of his cruelty. Her heart went out to the abject slave girl.
“Mother,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb the dreamlike atmosphere of the room. “Please don’t take her back, not yet.”
“She must go back, Alliyah, she is a slave, not a person. Don’t forget that.”
“Can I kiss her, please, just one more time?” Alliyah begged.
“Of course,” the Queen replied, knowing the tender passion that introduction into the world of physical pleasure could bring.
Alliyah stood and pulled Fatima to her feet. The slave girl stood, her eyes downcast, afraid to look at the Princess in the presence of the Queen. Alliyah lifted her chin and kissed her lightly on the lips. In English she said to the abject girl, “Thank you.” It was the only words she spoke to her all night. She turned to her mother, “Will I see her again, Mother? Can she come to me again?”
“We’ll see,” the Queen responded curtly.
The Queen quickly hooded Fatima and clicked a leash to her collar. She patted her daughter on the head and urged her to go back to sleep. She then towed Fatima from the room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A GIRL IS PUNISHED
Tulip’s limbs encircled me as we rested after our passionate bout. After ten minutes of motionless silence, the telephone rang. I jumped at its discordant tone. The phone was beside the bed on a small, white table and I answered it. “Wiggins,” I said. It was Anthony.
“Harry, wake up. Let’s play!”
“Okay, okay,” I mumbled, not really happy at his disturbance of my post-coital tranquility. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I rose quickly from the bed and grabbed my robe. My sex hung heavy with the effects of the workout it had recei
ved so far this day. I looked back at Tulip who had also risen and was standing by the foot of the bed, her hands behind her back, her head lowered. I stepped up to her, raised her chin and kissed her plump lips. “I’ll be back later,” I told her.
She smiled and whispered, “Thank you, master.”
When I stepped out to the patio that sat outside the supervisor’s dormitory, Anthony was waiting for me. The sunlight had dimmed since my siesta and a cool breeze again ran across the plateau on which the resort sat.
“I want you to meet a couple of the other supervisors. You may get a chance to work with them,” Anthony told me.
We walked along the brick pathway until we reached a building that served as a restaurant and night club. There was a large outdoor dining area, which was filled with robes of blue and brown. As we approached I could see, amongst the laughing and merry men, naked women dashing to and fro carrying trays of food, drinks and other odds and ends. There was not a one who could not have graced the cover of a fashion magazine. “Where do they get all of these beautiful women?” I asked myself. “Are there any left back in the world?”
Anthony led me over to a table at which sat two brown robed men. One was a tall, lanky fellow, dark of brow. I could see that his physique was tightly packed, belying his thin frame. He had a cruel face, hard eyes. The other fellow was Latino, shorter than the first fellow. There was a large scar down his right cheek. Looking at him, you got the sense that he wore it as some kind of trophy. The scar was partially obscured by a scruffy beard. As he rose to acknowledge Anthony’s introduction of me, I saw his natural, cat like grace. He smiled as he shook my hand, a gold tooth sparkling in his mouth.
“Harry,” Anthony addressed me, “I’d like you to meet Thorndike and Cholo. They’ve worked for the company for a quite a long time.”
I shook first Cholo’s hand and then Thorndike’s. While Cholo’s face registered a modicum of amiability, Thorndike scowled. I concluded that he was not a social animal.
“Fellows,” Anthony continued, “this is Harry. He’s just joined us yesterday. May we sit down?”
I don’t know what Anthony would have said if the guy Thorndike had said no. My guess was that Anthony had some real pull around here which he probably earned by not letting many guys say no to him. Also, when you’ve got the world by the cunt hairs, so to speak, why mess it up by being ornery. I remembered what Anthony had said about body bags off the back of cabin cruisers. Why die when you were already in heaven?
Thorndike nodded a reluctant consent. Cholo was more munificent.
“Sure,” he said with a wide grin. “Sit down. I’m always glad to meet a friend of Anthony’s.”
Anthony and I sat down. “So what’s your story, Harry,” Cholo asked.
“My story?” I replied. “I’m just a bad boy who’s stepped in shit.”
Cholo laughed.
A daintily bosomed, blond haired girl came up to us. She looked about 5’4” and had her hair in a page boy cut. There was a little red ribbon tied to her collar. “May I be of service, masters?” she asked, her head bowing slightly. She carried a small tray with a little pad on it. Her thighs were slim, her hips just a hint short of wide. She wore bright red lipstick, which was matched by polish on her fingernails and toes. Tiny silver bells hung from her nipples.
“Harry?” Anthony queried me.
“A Bombay martini, straight up with a twist of lemon,” I ordered.
Anthony ordered a Johnny Walker red and soda. When the girl walked away, I asked him what the red ribbon was for.
“When a slave is wearing a red ribbon it means that they can be claimed for the night. It has their number on it. These girls get off duty at 8 o’clock. If a girl is claimed, they will be chained to the wall in the main lounge. You just present the ribbon and she’s yours.”
“Nice,” I commented. I looked around and most of the girls still wore their red ribbons. A tall black man dressed in a starched pure white tee shirt and matching pants and shoes came over to our table. He wordlessly passed menus to Anthony and me and walked away.
Anthony explained. “The girls only take drink orders. Anything more complicated, like a meal, is taken by one of the servants. The girls do all the hauling, but he takes the order.”
I picked out a nice sounding veal dish while Anthony ordered fish. Thorndike and Cholo had apparently just finished their meals and our waitress, after she delivered our drinks, removed their plates.
Cholo eyed the girl lustfully. “Hey, cunt,” he called out.
The girl turned around and faced Cholo, her head bowed as before.
“When you’re done with that stuff, come right back, you hear?”
“As you wish, master,” she replied and scurried away.
I took a sip of my chilled, ass kicking martini. I felt a flow of warmth through my body. It sure beat jail house gin. The girl was back before I put my glass down. She immediately fell to her knees next to Cholo’s chair. She crossed her hands behind her back and bowed her head.
“Get up, slut,” Cholo told her. Slowly, she rose to her feet.
“Let me see those tiny little tits of yours, slut,” he ordered.
The girl stepped up to Cholo and presented her breasts to him. He grabbed both nipples in his hands and twisted them harshly. The girl grimaced, but made no protest.
“Are you a good fuck, slut?” Cholo asked her.
“Yes master,” the girl responded, flatly. She had a slight accent to her English. I wasn’t sure, but I thought that she might be Scandinavian.
“Do you like it up the ass, slut?” Cholo inquired, his voice cold and harsh. He was not taking a poll.
“If it pleases the master,” the girl said, timidly. Cholo still held her nipples twisted tightly in his fingers. I could see the girl’s obvious discomfort, although she tried not to show it. The Latino released her tits.
“Turn around,” Chino ordered churlishly. The girl took a little spin on her heels. All the serving girls wore bright red ‘fuck me’ high heels. “It must be the devil to scoot around on those things,” I thought. Cholo ran his hand over her ass. It was rounded and full. “An ass made for whipping, slut. Do you like to be whipped, slut?” he asked her.
I could see the girl stiffen. Cholo’s question carried more than a hint of menace. I sensed that he was not an amateur when it came to a whip and that his inquiry was not of an academic nature.
“If it pleases the master,” she said in a tremulous voice. I guessed that a whipping was something that you really never got used to. This girl was probably cursing her luck that she had been assigned to our table. On the other hand, if she had any luck, she wouldn’t be here at all.
“Get down on your knees and let me see you stroke your cunt,” Cholo ordered. “I want to see you get off. And, you better not fake it, slut.”
The girl dropped instantly to her knees. She spread them wide and, spreading her labial lips apart with one hand, began to massage her clit with the other. She placed her index finger on the little button of pleasure there and slowly rubbed her clit in a circular motion. The heel of her hand rested on a small tuft of blond hair above her pussy. She closed her eyes, taking herself away to who knows where. I wondered where she could take her mind to to drive out the harsh reality of her surroundings. She looked to be about 22 or 23 years old. Her face looked peaceful with her eyes closed. I guessed that even an abject sexual slave had some reminiscences of good times. Was she imagining some past lover, a boyfriend from her younger days? Or did she construct some imaginary being who tenderly worshiped her delightful flesh?
Whatever the case, I soon saw that the girl’s efforts were bearing fruit. Her slit glistened with moisture. She was kneeling next to me, facing Cholo who was to my right. Her legs were spread wide enough so that her engorged nether lips and the crevasse between them were clearly visible to me. Her small breasts had grown firm and hard, her chest was reddening, a sign of her developing passion. The girl had parted her ruby red lips and ha
d begun to breathe deeply.
I was interrupted briefly by the other waitress who had brought my veal. When I looked back, the girl was leaning back on one hand, her back arched. Her hand had spread the moisture from her pussy all over her mons and she was delving deeply inside herself with her red tipped fingers. The room around us had grown silent as men became drawn to the girl’s lascivious display. I downed the rest of my martini in one gulp. I didn’t know about anyone else, but the girl’s efforts had produced a hardness in my already well used cock. I noticed more than one man with his hand in his robe.
The girl’s lust began to rise and she commenced a low, guttural moan. She started to rub her pussy faster and faster. When her orgasm’s convulsions commenced, she opened her eyes suddenly, only to have them roll back as the waves of passion overcame her. She uttered one, long, languid cry and was done. There was a loud and appreciative round of applause.
She took a moment to catch her breath and then she looked up at Cholo timidly, seeking approval from the only man that mattered right now. God help her if he was dissatisfied.
Cholo was intent on the girl. “Get up and bring me your cunt, whore,” he said. She rose gracefully from the floor and presented her loins to her master. She was standing right next to me, her legs spread wide to give Cholo access to her moist, soft pussy and I could see the sheen of sweat that covered her from her exertions, little rivulets descending from her armpits, a tiny drop hanging from the stiff nipple of one breast. Her face was flushed, her lips pouty. She was still breathing heavily. I could smell the tell-tale odor of her juices. Cholo put his hand on her sex and probed it callously. He lifted his hand to his nose and took a deep breath, savoring the aroma.
“You’re a good little whore, slut,” he told her. He reached out his hand and took the red ribbon from her collar, disappointing about thirty other guys, including me. “Tonight I will beat you and then you will suck me off, whore. Is that all right with you?”
