by Paul Blades
The girl trembled at Cholo’s promise. There was no doubt in my mind that he would carry it out. With a tremulous voice, so low so that it could hardly be heard amid the resumed cacophony of the dining room, she said, “As the master pleases.”
Following a dismissive nod of Cholo’s head, the girl retreated into the safety of the crowded dining area. Cholo looked over at Thorndike and the two men laughed. I had not yet begun my meal and was trying to regain my equilibrium. I wanted another drink.
“You’ve scared our waitress away,” I jokingly told Cholo.
“Hey, there’s a hundred more where she came from,” Cholo said. “How’d you like the show?” he asked me.
“Well, it’s no way to treat a lady,” I answered, “but who am I to say?
Thorndike spoke for the first time. His voice was low and gravelly. “There are no ladies on this island, Harry, don’t you know that? Just cunts.”
“Thanks for the information,” I answered, not sure if Thorndike was trying to get under my skin. Out of prison habit I noted the sharp knife on the table next to my plate. Anthony must have seen me tense up. In prison, especially a Federal max like Atlanta, you didn’t take shit from nobody unless you wanted to be somebody’s fuck toy.
“Relax, Harry,” he said. “Thorndike’s just being friendly. Anthony looked at Thorndike with a commanding glance. “Aren’t you?” he asked him.
Thorndike paused. I didn’t like anyone to have to intercede for me in a beef and I sensed that Thorndike was measuring me. He smiled after a moment and took a gulp of his white wine that was in front of him. “Yeah,” he said. “Informative.”
I slowly passed a bite of veal into my mouth. “Thanks,” I said, shooting back Thorndike’s icy glare.
The meal passed without too much more exchange between us. A waitress brought Thorndike and Cholo coffee and me another martini. I felt a drunk coming on.
When the buxom, auburn haired waitress had delivered my refreshment withdrew, Anthony tried to start up some cordial conversation between us.
“Harry’s lined up to do some enforcement work for us. He was doing a lifer for murder one until a couple of days ago. He used to work for Tony B. He comes highly recommended.”
A noted a slight look of respect from Thorndike. My pedigree established, he seemed to relax. Cholo spoke up.
“I know Tony B. I used to run cars for him out of Philly down to the ports. I did my first stretch working for him. Eighteen months in Harrisburg.”
“That’s the guy,” I said, swallowing down a mouthful of the delicious veal. I was going to get fat here.
Thorndike spoke next. “How do you feel about our little enterprise here, Harry? Not too outré for you, is it?”
“Whatever Mr. Klitzman wants from me, he gets,” I replied. There was silence around the table. I sensed I had committed a faux pas.
“We don’t mention our employer’s name in public, Harry” Anthony told me.
“Oh,” I answered stupidly. “My bad.”
Thorndike rose from his chair, finished with his meal. “We have an excellent gym here, Harry,” he said to me as he pushed in his chair. “It has a boxing ring. Care to go a few rounds with me tomorrow? Have a little fun?”
I thought I might enjoy bending this guy’s nose back a bit. “Okay, Thorndike. Afternoon o.k.?”
“Afternoon it is,” he replied. “See you, Anthony,” he said, nodding to my escort.
“I’ll come and watch,” Anthony answered.
The two men sauntered from the restaurant. I could see them laughing and talking as they walked down the brick pathway that led to the lounges. “Somewhere out there is a piece of tail that’s going to be sorry she got up this morning,” I thought. I could just imagine what cruelties Thorndike might inflict on a girl.
“Harry,” Anthony said, finishing off the last piece of his fish, “Thorndike is mighty handy with the gloves. I’ve seen him take guys apart. Are you up for this?”
I knew that I couldn’t back down. “I’m up for it,” I replied with a sinking feeling in my gut. If Anthony had to mention how good Thorndike was, he must be pretty good. My longest fight was a one rounder in a strip joint in Hackensack. I threw three punches and then hit the guy with a beer bottle. Most fights I had been in were two punch jobs. You hit the other guy first and then hit him again as he goes down. I decided to worry about that tomorrow.
“So what’s this guy Thorndike do?” I asked Anthony.
“He’s a procurer. You know, he collects product for us. Women.”
“A kidnapper?”
“No,” Anthony replied. “He’s more of a woman stealer. What he takes he never gives back. He runs a couple of crews. They come in to an area, do a few set ups. Thorndike comes in, gives the raw material the once over and okays the snatch. He’s got a good eye for cunt.”
“He looks pretty mean to me,” I observed.
“Yeah,” Anthony said. “But not meaner than Cholo. I watched him skin a guy once. It took three hours. I never saw so much blood.”
“What did the guy do to deserve that?” I asked, shocked.
Anthony shrugged as he mopped up the sauce from his plate with a piece of roll. “I don’t know. I think he owed us money or something.”
I wondered what they did to guys who ratted them out. I began to wonder whether my little gamble was worth the tearing off of strips of my skin, bit by bit until I was a raw piece of meat. I shivered, involuntarily.
The buxom girl came up and took our plates. She came back with coffee and a tray of mints. I admired the sway of her large, firm breasts as she leaned over to put the tray on the table. I couldn’t resist seizing the breast nearest me and squeezing it gently. The girl curtsied slightly and looked up at me with a slight smile.
“Is there anything the master wants?” she said invitingly. I was nonplussed by the candor of her invitation.
“Not today,” I replied. I felt stupid. Anthony waved her away. He smiled at me.
“What’s the matter, Harry, too much for you?”
I looked over at him sheepishly. “I just didn’t expect such enthusiasm for her work,” I said. “A happy slave?”
“You’ll find that there are all kinds of reactions women have to sexual slavery, Harry,” Anthony instructed me. “Some, like the young slut there, learn to adjust to a life of fucking and sucking. I’ll bet that girl’s come three or four times already today. When she sees a hunk of a newcomer like you, well, she can’t resist it.”
“You mean she spotted me as new?”
“Almost certainly, Harry. You still have that little boy in the candy store look. You’ll get past it in a few days.”
“And what about the other women. How do they react?”
“Some never get used to it, like our little blond girl from before. Cholo spotted it right away. She’ll be begging and pleading for mercy tonight and probably just about every night that she stays here. She’ll probably go off to one of our Middle Eastern bordellos. She’ll have to be kept under lock and key all the time.
“And then there’s everything in between. Some girls get to tolerate it. Like Adriana. I always get the sense that she’s somewhere else when I fuck her. But her body’s always right there. No complaints from me. Then there’s the ones who just don’t measure up. You know, can’t get past being a sex slave. Most of them, and there aren’t many, get dumped.”
I assumed he meant off the back of an outboard. The visual image of a struggling form encased in a weighted body bag came to mind. I shivered again.
“You cold, Harry?” Anthony asked.
“No, just still a little squeamish,” I answered. “I’ve never iced a woman.”
“That’s just the thing, Harry,” Anthony told me. His voice was stern. I knew I was getting gospel. “You’ve got to stop thinking of them as women. Once they’re bagged, they’re not women anymore. They’re delivery systems. They deliver sexual pleasure. Like any other thing, if they don’t work, they get thrown away. And l
ike some gizmos, if they’re not working right, sometimes you gotta give them a little kick.”
I pondered Anthony’s cruel assessment of the future of the many beautiful, young naked creatures I had seen so far. I thought of the frightened Tulip back in my room, the graceful, but distant Adriana. When they stopped working right, they would be thrown away.
I finished my coffee and pushed my chair from the table. “What now?” I asked.
“I thought you would want to watch while I disciplined that slave from this morning,” he said.
I had forgotten about the tender, delicate girl who had dared to disobey Man Mountain Dean. I had, against my better nature, if I had one that is, been unexpectedly entranced by the beatings administered to Lois and Delia earlier that day. I had no reason to reject Anthony’s proffer of another display of callous brutality. In fact, I had every reason not to. If I didn’t fit in here and accept the twisted morality of the place, I was doomed. The girl would be whipped whether I watched or not.
“Sure, thanks,” I said. “Where is she?”
“Oh, she’s been waiting for us. Come on, she’s on the other side of the compound.”
We walked past several lowly built, white stoned buildings. Men and women had emerged from their mid-day torpor and the patios and verandas outside the buildings were full of people. We passed what looked like an outdoor café where naked and collared waitresses were serving colored tropical drinks with little umbrellas on them. Men’s laughter and loud conversation filled the air. The women all were naked and silent, either kneeling at the foot of a master, or shuttling to and fro with trays of drinks and food.
We rounded the corner of a building and I saw a large concrete pad. On the pad were approximately ten waist high poles with tubes of steel welded to them horizontally. The poles were of two parts, a thick round tube of dull steel and a smaller one atop it telescoping in. This made the level of the horizontal tubes adjustable.
I saw draped over one of the tubes a woman’s body. All that could be seen of her was her twin rear globes. The rest was covered by a black tarpaulin. Anthony strode up to the girl and pulled the tarpaulin off of her.
It was the girl from this morning all right. At least it looked like her. I had seen so many naked women that day that their faces and bodies had begun to mingle. The girl’s midsection was bisected by the horizontal tube. Her wrists were affixed to rings at the bottom of the vertical pole as were her ankles. Her hair hung down, scraping the ground. A strap ran through the horizontal tube and across her back, holding her torso in place. She had been immobilized in a virtually folded position, half of her body on one side of the pole and the rest on the other, as if she were touching her toes. He ass stood out prominently, pointed upwards.
The skin on her rear was tinted a bright pink. She had obviously been left in the sun to bake while it had been at its worst. Anthony ran his hand over it and the girl stiffened. It looked tender as hell.
“After a while, Harry,” Anthony addressed me, “a regular whipping just isn’t enough. This cunt has been on report three times this month. That’s something we just can’t tolerate. So we have this special punishment for her.”
The girl was gagged and so she protested with a mere whimper when Anthony slapped her right rear cheek. The outline of his hand, a white imprint, appeared where he had struck her and then faded quickly back to red. He stepped over to a wooden cabinet mounted on the rear wall of the building and brought out a long, thin reed. It was supple but strong. He swung it through the air experimentally, causing a deep ‘whoosh’.
I looked over at the pinioned girl. Although irremediably fastened in place, she was nervously shifting her feet, pulling at her restraints. A long, shrill desperate whine escaped her gag. She undoubtedly was aware of the exquisite pain she was about to endure.
Anthony reared his hand back and struck the girl across her rear with the reed. It gave a loud ‘crack’ as it landed on her flesh. A momentary line of white emerged amongst the pinkish display on the woman’s ass, which turned immediately a bright red. In spite of the gag, I could hear the woman’s screech of pain. Her body jumped in protest of its abuse. Anthony laughed. “See?” he said.
Five times Anthony struck the girl’s rear globes with the reed. Each time a long red wound appeared and the girl protested wildly at her treatment. By the fifth blow, her rear and legs were shivering with pain. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
Anthony put away the reed. His excitement was obvious as his robe was tented. Mine was too. The scene of a naked, helpless woman being beaten was urgently compelling. I had watched while her buttocks danced to the lash. Her vuvla was displayed clearly between her thighs as there was an inch or two gap between them. Anthony now reached under the scarred posterior and stroked the hairless pudenda. After a short while, he raised his hand. His fingers were covered by the girl’s lubrication. He showed it to me and smiled. “You’re the guest, Harry. Want to go first?”
I was rock hard despite my lustful bout with the Tulip. Part of me protested against the harsh treatment of this poor girl. The other wanted to bury my cock in her moist hole. Guess which one won.
I pulled open my robe and stepped up to the girl’s behind. Her pussy was at precisely the right level for my penetration. For a moment I hesitated at putting my hands on her abused flesh; even the side of her buttocks were covered in an angry pink. But there was no other way to gain sufficient purchase to impale the helpless and still moaning woman on my cock. I grabbed her hips and pushed the head of my cock towards the tantalizing, glistening lips. Her moans became louder as my hands tormented her sunburned flesh. I pushed inside her, my cock gliding effortlessly into her sheath.
As I started to pump my cock into her hot pussy, I looked up. We were facing the west side of the island and the sun was just beginning to set. The sky was covered with a fiery red glow interspersed with swirls of bright yellow. Since the club was situate on a plateau, with steep cliffs surrounding it, I could see the reflection of the yellow-orange ball and its colorful radiation on the wide expanse of ocean that lay before me. It was an amazing sight under any circumstances, but was made especially so with my cock sunk deep into a woman’s body. My physical pleasure was enhanced by my visual delight. I had experienced amazing things that day, things I had never imagined to see. But this was the coup de jour, the topper.
My pleasure intensified as my juices began to rise. I was humping the girl rapidly, she, giving out little moans as I struck her buttocks with my hips. I was grabbing her hips tightly as I rammed my cock in as far as it would go. I could feel the heat given off by her sunburned flesh. When my cock began to throb and spill my seed into her womb, my eyes rolled back and my knees got weak. I was mindless of the spectacle I made, humping this forlorn girl in the presence of that beautiful sky and under the eyes of my erstwhile Virgil, who had been leading me through the various levels of this earthly purgatory.
When I had done, I withdrew my manhood. It was sloppy with her juices and mine. Anthony was grinning at me, almost stupidly. “You see why we do it here?” he said. “Nothing like it, eh?”
I nodded and stepped back to allow him to take his pleasure. I watched mesmerized as he stroked his piece into the girl. He punctuated his motion by a few loud slaps on the girl’s ass. She whined and groaned in response.
The tendrils of the sunset spread wildly across the sky. Its reflection, disturbed slightly by the almost tranquil water, was a surreal cacophony of colors. Anthony was right, prison was never like this.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FATE TAKES A HAND
When the Prince returned from his trip, he celebrated with a long night of abuse of his slave. Fatima had been counting the days and she knew on the morning of the eleventh day that she was doomed to see the Prince that night. She spent the day morosely haunting the harem, so much so that the other girls, with the sole exception of her lover Gelela, unconsciously shunned her. When Ngomo called her name after dinner, she ran fearfully to his f
eet. When she was bound and hooded, she began to pray nervously to herself.
The Prince had not yet arrived in his boudoir when Ngomo led the frightened and despondent girl inside. He leashed her to the bedpost and guided her to her knees. He felt sorry for this little one. It went against his grain to see a beautiful creature like this slowly, but surely, destroyed, long before her time. He knew that most of the slave girls were destined for unsavory fates. That was the natural progression of things. Unless they were lucky enough to capture the heart of a master, they would eventually be sold, and, as they aged or showed signs of wear, they would descend the ladder until they were little more than street whores, sucking cocks for harsh tavern owners or lodged in some dismal brothel. When no one wanted them, they would, if they were lucky, be given a quiet death.
But this one would not last so long. Already he could see that he spirit was flagging. Ngomo had learned in his many years of service to the Emir that even slaves needed a sense of appreciation, of value. This slave was treated meaner than the vilest dog.
Fatima knelt at her station for two hours, hours that were a literal hell. Her heart began to pound each time she thought she heard the opening of the door. When she finally heard the door open, her heart sank. It was time.
The Prince, of course was drunk. He saw his property chained to his bed and rejoiced. He had missed abusing this little bitch, he thought. Tonight, he would make up for it.
Knocking back another large shot of scotch whiskey, the Prince considered how he would use his little whore; he would give her a good fucking, of course. But first she must be reminded of the power that he wielded over her. She would be punished for the very act of stirring his loins.
The Prince removed his clothing and tossed them in a corner of the room. He tore off the black silk bag that covered her head and undid her chain. He pulled his slave to her feet by her hair, causing her to give a little cry. “Did you miss me slut?” he taunted her in English. “Did you miss my stiff cock?” He grabbed her cheeks with his hand. “Or was it the whip that you missed, eh?”
