finger-probed her anus. Under the impact of these attacks, Elizabeth gaped and gobbled, her dry mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water with no sound but a croak coming from it. The fingers teased her at leisure as if prepared to go on all night and with effect, for as one ceased, another took over. Elizabeth arched her body, arms and thighs quivering but not daring to attempt an escape. The fingers within her slid ever deeper, beginning to swirl gently. A skilful thumb teased her clitoris, going to and fro over what was becoming a throbbing nub of flesh.
By now Elizabeth scarcely knew where she was. The women’s musky perfume swamped her. The sweeping waves of light dazzled her. Her head swam and her body wanted to dissolve in many directions, melting into the tantalizing hands. The sensuous effects seemed to have been mysteriously merged with those of scratches and bruises, stinging and tingling, throbbing and aching, all joining forces. Hands twined in her hair. A hot soft feminine mouth closed upon hers, filling her with a mingling of tongues and teeth, smothering her in a scented tumble of hair. Elizabeth dared not want them to stop. Whatever the price the soldiers were demanding for her, she wanted to seem to be worth it. Even the giggles insidiously affected her, melting her defences as if she was becoming one with the tormentors. Between her legs was a hot, melting core. The stroking teasing kissing and caressing were merging into one erotic tremor with Ayesha’s slender fingers deep inside her.
“Ahhh... Please... let me... Ahhh... Please... let me have it...” she begged the giggling heartless gang, writhing upon a single concentrated sensation and desperate to achieve release. Repeatedly she felt herself trembling on the brink of orgasm, indifferent in her temporary madness to the shame of making herself such a spectacle, then at last when brought to surrender, always finding it refused her.
In her free hand Ayesha flourished aloft a green glass Chianti bottle gripped by its long stem. The others had fallen back, giggling helplessly. Grinning, the whore tipped the bottle and let the last chill droplet of wine plop and trickle down the cleft of Elizabeth’s behind. She put the bottle rim between her scarlet lips and curled her tongue to sweep the rim, wetting it with her saliva, warming the glass. Elizabeth let out a cry, half of relief half disappointment, as she felt the two tantalizing fingers pop out leaving her sex, red and glistening before the onlookers, temporarily unoccupied.
Not for long! Gripping the bottle firmly in scarlet talons, Ayesha drove it slowly and steadily with a corkscrew motion into the vacated orifice, one free finger flicking upwards. With a prolonged squeal of undisguised sexual release, no longer able to hold out, Elizabeth orgasmed, the whores shrieking and clutching one another in glee. Shuddering, their victim collapsed until her chin met the table-top, still doubled up with her bottom in the air. The big round empty body of the bottle nestled between her curved pink cheeks like a green glass balloon, its long cylindrical neck sunk into the throbbing depths of her crevice. The cool blockage slowly countered Elizabeth’s heat and replaced relief with shame but her captors wouldn’t permit her to dislodge it, amused by its appearance like some monstrous growth bobbing between her thighs.
“We have to test you arsehole for size!”
One of them had found a second bottle, which had to submit to having thrust brutally deep into her anus.
“Now! If you move you arse, you beaten! You unnerstan’?”
With a groan Elizabeth bowed her head in acquiescence, then yelped as they demonstrated with a sharp blow to her up-thrust cheeks, making the bottles clink together.
“Not move!”
The minutes passed in agony as she realised the nature of her torment. All her muscles ached. Her coldly penetrated orifices strained under the sagging weight of the bottles. If she so much as shifted the glass clinked in betrayal and the girls beat her with such vicious enthusiasm that she was glad to resume her stillness. A word or even a groan drew extra punishment so that she couldn’t even find relief in expressing her pain. She had no hope of rescue. She knew of nothing that would save her, though anything would be preferable to the continuance of her ordeal. She was conscious of the mysterious discussions going on elsewhere that would determine her fate. A message surfaced in her agonised mind begging only for the opportunity of expression. She would say or do anything that was required of her!
In Madame Zurra’s office meanwhile, the eight original captors were squatting comfortably on the carpet, their backs to the wall, sipping thick black coffee from little brass cups and feeling like prosperous merchants. Madame herself sat cross- legged before them upon a low divan, discussing the worrying progress of what had been expected to be a short war.
“It was a good trick to poison the enemy’s oil,” the men said. “Oil has been the root of all our troubles, an invention of the devil! We are more numerous than they are and could defeat them without the technology. But without trucks and planes, everything goes so much slower on our side as well as theirs. In the desert we often had no proper food and sometimes went without water all day. A man cannot be expected to fight without food and water. Now the animal transport is being poisoned too. They say that foreigners are spreading these things for them from satellites, perhaps this woman is a spy they sent to check how well it is working!”
Next door the music had been turned off and they could hear occasional bursts of shrieks and giggles coming from there. The soldiers’ tale confirmed to Madame Zurra the need to take advantage of every piece of luck that came her way. The evil mind of the whore-mistress was already at work upon interesting ways to use the unfortunate female who had been cast up on her doorstep. She was conscious that she held most of the cards and the vendors were in a poor bargaining position. But if she left them to military security, it would mean losing the chance to purchase their merchandise. Anyway, her native instinct was to haggle.
“Nonsense!” she told them, when she heard how much the men had planned to ask for their prize. If they were arrested and shot as deserters, she said, the money would simply be confiscated. They needed her protection more than she needed their merchandise. The men soon acknowledged their difficult position and reduced their demands. Madame Zurra offered them a sum sufficient enough to buy them all false papers. In return she was to take over the Englishwoman and have possession of her cleared by a contact in Security. Madame offered the use of their former captive free of charge if the men threw in the donkey; motor transport was becoming scarce. This brought the only quibble since one man who preferred boys wanted compensation for what the others were getting free. Madame Zurra refused to be liable for his sexual preferences, but thinking it unwise to leave a man with a grievance, agreed that he might sell his turn to a substitute.
All this, Madame reminded them, depended upon her ability to square military security. She didn’t intend to risk being accused of sheltering an enemy agent. No clearance, no deal! Relaxed and in a good mood after an enjoyable piece of bargaining, she smiled benevolently upon them as the men rose, with gestures of respect, to file out.
“I told them you would know how to make use of her!” the corporal said. Madame Zurra laughed. “You were fortunate that I happened to know a suitable officer!”
“Well, spy! You are fortunate!” Madame addressed her victim in English, while Elizabeth, grovelling on the floor amid rolling wine bottles, gaped pitifully up at her, barely able to focus her mind upon the meaning of the heavily accented words. “These men are deserters and were afraid to invite the attention of the security police. At first they intended to cut your throat and throw you back into the sea, but then they thought I might buy you instead.” She paused. “Certainly you could be of use in my business. But you are a spy and I have to report your capture to the security police. They will torture you first to reveal your contacts, then you will be hanged or shot, and I will have wasted my money! I think these men must get rid of you!”
“But they will murder me...!” Elizabeth moaned. “And I can’t tell
them anything about spies...” She had no difficulty in believing the woman, knowing that their war had not gone well and scapegoats were being sought for the failure. She had heard of women being stoned to death or given public floggings for quite minor crimes and she could imagine what would be done to a spy. No doubt her inability to provide answers would only result in worse torture before her execution.
“Please save me...” Elizabeth clutched at Madame Zurra’s dress, her mind focusing upon the only prospect of escaping that fate.
The fat woman gave an exasperated sigh and kicked her away. “I shall make sure of that if I pay good money for you! You will be made to do much more than you imagine!”
“I’ll do anything...” Elizabeth cried, on hands and knees.
“Put her in the punishment barrel!” Madame ordered her female satellites. “And take those bottles out!” she added, as the clink-clink mingled with Elizabeth’s groans.
Chapter Two
About dawn the officer Madame had summoned made his appearance.
“The woman had better be worthwhile!” he grumbled to the brothel owner upon his arrival. He was a large man with a black moustache, in an immaculately tailored khaki uniform with gold stars on his shoulder straps, his heavy jowls and sagging belly indicative of the desk-bound warrior.
“You won’t be disappointed!” Madame assured him. “She is a prime piece of flotsam. To let her wander loose would be a waste.”
“So you wish to make money out of her?” He wiped his lips with an impeccable white handkerchief.
“With your co-operation, why not? I can keep her secure here. I had to move my operation from the capital to escape the disapproval of those ridiculous zealots who are in power. I could use more girls but where to find them in this desert backwater? There is plenty of business. The customers are crazy with lust these days. Every kind of service is in demand! They think the end of the world is at hand and are casting aside all restraint. They seek to fulfil every desire while they still can.”
“Evil news spreads quickly!” the officer nodded. “The contamination spreads even quicker and wider. Make what you can, while you can, Zurra! I take it you wish this woman to understand that she labours under a suspension of execution?”
Madame assented smiling. “She will serve more energetically that way. I thought I might present her to the customers as Lady Elizabeth, an aristocratic English spy sentenced to servitude as a soldier’s whore. That will go down well!”
“Lead me to her!”
The punishment barrel stood at one side of a bare corridor adjoining the office, resting in a wooden cradle upon a low concrete plinth. Elizabeth had thought at first that it would be impossible to fit herself inside the small wooden cask. She had been forced to her knees, then pushed and squeezed somehow into the restricted space, legs doubled tightly, head, back and rump bumping the curve above, pushing forward with knees and elbows. It smelt strongly of human sweat and urine. In the end of the barrel was an aperture. When she got that far, a couple of hard thwacks across her bottom forced her up against it and a hand reaching through yanked her head out of the hole by a fistful of her hair, grazing her ears in the process, but allowing her shoulders to press right up to the woodwork.
A bunt from the rear lifted her rump, pressing it against the solid rim of the barrel. She could feel that most of her bottom was left exposed, still protruding from the end. A rounded bar slid across beneath her thighs and held her in that position. Another clamped down across the backs of her ankles, leaving her feet dangling.
The brothel owner left her with little hope as to her choice of eventual fates. “You are to be interrogated as a spy. I shall contact an officer with whom I have influence. It depends upon how much information he thinks may be extracted from you, but if he is amenable, I shall put it to him that it will be a waste to execute you. My business is a convenience to the army and you can be of more use by servicing soldiers as a whore.”
Hours seemed to pass alone in this cramped and humiliating position, with all her recent scrapes and bruises to torment her. She could make no outcry. Her jaws had been gagged with a large rubber ball held in place by buckled straps. At last, she heard the distant sound of voices though she could only guess at the meaning, the woman’s low and confidential, the man’s voice harsh and authoritative. These ominous preparatory sounds did nothing to steady Elizabeth’s thoughts as she heard numerous approaching footsteps that possibly heralded her removal for interrogation, torture and execution.
“So this is the woman spy!” a man’s voice said in English, “Take her into the office.”
Madame Zurra and her two assistants crowded in upon the confined Englishwoman with evident eagerness to follow his wishes. Her existence had now come to official notice, but was that good or bad? As she was withdrawn backwards from the barrel prison and dragged by her hair with much kicking and slapping into a room redolent of coffee and Madame’s heavy perfume, Elizabeth’s initial fear and confusion was suffused with hope, sensing her captors’ deference to this man. He took off his uniform cap and set it on the top of the ornate desk alongside his briefcase, taking from the latter a sheaf of papers and, rather ominously, a heavy black revolver.
“Put her over the desk.” He pointed to the edge. With her wrists handcuffed behind her Elizabeth was helpless. The brutal indifference of his tone and his lascivious examination of her nakedness as she was lifted and thumped down over its edge, on her belly alongside his equipment, submerged her hopes in fear and confusion. She began to think the fat woman was her only hope after all.
“She was caught in the act of landing upon the beach,” Madame Zurra informed her visitor. They spoke in English as if for Elizabeth’s understanding. “The soldiers say that she offered herself to them as a bribe to let her escape.” A female hand, but one heavily weighted by multiple rings, smacked Elizabeth hard when she wriggled on the desk top in renewed protest, trying to produce sounds indicative of a wish to appeal. She was stretched right over the table until the beaded edge lay hard into the crease between belly and thighs and her bare toes were just brushing the carpet. Her ankles had been forced apart and fastened with straps to the legs of the table. The officer’s revolver lay almost under her nose.
“She has confessed?” Elizabeth heard him ask perfunctorily. “She has confessed that she is a spy.”
“A good beginning!” Out of the corner of her eye Elizabeth saw that he had produced a pen and a printed form and now made a note. He drew the belt out of the loops of his uniform tunic and then hung the tunic on a chair. The belt he threw casually onto the desktop under Elizabeth’s eyes, thick, dark-brown, glossy leather landing with a very solid smack and slap. He rolled up one shirtsleeve as he leant forward over her.
“In case you are thinking of lying to me, I am going to give you a little taste of what can happen to you. I am going to use that upon your bare bottom and I shall remove your gag only when I decide that you are suitably impressed and ready to speak the truth.”
Elizabeth’s head tossed sideways, her eyes widened in terror, going from the belt to take in the bared and brawny arm. Her parted bottom cheeks automatically tried to clench as she saw his hand reach across in front of her to retrieve the belt. Her thigh muscles quivered, her knees going weak, her bottom suddenly feeling twice the size, propped over the desk edge. She tried to plead with him but of course could only manage little mewing sounds.
The belt gave no warning hiss but came down suddenly with an explosive Crackkk! and a shocking effect across Elizabeth’s quivering behind. She arched upwards, tossing her head wildly, trying to shriek through the gag, her spine curved upwards until her belly came clear off the desk top.
Crackkk! She was driven back down again with an entire loss of breath, as the hard leather smacked viciously in a second line of fire across her bottom until she lay upon her belly again, her thighs writhing against the
hard desk edge. Crackkk! Crackkk! Crackkk! She wanted to tell him that she would say anything they wished, but of course she was helpless even to do that much; she could only emit muffled howls through her gag as successive tracks of fire laced her quaking behind. She was forced to wait and blubber until such time as her tormentors were prepared to accept the submission she was desperate to convey.
Crackkk! “I think she has got the message.” The brute moved round from behind her as if to check her reaction, and, through her tears, Elizabeth saw him extract a cigar from his brief case. She lay groaning and whimpering while he lit and drew upon the cigar. Her thrashed bottom pulsated with pain. She could actually feel the six stiffly raised welts that the belt had made, standing up in throbbing parallel ridges across her behind, with every inch of them vividly delineated.
When the cigar was drawing to his satisfaction the officer returned to the brief case and this time drew out a heavy wooden desk ruler. “This will suffice for the time being!” He bent over Elizabeth and unfastened the strap of the gag. She gasped and gurgled with mingled relief and apprehension, desperately trying to calculate what she should say.
“What is your name?” The ruler came down before Elizabeth could rearrange her thoughts and even begin to answer. Thwackkk! She howled in pain and shock. “What is your name? Thwackkk! Thwackkk! Thwackkk! She squirmed helplessly in his grip, sobbing and howling like an infant as the ruler descended hard across the throbbing welts on her already tender bottom, trying to focus her mind on something other than the pain that brought rapid disillusion in its wake.
“Answer the question!”
“S-Seaton... E-Elizabeth Seaton... sir!” she squealed, anxious to forestall the descending ruler. He had made it clear enough that he was free to do with her whatever he pleased. She didn’t want him to think she needed reminding.”
Elizabeth Enslaved Page 3
