“I know that you were arrested at sea and taken into the port accused of spying upon military movements and later escaped. You were hoping to reach the American fleet with your information, were you not, Elizabeth?”
“No sir! We were just trying to get home before the catastrophe. We didn’t even know if the American fleet was still there! We had been stranded in El Farrish by accident. My husband arranged for us to be allowed to leave. There was no fuel for the engine but we had sails. But we collided with another ship in the darkness, a sailing dhow.”
“The Americans have withdrawn,” he told her in triumph. “They found that their fuel had been contaminated. Some of their fleet have had to be towed or abandoned. But sailing ships like yours are immune and make useful spy ships”.
“No sir! The yacht was just our floating home.” Face down on the desk top, Elizabeth endeavoured to give truthful and tearful answers. “We were on the way back to the UK when the war began. We heard that foreigners were to be arrested and imprisoned. We were frightened. My husband and son saw people hanged as spies. My daughters and I had to keep ourselves covered up all the time and never dared set foot in the town!”
“You escaped from custody to deliver your information. Who helped you? “ “My husband bribed someone! I don’t know who!” A swift admonitory crack of the ruler produced an extra howl from Elizabeth and she rectified this unsatisfactory answer.
It was the captain in charge of the port,” she admitted, sobbing. “We just bought a couple of oars and rowed out far enough in the darkness to set sail as soon as he took the guard away.”
“Your husband was working for British intelligence, was he not? Your collaborators have all been caught and executed! Do not lie or it will be much worse for you! You expected to meet one of the Bin Umar group did you not?”
No sir! No! He was really just a diplomat!”
She lost count of how many times he hit her. He waited patiently until she recovered enough to answer, but she grew quite hoarse and incoherent by the end, her rear afire with pain, and her belly squelching in a slick of sweat as she wriggled on the leather sheathed desk-top.
“You are a stubborn bitch!” he said at last and then speaking to Madame Zurra in English as if forgetting to switch languages, “these women are always well rehearsed and clever liars! I could take her where there are better facilities to extract a confession, but since her collaborators in the port have already confessed and been executed, she will have little of importance to reveal. With transport in short supply, hardly worth it!”
“Does that mean you intend to execute her?” Madam Zurra enquired in the same language. He tugged his moustache. Elizabeth whimpered in terror. What more could she do if they wouldn’t believe the truth! The ominous black shape of the officer’s pistol sat before her on the desk like a sentence of death.
“We are at war and have no time for niceties. It is a clear case for summary execution!”
“But am I to have no reward?” Madame demanded loudly. “I paid the men who caught her! I could find a use for her!”
He seemed to hesitate. “Certainly you deserve something for your patriotism.”
“You need not carry out the sentence so long as you know she is securely held!” Madame urged. “It will be of service to the army and you may be sure she will be shown no mercy in my charge!”
“Well perhaps... If you can make use of her, Madame Zurra...?”
“Please sir...” Elizabeth gasped, shuddering at the idea of being handed over to torturers intent upon extracting information she did not possess, and prodded violently by the woman. “I’ll do anything...”
He picked up the pistol and weighed it then slid it back inside the briefcase,
hardly looking at her. “Very well, Madame!” he addressed his countrywoman instead. “For the time being I shall be satisfied with a signed confession. If you guarantee to keep her secure and under strict discipline, then I shall leave her in your custody and you may make use of her in whatever way you please!” He took Elizabeth by the hair, jerking her face up towards him. “You understand? You have not entirely escaped your fate as a spy! Your body is on loan to Madame Zurra for as long as she finds a use for it!”
“Perhaps you wish to sample her willingness first, Colonel?” the old woman suggested.
“Good idea!” Drawing Elizabeth back by the hair, he dropped her at his feet, the Englishwoman sobbing as the flesh of her well-tanned bottom stretched and compressed. With his other hand he was busily undoing his uniform trousers and, dropping them to his ankles, stood straddle-legged before her. Crouched where she had been dropped, Elizabeth’s face was level with the great mauve-coloured knob of his cock, presented right before her eyes and held steadied in his fist. She possessed no expertise in this. but could think of no other route of escape but to appease him. She had to stretch her neck to reach the thing and his dark eyes bulged to show yellowed whites, lips grimacing around the cigar that he held between his teeth as she inexpertly manoeuvred to engulf the entire acorn shape of its raw knob. Approving grunts came from above as she began to work submissively upon it with her tongue and found that the results were alarmingly swift. He shifted both hands to grab her by the hair and nearly choked her with his bulk rammed right in. Elizabeth gobbled frantically, forced to jerk her head rapidly up and down the warm slithering shaft with the massive knob ramming the back of her gullet every time. For a few seconds she gurgled noisily in vain, snorting for air, but fortunately the man recognised his victim’s distress and withdrew enough to give her a chance to breathe. Elizabeth abjectly clutched the hairy flanks before her, snorting and gurgling anxiously by turns but gradually gaining confidence in the effectiveness of her unwillingly acquired technique, as he relaxed his grip and allowed her to take over the rhythm.
She tried to dismiss thoughts of the past from her mind, dutifully sucking on this man’s cock as she knew she must. Best to get this over with as quickly as possible. The male organ swelled and solidified hugely so that she had to keep pulling her head back for an extra gasp. Saliva leaked from the corners of her mouth to join the tears sliding down her chin and she sucked and swallowed instinctively around the fleshy barrel to keep it under control, her head going to and fro with increasingly desperate vigour, until she felt her nose tickled by the springy bush at its base. In her inexperience she was unprepared with her mouth still full of hot male tumescence, when it began to pulse along her tongue and spurt horrible gouts of sperm down her throat. Hastily she drew back but, not daring to remove herself completely, was forced to swallow again and again as successive spurts were deposited on her cringing tongue to be slid down her even more unwilling throat.
The brute before her rumbled with sounds of amusement and satisfaction as he withdrew and began stuffing his shrunken penis back into his pants as if she had been no more than a convenient receptacle for an inconvenient surplus.
“You, girl!” Madame thrust a pen into Elizabeth’s trembling fingers and urged her to rise. “Give her the paper with the confession, sir! Sign there! The Colonel can fill in the details when he has time.” Elizabeth could think of no alternative left open to her. Fear of their joint wrath killed any idea of indulging in prolonged consideration. Endeavouring not to gag too obviously on the results of her efforts and licking her gummy lips, she scrawled a wobbling signature.
“What became of the rest of the family, I wonder!” the officer mused as he emerged again into the bar. “I will have to make enquiries about wrecks.”
Chapter Three
Madame Zurra’s brothel was established in what had once been the home of a family of rich landowners. Built in the old Eastern fashion, to present high blank walls to the outer world, it faced inwards onto the privacy of an interior now largely paved, where water splashed amid palm and fruit trees growing in great earthenware pots. In the centre, where once had been an ornamental pool, was
now a small dance floor with a tiny stage for exhibitions. Around these, set beneath the trees, were small tables lit at this midnight hour with coloured lamps hanging amid the boughs. From this courtyard, music, the clatter of dishes, the deep murmur of male voices and the tinkling of female laughter drifted upward through the dark leaves to the two tiers of carved wooden galleries that overlooked the scene. Up here was the crux of Madame Zurra’s business, the ultimate destination of the customers below, as dining, drinking and watching the performance on stage led inevitably to the main purpose of their visit.
Off the galleries, behind the elaborate balustrades of the upper stories, lay ranges of rooms thick walled and secret, built so to keep the heat at bay. By day, all up here lay cool shadowy and silent. Now after dark, it was frequented with patrons and servants passing to and fro, softly illumined by the red-shielded lights above the closed, enigmatic doors; lights that to the initiated, signalled busy occupancy; doors behind which a passer-by who paused to listen, might hear sounds of pain or ecstasy or both. From behind the last door at one end of an upper gallery, where a red light showed, such sounds emerged. Within the small room Elizabeth Seaton, now known as the slave whore Lady Elizabeth, was hard at work, being taken by her current customer in the position of the Ram, El Kebachi.
The room was functional to its purpose, with white-plastered walls and one narrow iron-grilled window high up on the outer wall. The only indications of its special use were the iron bars that secured the wooden louvers of the door. The principal furnishing of the room both in size and function was a large bed of entirely Victorian, brass-railed ornate splendour. The other items merely supplemented it, a small bamboo washstand and basin, a wooden stool and a narrow black leather-covered ottoman along a side wall. Madame Zurra occupied this, squatting cross-legged, massively brooding and puffing from time to time upon a thin black cheroot, watching the noisy activity opposite her with the detached alertness of an animal trainer assessing the performance of her charge.
El Kebachi, the position of the Ram, had been the man’s expressed choice, but Lady Elizabeth’s ability now extended to a comprehensive range of such positions. Her training partners had been a succession of randy but penniless soldiers whom Madame employed to serve her purpose in return for a meal and the fuck, free of charge.
Chapter Four
In the beginning, to be released from her confinement if only to service some man seemed to offer a guarantee of life if not of hope. Little was required of her at first. Her collar was fitted with a leash by which she was led to and from her task upon all fours like an animal. Tattooed across her white belly, just above the trimmed upper edge of her pubic triangle, was a running line of blue script unintelligible to herself, but apparently making the nature of her status fully explicit to her users. She was instructed to grovel before the men to whom she was delivered and beg to satisfy them. Since they seldom understood her or she them, she was forced to act out this approach, giving every appearance of terror.
Initially the men behaved like brutes, using Elizabeth roughly, treating her like the treacherous criminal she was supposed to be, abusing and slapping her, as often as not keeping her grovelling upon all fours in order to take her contemptuously from behind as if she was an animal. She was only taken from the barrel for the purposes of sex or to empty the metal bucket, which sat permanently under her projecting behind with its rim against the back of her thighs. The bucket she took to where she was to empty it into a hole in the floor, carrying it on all fours with the wooden hand-grip between her clenched teeth. The women who had charge of her were equally fiendish in devising punishments if she was judged not to have performed adequately. The barrel on its stone block stood to one side of a service passage used by the staff, so that she was a constant exhibit. The other members of the staff abused her as a matter of habit. Only one, a short sturdy black girl, treated her with occasional sympathy and a young kitchen servitor sometimes fed her tit bits, though he usually handled her bulging pussy familiarly in the process. The only restraint upon her tormentors seemed to be the woman whom she knew as Madame so that their subservience awoke an echo in their victim.
She usually knew when she was to be given to a man, because for she got a few preparatory strokes of the cane across her bottom before being extracted. She began to regard this process as offering some means of manipulating her own fate, even if it was only by succeeding as a whore. Forced into proving that she was worth the price the woman had paid for her, she strove to submerge her all her memories of the past and any feelings of shame, helped by the fear of an even sounder caning if she didn’t perform satisfactorily. By the time the brothel owner decided that her acquisition could be trusted to perform properly with paying customers, Elizabeth was conditioned to regard the fat woman with anxious dread.
“I am not interested in your welfare!” Madame Zurra had said, flourishing a little black book across her desk at Elizabeth before she was taken upstairs to serve a paying customer for the first time. “I am interested in seeing that you work hard for me!” She had flourished a little black book across her desk at Elizabeth before she was taken upstairs to serve a paying customer for the first time. “This is your credit and debit ledger. First you must repay what it cost me in bribes to save you from being hanged as a spy. I expect to recoup the money with full interest. Then you have a standing debit for housing, feeding, training, grooming and a commission for finding customers for you. The whole amounts to a considerable sum, as you may imagine! When a customer expresses himself satisfied with your performance, the payment goes into the credit side according to the house tariff. Dutiful obedience to my orders or those of the other ladies will go a little to your credit. Disobedience or recalcitrance will wipe out credits. Should any customer express the least dissatisfaction, however, you will be heavily fined and it will cost you doubly, for at the end of each week I shall total up the book and if your debit not show a satisfactory reduction you will be whipped as a reminder.”
Thereafter, when Elizabeth was taken from her cage, she knew it would be to service a paying customer. Ayesha or sometimes Madame herself would lead her to the same small room on the upper floor where she would be showered, scrubbed, perfumed and kept naked but for brass-ringed leather collar, cuffs and anklets, restraints that served to remind her of her status. For users to whom she was a novelty, Lady Elizabeth appeared anonymous in a combined hood and mask of black leather which enclosed her whole head and face except for the eyes, nose, ears and mouth, zipped close down the back of her head to the thick leather collar where the zip tag clicked into a flat lock. The openings in the mask appeared quite generous, but she was rendered dumb by a gag in the shape of a short thick rubber stem in a penis-shape, which filled her mouth and lay solidly along her tongue. The purpose, her customers were told, was to prevent her making contact with possible collaborators. For a price, however, the customer could have her unplugged, leaving in its stead two short side pieces surrounding the orifice that left Elizabeth just as voiceless, but prevented from closing her teeth. The user could replace the artificial penis with his own human one, with Elizabeth still able to suck and tongue his intrusion. Sometimes a leather flap was fastened across the oval eye spaces, leaving Elizabeth to serve her customer with only the aid of sound and touch. Under the hood her head had been shaved like a convict except for a long pony-tail which, when she was hooded, emerged jauntily through an opening in the crown of the black hood to advertise her natural blondeness. A running line of blue script had been tattooed across her white belly just above the trimmed upper edge of her pubic triangle, unintelligible to herself, but apparently making that status more explicit to her user.
She would be told how the man wished to take her, usually the commoner modes that a man might expect of any whore, rather than those esoteric styles she had been made to practice. She knew that these were fanatical warriors, fresh from the savage hand to hand fighting, for whom she represented a foreta
ste of that traditional prize, a woman of the enemy. Elizabeth must both satisfy the desire of the men to shame her and enhance their belief in their own masculine virility. They spoke little English as a rule, but she played her submissive role as Lady Elizabeth with anxious assiduity, seeking as before to combine the satisfaction of their anger with the slaking of their lust. Afterwards she would grovel slavishly as her customer ostentatiously handed over the payment for her services hoping to have earned an expression of satisfaction before she was returned to her confinement.
She performed under direct supervision at first, but later was only checked from time to time by a hidden camera. Madame Zurra usually undertook this function, squatting cross-legged massively brooding on the black couch, puffing from time to time upon a thin black cheroot, and watching the noisy activity on the bed with the detached alertness of an animal trainer assessing the performance of her charge, intently judging her reactions and the effect upon the man, going over the sequence of events in fine detail afterwards. As Lady Elizabeth, she soon learnt to move from passive to active submission, parting her thighs and thrusting her belly vigorously to meet the man’s entry, making a performance adequate enough to satisfy both he and her supervisor. She quickly learnt to present herself in her usual grovelling posture, offering herself submissively for their use, seeking quickly to divert their anger from punishment into lust, then as they proceeded seeming to become excited by their manhood, to the point of helpless orgasm. Not always feigned. As her breaking-in progressed and she was required to service several men in rapid succession, the effect of the muscular male bodies and hard quick thrusting of ardent partners had an effect upon her which had not been present in one short encounter and sometimes unwarily led her to achieve a reaction from what was being forced upon her.
“Your customer complained you were too enthusiastic. He suspected that you were just another whore!” Madame once complained, laying the cane on vigorously while Elizabeth writhed, abashed, in painful expiation.
Elizabeth Enslaved Page 4
