by Paul Blades
"Let me say this to you one time. I am not Simon. I do not accept verbal abuse from anyone, especially women. I have had you brought here and you are in a very difficult situation." This was barracuda par excellence; he spoke slowly and harshly. "I suggest strongly you shut your mouth and sit over there." He pointed to the divan. "Or the gentleman behind you will make you very sorry."
The girl was startled to hear Diskare take the offensive so quickly. She was also certainly impressed with his tone and perhaps the first inkling that she wasn't in Kansas anymore was creeping into her brain. She was a cool one though and was only momentarily non-plussed. Eying first the guard and then Diskare warily she said, "And I do not take orders from anyone, especially any dirt bag friends of my step father." A good riposte, but here she showed her facade was on shifting sand.
Diskare just stared at her, glaring. The girl wavered, "I'll do as you ask, but I expect a full explanation for my treatment and it better be good."
She walked over to the divan and sat down. I followed her over to the array of chairs and, picking out the one nearest the window, to her right, and sat down. I had a good view of the girl, sitting primly on the divan. It was slightly lower than the chairs and so she had to raise her head to look at me. I noticed for the first time a set of rings which dangled from the sides of the divan, on the corners and in the middle of each side. No doubt what they were for. Diskare sat down in the middle chair directly facing the girl, the guard shifting discretely behind her, about ten feet to her right.
Her chest was heaving with her pent up anger, pressing her breasts out both upwards, slightly out of her neckline and forward towards us. I was speculating idly about the size and color of her nipples. Based on her light complexion I imagined them to be light, almost pink. Her wide, pouty lips promised large, fleshy areolas. I had no doubt that I would soon know for sure.
"Mr. Wiggins, I can't believe you had anything to do with this." The girl was a sharpie all right, strike first, divide and conquer. The ball was in my court.
"Let's just say that I was not in the loop on this one," I rejoined. "But what's done is done." I shrugged my shoulders.
Diskare laughed.
"A true diplomat Harry." And to the girl, "Now, you will calm down and we will have a little chat." At that moment the door to the office opened and Carla walked in followed by a servant girl carrying a tray of glasses and a pitcher of liquid.
"Ah, Carla, you are so thoughtful. Thank you for joining us, and with refreshments." He turned to the girl. "I only drink soft drinks before dark, Miss Abrams. Please join me in a lemonade." Diskare motioned to Carla who poured four glasses from the servant's tray. She handed one each all around and kept one for herself. She sat in the third chair, to Diskare's right. The servant placed the tray on a nearby table and stood aside, her back to the wall, her head down, her wrists crossed before her.
"Now, let me see, how to begin?" Diskare said, sipping at his glass. "You are surprised and alarmed at being brought here. I can hardly blame you for that. I must say that I am not enamored of your disposition, however." The girl piqued.
"Now see here Mr. Diskare, if you believe I'm going to sit here and have you lecture me on my manners after.…"
She never finished her sentence. Diskare had motioned to the guard at the beginning of the girl's outburst. The guard, a well-tanned, muscular island fellow, calmly but swiftly stepped over to the girl, grabbed the drink from her with one hand and with the other landed a slap across her face that rattled her teeth. The girl's face turned beet red where she had been slapped. The sound of the slap had been like the crack of a whip and the complete silence which followed it served only to highlight its force.
After a few seconds of disbelief, the girl's hands flew to her face and she began to cry out, "Oh, oh, oh," she began to whine. Diskare's voice lashed out.
"Silence!"
The girl Audrey cut her moan short, staring at Diskare in disbelief. "For the last time,” he told her, “you will shut your mouth and be quiet. Do you understand?" Diskare’s visage was like iron, his eyes piercing the girl’s.
Clearly, the girl's bravado had flown the coop. She nodded hastily, rubbing her face with her hands, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. She trembled slightly.
"Now, as I was saying," Diskare continued, "I dislike your attitude. But that is of little moment just now. What is important is to advise you, since, as you have correctly surmised, you are now no longer in control of your own fate, of our intentions with regard to you."
Diskare let the import of his words sink in. The girl was staring at him, one hand still rubbing her face, the other clutching her blouse before her.
"As you made so clear at lunch, in two days you are to come into a great fortune. About thirty million dollars I believe. And by so doing, you would cut off my good friend, and client I might add, Simon Delacourt, your stepfather. We, that is me and the men for whom I work, have decided that we will not let that happen. For a not modest fee, we have acted so that our friend Simon will not be forced to give up the style of life to which he has become accustomed in the ten years since your mother's death. Also, his control of several important companies has proven quite useful and profitable to us. It is important to us to be able to continue to utilize these facilities to conduct our affairs. We have therefore decided to detain you indefinitely so that you cannot take control of this empire."
The implications of this statement were clearly apparent to the girl. Her mouth opened wide in an expression of shock. She looked at Diskare, eyes wide, staring in disbelief. She looked at me and then Carla, as if we would dispel the harshness of the words which were assaulting her ears. "Oh my god" she uttered softly. "Oh, god, this can't be real."
"Oh yes, Miss Abrams, this is very real. You are not flying to the Caymans tonight, or ever." Diskare let the words sink in.
Audrey, forgetting momentarily her slap, took the offensive once again. "You'll never get away with this. Hundreds of people know where I am. Someone will track me down. It's ridiculous, you can't do this."
"Oh yes we can, Miss Abrams, we can very well. You see, we know that hundreds of people know, or will discover, that you were on our little island today. Maybe thousands, eventually. But you see, also many people saw you today leave a crowded restaurant and drive away alone in a taxicab. You were headed for the airport. There will be additional witnesses, let us say, friendly to our cause, who will swear that they saw you board our little island "puddle jumper" as Simon called it. Your suitcase was loaded aboard that plane at your instructions soon after you were deposited here. And there will be ample evidence that that plane took off of this island," Diskare looked at his watch, "about ten minutes ago. In about an hour, it will develop engine trouble. After radioing its position to the authorities, it will go down in the sea. The pilot will be saved. But you, I am sorry to report, you will not be seen again. Your luggage will float to the surface as the final evidence that you were on that flight, but you, at least as far as the world is concerned, will go down with the plane to a watery grave in five thousand feet of water."
The trap had now been sprung. The victim was caught tight in the web. She could struggle, but there was no escape. The magnitude of her predicament struck the girl like a fist. I could almost feel her heart drop as she took in Diskare's words like a prisoner at the bar listening to the sentence of the Court: death.
The girl started moaning slightly, rocking back and forth. She had now covered her face with her hands, as if to block out the words that she was hearing, each one a dagger. Diskare calmly sipped his lemonade, his eyes glued to the girl. Carla too had her eyes fastened on the girl. On her face, though, was eagerness, impatience. She was clearly pining to get at this new victim. The guard stood there passively, as if possessed of only a passing interest in the proceedings. He had probably witnessed many girls in this position. Girls who, sooner or later, became available to him. Girls like the slave who stood demurely and quietly, her back a
The girl, Audrey, was permitted a few more moments of quiet crying. She murmured softly behind her hands and rocked back and forth on the divan. The three of us sitting before her just watched in silence. Suddenly, from behind her hands she spoke, pleading, frantic, "Oh, please, please don't do this to me. I haven’t hurt you. I haven’t hurt anyone. I'll give you whatever you want. Please, oh please." She peered out from behind her hands. "I'm sorry for having insulted you, Mr. Diskare, please don't do this to me, please."
Diskare just maintained his piercing glare. The girl could see that her pleading was useless. Her face disappeared again behind her hands. "Oh, I can't believe this! It can't be happening! It can't!"
Diskare broke his silence. "Oh, yes my dear, it can and is happening. And as far as giving us whatever we want, well, we have that already. We have you and we have our friendship with your stepfather. All that is really left is what shall we do with you."
The girl looked at Diskare. "What do you mean?"
"Well, there are really only two choices. We cannot let you go under any circumstances. That would just frustrate the whole purpose of having brought you here. We can't just let you pine away in some cell somewhere, that would be a waste and too troublesome for us. So there are, as I have said, only two choices."
"What choices? What are you going to do with me?" The girl was frantic, but trying not to completely give in to her panic, trying to hold on in face of the impossible, the unreal. There was little doubt that she had never imagined herself in a position like this in her whole, young life.
"Well, as I said, there are two choices. The first is easy. Since we cannot have you return to the world outside and interfere with our plans, we could easily eliminate that possibility by causing your death, for real this time. Philippe, show Miss Abrams here the little tool you use for terminations."
The guard grinned widely. Now was his turn to participate in this little drama. Clearly, this was a specialty of his, and one that he enjoyed. He removed from under his shirt a short, thin cord, each end wound around a wooden handle: a quite effective garrote. The girl's eyes blazed with fear as the guard approached her, the garrote fully extended between his arms. Without comment, he slipped it over her head, crossing his arms first, and then pulled it tight. The girl sat upright like she had been struck by lightning. Her hands flew to her neck as she frantically tried to pull the cord away from her throat. The guard just grinned more broadly and pulled the garrote tighter.
"Now, Miss Abrams, as I said, this is choice number one. All you have to do is say the word and I will have Philippe snuff out your life. It will only take a few moments, and we will enjoy the show, believe me.” Philippe had pulled the garrote so tight that the girl's face was starting to turn red. She arched her back, trying to move away from the pressure on her neck, her feet pushing off of the floor. She gurgled loudly, her eyes bulging, pleading. It was impossible for her to say anything, and I was sure that Diskare knew that. More games.
"Ah, perhaps you would like to hear about the other choice first? Very well. Philippe, you may release the girl. For now that is." Philippe relaxed the garrote slowly, the girl gasping for breath. As Philippe retreated, I could see a thin red line around her throat. The skin remained unbroken, but the evidence of the tightness of the garrote was there. Apparently Philippe was indeed an expert, being able to produce the tightness required for asphyxiation without breaking the skin. A light touch.
The girl was coughing and crying, not knowing which to do first. The guard, at Diskare's motion, handed back to her the glass of lemonade that he had taken from her before. As he handed it to her, he caught her eye, leering meaningfully. When the glass was empty, he placed the empty back on the small table near the window and resumed his position behind and to the right of the girl, an arm's length away. The girl looked up at Diskare, rubbing her throat. She was near hysteria. "Please don't kill me, please! I'll do whatever you ask, please don't kill me! I don't want to die, please!"
Diskare waited for her to regain some of her composure. "A very appropriate statement considering the nature of the second choice. In fact, exactly what I had in mind." Diskare chuckled menacingly. "I think another demonstration would be the best way to convey the essence of choice number two." He motioned over to the slave girl who had been standing quietly against the wall the entire time. She at once came forward, kneeling in front of Diskare. Diskare stroked her head softly, gazing into her face. He then grabbed her face by the cheeks from under her chin and turned her head towards Audrey.
"A lovely face, no? I think she is exquisite. And well trained too. She has been with us, for how long Carla?"
"About two years, Mr. Diskare." Carla replied.
"Yes, a very exquisite face, and body too. Would you like to see her body Miss Abrams?"
Audrey, still rubbing her neck, but somewhat calmer now, looked confused. "I don't understand."
"Oh you will, Miss Abrams, you will, very shortly." Diskare brought the servant girl's face back to his. "What is your name?"
The girl spoke softly, her eyes focused downwards, her hands crossed before her. "I have been given the name Maria, master,” she replied. She was indeed lovely, long, thick black hair, curled into waves which flowed down her back like a mountain cascade. Her waist was narrow, accentuating her broad hips. Her breasts, large and round, were pushed up by the stays beneath the bodice of her dress, the same one worn by all of the house servants. Her nipples were barely visible above the top of the top of her dress. They were taut and flush, their redness contrasting sharply with the creamy whiteness of the dress. Her skin, brown, like cocoa, her eyes bright and clear.
"Maria, please show Miss Abrams you beautiful breasts, in fact, why don't you remove your dress?"
The servant girl rose from her knees, pausing only long enough to murmur, "Yes, master."
She pulled the shoulders of her dress down her arms and down to her waist. She was standing to Diskare's right, Audrey's left, and I had a good view of her as her breasts sprang free. They were the same cocoa color as the rest of her skin except for several long, red welts running across her chest. Her pubic area had been shaved and she sported the usual golden ring which all of the girls here were marked with. She folded her dress neatly next to her and stood at attention, her arms crossed before her.
Except for the collar around her neck, the leather bracelets on her wrists and the same around her ankles, she was naked.
Audrey looked on in amazement. I wasn't sure which impressed her more, the fact that this girl had disrobed without hesitation upon Diskare's mere suggestion, the badges of the girl's enslavement or the marks of the whip across her breasts and thighs. But clearly she was impressed.
"A lovely creature, isn’t she, Miss Abrams? And her beauty belongs to me and those others of our little club here who desire to possess it. You see, she is a slave, property, chattel. She has been taught to obey and to serve. Maria, stand closer to Miss Abrams, show her the ring in your loins."
The servant girl stepped towards Audrey. Audrey recoiled, but could not tear her gaze away from the glittering metal between Maria's thighs. Maria spread open her thighs and lifted the disk that was there between them so that Audrey could read the inscription. She was no more than three feet away from Audrey's face. I knew what the disk said since it was identical on all of the girl's here. The front was marked only by a scrolled "k", set upon a field of crossed whips. The reverse contained the Klitzman motto "serve and obey" written over the girl's name.
"Maria, come and kneel before me." Diskare motioned the servant girl over to him. She knelt in front of him, her knees apart, her wrists set back on her hips. "Forehead to the floor," he commanded. The girl obeyed. Audrey now had a view of the servant girl's backside, also laced with the marks of the whip. Someone had obviously prepared this girl for her role here today, a kind of demonstration model. But what really caught Audrey's attention was the brand. Located on the right cheek of the girl's ass, just below her hip, was the sign of her enslavement, a large, red, cursive "k", burned deep into the servant girl's flesh.
"You see Miss Abrams, this is the second choice. You may choose to be enslaved. Of course if you do, you will cease to have any identity other than as a piece of property. You may be used, or abused, at will by me, Mr. Wiggins here, Carla, the guard or any one of the members or guests of our club who desire you. Like this little creature here," Diskare lifted the head of the servant girl, forcing open her mouth with his fingers, "you will be marked and then taught to serve and obey. Carla, why don't you pick out a nice collar and some whips for Miss Abrams to examine. That might help her make her decision."
Carla rose from her chair and walked to the armoire. She opened it with a small key and drew from it a leather collar together with a whip and a riding crop. She then placed them on the floor before Audrey. In the meantime, Diskare had drawn the servant girl Maria from her knees and had tumbled her across his lap. His hand probed her loins. The girl gave a little gasp as he thrust his fingers inside her. None of this was lost on Audrey. She flashed her eyes back and forth between Carla, the display that now lay before her and the spectacle of the violation of the slave girl. Then, for a moment, she froze, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer. She then bent over and began sobbing heavily.
I must say that Diskare was really playing this for all that it was worth. A nice touch too, letting the girl choose. She would feel her bonds even more severely knowing that it was her own act which enslaved her. On the other hand, maybe he was playing his hand too strongly. Was slavery really a fate worse than death? We would shortly know.
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