by Hans Meijer
She had captured his attention indeed. "Why would you do that?" He asked suspiciously.
"To escape the brothel."
"So!" He was now amused. He was also impressed. "There are girls in that brothel who have been fucked a thousand times… That's only three times a day for a year. They and their cunts are no different from the day I placed them there. Why be so concerned about that small slit between your legs?"
"You know why."
"The fastidious white mores! But seriously, Miss Gibson, supposing I grant your wish, how can you know I won't put you in the brothel anyway?"
"I just don't think you would. Oh, please let me down off this beastly rope."
He found his cane and cut the upturned sole of her cuffed foot with it five times. When Corey's sounds of agony diminished, he said calmly: "You easily forget your manners. You would make a man a poor wife." He left her suspended, her raised foot a blaze of pain.
It was absurd to see Achmed as an old friend. But after hanging by one wrist in front of Abdul's empty desk for enough hours to seem an eternity Corey would have welcomed anyone willing to lower her foot to the floor. Released, she sat on the rug and blissfully rubbed her wounds. "Thank's, Achmed. Nice to see you again." Resentfully, she asked herself what the hell else she could have said to him.
Achmed patted her hair. "You nice girl. You pretty prisoner. Achmed make sure you never no more escape. Every evening we fuck."
"Thank you."
With the air of having seen it on the movies, Achmed cuffed her right hand to his left for their short journey to the familiar cell. The collar and chain was waiting. "I'll stand still while you lock it on my neck." Corey volunteered brightly. "You're nice to me, I'll be nice for you."
The closing of the metal circlet round her neck brought memories of her former imprisonment. But, far more vividly, it returned her to the coffle and to Seth. She yearned for him with a terrible hunger. No doubt he supposed her safely sold and cared for. He would not have stayed overnight in Ben Sirah so would know nothing of Abdul Nour's raid. She blinked back tears.
"Poor Miss Gibson sad she be chained again?"
"It's not much fun wearing a collar and chain, Achmed."
"You think you like brothel better?" He enquired solicitously. "Wear collar and chain there too so no run. But nice long chain."
So Achmed knew that too! Corey Gibson pictured herself servicing soldiers with a chain trailing from its metal band upon her neck. Girls were nothings here, just pets and prisoners. "When am I going to be sent to the brothel, Achmed?"
"You no ask questions."
"Sorry, I'd forgotten. D'you want to fuck me now, Achmed?"
"In one minute. Have not finish chain."
She might have known! She was an escapee. A subject enticing rescue. Unhappily, she watched Achmed's embarrassment. "Don't feel bad about chaining me some more, Achmed. It's orders, isn't it?"
"Is orders. Both hands, both feet. All locks different." He dangled an impressive ring of keys.
The chain was impressive too. Links were everywhere. To hold one naked girl it was ridiculous. But Corey did not laugh. Fortunately, most of it dragged on the floor. She could bear the weight of the rest of it.
"Am most sorry… so much chain…"
"Oh, go ahead. Don't mind me. Here's my wrist."
"You much kind girl."
She watched the band circle her wrist, watched the padlock snap. The weight was surprising. She proffered her other hand. It was becoming a shockingly natural thing to do. When all her limbs had been banded and chained she caught her jailor's apologetic eye. They both laughed. Achmed immediately saw the bright side. "Can still fuck. Chain not stop open legs."
Afterwards and alone, Corey wept.
Preparing for sleep, she was compelled to drag up and arrange what seemed like fifty pounds of chain.
"I will visit you often." Achmed's woebegone apology was shattering. "Is permitted. But perhaps you no longer need?"
"Of course you must come, Achmed. You're my friend." In the light of morning it was hard to be cordial after the news. Corey was possessed by one big question mark. "What did I do to offend him?"
"Achmed not sure. But is much troubles for him. Maybe he take out mad on you." Achmed knew himself the bearer of bad tidings. "Brothel not so bad. Much fuck. Some girl enjoy."
"Why doesn't he whip me, or something like that… One of those beastly tying-up things he's so fond of?"
"You like?"
"No, I suppose I don't."
"Brothel best. Is just chain on neck. Plenty lay down." Achmed was searching for silver linings. "You get good whip. Talifa now top girl. She whip each one new.
"What on Earth for? If we haven't done anything bad!" No prospects were having any silver linings for Corey Gibson.
"Is show she boss. Is make well behave."
It would be rationalised. Corey was sure of that. Whatever was done to her would be coloured by Amphala's own logic. Glumly she looked at the mass of chain still securing her to the wall of her cell. "Won't I have to wear all this hardware?" She asked listlessly.
"No one tell Achmed." Her jailor beamed. "How'bout one chain one wrist?"
"I don't want to be chained at all. Can't you ask Abdul Nour?"
"Is gone. Big fast hurry. Leave note."
"And the note said to put me in the brothel?"
"Right! So that what Achmed must do." He shrugged another apology. "Note also says you be flogged every time you try bribe or escape. Use much bad whip."
Miss Corey Gibson shivered. In premeditation, and under the guidance of this amiable Sudanese, she was about to enter a brothel and become a whore without pay. Talifa's welcome would be to whip her nakedness… Probably severely. She would have no say about any of it. She had become a female facility with an orifice between her legs into which weary soldiers would thrust their hard penis and pump their semen in pursuit of a dream that was not there. It was all unreal. If Abdul Nour was killed in battle, his possessions would revert to the next bandit in line. For her there would be no hope. Bitterly, she wondered what a whore thought about after ten years of guerilla penetration. Once more she thought longingly of Seth Burdett… But Seth was gone.
"Alright, Achmed. I won't offer you a couple of million. I don't want to be flogged."
"That same as offer." Achmed retorted shrewdly. "But this time Achmed no flog pretty back. Now we go."
Corey sat on her bunk and watched the padlocks fall away. But there was no freedom there. She felt numb, unable to comprehend the full enormity of what she was about to enter. A whore! When her hands were freed they rose to the band of metal round her neck. "Must I wear the collar, Achmed?"
"I take away chain. Collar stay." He held up handcuffs. "Talifa expect you be fixed proper. I sorry."
"It doesn't matter, Achmed. Where do you want my hands?"
"Talifa do what she like. Achmed lock in front."
There was something appealing about Achmed. Gratefully, Corey extended her wrists. What a plight she had come to that she gave thanks for hands cuffed above her pubic hair instead of at her back! Bitterly, she suggested: "Click'em tight, Achmed. I wouldn't want Talifa to think we cheated." Achmed clicked them tight.
Talifa took delivery of her new girl with an obvious delight in her own importance. It was not every Matron of a bordello who's stable included a girl of Corey Gibson's social status. When she passed the word around among the troops there would be tips for the favourable disposition of the socialite's person. She made a cautious mental note to keep the number of the novice's penetrations down to not more than a dozen a day. It sometimes took a new girl a little time…!
Corey watched Achmed's departing back in dolor. He had a male compassion Talifa would not share. Girls were cruel to girls. She remembered the punishment room on her previous incarceration.
"I make you very pretty. But first I whip." Talifa said conversationally. "You going to be good girl?"
"My father will pay you a mi
llion dollars for me, Talifa."
"That being bad girl. I whip you harder for trying bribe. Bribe not permitted. You come now to room." In an inconsistent impulse of affection Talifa kissed her new girl warmly. "I think you very nice. We get along fine after whip."
"But, Talifa, why must I be whipped? I'm behaving as well as I know how."
"Is nice introduction. Girls watch. Teach lesson."
Corey had always wondered about prisoners walking to their execution or meekly into a cell. Why didn't they fight? Why be passive and compliant when you were seething with fear, injustice, anger? Why? Surely they should make a physical protest after words had failed! But she wryly censured herself. She could kick and scream and bite. The handcuffs would not stop that. But she was being abjectly obedient as she followed this cafe-au-lait female into pain and the defilement of her sex. But it was one of those things. She was in the grip of a tide she could not stem. Bitterly, she understood the logic of cuffs and collar. They robbed a girl of will.
Every ring in the place held a handcuff, its other half tight on the wrist of a curious girl. A new girl was always welcome. It spread the workload and the stripes. The smiles were welcoming.
"Talifa has help." The head girl indicated another like herself. "Take place of Amrah. Make you be good. Her name Raynee."
More suspension. The two girls did not lift Corey's feet from the floor, but the stretch of lifted arms made the handcuffs bite. "Is not for long, just while we whip your nice back." Talifa explained with thoughtful solicitude. "Is good we whip you like this. You be using pretty cunt, so is best not to hurt." It was as though she was being looked after by loving friends.
The pain was beastly. Corey Gibson hated every stroke. Her loins were not heated as they had been with Seth. With him, each lash had sent an erotic fire coursing through her veins. But this was cold. She was convinced it was useless, serving no purpose other than to make her humble. Talifa and Raynee cut the whip with zest, exclaiming over each red line, planning the next. After a few strokes she gave up trying to be quiet, after a few screams she pleaded to be gagged.
"We don't mind you make noise and kick feet." Talifa consoled.
"But I'm so ashamed of the noise… it just hurt so damn bad." They gagged her with a mouthful of rag and a strip to bind it between her teeth. The fingers were loving as with a pet who gave pleasure. To the girl who could not now scream, the blows when they resumed seemed doubly severe.
"Lovely back looks very pretty." The two whippers were in no hurry. They traced weals with exploring fingers, discussing possibilities and speaking of other girls and their behavior under the lash. Their reassurance sounded sincere. "We not whip lovely breasts. Soldiers like breasts very much." Corey had lost count of the times the thong had cut at her skin. She had forgotten to ask how many blows she must receive. But what did it matter? What did anything matter now? She looked up the columns of her bare arms to the shining chrome by which she was held helpless for this undeserved punishment. The metal bands were deep in her wrists, compelling her toes to lift her to their limit. She was grateful her toes were still on the floor. But the pain was sickening… Perhaps this was done to a new girl so that the impaling thrusts of a penis would seem of small consequence by comparison. Around the wall her chained sisterhood watched her agony in varying reaction, remembering their own.
"If girls not polite to good soldiers they get whip often." Talifa explained helpfully. "If too much complaint on service we whip her cunt. Is swell and very tender for prick."
It was all well thought out. The moral was obedience. Corey bit hard on her gag as a lash flickered hatefully into her armpit. Why, oh why couldn't they whip a girl's bottom and leave it at that? Must these whipping girls always seek her most tender recesses? She hoped they would not tell her to spread her legs.
Satisfied with their work, they released her arms. Then watched, laughing as she awkwardly plucked at her gag with joined hands. In a great relief at the cessation of the strokes Corey grinned with them. Handcuffs stopped very little but made most things difficult. A handcuffed girl must be forever reaching and stretching and twisting.
Corey thought of it as:?the room where it would happen?. It was a large spacious stone chamber in which rugs, drapes and huge cushions struck a note of luxury and cheerfulness against ringbolt and chain. By the time she was led there the rest of Abdul Nour's conscripted harlots had been returned to their collar and chain. Once more they bestowed on her striped nudity their interested attention.
In exchange for the loss of her handcuffs Corey got her personal chain and padlock. It attached her collar to the big ringbolt in the wall by a generous span of links. It was comfortable but implacable confinement that would in no way interfere with any man's enjoyment of her person. Talifa proudly pointed out the amenities.
"Sleep and fuck on nice thick rugs, must never try and cover anything. No blanket. Most comfort! Now you walk."
It was actually possible! But Corey's collar snubbed her neck just short of the neighboring ringbolt to either side. From one snub to another was about five paces. She could walk the same distance toward the centre aisle. Approving the demonstration, Talifa then proffered a container of small red pills. "One every night." Her grin was lewd.
Corey blushed and put the feminine object in the small cabinet provided for each girl, along with brush and comb and a few other female trifles. At least, the sperm Abdul Nour had promised her would be rendered sterile. But all these small things designed for her wellbeing only intensified awareness of her new condition. Whores were valuable and should be cared for.
"If man not want other girls watch him fuck, is nice curtain."
Corey blushed again. No privacy even for that! Wryly, she watched Talifa emulate a hospital nurse in the tugging of a drape around a rail to provide a shrouded gloom in which she could give and receive the vulgarities of sex alone with the client who did not have to pay. "But isn't there a… room… somewhere?"
Talifa giggled. "Is no time. Often all girls being used at once. Curtain plenty good. Some don't want."
It was becoming frightening real. In minor panic, Corey blurted: "Talifa, I've never done this! I don't know…!"
"You been fucked." Talifa accused reasonably.
"Well, yes… but this…!#
"Is no difference. Don't be silly girl."
"Isn't there some sort of… greeting? Something that's expected of me? I don't want to be punished just because I dont know."
Talifa laughed at such innocence. "You pretent you love. Plenty touch, plenty kiss… unzip!"
"Do I have to do anything he wants?"
"Course you do, silly! Unless it injure. Then you shout."
The youthful Matron grinned at such vaivete. "Some like to whip you. Just al little bit… first. It make them very hard. You pretent you like." Remembering a vital service, Talifa added: "You always suck kock at start. It clean it off nice for you."
Watching Talifa depart, Miss Corey Gibson realised she had received her terms of reference and was now in business. The other girls admired Corey's weals and exhibited their own. In the boredom of living chained to a wall, their visits to the punishment room and its pain made a dramatic interlude. They donated unsolicited advice.
"Please man good. Then no punish."
"Don't argue. Raynee and Talifa get mad and whip."
"Is O.K. we play with tongue. Raynee and Talifa make us do for them."
"Is early now. Soldiers start come later."
The girl on either side advanced the length of their chain and kissed her. It was a spontaneous demonstration of sisterhood in the oldest profession and made Corey want to cry.
On her first day Corey serviced eleven men, on her second it was twelve. She did not earn the whip. One of the men gave her a chocolate bar. At night Raynee gave her a douche. Servants carried a tub from ring to ring and washed each girl with vigour. It was reasonably hygenic and methodicial. Examining herself and her vagina every night, Corey was puzzled to k
now if she had really changed at all.
The girls in the bordello of Abdul Nour lived on their chain. More than any single thing it was their life, immutable and omnipresent. In this chamber of slated lusts it was different from the cell. Corey could never be entirely unaware of her iron collar and its weight of links. Like the rest, she was forever fingering it as she might have fingered a Rosary. The men fingered it too. She was surprised at the delight they found in this metallic evidence of a girl sequestered helplessly for their refreshment. Her padlock was tested and commented on until she began to find an absurd price in wearing it. The Guerilla's need of what the girls provided was spasmodic. A day of incessant thrusting at their loins and lips might be followed by others in which they played hostess to only one or two heroes at a time. As the weary warriors fingered breasts and nipples and pubic hair they imparted bits of gossip. From it, Corey learned of the absence of Abdul Nour on a mission spoken of in whispers. She suspected her relegation to harlotry resulted from a lack of time in which to practice upon her body and limbs those mild tortures he had promised.
