Love Slave

by Terry Wakelin

  The gaoler spoke to her roughly in a harsh, barely understandable dialect. “Be quiet and lay still! First, I must cut the collar from your neck and I do not wish to mark you there. Also, if the iron is not applied properly, I will be forced to do it again. Then the pain will be twice-fold. Do you understand this? ”

  Charlotte didn’t answer, just stared at him numbly.

  “Do you understand? ” the man repeated, this time in a more threatening tone.

  “Yes . . . oh yes . . . but please . . . please . . . ! “Charlotte’s begging screams lapsed into noisy snorting breaths expended through flaring nostrils as the gaoler inserted the jaws of a cutting tool around the metal of her collar. The jaws closed, the gaoler wrenched and suddenly her neck was free of the collar that had identified her as belonging to Khalif. Charlotte gave an audible sob. The collar had been the last physical link to the man she loved.

  “Good,” growled the gaoler. “Now keep as still as you can! You may scream as much as you like! ”

  Charlotte felt the heat of the iron approaching her flesh, followed microseconds later by the most atrocious pain she had ever felt in her life. Scream after scream came from her grossly distorted mouth and the pain went on and on, her arms and legs flexing desperately yet uselessly at the straps holding her body in its vulnerable and ignominious position on the bench. Clouds of darkness began to close in on her from all sides and she hardly felt the pepper-like red powder rubbed deeply into the blazing wound. Her screams were transformed into one continuous, ululating moan of anguish and she felt herself beginning to slide down into that deep black nothingness which rescues us all from that which we are unable to bear.

  Her long-dead mother came to her out of the darkness like a wraith, voice soothing and chasing away all pain. “Fear not, little one! ” she whispered. “I am with you always. ” . . .

  Hours . . . or perhaps it was days . . . later, Charlotte opened her eyes to the rattle of keys in a lock and found herself lying face down on the straw-covered floor of her cell. The wound on her buttocks felt as if it were on fire, though the pain had now diminished to the point where she thought she might now be able to bear it without actually screaming aloud. Even so, a groan escaped her lips as she moved to sit up on one side and found that she was now denied the use of her hands. She twisted around painfully and groaned again as she found that her wrists had been chained to the heavy metal collar padlocked around her throat, the collar in turn padlocked to a slave ring set deep in the wall.

  The keys rattled once again and the cell door opened. Oh God, what would they do to her now? Remembering the horribly pierced teats of the whipped blonde-haired girl drawing her Master’s chariot through the town, Charlotte sobbed and drew her knees up defensively.

  It was the pot-bellied gaoler who had first made use of her body. “Has no-one instructed you on what to do when a Master enters, girl? ” he asked. He pointed to the floor at his feet. “Come now! Kneel here in front of me! ”His tone, though brusque, was not unkind.

  Understanding only the odd word, Charlotte nevertheless understood the gesture and struggled awkwardly to obey, unable to stay a small cry of pain as her wounded flesh brushed painfully against the prickly straw.

  The gaoler was carrying two pans, one of hot steaming broth and another of water. Setting them on the floor at her side, he quickly released her wrists from the heavy collar and, clucking as if she were a naughty child, positioned her body as he wanted.

  Charlotte knelt as directed. It was not an unfamiliar position; knees widespread, bottom resting back on her heels, hands clasped tightly at the back of her neck. It was a most revealing position; the position demanded of a female slave; a position allowing her no scrap of modesty. In this posture, every part of her was perfectly revealed.

  Still the gaoler was not satisfied. “Come now, Inglése! Straighten your back a little more! Do not slump, girl! You have fine large breasts, so thrust them out! Do not be ashamed of your body! You must be proud of it. Make the most of it! It is the only thing of value about you. Even that, you do not own. Now it is you who are owned. ”He saw the look of despair on her face and smiled at her, almost gently. “Do not worry, infidel! ” he said quietly. “I and others will teach you what you must know before you are sold. You are very beautiful. Be obedient and you need not fear! ”

  Understanding only a fraction of what the man was saying, blushing furiously at the enforced display of her intimate flesh, Charlotte blinked back tears of shame and pain.

  “Now then,” continued the gaoler, taking a small pot of something from a pouch on his belt, “bend forward an put your forehead to the floor! I wish to inspect your brand. ”He snapped his fingers and pointed again. “Quickly now! ”

  Frightened, Charlotte obeyed the sharp gesture, keeping quiet as his fingers gently applied some kind of salve to her wound. Almost immediately, the pain began to ease.

  “A good mark! ” commented the gaoler softly, almost as if to himself. “It will not be necessary to brand you again. ”

  This time Charlotte understood the words clearly and her buttocks contracted involuntarily at the thought. The gaoler smiled to himself and allowed his hand to stray between her legs. She shuddered at his touch, yet managed to remain as she was, even when he parted the sensitive lips to delve deeply and intimately inside. The tip of his finger brushed against Leila’s wadded little sponge and he nodded understandingly. “How long has this been in? ” he asked.

  “Since . . . since . . . the ship. Three . . . no . . . four days! ”

  The finger pried at the little sponge, pulling it from her body. “Well it must be removed now,” he said. “Put back later. Understand? ”

  Kneeling obediently the straw, hips writhing uncontrollably at the impersonal invasion of her sexual passage, Charlotte mumbled a barely coherent, “Yes. ”

  “Good! Now kneel up as before! ” he ordered.

  Without argument, Charlotte resumed her original kneeling position. Face red with embarrassment, she avoided his eyes.

  “Hungry, nasrani? ”He smiled at her reassuringly as he asked the question.

  Charlotte nodded. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten. Days ago, she thought. And despite her pain, the hot broth in the pan smelt delicious.

  “No, no, no! ” he snapped, reverting to his native tongue. “You must answer properly! For the present, all men are your Masters and you must address them as such! If and when you are eventually sold, and it is your misfortune to be purchased by a woman, you will address her as ‘Mistress’! All men, from now on, you will address as ‘Master’! If you do not, you will be whipped. Is this understood? ”

  Charlotte’s hesitation was but momentary. She clearly understood the words ‘Master’ and ‘whip’ and intuitively divined the meaning of the rest of the gaoler’s words. The whipping administered by Jahwar had been a salutary lesson regarding the consequences of any disobedience to these terrible men. “Yes . . . yes, Master,” she choked.

  “Good. There is much to learn and time is short. The House will have its profit or much punishment will be yours to bear. Do you understand this also? ”

  Her answer came as a mere whisper. “Yes Master. ”

  Satisfied, he indicated the broth and the pan of water. “Remain as you are until I leave! Then you may eat and drink. And the next time someone enters, remember to place yourself as I have shown you! Also, keep your eyes downcast! While you are here it is forbidden to look on the face of a Master or Mistress unless you are so ordered. You must learn humility and respect, and most of all, you must learn absolute obedience. This is for your own good. A disobedient slave brings down much pain and anguish on her own head, so I advise you to learn quickly all that is demanded of you! ”

  With this advice, he left the cell.

  Charlotte grabbed for the broth. Suddenly, despite the pain from her brand, sh
e realised she was starving. Everything else was forgotten as she spooned the delicious-tasting liquid into her mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘The Hammam’

  Charlotte remained in her cell while the wound in her flesh

  scabbed over and healed. During this time, though the pot-bellied gaoler visited her regularly to check on her wound and give her advice on how a slave should behave, she was not used sexually by him. Why, she never knew. Perhaps, for some reason, permission for him to do so had been withdrawn by his superiors. The blue-cloaked guards, however, continued to use her as they wished. They had evidently been given carte blanche to do so and, every day, she was forced to submit her body to a succession of lustful assaults - sometimes by one man, sometimes two at once.

  To facilitate this, the guards’ habit would be to secure her face-down over a solid whipping bench, legs and arms spread wide and fastened to the bench’s feet. In this way, two might use her at the same time; one in her vagina or anus as the fancy took him, while the other slaked his lust in her gaping mouth

  Mostly the men were quite gentle with her, though one man seemed to delight in causing her pain while he amused himself with one or other of her openings. Sometimes this particular brute would insert a large, carved wooden effigy of an erect penis into her vagina, while he thrust his own, smaller, fleshy version into her tight anus, at others reversing the process and causing her such great pain that she would sometimes faint clear away.

  Despite her initial disgust and revulsion at some of the things they did to her, like impaling her on a large carved wooden effigy of a penis and making her masturbate to orgasm, or bringing a large dog into her cell to mate with her while they watched and jeered; time and time again she found herself taking pleasure in the act, so much so that, eventually, just the act of tying her down was enough to set her juices running.

  Each day the gaoler replaced the wadded little sponge in her sexual passageway with a fresh one; an act for which she was profoundly grateful, especially when, two weeks into her captivity, the fact that she was not pregnant was confirmed by a dull stomach ache and the appearance of menstrual blood on her thighs.

  On that morning she was awakened early by another young blue cloaked soldier. Remembering the her instructions, she quickly adopted the slavish and humiliating posture; thighs spread wide, shoulders back, hands clasped firmly at the back of her neck. Inured by now to the guards’ brutal disregard of her, she was quite certain that her bleeding would make little or no difference to the young soldier’s usage of her. Already she could feel her treacherous body oiling itself in preparation for the assault.

  “Stand, slave! ” he ordered gruffly, unlocking the chain from its ring on the wall and jerking her brutally to her feet. “You are to come with me. ”

  “Please, Master,” she whispered in halting Arabic, as he corded her wrists together behind her back, “where do we go? ”

  The young guard scowled at her. “By all that is holy, you stink, slave,” he growled. “You must be washed and cleansed before you go for training. Now be quiet and ask no more questions. ”

  Down the corridor to the terrible place where they had tattooed her, they went, past the great table with its frightening straps, Charlotte forced almost to trot as the blue-cloaked guard strode onwards to . . . she knew not where. Stumbling along, trying desperately to keep her feet, she followed helplessly on her chain, up the stone steps to ground level, along the corridor and back to the room where Jahwar had first offered her for sale.

  There, above ground level for the first time in days, she saw that it was daylight. The tall steward, Ali bin Hussein, was there, seated at his desk.

  “Kneel, slave! ” snapped the soldier and immediately she dropped to her knees, bowing her head respectfully towards the seated man.

  “So, infidel,” he said, rising from the desk and circling behind her, “has your brand healed? ”At the question, the soldier reached down, pushing her down so that she fell to her knees. Almost without thinking, she automatically widened her thighs and leant forwards to place her forehead to the floor, thrusting her bottom out to facilitate his inspection. The steward smiled. The girl was learning fast. “Very good,” he said. “Now stand up and go with the guard! It is time you were cleaned up a little. ”He wrinkled his nose in disgust and repeated the soldier’s original observation. “By Allah, you stink, girl!

  The young soldier jerked her chain and, ashamed, Charlotte struggled to her feet. For the first time since she had come to this place she began to feel angry. Of course she stank! Wouldn’t any girl, who had gone through what she had over the past days?

  Outside, she was led across a tiny courtyard, the sunlight dazzling after the torch-lit gloom to which she’d become accustomed. Then it was back inside and through another maze of corridors until they came at last to another heavily barred door at which they stopped. Again, Charlotte stood submissively as the young soldier knocked peremptorily. Long seconds passed before the door was opened; not by another guard this time, but by a middle-aged, heavy-breasted woman, stripped to the waist, who bowed respectfully to the soldier before taking the proffered chain and leading her inside.

  The door closed firmly between herself and the guard and Charlotte looked at the woman nervously. To be able to bathe and clean herself? Could it possibly be true? She looked down at her dirt-streaked body and her nose curled in disgust. In truth, she really did smell. After everything that had happened in the last three days, a bath . . . or even just the chance to wash . . . would be absolute heaven.

  “Mistress? Mistress Charlotte? ” The whisper came from behind her and she turned to see the tear-stained face of Meylissah, kneeling chained to the wall, naked and almost as dirty as she. Charlotte could hardly speak, so overwhelmed was she at seeing her erstwhile companion again. “Oh Meylissah . . . Meylissah,” she whispered. The attendant released her wrists and spoke to her harshly in a strange, guttural dialect, which Charlotte didn’t understand. She looked at Meylissah questioningly. Some of the words seemed familiar but the meaning was unclear.

  “She say . . . kneel down, Mistress! ” whispered Meylissah hoarsely. “Come back soon. ”

  Obediently Charlotte dropped to her knees. She shot a sideways glance at Meylissah as her neck chain, also, was padlocked to a convenient slave ring. Dirty and unwashed, dark hair matted and uncombed, Meylissah’s beauty was still evident. Obviously, though, the slave girl had been through a similar ordeal to herself. Charlotte remembered the agony of the branding with a shudder.

  “You have heard about my uncle? ” she whispered.

  “Yes, my Lady,” replied Meylissah, a tear rolling unchecked down her cheek. “My heart grieves. Lord James was a great warrior, but he was but one against many. Those who attacked his ship are the vassals of he who rules here, a Bey called Mulay Aruj. We are now his slaves. ”She shook her head worriedly. “I fear for us, Mistress. The other slaves tell of this Bey, who travels not outside his own fortress except after dark. He wears a leather mask and no-one knows what he looks like, but they say he is very cruel, and truly evil; maybe a Djinn come from the dark regions to rule on earth! ”“

  “What will happen to us? ” quavered Charlotte, eyes brimming with tears.

  “Maybe go to Bey’s harem. Maybe sold. Guards not say. ”She managed a tremulous smile. “Meantime, maybe stay together. ”

  Charlotte wiped her eyes, cheered a little by the fact that she once again, if only for a little while, had the companionship of Meylissah.

  A short time later the attendant reappeared. She unchained the two girls and led them next door to a beautifully tiled little room, full of cloudy steam, where they were left, obviously to sweat for a while. Charlotte had heard of the practice, but this was her first experience of the steam bath. The heat was overpowering . . . conversation practically impossible . . . and, after a few seconds, she sat down
on one of the wooden benches, panting for breath as the perspiration began to run in streams on her body. Meylissah propped herself in one corner and closed her eyes, obviously much more at home in the . . . to Charlotte, at least . . . almost unendurable temperature.

  Closing her eyes, Charlotte stretched out on her side as best she could on the planked bench, determined to endure the discomfort at least as well as her companion. Much of the pain from her brand had gone, but the wound was still tender. Meylissah, seeing the movement, slithered along the bench and gently nudged her with one knee, making a pillow with her lap. Charlotte smiled and gratefully took advantage of the gesture, though she still felt far too hot to engage in any conversation.

  At the end of half an hour, the attendant reappeared and led them into another, cooler room where she and another woman of about the same age released their wrists and helped them into a large tiled pool. Soap for washing was provided and both girls spent the next ten minutes or so washing each other and generally splashing happily about in the pleasantly warm water as they got rid of the accumulated filth of the past few days.

  Eventually they were ordered from the pool and laid face down side by side on padded stone slabs; Meylissah smiling reassuringly at a slightly apprehensive Charlotte as the two attendants, both stripped to the waist in the clammy heat, began to rub the two prone bodies with a light, beautifully scented oil. After the steam room and bath, the massage proved to be a most relaxing experience and Charlotte soon abandoned herself to the knowing hands with real pleasure, her gloomy thoughts gradually subsiding in tune with her body’s tensions. The masseuse’s touch was incredibly soothing; each muscle searched out individually and manipulated, and even when the woman slapped her on her wounded buttocks to indicate she should turn over, she took no umbrage, but did so with alacrity, relaxing as the gentle hands continued their work.