Then her determination faltered as she thought about the graphic stories of disobedient slaves crucified or impaled on the city walls, or even sometimes sewn into weighted leather sacks and cast alive into the sea.
She shook her head. It was no use. She would have to obey; she had no choice! Her captors would have absolute obedience, no matter what. They would tolerate nothing less. She moaned under her breath, trying her pitiful strength against the obdurate steel of the bracelets. Nothing happened except that her muscles cracked. Her hands remained fixed behind her back, just as her Masters intended.
The curtain at the top of the steps swished and Ali appeared. Eyes glinting, he no longer seemed quite as affable as before. “Come then, nasrani! ” he growled. “It is time. Remember what I have taught you! ”Reaching down to take hold of her leash, he led her up the steps and through the curtain. She stepped out on to the stage and for a moment there was complete silence. Suddenly Charlotte felt faint. The large auditorium was packed with people; desert dwellers seated alongside city folk; men and women from all walks of life sitting or lounging on the tiered benches arranged in a semi-circle in front of the stage. With great effort, remembering what would happen to her if she disobeyed, she managed to compose herself enough to stop her legs from buckling under her.
The slave master led her to the centre of the stage where, casually, he allowed the leash to fall, hanging down between the full mounds of her silk clad breasts as he bowed slightly to the audience.
Charlotte shifted uneasily, a frightened captive, waiting for his command, while Ali touched his forehead in a salute to acknowledge the sprinkling of applause that greeted them.
Then he began his opening palaver. “Masters,” he said, almost diffidently. “I am afraid I must apologise to you in advance for the clumsiness and ignorance of the slave you now see before you. ”There were a few groans from the mob, though most remained silent, preferring to wait and see what the slaver had to say. “Of course,” he continued, “she is quite attractive in her foreign way, and does have one or two . . . ah . . . how shall I say . . . reasonably good features. ”With powerful hands, he ripped open the front of both the red velvet dress and camisole, thrusting them from her shoulders to bare her splendid breasts with their ringed and still-swollen nipples.
As if the shame were more than she could bear, Charlotte hung her head and half-turned away. Ali, an angry look on his face, caught her roughly by the hair and, bringing her head up, held her still so that all could look their fill.
An appreciative murmur came from the crowd.
“Unfortunately, my friends,” continued Ali sadly, “she was but recently captured and remains virtually untrained in slave duties. ”
There was a displeased murmur from the mob. This was the last lot to be sold. The ‘piece de resistance’ as it were! They expected better fare than this richly dressed, admittedly beautiful, yet untrained nasrani. There were shouts from the front benches. “What can she do then? She is useless. No good! No good! ”
Charlotte blushed and hung her head again.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen, please! ” Ali protested. “I beg you, have patience! It is not the House’s fault that the girl is new and untrained. Just look at this marvellous body and imagine the pleasure you will have in training her yourself! In addition, she is quite intelligent and already responds well to simple commands. ”
“Show us! Show us! ” chanted the crowd, while Charlotte flushed once more at the disparaging way the slaver had discussed her shortcomings.
“All right, my Lords, all right! ” cried Ali hurriedly. “We will see what she can do. I beg you, however, to make allowance for her ignorance. ”He released Charlotte’s hair and moved so that he stood behind her where he snapped the catches on her bracelets so that the top part of her dress and the ruined camisole might slide free. Though they were no longer confined, Charlotte kept her hands behind her back as the slaver’s hands moved to her waist and, with another powerful wrench, allowed the remainder of the dress to slide down her legs to lie in a scarlet puddle around her daintily shod feet.
There was a trickle of applause as the half-naked girl, clad now only in her under drawers and shoes, hung her head in shame once more. Ali snapped his fingers and, slowly, hesitantly, she went to her knees. He snapped his fingers once again and, bringing her hands round, went gracefully into the deep, traditional obeisance position, placing her head to the floor at his feet.
Ali looked around at the audience expectantly.
This time there was a little more applause, and a young man dressed in the robes of a desert-tribesman shouted: “One gold piece! I bid one gold piece! ”
The crowd laughed and Ali smiled at the young Bedouin. Deliberately, the auctioneer thrust out a foot and, slavishly, Charlotte began to kiss and lick delicately at his toes.
Suddenly, the mob became a little more attentive.
“Three gold pieces! ”The young Bedouin again.
“Five! ” This from a fat brothel owner, seated in the third row.
Charlotte knew the man. Some time ago she had been exhibited to him privately. The fat man was Achmed, owner and operator of a well-known brothel in the harbour area known as ‘The House of Chains’. This time the slaver acknowledged the bid. Then, stepping back from the girl, he snapped his fingers again and she went straight to her belly on the boards. Another snap and she turned to her back. Gracefully, she kicked off her shoes and, bringing up both knees, swiftly slipped off her under drawers. She was completely nude now, her branded buttocks, perfectly depilated mound and puffy, gold-ringed lips adding beautifully to the effect of her nakedness.
The applause now was genuine as the mob finally began to realise that Ali had been rather less than honest regarding the girl’s capabilities. His fingers snapped again and she reached back, stretching her arms and arching her spine as if to lift her gold-nippled breasts for the crowd’s attention. Then, with a flourish, he brought her back to her knees where she remained, thighs wide apart, shoulders back, hands clasped tightly at the back of her neck.
Reaching down, the slaver parted her lower lips to clearly expose the final gold ring transfixing her swollen clitoris. Then, taking his hand away, he snapped his fingers once more and Charlotte went straight into the series of callisthenics she had practised so hard. They were complicated manoeuvres, taking long minutes to complete and designed to show her magnificent body off to perfection. When she had finished, she was breathing hard, her body shiny with sweat, the weals inflicted by Mulay Aruj showing crimson on her pallid flesh. With another flourish, Ali brought her back to her knees before dismissing her to the deep, traditional bow of the slave girl to her Lord.
There was absolute silence for a moment; then, as men realised how perfect had been the exhibition, thunderous applause. Gracefully Charlotte knelt once more at the slaver’s side, gasping for breath as she recovered from the punishing exercise. Ali, reaching down, re-fastened her hands once more behind her back. A man seated in the centre of the front row caught her eye and smiled approvingly. Charlotte recognised him. He was a merchant to whom she had once been exhibited privately.
“Forgive me, gentlemen! ” called Ali smoothly. “I forgot to mention that, although the slave has not been properly trained in a slave’s general duties . . . she has little experience of pulling a plough or even a cart . . . the House has managed to school her reasonably well in the movements of the seven slave dances. In fact, I can assure you that I have never seen at least one or two of them performed better! ”
Charlotte flushed with pride. This was high praise indeed from such an experienced trainer of slaves.
“Ten pieces! ” called the merchant.
“Twelve! ” from fat Achmed.
“Fifteen” from the Bedouin.
“Twenty! ” from the merchant.
“Twenty five! ”Achmed again.
Abruptly the crowd was silent. It was time for the handling!
Charlotte was taken completely by surprise. This she had not practised; and no-one had forewarned her. Held tightly by the two guards, she writhed helplessly as the slavemaster subjected her to a series of traditional caresses designed to show the watchers the involuntary sexual responses of the chained girl.
Now Charlotte’s shame was no longer counterfeit but real; so cunning and clever the slaver’s touch that her first orgasm was on her almost before she knew it, surprising even Ali who was already conversant with the extremely passionate nature of the new slave. The second and third orgasms exploded in her belly shortly afterwards and soon, to the mob’s delight, the helpless girl was writhing in the throes of involuntary multi-orgasmic convulsions that threatened to rob her of her senses.
Men in the front rows cried out in pleasure. Women hissed. Charlotte was beside herself with shame and humiliation. The slaver’s caresses had betrayed her innermost nature. All now knew how it was with her. She had no secrets, no defences left!
“Thirty five! ” From the middle of the auditorium the English privateer, ‘Mad’ Jack Fletcher, lifted a hand to enter the bidding.
“Forty! ” from a veiled woman in the middle row.
“Forty five! ” from Achmed the brothel owner.
There was a short pause, then: “Fifty! ” from Fletcher.
Near the front of the hall, a robed figure raised a hand. “Sixty! ”
Charlotte trembled.
The English privateer nodded. “Seventy! ”
“Eighty! ”The robed figure’s bid was loud, authoritative!
Another, long pause. Then, faintly: “Ninety! ” from Fletcher.
There was a breathless hush in the auditorium. Ninety gold pieces! No-one could remember anyone . . . not even the Sultan’s agent, paying so much for a slave . . . not even a white skin as beautiful and responsive as this one.
The response was immediate. “One hundred! ”
There was a stunned silence; not a sound to be heard for long, long moments. Then a woman laughed, shrilly, before her husband bade her be quiet. Other mutterings and whispering began to be heard until there was a general hubbub from the gathered crowd. “Who is it? Is he mad? Who would pay so much? ”
Ali bin Hussein was beaming. This was better than anyone might have dreamed. “One hundred gold pieces! My Lord Gebhr offers one hundred gold pieces for the infidel. ”He paused for a moment and looked at Fletcher. “Are there any more bids? ” he asked briskly, opening his hands preparatory to clapping them together.
‘Mad’ Jack, white-faced, nodded. “One hundred and twenty five! ”
Again the response was loud and immediate, implying that, no matter how much it cost, the robed man was determined to purchase this particular slave. “One hundred and fifty! ”
Fletcher hesitated for long, long moments then, very reluctantly, shook his head.
Are there any more bids . . . anymore? ” asked Ali, voice a little strained as he looked around the arena.
There was a dead silence, as if the audience was stunned.
Briskly then, Ali clapped his hands. “Sold, then! ” he cried. “The slave is sold to Lord Gebhr for one hundred and fifty gold pieces! ”He turned hurriedly to Charlotte as the robed man left his seat and moved towards the stage. “Quickly now, girl! ” he whispered urgently. “Bow to your Master! ”
The slaver’s training had been thorough. Without even really thinking about it, yet shaking uncontrollably now that the moment had come, Charlotte thrust her blonde head to the dusty floor of the stage.
Chapter Seventeen
‘‘A Girl is Hunted’
In the centre of a little clearing by the spring known locally as
‘The Oasis of Jamal’, two days journey from Tunis, the blonde white skin slave known as Charlotte stood blindfolded in the centre of a roped circle. She was naked save for the heavy leather collar buckled around her neck. She was breathing heavily and the tiny bells fixed to her nipple and genital rings quivered slightly. As yet, however, they made no sound.
It had been several days previously that the slaver, Gebhr, had successfully bid for her at auction. Meylissah, too, had been purchased by him, together with the young black slave, Khigali and a number of others, all members of Jahwar’s crew enslaved by Mulay Aruj. The little column was now on its way by a circuitous route, to take in a number of small villages, overland to a city called Sousse, where she was to be delivered to a certain Aga of Janissaries. She tried not to think about the future, concentrating her attention on the forbidding task in front of her.
The smell of burning pitch from the flaring torches combined with the campfire smells and the spicy odours of cooking food filled her nostrils as she listened to various ribald comments, from which it was abundantly clear that the new whiteskin slave met with general approval.
The hunt was about to begin!
Seven men were in the circle with her. Six, stripped to breechcloths and blindfolded as was she, were the hunters. The seventh was Gebhr himself, unblindfolded and bearing a long, peeled willow switch. He was referee.
Lady Charlotte Brandon, former English aristocrat, now a mere slave, was quarry.
The six blindfolded mercenaries were standing quite still, straining their ears to hear anything that might betray the girl’s whereabouts.
Gebhr smiled cruelly, striking the motionless girl a savage blow across her buttocks and, with a cry of pain and a swirl of bells, she darted away. Immediately, the men moved towards the sound, but already the blonde slave had changed direction and was now standing, trembling yet silent, to one side.
With a growl of triumph, one man blundered into another and enveloped him in his outstretched arms, cursing and pushing the man violently away when his questing hands discovered the undoubted, semi-erect maleness of his capture.
Again the willow switch struck, once more painfully persuading the girl into movement. As before, she ran and then stopped, changing direction several times before standing quite still to evade her pursuers. Over and over again the scenario was repeated, Charlotte each time somehow managing to avoid capture, though the men, now acting in unison to a pre-arranged plan, were beginning to close her down.
The end, of course, was inevitable and a few minutes later, perhaps disorientated by a particularly cruel cut of the switch across her naked breasts, she ran straight into the arms of one of her pursuers. With a bellow of triumph, the man tore the rag from his eyes and gleefully regarded his prize. She trembled, yet stood meekly as his hands roughly explored her body. Excited by the chase, the pursuer was already massively erect and, throwing her roughly to her back, thrust her legs apart with an exultant cry.
Conscious of the instructions given to her at great length by the slaver, Charlotte attempted valiantly to welcome her rapist’s maleness into her body, though, due partly to her own fear and partly to the man’s haste in penetrating her, she was as yet dry and unready for him. She remembered the savage whipping inflicted on her by Mulay Aruj’s catamites, the fading marks of which could still be seen on the front of her body. The lesson had been salutary. Dry and unready or no, Charlotte had made up her mind to do absolutely anything to avoid similar treatment by her new Master. Gasping and crying, frantically attempt
ing to match the initially painful, brutal thrusting movements of the man on top of her, she tried desperately to bring him to a swift conclusion. In fact, the man’s own excitement proved to be his undoing and, within a minute, he was jerking spasmodically, emptying himself uncontrollably into the soft warm tunnel of flesh cozening him so sweetly.
A little abashed at his poor showing, the mercenary still made the best of it. Red-faced and sweating, he climbed from the recumbent body of his victim, cheerfully accepting the ribald jeers of his fellows.
Charlotte continued to lie as she was, waiting for permission to move.
Roughly, Gebhr lifted her to her feet and pushed her once more into the centre of the circle, spinning her round and round so she had no way of knowing in which direction she faced. Then, moving back amongst the men, he re-tied their blindfolds, before spinning them also.
Tradition demanded that this should be done. The hunt had to be even-handed.
The man who had just raped her made his way out of the circle and sat down by the campfire, grinning widely, to watch. His part in the hunt was finished.
Inside the circle, Charlotte was once again standing rigid, desperately attempting to control her breathing so that no sound from her bells would betray her position. The slaver had been quite clear. She was to play the game out for as long as she possibly could. Any perceived slacking and her punishment would be most severe.
The switch flicked out again, catching her this time across the delightfully curved mound of her smooth and depilated pudenda, and once more she jerked into motion. The game was shorter this time, she caught quickly and taken, as with the man’s predecessor, swiftly and brutally while the others cheered. Not so painful as the first, her sexual passage having now been opened, this second rape coming so close on the heels as the first nevertheless proved something of an ordeal. Even so, as instructed, she co-operated as much as she could with her assailant, lifting and spreading her legs as he pounded mercilessly into her quivering flesh. Then, almost as quickly as the first, it was over and this man, too, took his place by the campfire.
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