by Paul Blades
She had never thought of herself as a vulnerable person, but now she realized that she had been living under false assumptions: that somehow everything would work out, that the world was a vast, wonderful playground waiting to be explored, that her status and origins would protect her. Now she knew that none of those things were true. All along, she had been a victim waiting to happen, prey for the carnivores of the world. They had been just waiting their chance to devour her. And she had given it to them by strolling willingly into their den.
Eventually, she fell asleep. She did not dream. She was so exhausted from her travails, that her mind sunk deep into oblivion. When she woke, she did not know how many hours later, it took her a few moments to understand why it was still so dark around her, why her hands were bound tight against her chest. When she remembered why, a pall of despair fell over her. There was nothing for her to do but wait.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Leslie heard the door to her prison opening out in the hallway, her heart went into her throat. All she had been able to think of while she was lying in the darkness was that when Faraq came back, she would be whipped. The cruel instrument he had clipped to her collar had been a constant reminder to her. Its long, rough tassels brushed across her skin every time she moved. She could feel its thick, hard handle between her hands.
The door to her cell opened and the light went on. She blinked until she could adjust her eyes to it. It was Faraq again. He was carrying a tray. She watched him put it down on a small table in the corner. She began to whine when he came to her, leaned over and unclipped the whip from her collar. “Get on your knees,” he said.
Suppressing a sob, Leslie obeyed. She kept her forehead down on the mattress, knowing that the cruel man wanted access to her tender posterior.
“I’m going to give you five strokes,” he said, “to remind you of your duty to obey.”
She wanted to tell him that she needed none, but knew that it would serve no purpose. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.
The hard, stiff tassels flashed across her rear. It was as if a sheet of fire had crossed them. He hit her again, and again, making her whine and cry. Twice more, the last seemingly with all his might. She sobbed and her body shook as she absorbed the blows. Her heart beat wildly and her body felt ill.
But it was over quickly. She had endured it. And even though there had been nothing suppressing her speech, she had overcome the temptation to whine and plead for mercy. In a way, she felt proud that she had endured it, as if she was recovering her strength and courage. She also knew, though, that the pain that had been administered was only a sample of what the cruel man was capable of and she resolved to be obedient in all things.
Faraq unclipped her collar from the wall and told her to get up. He put her breakfast down on the floor and snapped his fingers. Leslie fell to her knees, her arms behind her back and waited for permission to eat. He gave it to her with a nod.
It was a soft porridge mixed with raisins and flavored with cinnamon. It actually tasted good. Leslie slurped it up quickly, relishing every bit. It seemed natural today to be eating from the floor like a dog. When she was done, he wiped her face and released her hands. He left the chain dangling from one bracelet for future use.
“I will be back in half an hour,” he told her. “You are to shower and wash your hair. There is some perfume in the cabinet behind the mirror over the sink. Use it under your ears, between your breasts, under your arms and on your belly above your sex. There is a razor there. Make sure that your pussy, legs and underarms are smooth. When you are done, you will kneel with your head down on the bed, your legs spread and your hands behind your back.
Faraq left without another word. Leslie scrambled to complete her tasks. She was going upstairs when he came back, she knew it, and she didn’t want to do anything to miss the opportunity. She used the toilet, washed herself, shaved as instructed. It was somewhat difficult to shave her pussy. She had never done it before. It was strange to be handling it this way, pushing and pulling at the skin, tightening her labia so that she could scrape along its sides. Her confinements were always in her mind: the steel collar around her neck, the bracelets with the chain dangling from one.
It was strange, too to see her denuded lips, so child like, her slit so brazen. She knew that it would be used today, undoubtedly by Mr. Moussa and probably by Faraq too. She wondered who else. Hajib, Mr. Moussa’s son? She blanched at the thought. Faraq and Mr. Moussa were one thing, but to be made available to the whims of a boy her own age seemed grotesque. And what about Jana, the daughter, or Mrs. Moussa? Surely Faraq hadn’t meant them. Before she had gone to the prison, Leslie would have never thought of it. But now she knew that she had to. She dreaded being used by Mrs. Moussa who had been disdainful of her presence from day one. Now that Mr. Moussa was actually fucking her, she would be angry as a hornet. Leslie quailed at the prospect of being under her thumb.
She took the perfume, which smelled flowery and expensive, and adorned herself with it. She brushed her hair until it was smooth and shiny, cleaned everything up and put it back in its place, even putting back down the seat to the toilet. She didn’t want to give Faraq any pretext to beat her. And then she climbed up on the bed, put her head down, spread her legs and put her hands behind her, crossing them at the wrist. And then, as instructed, she waited.
When Faraq came back, the first thing he did was clip the chain dangling from her right bracelet to the left, imprisoning her hands behind her back. Then he ordered her to get up and sit at the edge of the bed. He took some cream and placed it over the wounds to her breasts. They had faded somewhat but were still very evident. He ran his hands under her arms and down her legs, checking for smoothness. When he checked her pussy, he stopped at a spot just at the lower end of her right outer labia. She could feel him fingering a small amount of bristle there. Her heart began to pound and her mouth went dry.
“Lean back and spread your legs,” he told her. He went to the cabinet over the sink and retrieved the razor. He applied it to the tiny area where he had found hair. He shaved it quickly. When he was done, he looked her in the eyes and told her, “There will be a punishment for that later.”
Leslie suppressed a sob, but uttered no protest.
He went to the cabinet and removed a five foot long leash. He clipped it to her collar. “Come on,” he said, tugging it. “Mrs. Moussa wants to see you.”
Leslie had no choice but to follow where Faraq was leading her. She realized that he intended to drag her through the house naked and bound. The thought of everyone seeing her in her disgrace made her heart heavy with gloom. There were usually servants bustling all around the house during the day. They would see her shame. And then there was Hajib and Jana. And, she was to be presented to Mrs. Moussa naked! She remembered when she came into the house yesterday, when they brought her from the jail. Mrs. Moussa had called her “Whore!” If it had not been true then, it certainly was now.
Her heart raced and her belly churned as they traversed the passageway out of her prison. They passed through the outer door and then into the corridor that led to the surface levels. He marched her up the stairs. When they emerged on the ground floor, it was just as she had imagined it. One of the servants was sweeping the floor. He was an older man, tall and lean, with short, salt and pepper hair, wearing an off white colored caftan and leather sandals. He was wearing a traditional round, woven hat on his head. He stopped sweeping when he saw Leslie walking naked through the corridor and gaped at her. She could feel her heavy breasts swaying as she walked. She yearned to free her bound hands from behind her to try and cover herself up. The man’s eyes went directly to her denuded loins, eying them hungrily.
From the light passing through the windows, Leslie could see that it was early in the day, well before 9 o’clock. It was the first inkling she had of what time it was since she had been sent to her underground prison.
They passed several of the maids. In the Moussa mansion, the maids wor
e staid white blouses that buttoned up to the neck and black skirts that went down to their calves. They were mostly young, but the house mistress was older, past middle age. She was usually dressed in a blue abaya that had a veil she pulled up whenever there were guests in the house. As Faraq pulled her into the wing in which Mrs. Moussa’s salon was located, she was standing in the hallway giving instructions to a pretty maid with long, black hair, who looked all of 18 or 19 years old. They both stopped their conversation and peered at Leslie as if they had seen a ghost. Leslie clamped her trembling lips together tightly and tried to keep her eyes pointed to the floor. Tears of humiliation gathered in her eyes.
When they arrived at the door to Mrs. Moussa’s salon, Faraq knocked. Leslie heard Mrs. Moussa’s voice respond. Faraq opened the door and brought Leslie in.
Mrs. Moussa’s salon was decorated in Arabic fashion. There were colorful tapestries and fabrics on the walls and a thick, Persian rug. The room was about 30’ by 40’, large enough to accommodate several guests but small enough to maintain an ambiance of intimacy.
There were no chairs in the European sense. Large pillows were distributed around the room for sitting or lying on. There was a 5’ by 5’ low, polished, gold inlaid table on one side. On the other was a low stool with a high backrest, well cushioned in hand woven, embroidered fabric. This is where Mrs. Moussa normally sat when she had guests, unless they were snacking at the table, and it was where she was sitting now. She was wearing a bright dress with a maroon top. The skirt was translucent with a gold backing and circled by narrow bands of muted, almost pastel, red, blue, yellow and green. It came down to her shins. The bodice had a curved neckline that showed the tops of her heavy breasts.
She was wearing stylish, bright red high heels and her face was elegantly made up, with turquoise shading on her eyelids, just enough blush to bring out the tawny color of her skin. She had long, curled lashes and her eyes were outlined in a light line of mascara. Her hair, long and black, was piled on her head in a bun at the back. It was pulled back at the sides and in the front, giving her an authoritative, business like look. She had a long, elegant nose and almond shaped eyes. Her lips were full and covered with pinkish lipstick. Her hands were resting on the carved armrests of her stool. On her right hand was a large, gold ring with a diamond encrusted onyx crest. On her left was a large diamond wedding ring and next to that, a ring with a dark green emerald. She was wearing a bright white pearl necklace and had matching pearl earrings.
She had her legs crossed and gave Leslie a haughty, disdainful look as Faraq marched her across the room. There was a large woman dressed in a black abaya kneeling in front of Mrs. Moussa slightly to her right. She had raised her veil when Faraq had come in and she was holding it in place with a large, powerful looking hand. Her eyes were outlined in kohl. She looked over Leslie’s naked body with a cold appraisal, as if she were judging her merits.
“Than you, Faraq,” Mrs. Moussa said. “You may leave us now.”
Being naked, bound and alone with Mrs. Moussa was just about the last thing on Leslie’s list of things she wanted to do, but she knew that she had no choice. Faraq might have the authority of a master over her, but Mrs. Moussa controlled everything that went on in the house.
Faraq released the leash around Leslie’s neck. Before he left, he handed Mrs. Moussa the key to Leslie’s collar and bracelets. Then, without comment, he left.
There were a few moments of silence after the sound of the closing of the door while Mrs. Moussa perused Leslie’s charms. Leslie was keeping her gaze down at Mrs. Moussa’s feet, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. She was conscious too, of the woman who knelt to her left and could feel her eyes crawling all over her.
After a short while, Mrs. Moussa spoke something in Arabic to the woman. She had let her veil drop and Leslie took a quick look at her face. It was soft and round and yet carried an aspect of coarseness to it. Her nose was long and broad. She had harsh looking eyes, cold and piercing. The woman said something back to Mrs. Moussa and Mrs. Moussa chuckled. The she spoke to Leslie.
“Get on your knees, whore,” she said caustically.
Leslie hurried to obey. When she reached the floor, she rested her buttocks back on her calves.
“No, not like that, you lazy pig,” Mrs. Moussa said. “Kneel up and spread your legs!”
Leslie rose up so that her back was straight and she spread her knees widely. There was something about Mrs. Moussa that terrified her and she suppressed a sob.
“I never want to see you standing in my presence without permission again, do you hear me, slut,” Mrs. Moussa said. “In fact, from here on in, the only time I want to see you on your feet is when somebody is leading you on your leash, and then only if they tell you to get up, do you understand?”
“Y,yes, sayyadati,” Leslie whined.
Mrs. Moussa laughed. “I see they taught you some manners in our prison,” she said.
“Y,yes, sayyadati,” Leslie replied meekly.
“I would like you to meet Sayyadati Latifah. Her name means the gentle one, but I can assure you there is nothing gentle about her. She is to be your caretaker while you are in this house. If I were you, I would obey her religiously in all things. She has considerable experience handling whores like you. She recently retired from a brothel in Tunis where the girls were, shall we say, under contract. Permanent contract. And under quite rigorous discipline. The same shall apply to you.”
“Y,yes, sayyadati,” Leslie moaned. She looked over at the woman. She had a sinister smile on her face.
Mrs. Moussa said something to Latifah and the older woman replied an assent. She rose from her knees, stepped over to where Leslie knelt and got back down. Leslie was kneeling about three feet away from Mrs. Moussa and Latifah was close enough that she was able to receive the key to Leslie’s bonds by hand. She proceeded to unlock her collar and bracelets and toss them to the side. Leslie kept her hands behind her, not wanting to incur anyone’s wrath by presumptuously moving them.
Latifah reached up and took a hold of Leslie’s cheeks. She had a firm, authoritative grip. She looked deeply into Leslie’s face, appraising her. She turned to Mrs. Moussa and pointed out several features around her eyes and mouth, commenting on them in Arabic. Mrs. Moussa nodded in reply.
The heavy set woman lowered her hands and captured Leslie’s breasts. She massaged them and explored them, like she was assessing fruit. She put her lips to Leslie’s nipples and suckled at them, bringing them into stiffness. When she was satisfied at their state of erection, she pinched them harshly, making Leslie squeal. A look of anger came across her face and she squeezed them harder, giving Leslie a harsh command. Leslie brought her lips together tightly, understanding the woman’s order to keep quiet, and suppressed the moan of pain that wanted to come out.
After she released Leslie’s teats, she ran her hands down her torso, drawing them across her belly. Leslie had lost a great deal of weight since her ordeal began and the woman seemed unhappy with the lack of roundness there. She said so to Mrs. Moussa who nodded again in agreement.
She felt Leslie’s thighs, running her hands on the insides and measuring the smoothness of her skin. Her fleshy hand took hold of Leslie’s hairless love lips, pinching them, running her palm over them, tracing her fat finger along the length of her divide. She turned and pointed something out to Mrs. Moussa who murmured a reply.
The former madam went behind Leslie, feeling her back and rear. She slid her fingers between the cheeks of Leslie’s ass and inserted a finger about a quarter inch inside the dainty hole there. She pushed Leslie down until her forehead was on the rug and made her turn around so that her posterior was presented to the mistress of the house. She explained something to Mrs. Moussa while pushing her finger in and out of Leslie’s anus, and she replied briefly in Arabic. She let her hand flow over her exposed love lips while saying something to Mrs. Moussa. She took hold of a portion of Leslie’s lower right love lip, squeezing it tightly as if in ex
planation. Mrs. Moussa laughed, obviously liking the idea.
The woman forced Leslie back up and had her turn around again to face Mrs. Moussa.
During all of this examination and demonstration, Leslie had to strain mightily to suppress sobs of humiliation and shame. She was being displayed as if she was some kind of animal, a pet perhaps, and the woman was explaining how she could be trained and what her assets were. It brought home to her forcefully her new status. She trembled when she thought of what it would be like to be under the heavyset woman’s tutelage. She was handling her so coarsely, so callously, like she was some kind of object. Her hands were strong and heavy and Leslie knew that in a test of physical strength, the woman would have it all over her. She could make her do whatever she wanted.
When Leslie was back up on her knees, her back straight, her hands crossed behind her, her knees separated as far apart as she could get them, the woman passed her hand between her thighs from behind, covering her pudendum, and asked Mrs. Moussa a question. Mrs. Moussa chuckled and gave an affirmation. At that, Leslie felt the woman’s fingers begin a soft, sensitive dance across her mound. She nudged herself closer to Leslie and brought her other hand to Leslie’s front and began to stroke and caress her belly.
Leslie felt an immediate rise in her lusts. When the woman drew a finger the length of her gash up and down, and then pressed lightly on her bud of pleasure, she realized what the woman was up to. She was going to make her perform for Mrs. Moussa’s benefit, to display herself in passion, to make her come. She issued an unhappy whine.
The woman stopped what she was doing, came across Leslie’s front and gave her a vicious slap across the face. Leslie cried out in pain and collapsed to the floor. The woman grabbed her by her hair and brought her rudely back to her knees, shouting something harsh at her in Arabic. Leslie, her eyes full of tears nodded desperately her readiness to obey, to endure whatever the woman wanted to impose on her silently. No sign that could be interpreted as resistance or protest would be tolerated.
