by Paul Blades
Inside the tent it was cooler than outside. The floor of the tent was covered by several layers of soft Persian rugs. It was, perhaps, 200 feet or so around. A tall, heavy pole stood in its middle and a number of other, thinner poles were strewn about holding up the black canvas above them. Pillows lay about, large, bright colorful ones with hand woven covers. An 8’ long polished mahogany table sat off to one side. It was about 2’ off the floor. Abib and the woman knelt down beside it while the black man took Leslie over to a pole run horizontally between two of the tent supports. He released Leslie’s hands from behind her back only to tie them off to the horizontal pole about five feet apart. When he was done, he picked up another pole from the floor, about 8’ long, and tied off her ankles as far apart as they could go. Leslie was effectively spread-eagled, ready for inspection by her buyer.
Abib and the woman drank tea and talked for a while. There was a large gold rimmed plate filled with figs, small slices of oranges and almonds on the table. Abib and the woman picked at it as they talked. The woman had a ready, free laugh. The black man, who was wearing a dark green, sleeveless t-shirt and loose, black, cotton pants, knelt down with them. He had a broad gold band around his left arm, up past his elbow and a large, gold earring in his right ear. The woman poured him a cup of tea.
In back of the tent, Leslie saw a group of older women, dressed in colorful, flowing robes that covered their heads, kneeling in a little circle. They seemed to be shelling peas or something. Several wild looking children came running in and out chasing a small, very thin, brown dog. They gave Leslie’s naked body only a cursory glance.
Finally, the moment of truth came. The black man shoed the children from the tent and lowered the flap. The very top of the tent was open and bright sunlight shown through it. The woman approached Leslie confidently. She gave her a not unfriendly smile and began her examination. She ran her hands all over Leslie’s flesh, testing her skin for smoothness. She held her breasts in the palms of her hands, weighing them, letting them bounce up and down lightly, admiring the shimming flesh, and then squeezed them gently. She picked at Leslie’s teats until they hardened.
The black man removed her gag and she took hold of her chin and turned it back and forth, admiring the lines of her face. She looked at her teeth. Her fingers toyed with her scarlet, leather collar and the dangling ring in front. She ran her hands through her hair, down over her hips and over her belly. She tested the inside of her thighs. Crouching, she inspected Leslie’s slit, delicately pulling her love lips apart, playing with the ring lodged in her labia.
When she went around the back, she caressed her back and her rear cheeks, and slid her hands down the backs of her thighs. Leslie felt her parting her rear mounds. Her hand traced over her little brown star and a finger pressed in and twirled around as if she was testing the flexibility of the pursed tissue.
The black man stood in front of Leslie, watching her carefully. Leslie tried to avoid his eyes, but she kept going back to them. He had a noble nose and thick lips. His cheeks were scarred. His eyebrows and hair, which was captured in a long ponytail behind him, were jet black. His chin was firm and strong. His hands, which he kept on his wide hips, were large and strong looking. He stood about 6’4” tall. His arms and thighs were thick and muscular. His eyes were piercing and he had a determined, stern look on his face.
The woman came back around Leslie’s front. She caressed her face several times, her aspect soft and almost enticing. Then she stepped closer. She leaned her thin body up against Leslie’s and began kissing her face lightly. Her mouth hovered over Leslie’s lips. Leslie could smell her sweet, hot breath. She flitted her tongue over Leslie’s lips while her hands ran down her head and over her shoulders.
Leslie could feel the heat from the woman’s body. She felt her lust begin to rise. She wanted to beg the woman to stop, but she was too afraid to speak.
Slowly, her hands descended Leslie’s torso. She lowered her head and subsumed her nipples in her mouth, suckling on them gently, washing them delicately with her tongue. Her hands caressed her hips and then pressed on to caress the insides of her thighs. When one found her mons, a finger slipped in between her love lips. It was then that Leslie moaned. She closed her eyes and cursed herself. The woman had no reaction, but her finger began to slip up and down Leslie’s divide, probing deeper and deeper each time. Her hand caressed her mound, her fingers trickling over it softly. Then she stood back, placed the tip of her finger on Leslie’s love button and began a slow, gentle rotation on it.
Leslie felt her blood rising. She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. She knew what the woman wanted and she was trying with all her might to deny it to her. But the finger was incessant. It rolled and rolled over her clit, pausing only, from time to time, to gather some of her moisture and spread it over it. Before long, Leslie’s hips started to match the finger’s motions. She caught herself and tried to stop, but each time, the mesmerizing, tantalizing motion of the finger brought her back. She shook her hips to try and dislodge it. She moaned again. She clasped her hands open and shut again and again in frustration. Part of her wanted the finger to leave her, but another wanted the woman to seize her mons fully, to begin a steady, sure, all out assault.
And then she could feel it coming. She opened her eyes and looked into the startling, blue eyes of her assailant. There was something captivating about them, mysterious and distant. Mrs. Moussa often played with her quim, tantalizing her, bringing her to the brink of completion again and again, but her purposes had always been to demonstrate her mastery over her, to demean her. With this woman it was different. Her gaze bespoke no intent to humiliate Leslie, not even really to test her. Instead she seemed to be entering into a conspiracy with her, inviting her to take a journey of rapture. It was as if she could look inside of her, transmit her will into her.
The finger stopped its rotation, but did not break contact. It commenced a rhythmic stroke, so soft that Leslie had to concentrate to make certain that it was touching her and that it was not just her imagination. Her lust kept rising and rising. Her thighs began to shake and then her hips and then her whole body. She closed her eyes again and felt herself being carried rapidly down a swiftly flowing stream of desire. The entire universe came down to the minute point of contact between her clit and the phantom finger.
When her orgasm came, she moaned loudly. Her body quivered. Her pussy exploded into a series of hard, jolting contractions. She screamed, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Her hands strained at her bindings, frantic to remove the source of the ecstatic stimulation from her loins. Her orgasm went on and on until she found it hard to breath. When she gave out a deep, animalistic groan that emanated from the depths of her throat, the woman finally granted her mercy.
She watched Leslie carefully as her pussy’s throbs wound down. Leslie’s chest was heaving and her heart was racing wildly inside her. Her body was covered with a shiny, sheen of sweat. She sagged in her bindings.
The woman smiled at her, not a smile of irony and disdain, but one of welcome. She patted Leslie on her cheek and she returned to the table with Abib and the black man.
There was some bargaining and bickering back and forth. Abib was not really in the driver’s seat because there weren’t too many places you could sell a woman way out here in the desert. He might take her up to Tunis to sell her to a brothel there, but there weren’t too many of them who would take the chance on a stolen American.
On the other hand, Leslie had proven her immense value. And the woman seemed to like her. She kept on glancing at her and smiling. The black man seemed to have a deep interest in her as well. But his glances were more fear inspiring. If Mrs. Moussa was a devil, her soul evil and black, this man seemed more like a demon, a djinn, a spirit of the desert. Leslie had done some reading on Arabic myths and stories before she came to Tunisia, and she remembered djinns has having been described as being made up of smokeless flame or ‘the fire of a scorching wind’. They could be evil or good
, had their own souls and possessed magical powers that they often used for their own ends.
As the talking went on, Leslie became more and more apprehensive about being left here. She had thought one form of slavery to be more or less the same as the other, but she sensed that being owned by the slender, powerful woman and her djinn would cost her her soul. She wanted to shout out, to beg Abib not to leave her here. She was afraid, though, that if she did, her new owners would extract a fiendish punishment for it. Aside from that, she knew that once Abib got his price, she was doomed.
Abib and the woman seemed to come to an agreement. They slapped their hands and gripped the edges of their fingers together in a ritualistic hand shake. The woman called out to one of the older women in the back of the tent. She got up and hustled out while another round of tea was poured. She came back a few minutes later with a heavy, steel strongbox and put it on the table in front of the woman. The woman had a small key hanging around her neck in the midst of all of her colorful beads and she opened the strongbox with it. She counted out a large pile of bills. Abib took it and counted it again. He nodded at the woman, they shook hands again in their ritualistic way and he downed the rest of his tea.
When he stood up, Leslie knew that her fate was sealed. All restraint left her.
“Please don’t leave me here! Please!” she begged. “I’ll do anything for you! I’ll fuck you every night! My parents have money! I can get you some! Lots of money! They’ll pay anything to get me back! Please don’t leave me here! Please!”
Her body was wracked by panic. She started to yank and pull at her bonds. “Pleeeeeeeeeease!” she screamed. “Pleeeeeeeease!”
Abib just smiled at her as he passed by. He was stuffing the bills in his pockets. The woman and the man walked out with him, leaving the flap down as they exited. A few moments later, Leslie heard the engine to the BMW come to life. It revved and then she heard it beginning to fade away.
She was trembling with fright when the man and the woman returned. Her face was twisted into a piteous mask. She started to sob.
The woman came over to her, and began to stroke her head, her body pressed up close next to her. “Poor Ghaniyah,” she said. “You cry. It good for you. You like Jaida, you see. You stay with us now for a while. You like it, you see.”
The black man had a sharp knife and he began cutting away her ankle and wrist bracelets. Leslie had hated wearing them, but now was sorrowful that they were being removed. Being the prisoner and sex slave of the Moussa’s seemed eminently preferable to whatever was going to be her fate here. They had possession of her body, but she feared that this wiry sprite of a woman and her companion were going to steal her mind.
Jaida kept giving her tender kisses while the black man kept at his work. When he had all the scarlet, leather bands removed from her extremities, Jaida stepped back and let him remove her collar. Leslie’s body shook as he sawed away at the leather. When he removed it, Jaida stroked and caressed the pale flesh which had been underneath. “Poor little Ghaniyah,” she said. “We take good care of you.”
“M,my name’s Leslie,” Leslie managed to croak out.
Jaida laughed. “No, you see. You name Ghaniyah.” Her laugh wasn’t mocking, but rather, pleasant, almost sisterly.
“No it’s not!” Leslie asserted with more confidence. Jaida just petted her cheek and smiled.
“This be Khuzaymah Najib Mu'awiyah Juzam,” the woman said, stepping back and pointing to the black man. “He my servant. You call him Najib. You get to know him very well.” As she said this, she slipped her hand into the front of his pants and took hold of his cock. “You learn to treasure him.”
She opened her mouth and gave Najib a deep kiss. Najib circled her torso with his powerful arm and kissed her back. When the couple broke, Leslie could see his stiffened cock bulging behind his pants. It was longer and thicker than any one she had ever seen.
“For now, we busy. We deal with you later.” She turned to Najib and said something to him in Arabic.
“Naän, sayyidati,” he replied. His voice was low and musical.
Jaida left the tent. Najib turned to the old women sitting in a circle and spoke to them. His voice was stern, commanding. Two of the women leapt up to obey him, their eyes darkened. One brought over a brown, ceramic lidded pot, about three feet around. Bowing, she opened it for Najib. Leslie could see into it. There were a number of round balls of what looked like dense sponges floating in a milky substance. He reached in and took hold of one and approached Leslie. “Open mouth,” he said sternly.
Leslie considered disobeying him. Clearly, he was going to put the dripping object in her mouth. But she looked at the size of the man, his flexing muscles, remembered the look on the older woman’s face when he gave her his order, and decided against it. Meekly, a tear running down her face, she spread her lips. Najib popped the ball inside.
It had a sweet taste, almost like coconut. The ball filled her mouth, spreading her lips apart. Her tongue started to tingle right away. Some of the liquid slid down her throat.
The other woman had brought over a large wicker basket. She put it down at Najib’s feet and bowed, as had the other woman. Najib waved her away. He opened the basket and took out a black, leather harness. He approached Leslie and put it over her head. It had a cup that went under her chin and extended up over her mouth, smothering her lips. Najib pulled the two thick straps that extended from it behind her head and connected them, pulling them so tight that Leslie’s jaw was pulled closed over the ball in her mouth.
Two straps went up on either side of her nose. There were pads on them, oval shaped, and Najib slid them into position so that they would cover her eyes. A horizontal strap ran along the back of the pads. He brought its ends to the back of her head and pulled them tight as well. Leslie’s eyelids were forced down and she was closed into darkness. Another strap went over her head and connected behind her, sealing the harness in place.
Leslie started to wail and moan as soon as she was closed into darkness. She tried to beg for release, but no sound would come out. Then she felt the man daub a thick, gooey substance along the line of her crevasse, delving his finger in until her pussy’s walls were coated with it. When he was done, he applied some to her pleasure bud. A moment later, she felt him applying the substance to her little rear opening. And then, two dabs went over her nipples.
Leslie was terrified that the man had put some kind of substance in her that would burn and torture her. She yelled and screamed and protested, but no one seemed to pay her any attention. She strained her wrists, trying to get free, but she was tied too tightly and surely. She started to cry.
But when no fiery plinth erupted in her crevasse or her rear, she began to get a hold of herself. There was warmth there, but not a fiery one. It was soothing and almost comforting. Her mind started to wander too. It was like a cloud was descending over it. It was a little like getting dizzy, but not quite, more like a film had encircled her brain and was gently squeezing it. Her body began to relax. A pleasurable sensation came over it as if a thousand warm, gentle hands had started to caress it. Her pussy began to glow. It seemed to radiate and her consciousness started to surround it. The circle of tissue surrounding her rear entrance began to trill. Her nipples felt like someone’s warm mouth was gently suckling them
After a while, Leslie just forgot where she was. Her fear and anxiety had disappeared. She felt so good that she started to hum to herself, letting the sound buzz inside her head. She knew that the sensations were coming from the substance leaking from the ball in her mouth and she tried to squeeze it to get more. Her body was stretched out to its extremes. It felt more open and free than it had ever felt before. She began to believe that if she could just get a little push she could soar into the sky and fly.
Once or twice, she felt gentle, woman’s hands touch her skin. They lightly flew over her breasts, her belly and up and down her sides, over her mons and her hips, her rear. She heard Jaida’s voice, soothing
and mesmerizing, saying, “Pretty little Ghaniyah. Happy little Ghaniyah,” over and over again. While her body rejoiced at the touch, her mind rejected the appellation. “I’m Leslie,” she thought. “I’m Leslie.”
Some time later, she didn’t have any idea of how long, she felt Najib’s strong hands loosening the leather straps confining her ankles. When he released her wrists, she fell to her knees. The effects of the drugs she had been given had passed. Her body felt like she had endured a marathon. Her pussy and rear felt tired and dull. A loop went around her neck and was pulled tight. It urged her to her feet.
She found that she could barely stand. Her arms were drawn behind her and her palms joined together. She felt something slide over them and in between and then a thong wrapped around them, securing them in place. Her shoulders were pulled back and she attempted a wan struggle to free her hands. She didn’t have time to concentrate on that. She felt a tug on her leash and she was moved forward. She was brought out of the tent. The sun was rabidly hot. Her feet burned on the sandy soil as she as marched along. They traveled about a hundred yards and she was brought into another tent. This one seemed much smaller than the first. Najib’s large hands forced her to kneel.
He spread her ankles about a foot apart and tied them to stakes in the floor of the tent. He spread her knees and tied them off too. A strap was tied to her joined hands and pulled back and tied off to a stake. She felt a block of wood close around her neck. It had ropes attached to the ends and it was pulled just high enough so that she could rest on her haunches and yet her back was pulled straight, her neck extended.
A few moments later, Jaida came into the tent. Leslie recognized her scent, spicy, like burnt cinnamon.
“Hello, Ghaniyah,” she said sweetly. She gave her breasts gentle caresses and then ran her hands lightly over her thighs and belly.
She loosened the harness from behind her head and pulled it off. The light in the tent was dim. A battery powered lantern was behind her suffusing a gentle light throughout the small tent. Jaida had a tray with her holding a bowl filled with stew and two earthenware carafes filled with some kind of liquid.
