Felicia

by S. J. Lewis

  There were so many terrible things she experienced here that it was hard for Felicia at first to pick out the worst. Rape was bad. Anal rape was worse. Whippings and beatings were even worse than that. But she had no power at all in any of those things. They were simply done to her. Then she was merely a helpless victim, and all she could do was endure it.

  But then there were things that required her to actively submit and do what she was told. Those things brought more powerful feelings of shame than the rapes or the beatings, because she submitted. There, giving oral sex to men was the absolute worst. She could not simply kneel there and let them fuck her mouth, although sometimes that was exactly what they wanted. No, she had to try to give them pleasure, to bring them to orgasm, and then to swallow what they ejaculated into her mouth, no matter how it felt or tasted. Then she took part in her own humiliation and debasement, often in front of an audience of men eager for their turn. The fact that her hands were often bound behind her for those sessions did not diminish her own responsibility for what she did in the least.

  After that came the posing. The sheik, her master, often had visitors. They seemed to come from all over the world. Felicia had no idea who any of them were, really, or what they did, or why they visited. But the sheik’s hospitality to them often extended to his offering them their choice of a harem slave for the night. Then all the slave women would be assembled in a room and made to pose while the visitor or visitors walked among them and made their choice.

  ‘Wahed’ was always the first pose they must strike. They must kneel, backs straight, heads down in submission, their knees spread wide and their hands resting on their thighs, palms up. ‘Etnen’ was a second pose that seemed to be quite popular with the guests. The women must stay on their knees with their knees still spread widely, and twine their fingers together behind their heads, arching their backs to seductively display their breasts. Often, when the women were in that pose, the visitors would fondle them. Then the women must always turn their eyes away from the visitor, though they were forbidden to turn their heads in the least. ‘Talatah’ often followed if the visitors seemed to have any difficulty in making a choice. There, the women must still keep their knees spread as they bent over forward to touch their foreheads to the floor and stretch their arms out in front of them. That pose put their pussies on display from a new angle, and never failed to make Felicia’s cheeks burn with shame when she took it. It was crude and obscene. It was also degradingly submissive. What made it all the worse for her was the fact that while they sometimes removed her nipple rings or belly ring they never, ever removed her labial rings and when she was bent over like that with her legs spread those rings were easily visible. Even when they weren’t visible, even after all the time she had had to wear them, Felicia could always feel them nestling there in her pussy, reminding her constantly that she was a slave. The men who fucked her seemed to get an extra little kick feeling them against their cocks. More than one had made some crude and nasty comment about them, often while they were pumping her. She was not permitted to say anything at all unless she was asked a direct question, and the men rarely did that. They seemed to take pleasure in the visible discomfort their comments brought her.

  Also, from time to time, the sheik hosted parties. His guests then were almost always Europeans, and Felicia had come to loathe them. They were always rich and callous, no matter what language they spoke. They often treated her worse than any of the sheik’s other visitors did.

  Sometimes, the parties were held in a huge walled garden. It had fountains, a small pool, and many small alcoves screened from casual view by thick plantings. The only things Felicia recognized in the garden were palm trees that provided some shade. Every other green and growing thing was utterly unfamiliar to her.

  While Felicia enjoyed the opportunity to get outside once in a while, the garden parties, like everything else here, came at a price. Often, the harem slaves were allowed to roam the gardens at will. When that happened, they always wore leather collars, whether they were naked or wearing some harem costume. The sheik’s guests would then roam the gardens themselves, seeking out the slaves. Each of them carried a leash. If they found a slave that struck their fancy, they were free to clip the leash to the collar and claim that particular slave for the night. On these occasions, slaves were allowed to try to hide, but that was never successful for very long. Felicia didn’t even try any more. It was less stressful to just get it over with. And, since she was the only white woman in the whole stable, she was usually one of the first to be taken. It was bad enough when she was hustled off to a room and used like a cheap whore. It was worse when she was brought back like some prize and shown off to the less fortunate guests, with all those strange men fondling her body and jabbering excitedly to each other about her qualities. She hardly ever understood a word that was said, but she could always make an informed guess based on what part of her body was being handled at the time. They always took a keen interest in her breasts, whether she was wearing her nipple rings or not.

  And then there was one time when that wizened little man had caught her, leashed her and bound her hands before making her lie down on the ground and spread her legs so that he could examine her body at his leisure. He had been almost ecstatic when he discovered her labial rings. He unclipped the leash from her collar and clipped it to those rings instead. Afterwards, he took a vicious, sadistic pleasure in leading her around like that as he showed her off. She didn’t dare resist him in any way, no matter how shameful the display was to her. Once he had tired of his game, he took her back to his room, left the leash clipped to her rings, and buggered her vigorously until he got tired of her.

  She tried not to think about all those things, but she never succeeded. All she could hope for was to drift back to the oblivion of sleep.

  She heard the click of the door to the harem being opened surreptitiously. She didn’t know who might be coming here at this unholy hour, so she did her best to feign sleep. The hinges on the door always creaked. Even when the door was opened very slowly, there was a faint noise. Felicia was lying with her back to the door, so she couldn’t see anything. She just laid still and waited. Maybe whoever it was hadn’t come in here for her. The longer she’d been here the less often she was chosen above all the other women. She hoped that that trend would continue. But then she heard someone come right up to the couch where she and Neha lay. A moment later, someone tweaked her big toe. At the same time, she heard Neha whine and felt the slender dancer move.

  She opened her eyes and turned her head. Selim was there, looming large and menacing in the dimness. He beckoned her with a crooked finger, and did the same to Neha before he walked back to the door and waited.

  “This is not good,” Neha whispered to her as they made a show of waking and stretching.

  “Why not?” Felicia whispered back.

  “The master sometimes gets headaches,” Neha answered, still whispering. “If they are bad enough, he cannot sleep and sends for a slave to comfort him.” She paused, as if wondering whether or not to continue. “The headaches make him very…mean.”

  “Why did he send for two of us this time?” Felicia asked.

  “I do not know,” Neha replied. “We will no doubt find out. I fear it will be painful.”

  Felicia shuddered as she fell in behind Neha. Selim gestured them on through the doorway. They waited quietly in the hallway as he slowly shut the door, then stepped aside to let him pass and lead the way.

  The sheik’s palace – Felicia could only think of it as such, since it sprawled over so much ground and was furnished in such opulence – was very quiet at this hour. They passed no one else on their walk, not even one of the servants who were almost always scurrying around on some errand or another. When they came to the door of the sheik’s quarters, Selim halted and knocked very lightly.

  “Enter.” The sheik’s voice sounded weak and tired. Selim opened the door, ushered the women in, and shut the door behind them, le
aving them alone with their master. He was sitting in an overstuffed armchair that looked as if it would be better suited to an English estate than an oriental boudoir. Felicia followed Neha’s lead and approached the man slowly, eyes downcast. When Neha stopped some six feet away from the sheik and prostrated herself in front of him, Felicia followed suit. The floor felt hard under the thick carpet. Neha waited, keeping silent. Felicia did the same.

  “Etnen,” the sheik said at last. Both Felicia and Neha adopted the pose, knees spread wide, backs arched, fingers locked behind their heads, eyes downcast.

  “I am having some difficulty sleeping,” the sheik said. “You two will help me. Look at me, you lovely young sluts!”

  Felicia obeyed. Her master appeared weary and in some pain. She hoped for a moment that he had an aneurysm that would burst and kill him at any moment, and then realized that if he died, her future was very much in doubt. The sudden insight struck her with a cold chill.

  The sheik rose to his feet and looked from Felicia to Neha and back again, as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then he turned and picked up something from a table that stood next to his chair. He tossed it at Felicia. She could easily have caught it, but she had been trained never to move without permission. It struck her breast lightly and slid down between her legs. She risked a quick and furtive look down and saw that it was a coil of black silken rope.

  “You,” he pointed at Felicia. “Bind her hands behind her.” He pointed at Neha. Without waiting to be told, Neha bent over forward until the tip of her nose was just touching the carpet. She crossed her hands behind her. Felicia gulped inwardly, but took up the coil of rope. Staying on her knees, she turned towards Neha and began binding the dancer’s slender wrists.

  “Bind her tightly, slut,” the sheik growled menacingly. “I will check the bonds. If I find that you have not tied her tightly, you will be punished.”

  “Yes, master,” Felicia answered nervously. She made the cords tighter than she had originally intended, and when she tied the last knot, she heard Neha whimper faintly. Whether it was from real pain or an attempt to placate the sheik, Felicia neither knew nor cared. She had done what she had been ordered to do. She quickly took up the pose of ‘Etnen’ and waited.

  The sheik bent over Neha and checked the bonds. He apparently found them satisfactory, but he did not look particularly pleased when he straightened up. Felicia thought she saw him wince. She had known someone who suffered from occasional migraine headaches. Perhaps that was what was bothering her master tonight. She thought of suggesting a remedy for it, but, as she had not been given leave to speak, she held her tongue.

  The sheik sat down heavily in his chair. He sighed once, then pointed at Felicia.

  “You, slut,” he growled. “Over there you will find a light whip hanging on the wall. Fetch it and bring it over here. Quickly!”

  Felicia jumped to her feet and padded over to where her master had pointed. She found the whip easily. It looked like a very small cat-o’-nine tails, with knotted cords instead of braided leather. She hurried back, knelt before her master with what she hoped was appropriate humble submission, and held the whip out to him in both hands, bowing her head.

  “No,” he said to her. “Keep it. And stand up!”

  Felicia jumped to her feet again with a breathy cry. She kept holding the whip in both hands, unsure what part she was supposed to play.

  “You are trained,” the sheik said to her. “But not well enough yet. I do not trust you in some things yet, but your body is very beautiful and you may yet learn.” He nodded towards Neha, who was still bent over with her nose to the carpet.

  “She is better trained, and more trustworthy,” the sheik said. “You will watch her, and learn. Do you understand, bitch?” The last word came out as a snarl. Felicia quailed.

  “Yes, master,” she replied nervously. “I understand.” In fact, she didn’t understand at all, not yet, anyway. But she wasn’t going to admit that.

  The sheik lounged back in his chair, spreading his legs. He threw back the silken robe he wore, and Felicia saw that under it his hairy body was naked.

  “You, slave,” he called out to Neha. The dancer slowly came upright on her knees, as gracefully as if it was a part of some dance.

  “Yes, master,” she responded, her eyes on his.

  “Here,” the sheik pointed to his flaccid cock. “You know what you are to do.”

  “Yes, master,” Neha bowed her head and began working her way over to him on her knees. When she was close enough, she leaned forward and began kissing and licking his cock. Her manner was almost loving, the expression on her face almost joyful. Felicia watched and shuddered. She had been made to suck her master’s cock many times, and every time the feel of those coarse, curly hairs on her lips or in her mouth made her want to gag. Neha seemed not to be bothered by them at all. She slowly and expertly brought the sheik to erection. She made tiny smacking sounds when she kissed it and almost inaudible little murmurs when she licked it. All the while, Felicia stood nearby, watching and wondering what she was supposed to do.

  “Enough,” the sheik finally said to Neha. She paused, took a deep, noisy breath, and took the head of his cock into her mouth. She made a wordless sound of pleasure, then began to suck it slowly.

  “You,” the sheik pointed at Felicia. She had been so horribly fascinated by Neha’s performance that she jumped at the sudden sound.

  “Yes, master?” she acknowledged.

  “Begin whipping her ass, slut,” the sheik ordered. “And do not merely pretend to do so. If you do not make it sting, I will turn you over to Selim!”

  “Yes, master!” Felicia said, trembling. She stepped behind Neha, who must have heard every word but acted as if she hadn’t. Felicia raised her arm, hesitated, remembered how skillful Selim was with any kind of whip, and brought the little cat-o’-nine tails down across Neha’s defenseless rump. Neha flinched and grunted at the impact, but it did not affect the rhythm of her sucking at all. The sheik appeared to be pleased.

  “Again, slut,” he commanded. “And harder!”

  Felicia obeyed, praying that she wouldn’t hurt Neha too badly for the dancer to forgive her later. This time, Neha jerked and made a tiny, high-pitched grunt through her nose. She kept on sucking. The sheik reached out and ruffled her hair.

  “This is a well-trained and obedient slut,” the sheik said. “She will not bite, no matter the provocation. Hit her again!”

  It went on. Neha sucked, deeply and wetly. From time to time the sheik ordered Felicia to whip her again, and Felicia always obeyed. She could see red marks on Neha’s round ass now. Neha would jerk and grunt with each blow, but never stopped fellating her master.

  “Strike her again!” the sheik suddenly bellowed. “Now! HARD!”

  Felicia brought the whip down harder than ever. Neha squalled loudly and at the same moment the sheik jerked and groaned as his hand came down on Neha’s head, forcing her to take his cock in deeper. All Felicia could do was stand there with the nasty little whip in her hands and watch as he came into Neha’s mouth and Neha desperately swallowed.

  When the whole horrible scene was over, the sheik seemed to be in less pain, and finally relaxed. He patted Neha as he would a dog and ordered Felicia to untie her. Felicia obeyed with fumbling fingers. Poor Neha’s ass was striped with angry red marks, but the dancer made no sign of the pain she must be feeling. Once she was freed, the sheik rose from his chair. He made no attempt to belt his robe, and it swirled around him loosely as he went back to his bed. He summoned his slaves to join him, and the two women did. His bed was wide and comfortable. It also had leather collars attached to it with lengths of light, strong chain. He laid back and ordered the women to collar each other. They had to lean over him to do so, since the chains were not very long, and he seemed to enjoy the display. Once the collars were on, he bade them lie down to either side of him. They obeyed. There was nothing else at all that they could do.


  Chapter Seventeen

  “Are you not pleased, slave?” the sheik asked Felicia. “You have been very quiet.”

  “I am pleased, master,” Felicia replied. She tried to keep a note of anxiety out of her voice, but knew that she had failed. She could see why she would be expected to be happy about this. It was the first time she had been outside of her master’s palace compound in months. Well, long enough for her tan lines to have faded completely, anyway. She sat on the mat provided for her, on the floor of her master’s limousine. As a slave, she could not expect to sit on the seat.

  Opposite her, little Sabadta was most visibly pleased. She crouched on her own little pad on the floor, looking about excitedly, dark eyes wide and a huge smile on her pretty little face. Their master sat at ease in the middle of the rear passenger seat, sipping chilled fruit juice he had just poured from a carafe. He was dressed casually, in a dark silk suit that must have cost thousands, brand new Italian loafers, and a crisp white shirt he had not bothered to button up all the way. Selim, clad like some bad Hollywood version of an oriental harem guard, occupied the front passenger seat. Felicia knew that there was a black SUV full of more guards traveling down the dusty road some distance ahead of them, and an identical one trailing some distance behind. She did not know where they were going.

  Also for the first time in months, she was allowed to wear something other than one of the obscene harem costumes that never covered what clothes would normally be expected to cover. She was clad in a pale yellow bikini that complimented her honey-blonde hair and fit her perfectly. It ought to fit her perfectly. From the moment she had been given it she recognized it as one of hers, from the life she used to have. She was also wearing her own cork-soled platform sandals and thigh-length white terrycloth beach robe. The only thing she was wearing that wasn’t something she used to own was the heavy golden chain around her neck. It was made to look like jewelry, but she recognized it as a chain choke collar, the kind you might put on a big, unruly dog. Sabadta wore a white bikini that set off her warm brown skin, a pale yellow thigh-length terrycloth robe, and cork-soled platform sandals of her own. She also had her own golden chain choke collar on. Her hair was cut very short, but she had always worn it that way. Felicia’s hair had been washed and combed and brushed until it shone. They kept it at just more than shoulder length these days.