Chapter 5
Sold into Slavery
With every girl on the Rankin's Pride available to male erections, the pressure on each of us became less. Some girls, and I was one of them, were much favored for this male sport. But generally speaking, the impaling were less frequent. The topical sun made the Rankin's Pride in golden light and warmth, the brig was empty and the men who fed upon our nakedness were increasingly satiated and less inclined to try new things. Thus we came to the port of Benakar.
I have never known exactly where Benakar is. It was neither wholly ancient nor completely modern. And only a few old ships were tied up to the mooring docks. There was the inevitable pipeline and the maze of metal by which tankers could take on cargo. The auction by which we would be sold was scheduled for the following day, and in the meantime we were to be held as wards of the local government which closed one eye to the flourishing slave trade of girls of any color. The import of girls was legal enough but was by no means free of duty and there were tax collectors.
Rankin explained all this along with the bad news that he was forced to turn us over to the locals who would keep us safely jailed over night, and deliver us to the action block in prime condition. The explained also that, while our number has started out with Marjory's four plus myself, this figure of five was now augmented by the inclusion of three of the prior guests maidens in whom their original escorts had lost interest and preferred whatever they would fetch on the market to taking them back home. I wondered who Rankin's guests would find to screw on the way back. But this was none of my business and I felt positive they would not go short. We white girls would fetch a lot of money, but no doubt some dusky maidens could be picked up to fill the gap. I knew the time was close and I was scared.
There were eight girls to be sold, including myself, and we all stood in line while Megan tied our wrists behind our backs and explained that the local law would not tolerate nudity in public. We were draped with a sheet fastened at our necks. Having been rendered both helpless and respectable, we were joined together by a chain after collars were locked upon our necks. The chain was padlocked to rings on our collars at intervals of about three feet. We were controlled and could not dispute. I was told that in earlier slaving days this chain connecting female flesh had been called a coffle. Whatever it may have been called, it was certainly damned effective.
I never got to say goodbye to Rankin. We eight were taken in charge by a uniformed corporal who obviously relished his duty. He carried a swag stick in the manner of the British of another age, and thus none of us were ever in doubt as to where to go. A van was waiting at the dock and we were propelled within and the door slammed shut and locked. We disposed ourselves as best we could while exchanging dire predictions of our fate.
But the ride was short and the corporal took charge to usher us into a dusty building and down corridors until we came to a huge, barred cage expressly designed for what we had become. Uniformed guards and a wardress now stood by while the corporal took up his position at the incitingly opened door. The wardress removed our sheets and thrust us, with hands still bound, into the awaiting cage. The bars were heavy and the door slammed shut with a frightful clang, to leave eight helpless young women wondering what came next.
Nothing happened. After a while we simply sat down against the bars with our necks still encircled by a collar and all of us joined by that chain. We talked but there was no optimism in what we had to say even though there was a general excitement at the prospect of being legally owned by a man. One of the girls summed it up simply, "We all know what he wants us for." It was thus that eight maiden's who were once free now contemplated slavery.
There was a workaday atmosphere about the prison. Uniformed men and women went about their affairs and found little interest in the affairs of eight naked and chained women inside a cage. After a couple of hours our wardress arrived with a pail of warm water, soap and a brush. We were told to stay in line and keep still while the offensive word painted on our bellies was scrubbed off. The paint didn't remove easily and we had rather tender skin on our tummies before the task was done. Our hands were then untied so we could feed ourselves. Later in the day we were inspected by a number of men who made remarks about us in the local tongue and did a lot of laughing. It was a real fun day.
I felt sorry for the girls who's escorts had dumped them. They suffered more than the rest of us. I, at least, had a friendship with the girls from Palm Island with whom I again and again bemoaned our removal from that tropical paradise. From that lovely island to this dingy cage somewhere in Arabia was a great contrast. Every girl did a lot of walking up and down and tugging at the bars. We longed to rid ourselves of the collars and chain. I was between Elsie and Gloria, but Natalie and Janet were at each end of the coffle.
We slept in a row upon the hard floor, waking each other constantly by jerking at the links which joined us all as one happy family. Our dreams were somber and it was only in our waking hours we envisioned the handsome prince who would buy us in the morning.
The new day was suddenly busy, and it was easy to see why we had been left chained from collar to collar. It made us easy to handle and kept us under control. We were taken to a bare concrete room where we were told to use our free hands to gather our hair above our heads while we were hosed down with cold water from scalp to the soles of our feet. Needless to say our soft parts got the most attentions. The corporal, aided by one of his staff and his wardress, then rubbed us vigorously with course towels until our skin glowed. Then, with men still in attendance to make sure we behaved ourselves, the wardress marshaled us to some tables where there were cosmetics and perfumes. We were left on the chain and taken one at a time for her attentions. We stood or sat as directed and got a facial fully up to western standards. And, in addition, our nipples were painted the brightest scarlet. We even got a quick rouge job on each cheek of our bottom. By the time the eighth girl had been attended to, it was time for the grand entry into the auction room where girls were sold. This time the sheet draped over our nudity was intended more for the one dramatic moment when it would be pulled away to reveal what lay beneath. As we walked in single file, I realized once again how convenient our collar and chain was for those who tended us.
It was a large, bare room with a few steps up to a platform, the purpose of which was well understood. Us girls were backed against one wall, and admonished by the corporal to behave ourselves if we didn't want to be flogged. He then opened a door to give entry to a collection of clients. Their appearance was a letdown.
We couldn't help being influenced by the movies and I expect we'd expected flashing-eyed sheiks. But poker-faced collection that scattered itself around the room was rather nondescript. Most wear western business suits while a few were attired in open necked shirts and pants. Since the attractive portions of our anatomy were still covered, and there was a rule against touching the merchandise, we eight girls got less attention than we expected. It's true, me did drift over in our direction, walked up and down the line without saying a word or asking questions, then rejoined their fellows. A hush fell when the corporal mounted the platform and the wardress unlocked the padlock which held Natalie captive of the chain. Still wearing the iron collar, she was pushed up the steps to stand beside the uniformed corporal. He made his preliminary remarks in the local language which none of us understood. No doubt we were described as thoroughly trained in obedience and submission. He then asked for bids.
The first responses were mostly in course humor, easy to recognize. But having gotten the wheels in motion, the corporal then performed the act to improve the bidding. He whisked Natalie's sheet from around her neck and tossed it aside with a fine, dramatic gesture. He then told Natalie to place her hands on the top of her head and slowly rotate to display her assets. He also told her to keep her legs well apart. With not the faintest hope of escape, the poor girl did as she was told which prompted a rash of bids and much comment. The corporal then had his merchandise posture herself in a dozen different ways until Marjory's prize was knocked down for a sum of money staggering in size. Natalie's wrists were handcuffed behind her back, the sheet replaced, and she was led away by a man who didn't seem to care much.
I had been watching the crowd and, as the first disappointment-wore away, I realized there were a lot of damned expensive business suits in evidence. In this group of ordinary looking men there was Money.
When it came my turn, I was frightened half out of my wits but the hand of authority was on my arm. Instantly I sensed a difference.
My corporal made a brief announcement, after which there was a pregnant hush as though the message was dramatic. There was a stirring among the group and a space cleared for one of those with an open shirt. I noticed him for the first time, a man of at least thirty but not over forty. He was a man who carried with easy grace the presence of authority. Without hurry he passed a few words with those standing by before facing the corporal to bark something I didn't understand. Certainly it was well understood by the corporal, who passed me back down the stairs to the wardress who lead me to the exit door and turned me around to propel me back into the prison. I ended up in a cell no more dismal than the rest, but nonetheless forbidding. At this point my sheet was stripped away and the wardress checked to make sure my hair was perfect. She simply said, "You wait," and slammed the door on me. In a return of the familiar bewilderment, I paced up and down against the bars a couple of times before planting my nakedness on the hard bench.
He was handsome, he was Arab. He had either purchased me or put a stop to the proceedings. His authority had been impressive. When the wardress next passed my cell, I asked why I was different from the rest and if I had actually been sold. All I got in reply was a burst of laughter and the admonition to wait and see. I pondered the possibilities and waited. A small cell is a bad place to those who must wait.
Time passed slowly then suddenly he was looking at me through the bars. "Miss Celie Collins, I believe," he said in perfect English. "You may call me Hamid, expect when company is present. At such time you will address me respectfully as 'Master'." The laugher now took control as he added, "Isn't that a gas!"
I couldn't think of a thing to say. So far as looks went, I'd drawn a winning number. But so far as handsome men went, they can be as cruel as any of the rest. All I could get out was a polite, "Thank you for buying me, Sir. I'm very grateful."
The wardress unlocked the cell door and was suddenly gone. Hamid left it open as he sauntered in to demand, "Go through your paces, Celie. I want to know what now possess."
"You mean the things the girls had to do on the auction block?"
"Of course. But I understand your problem. Just a moment while I free your hands." Hamid used the key and his first act was to kiss the back of my hand. Then he seated himself on the bench and told me to stand in the light from the barred window and demonstrate my goods. Immediately before Hamid's intent regard, I delivered all the humiliating acts of submission to reveal everything female I possessed. I was rewarded. "You are very beautiful, Miss Celie Collins. You appear obedient. You also come with the highest references."
I had been standing with legs far apart to display my private area, but Hamid's words were a surprise so I discarded the pose to politely inquire, "I don't understand. Who in this place would give me praise?"
"You are forgetting Rankin Teller, who I have known for years, and who gave me the recommendation. He tells me you accept punishment very well."
"I hate being punished, Hamid. There's no kind of punishment I enjoy."
My outburst earned only a smile. "Rankin did not say you enjoyed everything he did to you, or that you would enjoy everything I might do. He simply said you were obedient and accepted your pain in a manner I would find pleasing." Again the charming smile. "I will find this out myself, Celie. Come, I want these handcuffs on you again, this time in front. It takes a special kind of girl to wear handcuffs gracefully."
I knelt before him and raised my arms. He fitted each cuff carefully before clicking it shut. I wondered if, should I use my hand clumsily, he would return me to the auction block? Handcuffs are difficult for a girl to wear since most of the time you appear to be striving to get them off, and the rest of the time simply don't know what to do with them. Fortunately I had been handcuffed so much I was at ease with them. Hamid seemed pleased.
"You met that test admirably," Hamid said without flattery. "Rankin told me truth, you are a remarkable young women. We will sit on the bench and ask yourselves questions while there is still time to dispose of you in the auction room." He studied me as I sat down. "You have an exquisite body and use it with a natural grace. How many times have you been whipped?"
Anxiously I said, "I am feeling silly, sitting before you like this. I am not sure of the proper address, but I would wish to call you by your name. But I believe myself a slave girl and slave girls do not enjoy that familiarity."
"This is an unusual association which I will make understandable to you as we progress. If you feel easier in your mind calling me 'Master', then do so. I asked you a question."
"Yes, I have been whipped. It seemed to me a terrible whipping."
"I will whip you often but it is good you've had the experience."
"Thank you, Master." I was suddenly disgusted with being submissive, but since I was this man's property, it seemed natural.
"I am a product of two worlds," Hamid said evenly, "Harvard in the United States, and the London School of Economics. I speak English perfectly but I am still an Arab. By the way, Rankin told me you will submit to any man, anywhere upon demand. Submit to me now."
I had become used to the hateful pose. With only a tiny shrug I slithered down to the floor and arranged myself for my new owner. The floor was cold against my back. I placed my linked hands above my head and looked up expectantly, while adding a bit of icing to the cake, "I am yours, Master. Take me."
Hamid simply laughed and, grasping my handcuffs, pulled me back upon the seat. "One more test," he said lightly. "You submit as perfectly as you do all ease. I will keep you prisoner on my country estate for the time being." Hamid resumed his story before I had a chance to speak. "How long you remain a prison depends entirely upon my whim and your ability to charm me out of the chains and iron bars which are now your lot in life." He gestured almost wearily, "As you may have guessed from the way they treat me here, I am a very wealthy man. You are an expensive plaything but one I can well afford. In between your cries of anguish I will try to make you happy."
What the hell was there for me to say! I could sense there was more to come and invited it with an adoring smile. Hamid continued reflectively, "My parents were both of this land but I was sent aboard to be half English and half American. Your customs come easier to me than my own. And with the death of my father I inherited not only his wealth but the administration of his empire. What I'm trying to say is that I haven't had much time for fun and games. In some ways you will find me naive. My decision to acquire you is recent."
"I could think of worse masters," I said with some sincerity.
Hamid nodded at my tribute. "You may also know that I purchased the four girls who came from Palm Island along with yourself. Their function will be purely decorative, other than to receive occasional whippings purely for my enjoyment." Hamid's eyes searched deeply into mine. "I hope you have some insight as to why a man finds great pleasure in this marking of the skin of girls. Do you?"
"I have presumed it simulates and prolongs the joy of orgasm, Master."
"Continue."
"That's it, Master. Some people may see a kind of beauty in the act. And I think some girls can reach a kind of transcendental state under the infliction of so much pain. But for me it's just hurt."
I could not be sure if Hamid was not quietly laughing at me. Nor could I be sure if he agreed with my reasoning. Doubtfully I wanted for my master to reply. Instead he nodded in agreement. "You have saved me the trouble of explaining it myself, Celie. I have whipped many girls and always found their loveliness increased many times over by the lash." With raised eyebrow Hamid looked at me in a sort of sly sharing discovery. "You forgot to mention that a whipped girl is almost always much more obedient. But this is so, is it not?"
"It is so, Master." My owner nodded.
"There is one more thing which intrigues me. It was not so long ago that you were snatched from a world and a life in which you were totally free. How well can you cope with memories of that world?"
I managed a shrug. "I have been kept so closely a prisoner, Master, that I no longer think of the way it used to be. There is a million miles between my enslavement and the place I used to live." I held up my steel-clad wrists to add with a touch of bitterness, "It has been like this always, with chain or rope or iron bars. My other life has gone, Master, it will not-intrude upon your pleasure."
"You are almost too good to be true, Celie." Hamid's eyes were deep and dark, and most of the time had been drinking in the contours of my breasts. He got to his feet and looked down at me with what I hoped was pride of possession. "I will not send you back to the auctioneer," he said with real sincerity. "I am indebted to Ranking Teller for much of what I know of you. Grant me time to make a few arrangements and then I'll take you from this disgusting cell and place you in a prison more to my taste." Hamid took my joined hands and kissed each of them before he went away.
I tried the door but it had locked when he closed it. I looked at the handcuffs on my wrists and sighed. The bench was hard but it was all I had to sit on. I tried to sort out the multitude of impressions crowding in my mind. Foremost among them was the persistent yearning for Palm Island. But Palm Island was gone as was my former life. Now a man named Hamid dominated my life. Whether a girl was slave or free, this man seemed every girl's ideal, coming close to the bejeweled prince of girlish fantasy. His suave command of English was hard to relate to his promise of whipping me when he was in the mood. Most of what he said was kind but none of it disguised the fact of my being a plaything, a pretty, painted and scented doll, programmed to submit to his desires.
I figured I had come off a lot better than I might have.
But I wished Hamid had not mentioned whips. It was the wardress who brought a sheet to hide my nakedness from public view. Before draping it, she moved my handcuffs from front to back. Then, in a manner to make me wince, she bound my elbows tight together with thin cord. It hurt outrageously but all my complaints fell upon deaf ears.
As she arranged the sheet to clasp it around my neck, she volunteered something that sounded sincere, "You are very lucky, girl. Your master will be kind and also cruel and every maiden in the land will long to fill your shoes."
"Not with the way you've got my elbows fixed they wouldn't."
"What is a little pain when the rewards will be so great," she chuckled. "Hamid will keep you in a silver cage and lock you in golden chains. Come, he's waiting in the car."
I was thankful for the sheet. With elbows screaming we walked what seemed like a very long distance to the car. It was a Rolls Royce which Hamid drove himself. With amazing strength he picked me up to seat me beside the wheel, handed the wardress some funny looking money, then turned the key. "Welcome to your new life," he said softly. "I know you are afraid, but where I take you now is a place of happiness."
"That woman tied a cord so tight around my elbows it's cutting them in two. I'd be grateful if you'd take it off."
"You should treasure the pain, dear child, it comes from me." Hamid smiled at me sideways. "Regard it as lesson number one. And you would be wise not to mention it again."
I had been put in my place and I tried to bear with lesson number one by wiggling my bound arms into the corner of seat to hopefully reduce the cut of the cords. Timidly, I ventured, "Please instruct me, Master, I have never before been purchased by a man. I know myself fortunate in your choice. I want very much to please. I expect you know how much of a surprise you are to a girl who expected something quite different. I am terribly confused."
"I will be every bit as cruel as any other man, I already told you that. And the cord you bear on your elbows will be a remainder on our journey. I, in turn, am amazed that Rankin parted with you."
"Mr. Teller is a slave trader. There was no shortage of girls on the Rinkin's Pride, and he did with us as he pleased. Somehow he talks his male friends into bring on board pretty young women for extended cruises. The man who escorted me made it sound quite glamorous and exciting. After we're out to sea the girls discover the cruise is not quite as expected."
"The Victorian "fate worse than death" was something you all adapted to?"
"Yes. Rankin's amusements were something to make us obey. No girl needed more than one or two treatments before she laid down and spread her legs. We girls cling to life and it wasn't long before we found submission tolerable or even desirable. I am soiled and second hand."
I got another shrew, sideways glance. "That is your evaluation, my dear. It is not mine. At Shalima, the place to which we go, you will be renewed, you will dwell in beauty and paradise. I have maidens to attend to you, even though they keep you chained."
It was always there, the knowledge that escape would never happen. I now headed into another direction and deliberately used his name. "Hamid, I am confused. You treat me as an honored guest and a slave girl at the same time."
"You are a prisoner, dear child, I do not care much for the word 'slave'. It hints too much of domestic chores. What I desire is to create at Shalima a tapestry of beauty in which every female I possess will play her part. You profess to be confused but that is the way a prisoner should be."
I dared not argue. Visions of being dragged out onto the sand and given a thrashing right there and then flashed through my mind. "Master, it seems to me I speak too easily of things perhaps forbidden. But I don't think you want a 'yes, Master' and 'no, Master' as my limit of response. Is there a danger of my saying things that will earn me punishment?"
"You are seeing dragons where none be. There are no dragons. Don't you realize I am as formal as you in this discussion. Familiarity will come if we give it half a chance. When I have whipped you for the first time, most barriers will dissolve."
"Can't this be achieved without whipping me ... Master?"
Hamid laughed at my innocence. "So you don't want to be whipped, Miss Celie Collins. Well, dear girl, I don't suppose you do. But the results of leather across your bare skin may bring you more wisdom than all I could tell you. Forget everything except that you belong to me."
Hamid had left me little to say. I would probably kept silence had it not been for the unrelenting pain in my elbows. I cursed that prison wardress for putting it on me. But I dared not speak of it. Instead I spoke of something else. "Do you not have wives Master? I thought in your country a man might have several and the youngest served the older?"
"I have no wives. There are girls at Shalima who keep me amused but I have not had time for wives. I have purchased girls from to time and some have pleased me well enough to let them stay at Shalima. Some of them will amuse themselves with you, sometimes painfully. But you will acquire wisdom and some may become your friends."
"Will they whip me?" I got my nipple pinched for that one. But Hamid was amused. "If that all you think of, Celie? Of course, they'll whip you. But no more than you can bear. If it would amuse you, I'll give permission for you to whip one of them. But forget the whip. Will you enjoy being imprisoned in a cage?"
"If it pleases you, Master."
"Oh, come of it!" The western expression fell easily from his lips. "Good gosh, girl, you've got the quaintest ideas about or customs."
We were closer, I sensed it. "You know about Marjory," I said timidly. "And you've purchased her four girls. Will you not impose on them the duties of a wife?"
"What you mean is will I fuck them? That what you're getting at, Celie? Of course I will, just as I will fuck you. That's a beautifully descriptive word, isn't it? I'll try and not use it too often." Again he laughed at me. "Those four maidens will become a part of my tapestry. I will arrange them and do things to them as an artist would use a brush. If you walk in the gardens and find one hanging from a tree, you must not be surprised. And, above all, you must not let her loose. Savvy?"
Shalima arose for us out of the desert's mist of heat, a wall of yellowed, ancient stone encircling at great length the home within. I saw some trees that probably told of an oasis. When the guard opened the gate, I saw lush greenery abounding around the huge house. The Moorish style of the main house might have been ancient or modern, I could not tell, but I instantly glimpsed Hamid's tapestry. There were many gardens and trees and paths creating a paradise in the heat of the desert. There was no main door, just a patio where one entered the cool shadows of the protected walls. Here I was taken from the car by three ardent young woman attired mostly in bangles to accent their nudity. Their eyes were curious about their master's new possession. I was whisked away to a lush bathroom where the tub was huge enough for more than one. The girls not only divested me of my sheet, but also the skimpy clothing that adorned their fine bodies. Then they joined me in the perfumed water. They laughed and chatted in their native tongue until a voice that could only come from the Bronx said, "I bet you'd like to get rid of that cord, wouldn't you, kid?"
"You're American," I said in surprise.
"So what! It don't make no difference here, dearie. We all have the right parts to please a man. Welcome to Shalima."
Surprisingly, the other two girl also spoke English although with an accent. I turned to the American and said, "You're right about the cord. It hurts something fierce. Please untie it."
"Shit, girl, what I asked was if you would like it gone. No one said a thing about actually untying it. We don't have no authority to untie them elbows or unlock them handcuffs. You wear them, girlie, and be thankful it ain't nothing worse."
I was scrubbed and dried and perfumed. The girls fingered and inspected by the three girls who treated me with a mixture of mockery and respect. "You're the sultan's favorite, sweetheart," the Bronx informed me with a touch of envy. "Probably the first thing he'll do is whip your ass."
"You also get screwed a lot around here," said another maiden.
"Or maybe he tie you down on an ant hill." This third voice made the suggestion with obvious relish.
It was a lovely room with a balcony above the lush greenery of the courtyard. It also had a door with lock and key, with the key on the outside. My three now giggling companions stood me in the center of the huge floor and set my bare feet upon a costly rug and used a shackle one ankle to insure I stayed within a yard of where I stood. They kicked my legs apart and each in turn made her hand familiar with perfumed pussy before departing in a gust of merriment to leave me standing with wrists still handcuffed and elbows cut by cord. Clearly I heard the click of the lock followed by silence.
I was the new girls at school and realized how little I knew of the rules of this school. But I had little time to ponder that because the lock clicked once again to admit the male figure of an Arab clad in a white burnouse and that strange headgear. When he turned to survey his prize, I saw the smiling face of Hamid, who carefully locked the door and asked sardonically, "Do I please thee better thus?"
He pleased me mightily. He was the acme of everything I had every read or ever fantasy I ever dreamed. I knew myself owned by and looking at a Man. I spoke simple truth, "You please me very much, Master."
Hamid grasp my bare shoulders and kissed first my forehead and then my eyes and then my lips. I kissed him back with a fierceness ill befitting a slave girl.
"I give you now my first command," he whispered. His eyes roved up and down my frontal exposure before he barked, "Submit!"
I was well trained. In a second I was on the rug struggling to lay back on bound arms. I paused hopefully but Hamid shot down my hope in flames. "Your arms stay bound, beloved. Your wrists remain ironed. Lay down and offer thanks."
Hamid watched as I did as I was told, realizing that with my arms thus secured my loins rose up. As I separated raised knees to provide a good view of what my master had purchased, the momentary agony of the cord vanished at the sight of Hamid casting aside his robe and headdress to stand naked. My heart beat fast. I was both thrilled and scared at the sight of a massive tool designed to please any woman. Here was a man indeed. A man who owned me more totally than anyone in all my life.
I cannot explain these things. The agony of my elbows should have made sexual excitement difficult and pleasure impossible. But when Hamid slipped easily into my sheath and pressed his nakedness down on my own, I knew only an intensity of sensation far beyond anything given me by any other man. With ease Hamid took me to the stars and back, gave me an incessant hunger to match his own. I was tossed upon a sea of agony and ecstasy on which I screamed and screamed, until my lips were sealed by his. Again and again he brought me to orgasm after orgasm.
When Hamid withdrew, he knelt at my side to gaze down affectionately at my return to his world. By another instinct I could not explain, I beheld his glistening phallus and took it greedily within my mouth that it be cleansed.
We moved in slow motion in deep content. When Hamid stood, I imprinted on each of his bare feet a single kiss, which we both understood as a symbol of submission. Hamid lifted me to hold me tight and close. "We will adjourn to the balcony for a long, cool drink." Then he laughingly added, "I know what you want to say, precious girl, you want to tell me you cannot lift a glass." He turned me around and quickly cut the wicked cord and unlocked the handcuffs. Dazed with happiness I helped him massage the deep indentations in the flesh of my arms. It is not easy for a girl to think up endless endearments so I said quite simply, "Hamid, you are wonderful."
At the balcony I turned in alarm. "But, Master, I am naked! I should not be seen."
"There are none to see," Hamid said carelessly. "In any case, none would complain. Come, watch me mix the drinks so that next time you can serve me on your knees."
As we sat and sipped and allowed the desert air to caress our nakedness, I thought back to the Rankin's Pride and marveled at my fortune. When a girl knows she is to be sold on the auction block, her thoughts always tend toward a pretty dream. For me this dream had become a reality, and I knew myself not only physically but emotionally enslaved by this man.
"Did I not tell you, beloved girl, Shalima is a happy place?"
I tried not to go overboard in telling Hamid of my content, aware of his quiet laughing at my earnestness. I was a pleased child. When I was sent to mix our second drink, I was aware of being slightly tipsy. Aware, also, of the return of the lovely smoldering heat on Palm Island. I was also acutely conscious of total freedom, no chain was on me anywhere. As I knelt at his feet and quietly sipped, he shattered my complacency, "I'd be surprised if you haven't already guess, Celie. We'll take our time with these drinks but when they're over, I'll whip you."
Hamid's voice hung in the air. I like to think I took it well. For several moments I tensed in shock before realizing how right he was saying I should have guessed it. In this lovely world of Shalima a girl and a whip are never far apart. I took a big drink and did my best to hide the fear. "Thank you, Master, you told me it would happen. I will try to make you proud of owning me." I felt a fool at the speech but could think of nothing else to say.
I did not prolong the drink. I was determined not to give offense and to please this man for whom I felt a warmth quite separate from the smoldering embers within my loins. I took our empty glasses to the sink then stood before Hamid to make an utterance not far short of the insane. "I am ready, Master. Please whip me."
"And why would I do that, beloved girl?"
"Because it gives you pleasure. And in that I am content." I allowed a pause before adding, "Please whip me."
I had evidently said the right thing. Hamid took me by the hand to leave me to a divan. It was beautifully made and had two levels I did not understand. But I understood when Hamid had me kneel on the bottom level and lean forward to stretch out my hands and lay bare breasts upon the bench. Some sort of clasps the hollows behind my knees and two more doing the same for my ankles. There was now a belt to buckle around my waist. When Hamid pulled that tight, it cinched my tummy hard down with the leather around the narrowest part of my waist, making certain I could not move my hips. "You hands and arms are yours, dear girl," Hamid said softly. "I am curious to see what you do with them."
I didn't do anything worthwhile. I could not reach back and touch any of the binding by which I was secured. I could raise my head, or even rest upon my forearms to gaze around or back in a relative freedom. I began to sense embarrassment.
Hamid's fingers lovingly played with the curves I could not move. He seemed to find a fascination in fingering my curves and testing the flesh. For Hamid it was an enjoyable prelude but one I did not share. I was soon to suffer pain and much concern as to how I would handle it. I was concerned how I hold in my screams. I was certain when Hamid whipped a girl it would be an anguish to remember. I was trembling but kept assuring myself I was not afraid.
"You're are ready?" Hamid's voice was almost a whisper.
"I am ready, Master, please whip me."
My owner had chosen a cane from a collection of such instruments. It was long and it was thin. It cut the air with a whine, and impacted across my flesh to leave me silent in the most vivid shock of my life. The pain was bad enough but it grew and spread. And it was then I made the ugly little noises in lieu of actual screams. I could move nothing below my waist but raised my breasts and shoulders as though in mute protest. Or perhaps to make sure they were not forgotten. In my distress I looked back into Hamid's gaze and then slumped back upon the bench to clasp my face in my free hands. When the cane found my flesh again, the agony told me I had found the master every girl desires.
I did not scream. I have been whipped often since this one first time.
Now I scream. It is much easier to scream than to keep quite. But the effect of Hamid's magnetism upon me made one thing vital in my wish to please. The man who owned me should not be offended by the screech and scream of maiden torment. Somehow I sold myself on the idea that it would hurt no less if I made disgraceful sounds and thus Hamid extracted from me only gasps and moans. My master's use of the cane was steady and hard. I failed to count the number of strokes but when he had appeased his appetite for pleasure, there came a long suspenseful pause until I raised myself to meet his laughing eyes.
"I will take you to a mirror," he said, "that you may judge the quality of my work."
That my ordeal was over was something I found trouble believing. "Thank you for caning me, Master," I said before I realized what I was doing. My master made no move to free me from the bench. Instead he sat beside me and lightly fingered the pained flesh which tomorrow would be very color of the rainbow. And which now responded to his touch with quivers I could not control. In fact, the sensations became pleasurable as he progressed and even though my scolded bottom burned with fire, I had no wish for him to stop.
"Do you realize what a miracle you are, child?"
"I am not a miracle, Master, I am simply a girl who had given pleasure to the man by whom she is owned."
"Come, come, Celie, you know there is more than that. I have never whipped a girl who did not scream. You did not scream."
"I had no wish to offend your ears, Hamid. Screams are obscene." I paused before adding, "But this is the only time I have not uttered them."
"I find it pleasurable to leave you fastened as you are. It is a nice pose that we may not repeat for some time. You will stay fastened as we enjoy another drink."
I looked back to behold his gorgeous nakedness walking for the bar. When he returned to place the drink in my hand, I found that I could thrust up hard enough to lift the cocktail to my lips and share Hamid's toast, "To the most beautiful and whippable girl this side of Suez." I drank with him. I was happy.
Before I was released from the bench I was once more handcuffed. I was so accustomed to these things on my wrists it did not matter. I realized that half the time they were only a symbol of someone's authority. I said nothing as the steel bands were snapped upon my wrist. An odd thought crossed my mind — I wondered who's wrists Marjory was chaining now.
My master's voice cut into my thoughts. "I will free you from the couch, beloved. I have things to do. You may wander as you please. You cannot possibly escape."
I lay upon the bench a long time. I knew it would be painful to sit and, in any case, I was possessed of a lassitude which was no doubt partly due to the refreshments. I wanted to explore and was willing to believe there was no possibility of escape. In fact, at that moment I had no wish to escape. No thoughts of leaving this lovely place crossed my mind. The fact that I had received a severe whipping played no part in my reflections.
I knew myself submissive to a man far stronger than I. I wondered if the whip had changed me. Hamid had sparked in me an entirely fresh assessment of who and what I was.
It was pleasant in the huge, cool room. It was as though the bench on which I lay had shared the pain Hamid had inflicted. I was comfortable and allowed my fancies to wander where they would. They took me immediately to the question of why Hamid had purchased me and why we had conversed in the manner of a couple or "normal people". Why was he kind to me? Why did I not resent being whipped? How could he express genuine affection for a girl he had bought and paid for only hours ago? When he called me beloved it was as though I had been his slave girl all my life.
I constantly reached back to play my fingers across the welted skin I had been unable to touch when bound. The handcuffs were a handicap but I could stretch enough to explore my bottom with one hand. The wounds were sore and tender and somehow special. I knew that if Hamid should appear at that moment to demand I submit, I would be in the age old posture in seconds with knees apart and holding up bare arms in supplication.
My dreams were interrupted by a sloe-eyed maiden who brought me what I suppose was dinner. I attacked it with vigor but since the serving girl spoke only her local tongue, I asked no questions. She was obviously curious, examining my nakedness with envious eyes, then pointing to my bottom and making such motions that left me no doubt that she wished to see how injured it was. I rose and left her have a good look at which she clapped her hands and made sounds of envy. She also fingered my handcuffs as though never having seen such pretty bracelets before. By the time I had finished my feast, the day was well advanced and I set out on my tour of exploration with an anxiety to be done with it by the time Hamid demanded my use at bedtime.
Shalima was huge. And here and there impressive in its display of wealth. It was almost a museum but was adequately staffed, mostly by females who accepted me without surprise and those with enough English ask to see the evidence of the master's cane, and all expressed approval. Some told me to be a very good girl. I encountered no hostility, even in the men. But no one would tell me were Marjory's four girls were held. All I got was a stony stare, or a repetition of the advise to be a good girl. It was almost like exploring a museum and in the end I was glad to find an open door and an entrance to one of the lovely gardens. The hot air hung breathless at the end of day. I walked up and down the paths but soon felt terribly alone and was actually glad when a servant took on hand and said, matter of factly, it was time she chained for the night. I was puzzled and far from pleased but allowed myself to be led back to the big, cool room where Hamid had made love to me.
During my absence there had been a change. In the center of the floor was a pile of shinning bronze links on the top of which was a metal collar far too small for any girl to wear. But when I obediently knelt to have it slipped around my neck, it fitted perfectly and closed with a decisive snap. From it ran one end of the long chain while the other was clearly padlocked to a massive ring in the floor. Once more I got the advice to be a good girl and then was left alone.
I was piqued. I had expected Hamid's bed instead of kneeling on a costly rug with a collar and chain on my neck which I felt was a lowering of status as well as a loss of freedom. I got to my feet and walked as far as the limit of my chain, which took me almost to the balcony in one direction and the door in the other. The links followed me around but snubbed me short of anything worthwhile. I was standing and looking longingly at the balcony when the opening of the door announced I had company. I swiftly turned to meet one more disappointment.
She was of the west and her clothing probably came from some big and expensive American department store. When she spoke her voice betrayed an English origin. It was an educated voice and went immediately to the point. "My name is Emily Parsons. I am a school teacher and here at Shalima my duties are to teach the staff and their children whatever English they can absorb. You are Miss Celie Collins, the Master's latest acquisition."
She advanced with outstretched hands to clasp one of my handcuffed hands and say, "It really is a pleasure, Miss Collins. How d'you do?"
She was neither pretty or plain and was possible thirty-five. I liked her instantly and got good vibes from her. I asked, "Do you live here all the time?"
"Of course, I have a very full day with all I have to teach. And I am not chained at bed time or kept in a cage. I am not as fortunate as you."
"You mean you're free!"
"I'm sure that seems strange to you, Miss Collins, but, yes, I am simply under contract to provide scholastic services. Otherwise I come and go as I please." She chuckled. "In case you're interested, the salary is more than generous."
I stood there, breathing heavily, and viewing the inevitable. "Then perhaps you can do something about getting me released and sent back home. This morning I was sold by auction, and before that I was a prisoner of several people for a long time." I stopped to catch my breath. "You will do that for me, won't you?"
"I'm afraid not, dear. You are by no means the first to ask. But these matters are internal to Hamid's household and I dare not interfere. No one would thank me for intruding." She patted my cheek gently. "I'm afraid you truly are the slave girl you believe. And I doubt very much you'll ever been given opportunity to escape."
"But I don't understand this refusal to help."
"My dear girl, if I did what you ask, I'd be immediately deported in disgrace and find myself on everyone's black list." She paused for a second before adding, "If not worse."
"You're telling me I'm a slave for life?"
"Quite probably. Most certainly for as long as you have youth and beauty. You've got looks in an abundance to make me jealous. Since that chain on your neck isn't long enough to reach the furniture, would you like me to drag over a couple of chairs or shall we sit on the floor?"
I chose the chairs even though the chain would hang more heavily upon my neck. The atmosphere this western woman evoked made squatting on the floor something I did not want to do.
"Look, I see a bar over there," she said, "shall I make us both a couple of drinks?"
Miss Parsons had either been informed or glimpsed my discolored skin. Casually she remarked, "His Nibs thrashed your bottom, didn't he? It's always referred to as 'Shalima's Welcome'. Most of the servants have had it too. Would you mind showing me how badly the Lord and Master has marked your skin?"
Again I displayed my wounds and wondered if Miss Parsons had a Shalima Welcome herself, or might be subject to whippings herself but I kept the thought to myself. Even though I winced as I sat down, I wryly proposed a toast, "Here's to slave girls, long may they be in pain."
"You're taking it very well, dear. The nakedness thing would drive me up the wall, to say nothing of all the rest. But, of course, you did say you had previous experience."
"There were four other girls purchased with me ... ?"
"Oh, those poor creatures." Miss Parsons was still dealing in obvious affairs. "They're sort of being conditioned tonight. He's got them heavily chained in a dungeon. They're quite sure they've come to the end of their young lives. But tomorrow they'll be introduced to a sort of Persian Paradise. They won't know what's happening. It's a cute little trick his Nibs loves to play on girls. Don't worry, they won't be tortured."
"But why did he buy them?"
"So far as I know, it's to provide a pool of unmarked skin." Miss Parsons eyed me doubtfully. "You see, dear, your owner is a man of vast enterprise. There comes to Shalima a good many men from whom he can extract a favor by making a gift of a lovely girl with unmarked skin, all ready and waiting for a man's whip." My companion laughed disgusted. "As far as I can tell, Celie, every man, especially if he's got any money, wants to whip a naked girl more than he wants anything else in the world. The fact is those four maidens are going to lead a really wonderful existence until one of these male monsters comes to call. Fortunately, it's not all that often."
"But they'll always be marked."
"So will you, dear. Forget it, it's a fact of life." I was feeling much more secure. Emila Parsons was a rock on the shifting sands of my enslavement. I felt free to ask, "I was told to call the owner of this place by the Christian name of Hamid, and to call him 'Master' only on formal occasions. I don't understand this familiarity. What do you call him?"
"Well, that's easy, dear. I simply call him Sir. His full name is Hamid Bed Shardela, and his power and authority is almost frightening. He inherited most of it and actually isn't a bad chap in his own way. He wants to be liked but has a passion for white female skin, which he marked according to his mood. I've seen him whip half a dozen naked girls in one day. But, on the other hand, I've seen him make them very happy with gifts and money and privileges." Miss Parsons looked at me critically. "At the moment, it's you who are the Sultan's favorite. But you'll have a lot of hard and painful work to keep the title ... That is, if you want it."
"What if I don't?"
"You won't get your head chopped off, you'll simply be demoted and have to do some work. If you look carefully among the staff, you'll see quite a few pretty girls who failed the test and are kept around as a matter of convenience. And to make certain they don't go back to where ever they came from with stories about what goes on. Don't let any of this alarm you. You can have a full, rich life. And there will be times when Hamid makes you very happy."
"I don't like this chain and collar on my neck, it doesn't make me the least bit happy."
"It isn't hurting. You'd be foolish to complain." Emily laughed and made a gesture of frustration. "I'm afraid that is what is going to have to govern your actions from now on. Believe me, Celie, Shalima contained more devices for making young ladies uncomfortable than you could dream of. But there is always the possibility Hamid could give you back your freedom, along with a check that would take your breath away. I've known it to happen. What you have to do is bend with the wind, don't ever be rebellious."
I held up my joined hands to inquire, "Why do I have to wear these handcuffs? They don't do the least bit of good."
"For the same reason that brides wear a wedding ring, Celie, dear. That's all it is, a symbol. Do you want another drink?"
I had to marvel at Emily Parson's free and easy use of privilege, but I was glad of her company. "I'll have another of these," I said. "But too many and I'm not going to care about chains and whips and being the property of a man."
"I understand Hamid is more than adequate in his ravishment of girls," Miss Parsons interrupted caustically. "It's a disgusting human function I've always deplored. But I suppose some of the girls like it."
"I'm surprised Hamid pays you a salary. He could have easily had you kidnapped and have you without cost." My comment prompted the beginning of a blush. "Is there something I ought to know?" I ventured.
This time the caustic was heavy in her retort. "I'm neither young nor attractive. Hamid would be silly to bother with the kidnapping of a female he had no wise to either to sleep with or to rape. He and I have an understanding that works well. I won't leave Shalima until I've acquired financial independence."
Looking over the rim of my glass, I assessed my companion and wondered what traumatic incident in the past had convinced her she was without attractiveness. Feature-wise she was by no means a raving beauty. But her figure was excellent and the way she carried herself spoke of grace. But I said nothing. All I wanted was that she be my friend.
"Will you come and see me often, or will I be allowed to visit you?"
"Of course we'll see a good deal of each other, girl. As long as you don't get in trouble." She chuckled at some thought. "It's not impossible I can get permission for you to attend one of my classes. Wouldn't it be fun if you became a junior teacher."
Emily Parsons and I liked each other but the hour had grown late and I was becoming tired. Emily sensed this and returned the chairs to their proper place. She took the glasses back to the bar, kissed me lightly on both cheeks, and promised to try and spend time with me tomorrow. Then she was gone. Suddenly I was terribly alone.
With the compulsion of a caged animal, I once more tested my tether. Nothing had changed, I was still snubbed short of both the bar and the door. For some moments I stood reflectively, fingering my whipped skin as well as chained hands would allow. I ended up doing one cheek at a time.
I laid down on the rug and went to sleep. I cannot tell the hour in the night when the wet wad was thrust inside my mouth by firm, strong fingers while I was flipped face down and held there by a couple of painful knees upon my back. My iron collar was released by be replaced by a strap between my teeth which buckled to the nape of my neck. It was tugged brutally tight and followed up by an equally brutal blindfold.
"You do not fight." The command was feminine as sharp steel was pressed against my throat. They were both women, but both were strong. It was easy for them to free one wrist then lock my hands behind my back. I could do nothing for fear of being hurt.
I allowed myself to be raised up and propelled to the door. I tried to scream but the gag laughed at my effort. It is terrible to be robbed of slight and, even with firm hands holding my arms, I was fearful of the fast pace they made me walk.
I could not see but I heard the sound of a car trunk being opened and suddenly I was thrust within. My ankles were bound with painful cord which then was lifted to my handcuffs and fastened tight to leave me in what I knew was called a "hog-tie." I could not move.
The vehicle instantly got underway but was stopped at the main gate where I heard an exchange in a tongue I did not understand. But the tone was friendly. My abductors then trod on the gas to speed us off into the night, a night for me was double black. My terror was total. Perhaps it was just as well I was unable to move.
I knew little of what was going on except that I was captive to two women and being transported far from Shalima. The only encouraging fact was that I was laid upon a couple of soft rugs. Evidently someone did not want me hurt.
I could sense the car speeding across the desert as time passed. It might have been anything up to an hour before the lid was raised and I was lifted from the tiny prison of the trunk. I sensed urgency in the hands upon my flesh but no words were utters as the cords around my feet were freed as was one cuff around my wrist. My back was thrust hard against what seemed to be a post. Behind that post my wrists were once more locked with the cuffs. Swiftly my elbows were bound back, one on each side of the post to which I was being fastened. Next there were ropes above my breasts, then my knees and finally my ankles. By that time I had become very helpless and unmoving. I heard the motor start and then the motor disappear into the distance. I was alone and without the faintest inkling of where I was or what my fate would be. I struggled furiously but could scarcely move.
Once more I knew nothing of time but spent a lot of it chaffing my wrists against the hard steel. I also tried to influence the strap which held me mute, then the blindfold. But I achieved nothing. Naked and completely helpless, I had to await in the darkness whatever my fate would be.
My bandaged eyes could tell me nothing, and as I waited for something to happen I struggled again and again. Try as I might, I could not think of a reasonable reason to be snatched from Shalima to be fastened as I was now. I was scared that for some reason it was someone's intent to leave me here until I died.
The sound of the approaching car was music to my ears. When the motor died and fresh hands tore away my bonds, I was tense with hope until I stood with hands still cuffed behind the post and the gag still cruel within my mouth. But the other ropes were gone and now a knife cut the blindfold to leave me staring at as unlikely a pair as I have ever seen. A man and a woman dressed for the desert, he middle-aged, the woman younger. It was she who spoke.
"My name is Fayella. And this is my husband, Lobo. You are now our property and will do as you are told."
I recognized his face as one of the men present at the auction. I made some sad little sounds to indicate that I wished the gag taken off.
"You will remain silent until we get home," Fayella said tersely. "We do not want you in a state of hysterics so we'll tell you a rough idea of what we're doing."
I shifted myself against the post. The female voice continued. "We intended to purchase you. My husband desires a pretty slave, and I wish to own a pretty white serving girl who I can whip." There was a brief pause as Fayella tested the weight of my breasts. Her voice became curt with anger, "The auction was a fraud. As always Hamid got his way and stole you from our grasp. He's too rich and far too powerful, he gets everything he wants. We have reason to believe he bought and paid for others beside you, but that is of no account. We have corrected this dishonesty and now possess you. You would be wise not to make a fuss."
Fayella's English was almost perfect. She might very well be American or Canadian or English. What but did it matter? I labeled her a bitter and frustrated female from whom I could expect little mercy. Lobo was not similarly educated, his English was blunt and simple, concerned mostly with my physical attributes and that I should behave if I didn't want additional marks on my rump. My hands were taken from the post and once more joined behind my back. My elbows were bound but not with the harsh cruelty of the auction wardress. I was pushed into the back seat of a battered Buick, and one of my ankles secured to a waiting ring on the floor. I was helpless and angry and could not utter a single word.
The couple who now held title to my body were a rough pair without evidence of wealth. There was feminine quality about Fayella, but Lobo frankly smelt of sweat and goodness knows what else. But in spite of his firm admonitions, I got a favorable impression. Still I dreaded the thought that Lobo's masculinity would soon penetrate my sheath.
It would have been nice to talk but the wad filled my cheeks and the strap was as tight as ever. I shook my head time and time again but it held me silence. Like a well behaved child I sat there, swinging my one free foot. Quite uselessly I tried to find comfort for bound elbows but I don't think this is every possible. My captors talked constantly but I did not understand a word.
It was a dusty, small oasis with only a few palms. The dwellings were as sparse as the tree, and few. To one of these Lobo steered the car. I saw no noisy neighbors and was sniffed at by only one mangy dog. I was hustled into my new prison down some steps in the basement. I could hardly believe what I saw when I was pulled into the small room. It was a small cage amidst a room full of junk. The iron bars were not too thick but too strong for a girl to bend. The cage was short enough so that I would be able to barely stand, and just long enough for a girl to lay down on a threadbare rug.
"We don't need this anymore," Fayella said as she unstrapped the gag. "Step inside so I can close the door, and then I'll get you something to eat. If Lobo comes, you'd best do as he says."
The door clanged swiftly behind me. Fayella departed quickly to leave me looking at iron bars. I tried the door but it would open. It was good to get rid of that gag, but that was the only good thing. Before I could decide whether to stand, sit or lay down, Lobo burst into the storage room with about the same urgency in which Fayella had gone upstairs. He was either a man of quick decision or a man in urgent need. He unlocked the cage, pulled me out to a space of open floor where he explained his mission in few words. "You lay on floor. You raise your knees. You stretch wide open. I fuck." It was as matter of fact as a man giving the time of day.
I don't much want to tell of my first ravishment in that new prison but there is still vivid in my mind of Lobo tossing aside garments to emerge as a sturdy, fleshy, pot-bellied son of the desert, with his genital cannon aimed directly between my thighs. If he had smelt before, his scent was doubly strong as he lowered himself onto my nakedness and thrust into my sheath with a rather brutally hard move. I had already learned how to dispose myself with arms chained behind my back. It was nothing now. But Lobo was a heavy man and his thrusts were vigorous beyond his carnal need.
I sighed and closed my eyes. I can't say I enjoyed Lobo's brand of love. His equipment was enormous and he used it hard enough to hurt in contrast to Hamid's gentle way within my flesh. What I was getting now was exactly what I would have supposed if I had seen this rough man walking down the street. I suppose Lobo felt I should feel honored at his attention. To be on the safe side, I did say "Thank you, Master" when the job was done. Strangely I longed to laugh instead of cry but once more had no time for anything before I was thrust back into the cage, the door locked with me on the wrong side, to stand unhappily and watch my new master depart. It looked like another busy day.
My captors maintained a staff, none of whom spoke English but found no difficulty communicating their simple needs to a naked girl locked inside a cage. A teenage girl brought me food and drink, which she passed through a slot in the bars close down to the floor. She surveyed me with a grave but eager curiosity before displaying domestic wisdom by creating a circle with finger and thumb, and pushing her opposite forefinger in and out in a motion none could mistake. She accompanied this by suggesting, "You and our Master, you jig-a-jig." Then, laughing, she turned and ran. I had not the faintest idea what I ate or drank, but it tasted good enough that I left no trace. When the same girl came to collect the plate, she told me wisely, "Is good. Make you most strong for fuck." Once more she ran away.
Being locked alone in a cage is not much fun. Servants came and went, both male and female, on the pretense of looking for an object they could not find. Instead it was I would was examined from every angle the cage permitted. I gave them a careless wave of the hand and sometimes got a shy acknowledgment. But I think the women simply felt sorry for me, and the men knew damned well my loins were not for them. I was mostly left in the boredom of solitude.
I fell into a much needed sleep from which I was awakened by the unlocking of the cage. This time it was Fayella who stood, looking down at my nakedness to helpfully explain, "I forgot to tell you, girl, you should address Lobo as 'Master', and me as 'Mistress.' I'll instruct you in other things as we go along. Now I want to whip you. Please don't complain. I want you to remember that girls are made to cry out beneath the lash. It is the female destiny."
I struggled to stand and looked unhappily at what Fayella carried in her hand. It was a whip and a cane and quite a lot of rope. Defensively, I tried to be helpful. "My bottom was caned yesterday, as you can see. I was caned terribly and is still sore. It is not ready to be caned again." I looked at my mistress hopefully.
"I was told your name is Celie," my mistress said. "I will whip you how and whenever I please. Surely you don't suppose me so blind as to not see those colored strips on your rump? This time I will punish you in other places." As though adding vital information, she remarked, "A girl has a great many places well designed for pleasurable pain."
"Pleasurable?"
"Pleasurable for me, dear girl. I have yet to discover if you, too, find pleasure in the scoring of your skin." There came a lengthy pause before she added, "Do you?"
I remembered what I now thought of as the Palm Island heat. But I felt I'd best play it safe. "Being caned or whipped hurts me terribly," I confessed. "If there is anything I can say or do to avoid the lash, you will find me most obedient. Please, Mistress?"
I had struck a favorable cord. My nipples and breasts were played with reflectively, and my wet pussy tested. Fayella made an unexpected admission, "I like you, child. You are exactly what I hoped when Lobo and I went to the auction to buy a white-skinned girl. I wish possessing you could be more legal, but be assured my whip will hurt none the less. I expect you would like to be fastened to avoid the shame of struggles."
"You mean you're willing to whip me without being tied?" The words escaped my lips before I could bring them back.
"Of course I am willing. There is a thrill in an obedient girl like no other. But I am kind enough to give you warning. If you struggle or complain or run around this room while I mark your skin, you will receive a double dose. I am thinking now in terms of twenty strokes up and down your back. Should you so desire, you can easily raise the number up to forty." There came a pause that didn't last long enough for me to say yes or no. "Do you wish me to tie you, dear child?"
I said yes, I would much prefer to be bound, figuring I would be tied up anyway. So what the hell! To get into the spirit, I added, "Please show me where to stand."
I lost my handcuffs and was thus able to assist Fayella in pushing back enough junk to create an adequate open space in which I could be suspended and whipped with the full vigor of the woman's arm. Escape was far from my mind even though all my limbs were beautifully free. Instead I asked politely what position she wished me in.
"Feet in the air and wide apart," Fayella said casually. "On your back. You don't need handcuffs."
I dared not tell her I had been punished thus before. Instead I scrambled down and thrust my feet apart as though in invitation to a man. I was told to raise up on one elbow to watch my ankles noosed, and raised aloft to hooks already hanging from the ceiling. I lay back and hoped my mistress would be kind.
It took only the first few strokes to tell me I was a lucky girl indeed. Fayella was an artist. Sure the first few strokes within the softness of my thighs hurt enough. But I had become knowledgeable in this vocation of being whipped. The stinging cuts were hard to bear and I did, indeed, struggle and weave my hips around as well as beat the floor with small, clenched fists. But I knew these blows were only half as severe as Hamid's. Or Rankin's, or even Marjory's. I could not be sure if Fayella's charity was exactly that or a desire to spread out the punishing strips for as long as a girl could stand the pain. I knew it would only spell trouble if I feigned unconsciousness.
It was not long before we were joined by members of the staff who were evidently curious as to how the new, imported girl would receive her initial acquaintance with the whip, and just how hard their mistress intended to punish this girl. They came and went but I was hurting too much now to even notice. Fayella was cutting into the tenderest part of me. When she had worked her way up one thigh and down the other, she spatted the whip squarely across my vagina to make me scream and heave and buck. Even when charity holds the whip, it is hard for a girl to keep both silent and still as she is cut and cut again.
About half way through, Fayella dropped the whip to fetch a bottle and sit beside me on the floor. Playfully she tilted the bottle to my lips and I drank greedily. Then she poured a small amount within my slit as she held it wide apart with the other hand. I dared not interfere but said again my humble, "Thank you, Mistress," as the fire of alcohol burned itself out within my loins.
"You have done well, child. I am pleased with you. Let us drink enough to make us happy."
I drank as much as I could get, which wasn't all that much. I could tell Fayella was not going to allow me to escape my pain by getting tipsy. As she sat beside my nude and terribly bound body, she told me of her house, her husband, and the ways in which I would be used. So far as Lobo was concerned, his only need was for me to jig-a-jig, but my mistress wanted something more. She told me she knew I was not a lesbian but would on occasion punish me until I agreed to perform the lesbian service long enough to satisfy her. The rest of the time she would find pleasure in giving me whippings such as now, and inflicting humiliations and binding about which she refused to talk. The time was short before she sat aside the bottle and glass and picked up not the whip but the slender cane I had come to dread. She stroked my bottom with a gentle hand before standing back and swinging the wicked cane to add fresh pain and even more vivid markings to the curves I could not protect. My hips weaved to the limits of my tethers as the flesh between my legs was once more set on fire. Without prompting I made appropriate sounds and motions as the thin and wicked instrument rose and fell as if meaning to cut my bottom to shreds.