Arabian Plaything Chapter 6
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Belle continued to supply support for Princess Karina’s throne on frequent occasions. But this back-aching duty alternated with others. She was used variously as a holder, as decor ... stretched, trussed or suspended in numerous ways ... as a support, a footstool, a fan-carrier. Once she became the centrepiece of an electric standard lamp.
These duties were of the lowest kind ... and undertaken by the newest members of the royal retinue. Never once did the Princess show any signs of recognition of Belle. She was just a nameless, unidentified slave of the lowest kind.
All the same, though the Princess gave no sign, she was, in fact, aware of Belle as a member of her personal retinue ... and that she once had been Lady Isabel Dysart. That knowledge gave the Princess a considerable degree of pleasure whenever her mind dwelt upon it. Whenever, for example, she happened to notice it was Belle upon whose neck her foot rested ... or it was Belle who was suspended inverted with a spray of orchids decoratively sprouting from her anus.
Princess Karina liked her slaves to be of the best physical quality. When they were well-bred as well, so much the better. Unfortunately, few were of the calibre of Lady Isabel Dysart. Which was only to be expected. However, difficult though it was, the Princess had plans afoot to have more of this type of woman a*****ed and brought into the Harem.
For how delightful it was to have such proud beauties broken!
To make them submit to one’s will!
To have them trained!
Then to have them used in whatever way one wished!
Sometimes, as she lay relaxed in the quietness of her suite, the Princess would try to imagine what it must be like to be repeatedly violated by one of a dozen hulking great guards ... to be given to guests for their amusement ... to be mercilessly flogged for the slightest fault. Or even no fault at all.
Those were indeed things difficult to imagine in actuality.
Yet, as the Princess knew, they were happening all the time.
Because she wished it.
That gave the Princess the very greatest pleasure.
Days passed.
Weeks passed.
Belle, like her fellow slaves, was in a monotonous, mindless routine of servitude. It was better than the general Harem, where punishments seemed far more frequent. And, of course, it was far better than the Stables. All the same it was servitude ... of the basest kind.
Not so much as an atom of will of one’s own.
A kind of mental numbness began to creep over Belle. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had never had any other life but this one. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had never had any other life but this one. That her earlier life was a myth. A fantasy she had dreamed up. At other times, she found herself wondering whether she had not, in fact, died ... and, thereafter, been consigned to Hell.
For she was, indeed, in a kind of Hell.
One day, having been massaged by Haroun ... and getting a slap on the bottom to signify he had finished with her ... it occurred to Belle that she had not been punished for weeks and weeks. In her life, that was a most remarkable thing. I must have been very good, she told herself with an element of pride.
However, as we all know, pride goeth before a fall.
That very day, Belle tripped and sprawled whilst carrying a goblet of wine to a guest who was visiting Princess Karina in her suite. An important guest, needless to say.
The matter was duly reported to Miss Reva.
“Gross carelessness. Inexcusable!” pronounced the young Overseer.
“I ... I ... I humbly beg pardon, Miss,” sobbed the kneeling Belle.
“I should think so! What a disgraceful thing to happen ... right in front of the Princess herself ...!”
Belle sobbed with remorse.
How could she have possibly done such a thing?
“I ... I ... deserve to ... to be punished,” she wailed. And she meant it!
“And you’re going to be, girl!” Miss Reva strode towards her cabinet. In moments she was back with hr three-thonged martinet. Belle saw it ... and shrivelled inside. She had seen it at work before.
“Haroun!” said Miss Reva.
The powerful Arab hauled Belle up by her hair. His features looked rather sorrowful. He was really quite fond of this English Beauty. Still ...!
Haroun twisted Belle’s arms up behind her back and thrust her head between his thighs. Those thighs clamped to hold her helpless ... with her hindquarters curving high.
Miss Reva slashed down with martinet ... and a terrible cry erupted from Belle.
It was so long since she had been punished!
And the triple agony of the biting thongs was even worse than she had imagined.
Again and again the thongs slashed down. Belle’s howling shrieks grew ever louder and more agonised. The frantic writhings of her shapely bottom were indeed a sight to be seen. A sight which Haroun saw, with considerable pleasure, right beneath him.
A dozen strokes.
Thirty six stripes of encircling agony.
Blazing agony!
And all for dropping a goblet of wine.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in the Palace of Quireme!
“Belle ... a very great honour has been accorded you ...”
The lovely blonde knelt before her Overseer. Already, not long before, another great honour had been given her. She had been assigned as one of the four carriers of her Highness’s litter. Several times, already, she had helped to carry that litter into the Great Hall of the Harem where a large number of guests had assembled to dine and enjoy the various entertainments. Slowly, slowly, she was climbing up the slave hierarchy.
To what end?
Ah yes ... to what end?
But now, for the moment, another honour was to be bestowed upon her. Oh how fortunate a slave she was!
“You have been assigned as one of her Highness’s tongue-maidens,” continued Miss Reva.
Bell caught her breath.
Ah yes ... an honour indeed.
The most intimate form of servitude.
“You will undergo a series of training lessons with Miss Lirium. Then you will join three other favoured slaves who have the privilege of serving her Highness in that fashion ...!”
“Oh thank you, Miss.”
“Silence, slave! But let me warn you here and now, Belle, that if her Highness ever receives less than complete satisfaction from you ... on any occasion ... I shall whip you to ribbons. Is that clearly understood?”
“Yes ... Miss ... oh ... yes ... and thank you ... thank you for the honour!”
Miss Reva said nothing but, privately, she was quite pleased with the reaction to her announcement. It was most fitting in a slave.
A little spasm of desire stabbed through the Overseer’s belly. She unbuttoned her robe and slipped it off. “Just show me how good you are!” she said. Then she lay down on the nearby couch.
“Yes ... Miss ... oh yes ... Miss ...,” said Belle as she crawled forward.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in the Palace of Quireme.
Slap! Slap!
Slap! Slap!
“Come on, girl ... let’s have that bottom up!”
Belle had been lying down dozing, not even having seen the Overseer arrive. She simply felt her flanks seized. All the same, she recognised the voice. It was one of the more brutish ones. A peasant-type Hungarian by the name of Bela.
Belle positioned herself as instructed. As invitingly as possible.
Slap! Slap!
Slap! Slap!
“Oh, that’s a lovely arse!”
Then, fingers probing obscenely. Hands mauling and squeezing.
Then, in it came. Ravaging brutally. Hard and strong as ever. Both long and thickly rounded.
The grunt of lustful pleasure.
Then, at once, the a****l-like ramming.
“Oh ... you beauty!”
Thudd ... thudd ... thudd ... thudd ...
Big, hairy slapping to soft, thrusting bottom.
“Orrrhhhh ... aaahh ... you’re a lovely fuck ... lovely ...”
Belle, straining to hold her position. to support the great hulk who was riding her from behind.
“Oooo ... oorrrhhhh ... ooo ... I’ll fuck ... the arse off you ...”
Now faster.
And yet faster.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud ...
Piggish snorting ...l mouth agape and panting ... saliva dribbling down to drop on the heaving white shoulders beneath.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud ...
“Hoorrrhhhh ... hhhaaagghhh ... OOOORRRHHHHHH!”
The ramming haunches jerking convulsively. An uncontrolled spasm.
Liquid lust spurting.
The spasm died. The jerking stopped.
With a low moan, the hulk, now slaked, slumped down, crushing Belle beneath him. She can only wait until he decides to leave her.
That happened perhaps about half a minute later.
A grunt as he went.
Another slap on the bottom.
“Now go and hawk your wares elsewhere, girl ...!”
Then he was gone.
Once again Belle has rendered service.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in Quireme.
The necessary training was given!
It wasn’t very difficult. Largely a matter of positioning and timing. After several minor failures, Belle was able to achieve repeated success. All the same, it was one thing to achieve success in private, quite another to do the same before an audience. So she continued to be apprehensive.
Then the evening came when she joined those of the retinue summoned to the lofty dining hall in the main Harem. This time Belle did not carry the litter. She had pride of place, walking before the litter, just behind the Chief Slave who led Princess Karina’s escort.
As ever, the tables seemed filled to capacity. Elegant evening gowns were everywhere to be seen; the men wore dinner jackets. With the other golden slaves, Belle stood on a dais surveying the scene. Guests gorging on rich food. Guest gulping down Champagne or deep red Burgundy from crystal decanters. They were merry, excited, bubbling with zest and anticipation. Most were soon half drunk.
What a life this was!
Able to indulge oneself in every possible way!
Especially with the scores of lovely girls provided for them.
From around the walls, the ‘living statues’ looked down blankly. Some posed decoratively; some provocatively; some obscenely. They were there to be looked at, or not - whichever a guest wished - just like a real statue or picture. There was a time, long ago now, it seemed, Belle recalled, when she had often had to occupy one of those alcoves. To stand immobile for hours, hearing the chatter and laughter of the guests beneath, knowing that to make a move - or, possibly, faint - would bring a merciless thrashing.
Yes ... those terrible early days in the Harem.
When one still had some pride. When one could still be so easily wounded. Before one had learnt to submit completely.
Belle remembered looking at the lines of golden slaves ... and wondering. Will I ever become one of those? She recalled the whip-fights. The exhibitions they gave. Would she ever have to do that?
Well, now she knew.
Now she was a golden slave herself.
There that night to perform for the amusement of the assembled guests.
Slowly, time passed. Belle stood rigid. Complaisant. Patiently waiting. Hearing the babble of voices growing louder and more boisterous. Oh what a delightful evening those guests were having!
Princess Karina drank little. Just one single large golden goblet of champagne. It seemed that she was already quite sufficiently intoxicated by the power she wielded.
Diner was concluded!
Entertainment began.
Two newcomers to the Harem were whipped before the company. Their terrible shrieks seemed to echo round the hall long after they had been taken away. Though their servitude was just beginning, those two imagined they had already reached the nadir. Just as Belle had once done ...
A lesbian exhibition followed. Two couples. A beautifully orchestrated performance.
Another newcomer to the Harem was brought in to fellate a Nubian guard. Her reluctance earned her a sound thrashing. Ultimately ... if somewhat inexpertly ... the act was carried out. There was considerable applause as the climax came. Most of the result was squirted by the Nubian over the young girl’s pretty face. Oh, most amusing!
The came the finale.
It was Belle.
Belle ... who was to service three of the most powerful of the guards simultaneously. One was the Arab, Haroun; one was a Nubian, Bimbo; one was a Caucasian, Jozef.
A fanfare. A spotlight. Then the three giant guards positioned themselves. Jozef, who was to be fellated, seated himself in a chair. Bimbo, who was to do the fucking, lay on his back, head and shoulders under the chair. Haroun, who was to bugger her, waited for Belle to position herself.
The Mistress of Ceremonies stepped forward. The audience was suddenly hushed.
“We present ... Lady Isabel Dysart,” came the clarion voice.
A shaft of bitter humiliation went through Belle. Even now, they continued with that! It was indeed, the cruellest thing. Oh how they loved to look at her! The Lady ... utterly and absolutely degraded. Beyond anything anyone could normally conceive. Oh yes, how they loved that!
There was a bubbling murmur of appreciation as Belle stepped forward; her splendid, gold-lacquered body was the cynosure of scores of eyes. They saw her features rigid. Jaw clenched. A miraculous model of self-control.
“Show us your arse, your Ladyship!” called a drunken voice.
“Can hardly wait, can you, you randy bitch?” came another.
The Mistress of Ceremonies raised her hand.
“Please!” she called. Silence fell again. “When Lady Isabel first came here,” she continued, “she showed some reluctance to co-operate with the opposite sex. Now ... after quite a deal of training, I may say ... we shall see that her attitude has changed somewhat!”
Applause. Laughter. Various ribald jibes.
“Lady Isabel or ... as we now call her ... Belle!”
The whip cracked. It flicked only lightly over Belle’s buttocks as she moved forward, but the message was clear.
This was the moment she had been dreading.
I must not fail ... I must not ... I must not ...!
The words drummed in Belle’s brain as she moved towards the trio of males, conveniently arranged on a dais in full view of the audience. All three, during the announcement, had brought themselves to full, rigid erection. Three massive organs awaited her.
She must ... yes ... she must ... service all three simultaneously! Beyond that, she must bring them to simultaneous release.
Belle straddled the prostrate Nubian then, amidst a murmur of approval, sank slowly down upon him.
“Lovely, eh?”
“Like a nice big black cock, your Ladyship?”
Laughter. Giggling. Some clapping.
Belle bent forward to Jozef, seated, thighs wide, in the chair. She took his rampant organ into her mouth ... and at once began to suck.
“Oooh ... another lovely big cock, your Ladyship!”
“Suck ... suck, my girl!”
“Oh ... how ladylike can you get?”
Haroun, the Arab, moved forward. He was the most massive of all three.
Unceremoniously, he drove deeply into Belle’s anus. Plunging home to the hilt. For a few moments Belle’s mouth left Jozef’s organ as a gasping-wailing cry came from her.
Then the rhythmic pounding of the organs within her began ... and her own head began to bounce to and fro as she sucked the third member vigorously.
Tensely the audience watched.
Enthralled.
Tittering. Encouraging obscenely. Sometimes clapping.
“Oh you lucky girl!”
“Three lovely big cocks!”
“Oh ... your Ladyship ... I would never have believed it!”
“My God ... you can’t say the Upper Classes aren’t getting more democratic!”
So it went on, as Belle was superbly ravaged. The three giants combined cleverly. They were experts. They knew their timing. And Belle was working them up beautifully.
Gradually the pace increased. But so slowly, it was only marginal.
Yet ... increase it did!
Belle was giving everything.
That could be seen.
It began to bring applause.
Clapping. Cheering.
“Move that lovely arse ... oh, move it ...!”
“Yes ... yes ... move it ...!”
“Oh, isn’t she loving it!”
“Of course the cow’s loving it!”
“Three pricks at once ... oh my God ...!”
“Faster ... faster ... boys!”
“Give it to her ... come on ... come on ...!”
“Oh ... come on ... fuck her stupid ...!”
The shouts ... the encouragement ... grew to a crescendo. Many of the audience were standing and applauding.
The three giants came to a crescendo too. Virtually simultaneously. It was everything Belle had striven to achieve.
In her own way, she was well content as three jets of bestial lust spurted into her at the same time.
Perhaps, best of all, she found herself climaxing as well.
It would, she realised, have been a worthy performance. A commendable performance. Not, of course, that it would ever be commended. As Belle knew only too well, there was only punishment for failure.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in the Palace of Quireme.
With Belle, need it be said, life had not always been thus...
* * *
FLASHBACK
The lighting in the night-club was subdued. Conducive to romance, one might say.
Lady Isabel Dysart was enjoying herself.
A good dinner. Lots of attention. Lots of flattery.
The Hon. Jeremy Barford, she well knew, was mad about her. Nice that ... as she knew, when the moment came, that she was going to reject him. Reject his little suggestion of sex on the side.
Without her husband knowing, of course.
Oh dear, what fun cock-teasing was!
There was Jeremy sitting there, sporting her just about the most expensive dinner in London, hoping that he’d be asked back to the flat for coffee and drinks (Sir Charles being away on business, naturally) ...
And then ... and then ....
What?
Nothing, of course!
Lady Isabel Dysart was nobody’s pushover.
Nobody ... but nobody ... was even going to get a hand on it. If she didn’t fancy it. Not likely. And, as to anything else ... as to going further ... they really would have to be bloody lucky!
She was in charge, wasn’t she?
It was her body, wasn’t it?
And she could do as she liked with it.
For the time being, she wanted to keep it to herself.
It was while coffee was being served, that the Hon. Jeremy’s hand crept under the table and squeezed her thigh. Quite high up.
Lady Isabel erupted on the instant. Her arm swung. Her open palm caught the Hon. Jeremy on the cheek with a resounding crack.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” she spat ... as the unfortunate young gentleman reeled back.
“Oww ... I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean ... I thought ....”
“Didn’t mean? Didn’t mean what? Oh ... you lecherous oaf ... do you imagine you can make advances to me?” Lady Isabel was rising from her seat. The Hon. Jeremy was cowering.
“I’m sorry ... I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean ...”
“I should think so. My God ... you men disgust me!”
Head proudly high, Lady Isabel stalked from the night-club ... leaving an embarrassed ... and highly frustrated Hon. Jeremy behind.
Oh yes ... cock-teasing was the very greatest fun!
While it lasted ...
THE END
These duties were of the lowest kind ... and undertaken by the newest members of the royal retinue. Never once did the Princess show any signs of recognition of Belle. She was just a nameless, unidentified slave of the lowest kind.
All the same, though the Princess gave no sign, she was, in fact, aware of Belle as a member of her personal retinue ... and that she once had been Lady Isabel Dysart. That knowledge gave the Princess a considerable degree of pleasure whenever her mind dwelt upon it. Whenever, for example, she happened to notice it was Belle upon whose neck her foot rested ... or it was Belle who was suspended inverted with a spray of orchids decoratively sprouting from her anus.
Princess Karina liked her slaves to be of the best physical quality. When they were well-bred as well, so much the better. Unfortunately, few were of the calibre of Lady Isabel Dysart. Which was only to be expected. However, difficult though it was, the Princess had plans afoot to have more of this type of woman a*****ed and brought into the Harem.
For how delightful it was to have such proud beauties broken!
To make them submit to one’s will!
To have them trained!
Then to have them used in whatever way one wished!
Sometimes, as she lay relaxed in the quietness of her suite, the Princess would try to imagine what it must be like to be repeatedly violated by one of a dozen hulking great guards ... to be given to guests for their amusement ... to be mercilessly flogged for the slightest fault. Or even no fault at all.
Those were indeed things difficult to imagine in actuality.
Yet, as the Princess knew, they were happening all the time.
Because she wished it.
That gave the Princess the very greatest pleasure.
Days passed.
Weeks passed.
Belle, like her fellow slaves, was in a monotonous, mindless routine of servitude. It was better than the general Harem, where punishments seemed far more frequent. And, of course, it was far better than the Stables. All the same it was servitude ... of the basest kind.
Not so much as an atom of will of one’s own.
A kind of mental numbness began to creep over Belle. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had never had any other life but this one. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had never had any other life but this one. That her earlier life was a myth. A fantasy she had dreamed up. At other times, she found herself wondering whether she had not, in fact, died ... and, thereafter, been consigned to Hell.
For she was, indeed, in a kind of Hell.
One day, having been massaged by Haroun ... and getting a slap on the bottom to signify he had finished with her ... it occurred to Belle that she had not been punished for weeks and weeks. In her life, that was a most remarkable thing. I must have been very good, she told herself with an element of pride.
However, as we all know, pride goeth before a fall.
That very day, Belle tripped and sprawled whilst carrying a goblet of wine to a guest who was visiting Princess Karina in her suite. An important guest, needless to say.
The matter was duly reported to Miss Reva.
“Gross carelessness. Inexcusable!” pronounced the young Overseer.
“I ... I ... I humbly beg pardon, Miss,” sobbed the kneeling Belle.
“I should think so! What a disgraceful thing to happen ... right in front of the Princess herself ...!”
Belle sobbed with remorse.
How could she have possibly done such a thing?
“I ... I ... deserve to ... to be punished,” she wailed. And she meant it!
“And you’re going to be, girl!” Miss Reva strode towards her cabinet. In moments she was back with hr three-thonged martinet. Belle saw it ... and shrivelled inside. She had seen it at work before.
“Haroun!” said Miss Reva.
The powerful Arab hauled Belle up by her hair. His features looked rather sorrowful. He was really quite fond of this English Beauty. Still ...!
Haroun twisted Belle’s arms up behind her back and thrust her head between his thighs. Those thighs clamped to hold her helpless ... with her hindquarters curving high.
Miss Reva slashed down with martinet ... and a terrible cry erupted from Belle.
It was so long since she had been punished!
And the triple agony of the biting thongs was even worse than she had imagined.
Again and again the thongs slashed down. Belle’s howling shrieks grew ever louder and more agonised. The frantic writhings of her shapely bottom were indeed a sight to be seen. A sight which Haroun saw, with considerable pleasure, right beneath him.
A dozen strokes.
Thirty six stripes of encircling agony.
Blazing agony!
And all for dropping a goblet of wine.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in the Palace of Quireme!
“Belle ... a very great honour has been accorded you ...”
The lovely blonde knelt before her Overseer. Already, not long before, another great honour had been given her. She had been assigned as one of the four carriers of her Highness’s litter. Several times, already, she had helped to carry that litter into the Great Hall of the Harem where a large number of guests had assembled to dine and enjoy the various entertainments. Slowly, slowly, she was climbing up the slave hierarchy.
To what end?
Ah yes ... to what end?
But now, for the moment, another honour was to be bestowed upon her. Oh how fortunate a slave she was!
“You have been assigned as one of her Highness’s tongue-maidens,” continued Miss Reva.
Bell caught her breath.
Ah yes ... an honour indeed.
The most intimate form of servitude.
“You will undergo a series of training lessons with Miss Lirium. Then you will join three other favoured slaves who have the privilege of serving her Highness in that fashion ...!”
“Oh thank you, Miss.”
“Silence, slave! But let me warn you here and now, Belle, that if her Highness ever receives less than complete satisfaction from you ... on any occasion ... I shall whip you to ribbons. Is that clearly understood?”
“Yes ... Miss ... oh ... yes ... and thank you ... thank you for the honour!”
Miss Reva said nothing but, privately, she was quite pleased with the reaction to her announcement. It was most fitting in a slave.
A little spasm of desire stabbed through the Overseer’s belly. She unbuttoned her robe and slipped it off. “Just show me how good you are!” she said. Then she lay down on the nearby couch.
“Yes ... Miss ... oh yes ... Miss ...,” said Belle as she crawled forward.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in the Palace of Quireme.
Slap! Slap!
Slap! Slap!
“Come on, girl ... let’s have that bottom up!”
Belle had been lying down dozing, not even having seen the Overseer arrive. She simply felt her flanks seized. All the same, she recognised the voice. It was one of the more brutish ones. A peasant-type Hungarian by the name of Bela.
Belle positioned herself as instructed. As invitingly as possible.
Slap! Slap!
Slap! Slap!
“Oh, that’s a lovely arse!”
Then, fingers probing obscenely. Hands mauling and squeezing.
Then, in it came. Ravaging brutally. Hard and strong as ever. Both long and thickly rounded.
The grunt of lustful pleasure.
Then, at once, the a****l-like ramming.
“Oh ... you beauty!”
Thudd ... thudd ... thudd ... thudd ...
Big, hairy slapping to soft, thrusting bottom.
“Orrrhhhh ... aaahh ... you’re a lovely fuck ... lovely ...”
Belle, straining to hold her position. to support the great hulk who was riding her from behind.
“Oooo ... oorrrhhhh ... ooo ... I’ll fuck ... the arse off you ...”
Now faster.
And yet faster.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud ...
Piggish snorting ...l mouth agape and panting ... saliva dribbling down to drop on the heaving white shoulders beneath.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud ...
“Hoorrrhhhh ... hhhaaagghhh ... OOOORRRHHHHHH!”
The ramming haunches jerking convulsively. An uncontrolled spasm.
Liquid lust spurting.
The spasm died. The jerking stopped.
With a low moan, the hulk, now slaked, slumped down, crushing Belle beneath him. She can only wait until he decides to leave her.
That happened perhaps about half a minute later.
A grunt as he went.
Another slap on the bottom.
“Now go and hawk your wares elsewhere, girl ...!”
Then he was gone.
Once again Belle has rendered service.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in Quireme.
The necessary training was given!
It wasn’t very difficult. Largely a matter of positioning and timing. After several minor failures, Belle was able to achieve repeated success. All the same, it was one thing to achieve success in private, quite another to do the same before an audience. So she continued to be apprehensive.
Then the evening came when she joined those of the retinue summoned to the lofty dining hall in the main Harem. This time Belle did not carry the litter. She had pride of place, walking before the litter, just behind the Chief Slave who led Princess Karina’s escort.
As ever, the tables seemed filled to capacity. Elegant evening gowns were everywhere to be seen; the men wore dinner jackets. With the other golden slaves, Belle stood on a dais surveying the scene. Guests gorging on rich food. Guest gulping down Champagne or deep red Burgundy from crystal decanters. They were merry, excited, bubbling with zest and anticipation. Most were soon half drunk.
What a life this was!
Able to indulge oneself in every possible way!
Especially with the scores of lovely girls provided for them.
From around the walls, the ‘living statues’ looked down blankly. Some posed decoratively; some provocatively; some obscenely. They were there to be looked at, or not - whichever a guest wished - just like a real statue or picture. There was a time, long ago now, it seemed, Belle recalled, when she had often had to occupy one of those alcoves. To stand immobile for hours, hearing the chatter and laughter of the guests beneath, knowing that to make a move - or, possibly, faint - would bring a merciless thrashing.
Yes ... those terrible early days in the Harem.
When one still had some pride. When one could still be so easily wounded. Before one had learnt to submit completely.
Belle remembered looking at the lines of golden slaves ... and wondering. Will I ever become one of those? She recalled the whip-fights. The exhibitions they gave. Would she ever have to do that?
Well, now she knew.
Now she was a golden slave herself.
There that night to perform for the amusement of the assembled guests.
Slowly, time passed. Belle stood rigid. Complaisant. Patiently waiting. Hearing the babble of voices growing louder and more boisterous. Oh what a delightful evening those guests were having!
Princess Karina drank little. Just one single large golden goblet of champagne. It seemed that she was already quite sufficiently intoxicated by the power she wielded.
Diner was concluded!
Entertainment began.
Two newcomers to the Harem were whipped before the company. Their terrible shrieks seemed to echo round the hall long after they had been taken away. Though their servitude was just beginning, those two imagined they had already reached the nadir. Just as Belle had once done ...
A lesbian exhibition followed. Two couples. A beautifully orchestrated performance.
Another newcomer to the Harem was brought in to fellate a Nubian guard. Her reluctance earned her a sound thrashing. Ultimately ... if somewhat inexpertly ... the act was carried out. There was considerable applause as the climax came. Most of the result was squirted by the Nubian over the young girl’s pretty face. Oh, most amusing!
The came the finale.
It was Belle.
Belle ... who was to service three of the most powerful of the guards simultaneously. One was the Arab, Haroun; one was a Nubian, Bimbo; one was a Caucasian, Jozef.
A fanfare. A spotlight. Then the three giant guards positioned themselves. Jozef, who was to be fellated, seated himself in a chair. Bimbo, who was to do the fucking, lay on his back, head and shoulders under the chair. Haroun, who was to bugger her, waited for Belle to position herself.
The Mistress of Ceremonies stepped forward. The audience was suddenly hushed.
“We present ... Lady Isabel Dysart,” came the clarion voice.
A shaft of bitter humiliation went through Belle. Even now, they continued with that! It was indeed, the cruellest thing. Oh how they loved to look at her! The Lady ... utterly and absolutely degraded. Beyond anything anyone could normally conceive. Oh yes, how they loved that!
There was a bubbling murmur of appreciation as Belle stepped forward; her splendid, gold-lacquered body was the cynosure of scores of eyes. They saw her features rigid. Jaw clenched. A miraculous model of self-control.
“Show us your arse, your Ladyship!” called a drunken voice.
“Can hardly wait, can you, you randy bitch?” came another.
The Mistress of Ceremonies raised her hand.
“Please!” she called. Silence fell again. “When Lady Isabel first came here,” she continued, “she showed some reluctance to co-operate with the opposite sex. Now ... after quite a deal of training, I may say ... we shall see that her attitude has changed somewhat!”
Applause. Laughter. Various ribald jibes.
“Lady Isabel or ... as we now call her ... Belle!”
The whip cracked. It flicked only lightly over Belle’s buttocks as she moved forward, but the message was clear.
This was the moment she had been dreading.
I must not fail ... I must not ... I must not ...!
The words drummed in Belle’s brain as she moved towards the trio of males, conveniently arranged on a dais in full view of the audience. All three, during the announcement, had brought themselves to full, rigid erection. Three massive organs awaited her.
She must ... yes ... she must ... service all three simultaneously! Beyond that, she must bring them to simultaneous release.
Belle straddled the prostrate Nubian then, amidst a murmur of approval, sank slowly down upon him.
“Lovely, eh?”
“Like a nice big black cock, your Ladyship?”
Laughter. Giggling. Some clapping.
Belle bent forward to Jozef, seated, thighs wide, in the chair. She took his rampant organ into her mouth ... and at once began to suck.
“Oooh ... another lovely big cock, your Ladyship!”
“Suck ... suck, my girl!”
“Oh ... how ladylike can you get?”
Haroun, the Arab, moved forward. He was the most massive of all three.
Unceremoniously, he drove deeply into Belle’s anus. Plunging home to the hilt. For a few moments Belle’s mouth left Jozef’s organ as a gasping-wailing cry came from her.
Then the rhythmic pounding of the organs within her began ... and her own head began to bounce to and fro as she sucked the third member vigorously.
Tensely the audience watched.
Enthralled.
Tittering. Encouraging obscenely. Sometimes clapping.
“Oh you lucky girl!”
“Three lovely big cocks!”
“Oh ... your Ladyship ... I would never have believed it!”
“My God ... you can’t say the Upper Classes aren’t getting more democratic!”
So it went on, as Belle was superbly ravaged. The three giants combined cleverly. They were experts. They knew their timing. And Belle was working them up beautifully.
Gradually the pace increased. But so slowly, it was only marginal.
Yet ... increase it did!
Belle was giving everything.
That could be seen.
It began to bring applause.
Clapping. Cheering.
“Move that lovely arse ... oh, move it ...!”
“Yes ... yes ... move it ...!”
“Oh, isn’t she loving it!”
“Of course the cow’s loving it!”
“Three pricks at once ... oh my God ...!”
“Faster ... faster ... boys!”
“Give it to her ... come on ... come on ...!”
“Oh ... come on ... fuck her stupid ...!”
The shouts ... the encouragement ... grew to a crescendo. Many of the audience were standing and applauding.
The three giants came to a crescendo too. Virtually simultaneously. It was everything Belle had striven to achieve.
In her own way, she was well content as three jets of bestial lust spurted into her at the same time.
Perhaps, best of all, she found herself climaxing as well.
It would, she realised, have been a worthy performance. A commendable performance. Not, of course, that it would ever be commended. As Belle knew only too well, there was only punishment for failure.
Such was the treatment of a slave-girl in the Palace of Quireme.
With Belle, need it be said, life had not always been thus...
* * *
FLASHBACK
The lighting in the night-club was subdued. Conducive to romance, one might say.
Lady Isabel Dysart was enjoying herself.
A good dinner. Lots of attention. Lots of flattery.
The Hon. Jeremy Barford, she well knew, was mad about her. Nice that ... as she knew, when the moment came, that she was going to reject him. Reject his little suggestion of sex on the side.
Without her husband knowing, of course.
Oh dear, what fun cock-teasing was!
There was Jeremy sitting there, sporting her just about the most expensive dinner in London, hoping that he’d be asked back to the flat for coffee and drinks (Sir Charles being away on business, naturally) ...
And then ... and then ....
What?
Nothing, of course!
Lady Isabel Dysart was nobody’s pushover.
Nobody ... but nobody ... was even going to get a hand on it. If she didn’t fancy it. Not likely. And, as to anything else ... as to going further ... they really would have to be bloody lucky!
She was in charge, wasn’t she?
It was her body, wasn’t it?
And she could do as she liked with it.
For the time being, she wanted to keep it to herself.
It was while coffee was being served, that the Hon. Jeremy’s hand crept under the table and squeezed her thigh. Quite high up.
Lady Isabel erupted on the instant. Her arm swung. Her open palm caught the Hon. Jeremy on the cheek with a resounding crack.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” she spat ... as the unfortunate young gentleman reeled back.
“Oww ... I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean ... I thought ....”
“Didn’t mean? Didn’t mean what? Oh ... you lecherous oaf ... do you imagine you can make advances to me?” Lady Isabel was rising from her seat. The Hon. Jeremy was cowering.
“I’m sorry ... I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean ...”
“I should think so. My God ... you men disgust me!”
Head proudly high, Lady Isabel stalked from the night-club ... leaving an embarrassed ... and highly frustrated Hon. Jeremy behind.
Oh yes ... cock-teasing was the very greatest fun!
While it lasted ...
THE END
Grace
- 29.01.2023
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