Arabian Plaything Chapter 6
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Hours seemed to pass.
Hours of some of the deepest wretchedness Belle had ever experienced. For the agony in her soul was far worse than the agony of the weals blazing across her flesh.
The tethering ... the bit ... the straw ... the stall ... the sounds of the other Ponies ... all a nightmare. Unbelievable . . . yet having to be believed. No wonder Belle sobbed her heart out. Sobbed till she was weak with exhaustion.
And those who heard her fully understood.
Then, at some time, Sven returned. He carried with him a bucket of water and a bucket of mush . . . which he tipped into the troughs.
“Eat up well, Pony,” he said. “You’ll need all your strength.”
True enough . . . and the unappetising mush, specially fortified and made nutritious . . . would give her that strength. But just the smell of it made Belle want to heave. Moreover, to eat from the trough, would be just another step down the a****l-ladder.
Foolish Belle!
Surely she should have known better? We can only excuse her on account of her turmoil in her mind ...
For, of course, the outcome was obvious.
Another cruel lacing from the crop from Sven. Followed by the crop sawing menacingly across her quaking buttocks until she had consumed every last ounce of that mush and licked the trough clean.
Never . . . never . . . would Belle forget the terrible gulping-snorting sounds she made as she choked down that vile mush. Never ... never ... would Belle forget how it smeared all over her face, filling her eyes and even getting into her ears. Afterwards, there was only one thing to do ... clean it in the water trough.
One might have imagined that Belle’s ordeal was over for that night.
Not so!
First, whilst she was still in her framework and tethered, Sven fucked her. He turned out to be a strong man, ... and one with remarkable endurance. Belle found herself servicing him for an hour ... twenty minutes ... and still the solid length was gliding smoothly in and out. Sven was unhurried and, one might say, methodical. He seemed to savour every nuance of Belle’s sexuality though he did not appear roused himself. There was no panting or gasping. Just the steady breathing of the well-trained athlete which, in fact, Sven was. Despite her shocked state, despite her weakness, Belle — incredibly — found herself brought twice to orgasm. Prolonged orgasm, too. Throughout each climax, Sven continued to fuck her at the same easy pace.
It was, thought Belle, bent there, mouth sagging open, like having some kind of machine strapped on to one. A machine that could fuck one indefinitely.
When, at long last, Sven came to his own climax, he simply gave vent to a long shuddering sigh and, quickened his pace dramatically for the last dozen or so thrusts.
Then, as quietly as he had entered, he withdrew and slipped away.
Throughout, he had said not a word.
Only later, when he had gone, did it occur to Belle that he might just as well have been fucking an a****l!
Still one more ordeal remained. Released from her framework around ten o’clock, Bell dropped exhausted down to the straw. She was still tethered by a halter and rein but the awful bridle and bit had gone. Belle closed her eyes ... and tried to close her mind to the horrors. Not so easy. They kept crowding in.
And what would the morrow bring?
Finally sleep came. The benison of oblivion.
But it was to be brief.
Belle was awakened by podgy hands mauling her obscenely. A fat belly pressing to her. A slobbering mouth. Rancid breath upon her. Kemal, Head of Stables, had arrived.
“Come on, my beauty,” he said thickly, “plenty of time for sleep later ...”
With a terrible effort, Belle dragged herself up from the depths of insensibility. One more effort. Just one more. She felt her head being forced down. Then a stubby prick was in her mouth. Automatically, rather like a baby on a mother’s nipple, she began to suck …
Morning came.
Back into the framework. Then straight out into the stable yard ... there to be hosed down by Sven. Alongside her was Sven’s other Pony, Pride of Erin. Elsewhere the other Ponies were getting similar treatment. Belle gasped and pranced under the cold jets of water which were aimed at all parts of her body. At some stage, she thought she heard laughter. Looking about, she saw in the distance, a group of guests leaning over a post-and-rail fence. Oh yes, what an amusing spectacle those Ponies made . . . just the thing to start the day right!
Then back to the stall ... and into the Tack Room. There to be put on a massage table and ‘groomed’! Cleaned, creamed, the skin furbished! The back to the framework to be harnessed.
The bridle...
The steel bit ...
Truly an a****l again!
Head hanging, Belle sobbed and sobbed ... hearing, all around, other Ponies being dealt with similarly. Whimpers, slaps, the creak of leather, the clink of metal. All the sounds of a stable.
“Now ...” she heard Sven saying, “you’ve got to be brave, Pony.” Belle tossed her blonde main, opened blue-green eyes wide ... to see the stable hand approaching with a glowing red-hot needle. She shrieked ... tried to back away ... but found the framework clamped. Fingers took her nostrils. The needle approached. Then plunged in and out. A sizzle . . . a smell of burning flesh. A louder shriek . . .
There, Pony ... that wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“Mmmmff ... u-ugghh ... mmmfff ... ugh ... ugh ... ughhh...” sobbed Belle wretchedly.
Then her left breast was gripped. The nipple uplifted.
“NOOO .... OOOOOOOO!”
Again the red-hot needle plunged ... and another neat little hole was made.
“NNNOOOOOO ... OOOOOOOOOO!”
Jab! Sizzle!
A piercing shriek followed the piercing needle. But the job had been done. Belle was now ready for the Pony bells which would tinkle merrily from her nose and nipples as she trotted between the shafts.
“There, Pony ... wasn’t so terrible, was it?” A condescending pat on the flank. A pinch of the soft bottom flesh. “You’ll be taken for a little exercise soon ...”
Belle stood in her stall, eyes wide with shock and terror, limbs trembling. Horrors she had known ... but this was a horror beyond anything.
Yet, indeed, that horror had not truly begun.
An hour later, along with Pride of Erin, Belle was led out on to one of the training tracks. She had just been informed by Sven that her name had been decided upon.
Saucy Lady ...
Oh yes ... most appropriate!
All the same, because she simply could not help it, Belle — bent over her Pony framework — moved with a natural, lithe grace. Her action was much admired by other stable hands . . . as was her body.
“She’ll go far ...”
“A real beauty of a Pony!”
“What a superb mover!”
“Just look at those hindquarters ...”
Belle heard all the remarks, complimentary, of course. Though, it need hardly be said, she scarcely found them pleasing!
Out on the track, Saucy Lady found herself tethered to a post. “Just look around,” advised Sven, “You’ll learn a lot.”
Belle did. For now she observed the sweating, straining agonies of being a Pony. She saw the naked figures, harnessed to their carriages (looking rather like small chariots), walking, trotting, running ... heads tossing, breasts bouncing, hindquarters rolling from side to side. Everywhere was juddering flesh ... rasping breath ... slavering mouths ... wild eyes ... bodies glistening with sweat. And, everywhere, was the repeated crack of leather on tormented flesh. Driving on limbs which ached with fatigue.
Relentless ...
Continual ...
The training of a Pony.
In due time, Saucy Lady was untethered and put between the shafts. She shied and whimpered ... already the skin was wet with the sweat of dread ... but in she went all the same.
“There . . . there . . . quiet Pony . . . easy now . . .”
Slap ... slap ...
“Easy ... nothing to worry about ... just a little walk to begin with ...”
Belle felt the reins taken. Felt the tug of the bit into her cheeks.
“Off you go, Saucy ... just a nice easy walking pace. Let’s see how you move. Come on ... off!
Thwack!
Sven’s leathern training-strap fell across Belle’s rump. Then again.
Thwack!
Belle moved off, pulling the light carriage behind her. Seated low, Sven looked up admiringly at the superb hindquarters of his new charge. Yes ... this was some Pony. A real thoroughbred. In a week or two, she would be moving like a good ‘un. Moving as smooth as silk, too. One could see that. This one had natural ability.
Sven felt a kind of pride as Saucy Lady proceeded, gracefully long-striding, down the track, her curvaceous bottom undulating rhythmically from side to side.
Who knows, he said to himself, one day, this Pony might win one of the Top Awards!
Twenty four golden slave-girls, Belle among them, were being dispersed about the apartments of Princess Karina. Eight hours of personal service to her Highness lay before each of them.
Belle, as we know, had been ‘promoted’. She was acting as one of the base supports of the Princess’s throne-like chair. She knelt on all fours, her back horizontal. Three feet away from her knelt another slave-girl, in a similar posture. Between them, resting on the shoulders and the top of the rump, ran two wooden cross-pieces. Upon these cross pieces rested the softly-padded, velvet covered chair. Fortunately for them, when empty, it was not a very heavy chair.
The head of each girl was raised, so that the back of it pressed to the front of the chair ... the head being held up by the simple means of tightly knotting a hank of hair to a ring which hung there.
Gazing straight ahead, trying to adjust her mind and body to the long and uncomfortable ordeal ahead of her, Belle took in that part of the scene which was visible to her. It was limited for, of course, she could not turn her head.
On the far side of the room, a slave-girl hung suspended from the ceiling ... face down ... her body in a curving arc. A trumpet-like holder, projecting from her anus, contained a mass of lovely white roses.
To one side of her, hanging on the wall, was a tightly-trussed slave-girl. The cords were golden in colour and kept her arms pulled behind her back and her calves pressed to the backs of her thighs. Through her nose was a ring. From it, held by a hook, dangled a long slim whip.
To the other side of the suspended slave-girl stood another, palms upturned. On one palm rested a cigarette box, on the other an ashtray. She too had a ring through her nose and from it, on a long golden chain, hung a cigarette lighter.
These were the only members of the Princess’s slave retinue that Belle could see from where she was ... but it was sufficient to make her realise that others were being similarly used as objects around the rooms of the Royal Suite ... objects for the use of her Highness, should she require them.
These helpless, utterly submissive golden girls were vivid symbols of Princess Karina’s absolute power. She herself was very aware of that power but, all the same, liked to be able to observe this constant manifestation of it. To know that these hand-picked girls, who had once been free human beings, were now hers in every sense. To do with, just as the mood took her.
The room in which Belle knelt was heavy with silence. There was no movement except the gentle rise and fall of breasts. Time had no meaning. They could have been there forever. They could remain there forever.
I am honoured to be of service to her Highness, Belle repeated to herself from time to time. I am not worthy to be in her presence ... yet she graciously deigns to make use of me. I am a most fortunate slave to be able to give such privileged service.
It was thus that a slave-girl in Princess Karina’s retinue had to train herself constantly to think. Only in that way could her actions and reactions go unfaulted. Somehow a slave-girl had to convey a sense of gratitude at being called upon to give such service!
Belle was aware of the pressure on her shoulders and the upper part of her buttocks. But it was not very great. She could dismiss, too, the slight ache in her back ... which was sure to grow worse as time passed. She was fit and strong and capable of overlooking such minor matters. What did they count in comparison with the honour of being allowed to serve in such close proximity to this Supreme Being?
Perhaps two hours passed before Princess Karina appeared in the room. She had obviously just taken a bath and, escorted by two slaves, entered wearing a towelling robe. This she dropped as a massage table was wheeled towards her.
Belle gazed in something like awe at the tall, lissom figure. It could have been termed a perfect figure ... classical in its proportions ... and the skin was an alabaster white. Belle had seen that skin often enough before, but only below the waist, where her duties had lain. Now the saw the Princess as a whole being ... and in close proximity. Previously, she had only seen her most infrequently and then on briefly and at a distance. No wonder Belle’s heart beat rather faster.
The body was oiled and carefully massaged. Bell caught the scent of the oil. It was muskily exotic. After a while, the Princess turned over on to her back and the process was repeated. Those two who massaged, thought Belle, must indeed be high in the slave hierarchy. What a privilege to give such intimate service!
“Enough ...!” The word dropped sharply into the silence of the room.
The slaves removed their hands and stood back. Princess Karina sat up and stretched languidly. Not once did she so much as glance at the human objects around her. They might as well have been furniture.
Then she stood up and, as the massage table was removed, stepped slowly towards the throne-like chair. Belle tensed; felt her heart beat even faster. As the stately figure grew nearer, a slave-girl who had been standing behind the chair emerged and knelt ... acting as a king of stepping-stool. Princess Karina placed her foot on the girl’s back, mounted, turned and seated herself, thus disappearing from Belle’s view. The stepping-stool became a footstool.
Silence.
What was she thinking? What was she contemplating? What must it be like to be her?
Impossible to imagine!
Such power ...!
At that moment, because she willed it, scores of slave-girls were suffering. Being made to writhe and scream with pain ... being degraded ... being made to give their bodies in whatever way was demanded.
Incredible to think of it.
Frightening.
Belle almost shuddered. She was now conscious of the increased weight of the chair. The effort to support it was considerable greater. It simply had to be made. And complete immobility maintained. Did her Highness know, Belle wondered, that the slave-girl who had been used to clean her was now helping to support her chair? It was most, most unlikely, Belle considered. It would be absurd of her Highness to concern herself with such petty details.
Silence.
Before her, the gently heaving breasts.
Out of the corner of her eye, the negligent, alabaster limb. And the slim foot. The nails of that foot painted gold.
A pair of hands clapped.
Before the chair appeared two golden girls, bowing to the waist.
“Bring me my pleasure couch ... and send me Christine ...!”
The golden girls bowed and disappeared. Moments later, a low plush-lined couch was wheeled in. It had two odd-looking projecting arms at its sides. Immediately after, came a single slave-girl who at once knelt before the throne and placed her hands on top of her head. The Princess rose.
Now she came into Belle’s sight again ... who watched as the object of her gaze moved gracefully to the couch. This was, indeed, more like an elongated armchair and, leaning back, the Princess lay at an angle of some forty five degrees. Then a limb was placed over each padded arm ... with the creamy-smooth white thighs spread wide. By reason of the contour of the seat of the couch, the Princess’s haunches were upthrust a little. She could not have been more satisfactorily positioned for the pleasure she wished to receive.
“Begin,” she said.
And, at once, the kneeling slave-girl crawled to the end of the couch. Her head bent. In a few moments, the faint sounds of her mouth and tongue at work could be heard. The eyes of the Princess closed and her hands rested lightly on her breasts.
An even greater privilege, thought Belle. Oh, what an honour! This kneeling slave must be very near the summit of the hierarchy to be permitted to do such a thing!
As time passed, the hands over the Princess’s breasts could be seen rising and falling faster. But there was no other sign of her pleasure, nor did she make any sound.
Three minutes ...
Four minutes ...
Five minutes ...
Yet it seemed longer in that timeless world. The sound of the lips and tongue seemed to have got louder; the slight nodding movement of the slave’s head had become more pronounced.
Then, suddenly, there was a shuddering of the soft thighs. A quick, exultant quivering. A long, low, sighing moan. The eyes opened, seeming to shine bright for a few moments.
“Stop ...!”
The sounds ceased; the head remained still.
The Princess closed her eyes again. Her complete relaxation was evident. Belle experienced an odd little pang of jealousy for the kneeling slave. What an honour it must to please her Highness in such a fashion!
Time passed slowly.
The scene remained unchanged.
Then Belle saw that the Princess’s eyes were open once again.
“Rise ...!” she ordered. Her orders, it seemed, were largely monosyllabic. But not the next one.
“Get it up!” she said.
The Princess got off the pleasure couch and the slave knelt in the familiar posture ... nose to floor, bottom high.
“My rod ...!” The Princess’s hand was extended. A slave-girl appeared and a white whalebone rod was placed in it. Belle saw that the grip-handle was of burnished gold.
Five wristy strokes fell across the unfortunate slave-girl’s thrusting bottom. She hardly made a sound; she scarcely so much as twitched.
“Go ...!”
The silent girl rose, bowed and left.
Obviously, reflected Belle, a slave has to pay for such a great privilege! Perhaps understandably.
The Princess disappeared from Belle’s sight. Doubtless to go to another part of the Royal Suite. Most likely now to be arrayed in some elegant gown. Belle felt a bitter pang. She had been stark naked for so long, she had almost forgotten what it was like to be clothed!
She absorbed the weight of the chair; she contemplated the long hours which still remained. Soon the Princess would most probably be taking her ease with some guests. Belle, however, would remain precisely where she was. Until her duties were done.
Still, it was not for a mere slave to complain.
Belle felt stiff and aching when, at long last, the eight hours were up. Naturally, she was not yet accustomed to duties of that kind. But, gradually, she would become acclimatised. Soon, they would seem almost normal.
Her Highness had not returned to that part of her suite. That, of course, made no difference however. Each slave-girl stayed precisely in position ... until Miss Reva arrived to lead her away.
How grateful Belle was to sink into the warm bath and have Tessa massage her sore muscles!
“Dear God,” she said, “at one time, I didn’t think I could hold out.”
“I know,” nodded Tessa, “that really is tough at first. Well, it’s always tough ... but more so at first. Lucky you did hold out, though!”
“Oh yes ... I know ... every time I felt like caving in, I thought about that whip Miss Reva uses. That gave me extra strength.”
“I know what you mean ...!”
They wallowed for half an hour or so until Belle felt greatly restored. Then they wandered off together, back to the main chamber of the Harem.
Here, as they must, they consumed their daily food cube. This was a highly-concentrated, fully-nutritious item - about the size of an Oxo cube - which gave them all the nourishment they needed for twenty four hours. This they could supplement with sweetmeats and fruit, which most of the girls did. In moderation, of course. For, as Belle had witnessed, a whipping could be just one of the consequences of putting on too much weight.
Sixteen hours of comparative freedom lay ahead.
It was pleasant to contemplate that. Just to idle away time. To chatter. To bathe. To sleep.
More than likely to get fucked!
Belle hoped that, if that happened, it would not be by one of the more objectionable Overseers. Above all, she always kept her fingers crossed that she would not be bum-fucked. However, since being stretched, that was quite a frequent occurrence. All the Arabs, including Haroun, seemed to enjoy doing that to her just as much as fucking her normally.
It need hardly be said that Belle had to give ... and give with good grace ... whatever was demanded of her.
As Tessa and she lounged side by side, they saw one of the Nubians approaching. A black finger beckoned. Was it Tessa ... or was it Belle ... who was wanted. It turned out that it was both ...!
Tessa to suck him.
And, as he put it, Belle to finish him off.
Both girls gave their services unreservedly and, within ten minutes, the Nubian had departed well satisfied. Belle and Tessa returned to the main chamber of the Harem.
Such was the life of slave-girls in Quireme.
Hours of some of the deepest wretchedness Belle had ever experienced. For the agony in her soul was far worse than the agony of the weals blazing across her flesh.
The tethering ... the bit ... the straw ... the stall ... the sounds of the other Ponies ... all a nightmare. Unbelievable . . . yet having to be believed. No wonder Belle sobbed her heart out. Sobbed till she was weak with exhaustion.
And those who heard her fully understood.
Then, at some time, Sven returned. He carried with him a bucket of water and a bucket of mush . . . which he tipped into the troughs.
“Eat up well, Pony,” he said. “You’ll need all your strength.”
True enough . . . and the unappetising mush, specially fortified and made nutritious . . . would give her that strength. But just the smell of it made Belle want to heave. Moreover, to eat from the trough, would be just another step down the a****l-ladder.
Foolish Belle!
Surely she should have known better? We can only excuse her on account of her turmoil in her mind ...
For, of course, the outcome was obvious.
Another cruel lacing from the crop from Sven. Followed by the crop sawing menacingly across her quaking buttocks until she had consumed every last ounce of that mush and licked the trough clean.
Never . . . never . . . would Belle forget the terrible gulping-snorting sounds she made as she choked down that vile mush. Never ... never ... would Belle forget how it smeared all over her face, filling her eyes and even getting into her ears. Afterwards, there was only one thing to do ... clean it in the water trough.
One might have imagined that Belle’s ordeal was over for that night.
Not so!
First, whilst she was still in her framework and tethered, Sven fucked her. He turned out to be a strong man, ... and one with remarkable endurance. Belle found herself servicing him for an hour ... twenty minutes ... and still the solid length was gliding smoothly in and out. Sven was unhurried and, one might say, methodical. He seemed to savour every nuance of Belle’s sexuality though he did not appear roused himself. There was no panting or gasping. Just the steady breathing of the well-trained athlete which, in fact, Sven was. Despite her shocked state, despite her weakness, Belle — incredibly — found herself brought twice to orgasm. Prolonged orgasm, too. Throughout each climax, Sven continued to fuck her at the same easy pace.
It was, thought Belle, bent there, mouth sagging open, like having some kind of machine strapped on to one. A machine that could fuck one indefinitely.
When, at long last, Sven came to his own climax, he simply gave vent to a long shuddering sigh and, quickened his pace dramatically for the last dozen or so thrusts.
Then, as quietly as he had entered, he withdrew and slipped away.
Throughout, he had said not a word.
Only later, when he had gone, did it occur to Belle that he might just as well have been fucking an a****l!
Still one more ordeal remained. Released from her framework around ten o’clock, Bell dropped exhausted down to the straw. She was still tethered by a halter and rein but the awful bridle and bit had gone. Belle closed her eyes ... and tried to close her mind to the horrors. Not so easy. They kept crowding in.
And what would the morrow bring?
Finally sleep came. The benison of oblivion.
But it was to be brief.
Belle was awakened by podgy hands mauling her obscenely. A fat belly pressing to her. A slobbering mouth. Rancid breath upon her. Kemal, Head of Stables, had arrived.
“Come on, my beauty,” he said thickly, “plenty of time for sleep later ...”
With a terrible effort, Belle dragged herself up from the depths of insensibility. One more effort. Just one more. She felt her head being forced down. Then a stubby prick was in her mouth. Automatically, rather like a baby on a mother’s nipple, she began to suck …
Morning came.
Back into the framework. Then straight out into the stable yard ... there to be hosed down by Sven. Alongside her was Sven’s other Pony, Pride of Erin. Elsewhere the other Ponies were getting similar treatment. Belle gasped and pranced under the cold jets of water which were aimed at all parts of her body. At some stage, she thought she heard laughter. Looking about, she saw in the distance, a group of guests leaning over a post-and-rail fence. Oh yes, what an amusing spectacle those Ponies made . . . just the thing to start the day right!
Then back to the stall ... and into the Tack Room. There to be put on a massage table and ‘groomed’! Cleaned, creamed, the skin furbished! The back to the framework to be harnessed.
The bridle...
The steel bit ...
Truly an a****l again!
Head hanging, Belle sobbed and sobbed ... hearing, all around, other Ponies being dealt with similarly. Whimpers, slaps, the creak of leather, the clink of metal. All the sounds of a stable.
“Now ...” she heard Sven saying, “you’ve got to be brave, Pony.” Belle tossed her blonde main, opened blue-green eyes wide ... to see the stable hand approaching with a glowing red-hot needle. She shrieked ... tried to back away ... but found the framework clamped. Fingers took her nostrils. The needle approached. Then plunged in and out. A sizzle . . . a smell of burning flesh. A louder shriek . . .
There, Pony ... that wasn’t too bad, was it?”
“Mmmmff ... u-ugghh ... mmmfff ... ugh ... ugh ... ughhh...” sobbed Belle wretchedly.
Then her left breast was gripped. The nipple uplifted.
“NOOO .... OOOOOOOO!”
Again the red-hot needle plunged ... and another neat little hole was made.
“NNNOOOOOO ... OOOOOOOOOO!”
Jab! Sizzle!
A piercing shriek followed the piercing needle. But the job had been done. Belle was now ready for the Pony bells which would tinkle merrily from her nose and nipples as she trotted between the shafts.
“There, Pony ... wasn’t so terrible, was it?” A condescending pat on the flank. A pinch of the soft bottom flesh. “You’ll be taken for a little exercise soon ...”
Belle stood in her stall, eyes wide with shock and terror, limbs trembling. Horrors she had known ... but this was a horror beyond anything.
Yet, indeed, that horror had not truly begun.
An hour later, along with Pride of Erin, Belle was led out on to one of the training tracks. She had just been informed by Sven that her name had been decided upon.
Saucy Lady ...
Oh yes ... most appropriate!
All the same, because she simply could not help it, Belle — bent over her Pony framework — moved with a natural, lithe grace. Her action was much admired by other stable hands . . . as was her body.
“She’ll go far ...”
“A real beauty of a Pony!”
“What a superb mover!”
“Just look at those hindquarters ...”
Belle heard all the remarks, complimentary, of course. Though, it need hardly be said, she scarcely found them pleasing!
Out on the track, Saucy Lady found herself tethered to a post. “Just look around,” advised Sven, “You’ll learn a lot.”
Belle did. For now she observed the sweating, straining agonies of being a Pony. She saw the naked figures, harnessed to their carriages (looking rather like small chariots), walking, trotting, running ... heads tossing, breasts bouncing, hindquarters rolling from side to side. Everywhere was juddering flesh ... rasping breath ... slavering mouths ... wild eyes ... bodies glistening with sweat. And, everywhere, was the repeated crack of leather on tormented flesh. Driving on limbs which ached with fatigue.
Relentless ...
Continual ...
The training of a Pony.
In due time, Saucy Lady was untethered and put between the shafts. She shied and whimpered ... already the skin was wet with the sweat of dread ... but in she went all the same.
“There . . . there . . . quiet Pony . . . easy now . . .”
Slap ... slap ...
“Easy ... nothing to worry about ... just a little walk to begin with ...”
Belle felt the reins taken. Felt the tug of the bit into her cheeks.
“Off you go, Saucy ... just a nice easy walking pace. Let’s see how you move. Come on ... off!
Thwack!
Sven’s leathern training-strap fell across Belle’s rump. Then again.
Thwack!
Belle moved off, pulling the light carriage behind her. Seated low, Sven looked up admiringly at the superb hindquarters of his new charge. Yes ... this was some Pony. A real thoroughbred. In a week or two, she would be moving like a good ‘un. Moving as smooth as silk, too. One could see that. This one had natural ability.
Sven felt a kind of pride as Saucy Lady proceeded, gracefully long-striding, down the track, her curvaceous bottom undulating rhythmically from side to side.
Who knows, he said to himself, one day, this Pony might win one of the Top Awards!
Twenty four golden slave-girls, Belle among them, were being dispersed about the apartments of Princess Karina. Eight hours of personal service to her Highness lay before each of them.
Belle, as we know, had been ‘promoted’. She was acting as one of the base supports of the Princess’s throne-like chair. She knelt on all fours, her back horizontal. Three feet away from her knelt another slave-girl, in a similar posture. Between them, resting on the shoulders and the top of the rump, ran two wooden cross-pieces. Upon these cross pieces rested the softly-padded, velvet covered chair. Fortunately for them, when empty, it was not a very heavy chair.
The head of each girl was raised, so that the back of it pressed to the front of the chair ... the head being held up by the simple means of tightly knotting a hank of hair to a ring which hung there.
Gazing straight ahead, trying to adjust her mind and body to the long and uncomfortable ordeal ahead of her, Belle took in that part of the scene which was visible to her. It was limited for, of course, she could not turn her head.
On the far side of the room, a slave-girl hung suspended from the ceiling ... face down ... her body in a curving arc. A trumpet-like holder, projecting from her anus, contained a mass of lovely white roses.
To one side of her, hanging on the wall, was a tightly-trussed slave-girl. The cords were golden in colour and kept her arms pulled behind her back and her calves pressed to the backs of her thighs. Through her nose was a ring. From it, held by a hook, dangled a long slim whip.
To the other side of the suspended slave-girl stood another, palms upturned. On one palm rested a cigarette box, on the other an ashtray. She too had a ring through her nose and from it, on a long golden chain, hung a cigarette lighter.
These were the only members of the Princess’s slave retinue that Belle could see from where she was ... but it was sufficient to make her realise that others were being similarly used as objects around the rooms of the Royal Suite ... objects for the use of her Highness, should she require them.
These helpless, utterly submissive golden girls were vivid symbols of Princess Karina’s absolute power. She herself was very aware of that power but, all the same, liked to be able to observe this constant manifestation of it. To know that these hand-picked girls, who had once been free human beings, were now hers in every sense. To do with, just as the mood took her.
The room in which Belle knelt was heavy with silence. There was no movement except the gentle rise and fall of breasts. Time had no meaning. They could have been there forever. They could remain there forever.
I am honoured to be of service to her Highness, Belle repeated to herself from time to time. I am not worthy to be in her presence ... yet she graciously deigns to make use of me. I am a most fortunate slave to be able to give such privileged service.
It was thus that a slave-girl in Princess Karina’s retinue had to train herself constantly to think. Only in that way could her actions and reactions go unfaulted. Somehow a slave-girl had to convey a sense of gratitude at being called upon to give such service!
Belle was aware of the pressure on her shoulders and the upper part of her buttocks. But it was not very great. She could dismiss, too, the slight ache in her back ... which was sure to grow worse as time passed. She was fit and strong and capable of overlooking such minor matters. What did they count in comparison with the honour of being allowed to serve in such close proximity to this Supreme Being?
Perhaps two hours passed before Princess Karina appeared in the room. She had obviously just taken a bath and, escorted by two slaves, entered wearing a towelling robe. This she dropped as a massage table was wheeled towards her.
Belle gazed in something like awe at the tall, lissom figure. It could have been termed a perfect figure ... classical in its proportions ... and the skin was an alabaster white. Belle had seen that skin often enough before, but only below the waist, where her duties had lain. Now the saw the Princess as a whole being ... and in close proximity. Previously, she had only seen her most infrequently and then on briefly and at a distance. No wonder Belle’s heart beat rather faster.
The body was oiled and carefully massaged. Bell caught the scent of the oil. It was muskily exotic. After a while, the Princess turned over on to her back and the process was repeated. Those two who massaged, thought Belle, must indeed be high in the slave hierarchy. What a privilege to give such intimate service!
“Enough ...!” The word dropped sharply into the silence of the room.
The slaves removed their hands and stood back. Princess Karina sat up and stretched languidly. Not once did she so much as glance at the human objects around her. They might as well have been furniture.
Then she stood up and, as the massage table was removed, stepped slowly towards the throne-like chair. Belle tensed; felt her heart beat even faster. As the stately figure grew nearer, a slave-girl who had been standing behind the chair emerged and knelt ... acting as a king of stepping-stool. Princess Karina placed her foot on the girl’s back, mounted, turned and seated herself, thus disappearing from Belle’s view. The stepping-stool became a footstool.
Silence.
What was she thinking? What was she contemplating? What must it be like to be her?
Impossible to imagine!
Such power ...!
At that moment, because she willed it, scores of slave-girls were suffering. Being made to writhe and scream with pain ... being degraded ... being made to give their bodies in whatever way was demanded.
Incredible to think of it.
Frightening.
Belle almost shuddered. She was now conscious of the increased weight of the chair. The effort to support it was considerable greater. It simply had to be made. And complete immobility maintained. Did her Highness know, Belle wondered, that the slave-girl who had been used to clean her was now helping to support her chair? It was most, most unlikely, Belle considered. It would be absurd of her Highness to concern herself with such petty details.
Silence.
Before her, the gently heaving breasts.
Out of the corner of her eye, the negligent, alabaster limb. And the slim foot. The nails of that foot painted gold.
A pair of hands clapped.
Before the chair appeared two golden girls, bowing to the waist.
“Bring me my pleasure couch ... and send me Christine ...!”
The golden girls bowed and disappeared. Moments later, a low plush-lined couch was wheeled in. It had two odd-looking projecting arms at its sides. Immediately after, came a single slave-girl who at once knelt before the throne and placed her hands on top of her head. The Princess rose.
Now she came into Belle’s sight again ... who watched as the object of her gaze moved gracefully to the couch. This was, indeed, more like an elongated armchair and, leaning back, the Princess lay at an angle of some forty five degrees. Then a limb was placed over each padded arm ... with the creamy-smooth white thighs spread wide. By reason of the contour of the seat of the couch, the Princess’s haunches were upthrust a little. She could not have been more satisfactorily positioned for the pleasure she wished to receive.
“Begin,” she said.
And, at once, the kneeling slave-girl crawled to the end of the couch. Her head bent. In a few moments, the faint sounds of her mouth and tongue at work could be heard. The eyes of the Princess closed and her hands rested lightly on her breasts.
An even greater privilege, thought Belle. Oh, what an honour! This kneeling slave must be very near the summit of the hierarchy to be permitted to do such a thing!
As time passed, the hands over the Princess’s breasts could be seen rising and falling faster. But there was no other sign of her pleasure, nor did she make any sound.
Three minutes ...
Four minutes ...
Five minutes ...
Yet it seemed longer in that timeless world. The sound of the lips and tongue seemed to have got louder; the slight nodding movement of the slave’s head had become more pronounced.
Then, suddenly, there was a shuddering of the soft thighs. A quick, exultant quivering. A long, low, sighing moan. The eyes opened, seeming to shine bright for a few moments.
“Stop ...!”
The sounds ceased; the head remained still.
The Princess closed her eyes again. Her complete relaxation was evident. Belle experienced an odd little pang of jealousy for the kneeling slave. What an honour it must to please her Highness in such a fashion!
Time passed slowly.
The scene remained unchanged.
Then Belle saw that the Princess’s eyes were open once again.
“Rise ...!” she ordered. Her orders, it seemed, were largely monosyllabic. But not the next one.
“Get it up!” she said.
The Princess got off the pleasure couch and the slave knelt in the familiar posture ... nose to floor, bottom high.
“My rod ...!” The Princess’s hand was extended. A slave-girl appeared and a white whalebone rod was placed in it. Belle saw that the grip-handle was of burnished gold.
Five wristy strokes fell across the unfortunate slave-girl’s thrusting bottom. She hardly made a sound; she scarcely so much as twitched.
“Go ...!”
The silent girl rose, bowed and left.
Obviously, reflected Belle, a slave has to pay for such a great privilege! Perhaps understandably.
The Princess disappeared from Belle’s sight. Doubtless to go to another part of the Royal Suite. Most likely now to be arrayed in some elegant gown. Belle felt a bitter pang. She had been stark naked for so long, she had almost forgotten what it was like to be clothed!
She absorbed the weight of the chair; she contemplated the long hours which still remained. Soon the Princess would most probably be taking her ease with some guests. Belle, however, would remain precisely where she was. Until her duties were done.
Still, it was not for a mere slave to complain.
Belle felt stiff and aching when, at long last, the eight hours were up. Naturally, she was not yet accustomed to duties of that kind. But, gradually, she would become acclimatised. Soon, they would seem almost normal.
Her Highness had not returned to that part of her suite. That, of course, made no difference however. Each slave-girl stayed precisely in position ... until Miss Reva arrived to lead her away.
How grateful Belle was to sink into the warm bath and have Tessa massage her sore muscles!
“Dear God,” she said, “at one time, I didn’t think I could hold out.”
“I know,” nodded Tessa, “that really is tough at first. Well, it’s always tough ... but more so at first. Lucky you did hold out, though!”
“Oh yes ... I know ... every time I felt like caving in, I thought about that whip Miss Reva uses. That gave me extra strength.”
“I know what you mean ...!”
They wallowed for half an hour or so until Belle felt greatly restored. Then they wandered off together, back to the main chamber of the Harem.
Here, as they must, they consumed their daily food cube. This was a highly-concentrated, fully-nutritious item - about the size of an Oxo cube - which gave them all the nourishment they needed for twenty four hours. This they could supplement with sweetmeats and fruit, which most of the girls did. In moderation, of course. For, as Belle had witnessed, a whipping could be just one of the consequences of putting on too much weight.
Sixteen hours of comparative freedom lay ahead.
It was pleasant to contemplate that. Just to idle away time. To chatter. To bathe. To sleep.
More than likely to get fucked!
Belle hoped that, if that happened, it would not be by one of the more objectionable Overseers. Above all, she always kept her fingers crossed that she would not be bum-fucked. However, since being stretched, that was quite a frequent occurrence. All the Arabs, including Haroun, seemed to enjoy doing that to her just as much as fucking her normally.
It need hardly be said that Belle had to give ... and give with good grace ... whatever was demanded of her.
As Tessa and she lounged side by side, they saw one of the Nubians approaching. A black finger beckoned. Was it Tessa ... or was it Belle ... who was wanted. It turned out that it was both ...!
Tessa to suck him.
And, as he put it, Belle to finish him off.
Both girls gave their services unreservedly and, within ten minutes, the Nubian had departed well satisfied. Belle and Tessa returned to the main chamber of the Harem.
Such was the life of slave-girls in Quireme.
Makenna
- 01.01.2022
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