Arabian Plaything Chapter 16 free porn video

FLASHBACK

It was the recurring nightmare of the Training Room.
She and Nadine had been brought there again. She and the tall, red-headed Romanian had arrived together and were being trained together. Miss Vesta and her two bestial Mongolian assistants named Gog and Magog were there.
Hating herself for doing it, Isabel (as she was still known then) sank to her knees before the leather-clad overseer. She was not accustomed to being naked then and the shame of it was like a brand. She clasped her hands behind her head ... felt her breasts rise ... saw the pig-like eyes of the Mongolians on her. The fury in her swelled until she thought her heart must burst.
How could they do this to her!
To her ...
How could they make her do such things?
She shuddered in her fury, teeth baring. Beside her, Nadine just knelt quietly. For all her red hair, she had none of the fire of Isabel. She had hardly made one single outburst, since arriving.
“Is there something the matter, your Ladyship?” enquired Madame Vesta, standing right before Isabel, a slight sneer on her face. She could see the rage in the blue-green eyes ... and loved it. “Don’t you like displaying your tits to gentlemen?”
Isabel ground her teeth and made no answer. Not for the first time, the urge to scratch this vile woman to pieces welled up inside her.
Madam Vesta’s hand smashed across her face, jerking her head round. Then the other hand smashed too, jerking her head back again. Isabel felt her teeth rattle, saw stars...
“Answer me, you insolent bitch!”
... and the rage in Isabel reached boiling point.
“Stop it! Stop it ... you monster! You ... aaaaghhh ... you can’t treat a he-helpless woman like this ... you can’t ... YOU CAN’T!”
Isabel was on her feet, trembling violently with fury. She had lost control. Forgotten all the warnings; all that had already gone before.
“Can’t I” said Madame Vesta. Her hard, Ukrainian features were momentarily creased by a smile. A cruel smile. “Get back on your knees, slave!”
“I ... I am not a SLAVE!” shrieked Isabel. “It’s ridiculous ... I’m not ... I’m NOT! AND I NEVER WILL BE!”
“I’ve warned you about these tantrums before, slave...”
Isabel took a step forward, “Listen,” she said hoarsely. “Stop all ... all this nonsense now, NOW, I say! Just let go ... and I’ll say no more about it ... even though I’ve every right to ...”
Madame Vesta shook her head sorrowfully. She was having a marvellous time. She loved a woman with a bit of pride ... and some stubbornness. How delightful when they broke in the end!
“I think, my girl, it’s about time you got a really good caning.”
Terror stabbed through Isabel. Already she had been struck with a rod ... numerous times. Oh the pain of it! Unbelievable! For a moment, she faltered. Then her hate and fury overcame her again.
“Oggh ... oooggh .... you m-monster ... h-how can you say such things ... how can you? How can you treat a woman like this? Especially ... a ... woman of ... of quality?”
The smile broke out on Madame Vesta’s face again.
“A woman of quality, eh? That’s rich. You might mention it to one of the guests ... at the same time you’re begging him to fuck the arse off you!”
Isabel blanched. Stepped back as if she had been struck.
“You ... you’re ... inhuman,” she said in a low, vibrant voice. “You ... said that as if ... as if you ... really meant it...”
“Oh but I do mean it,” replied Madame Vesta, “don’t you realise you’re here to be fucked by anyone who fancies you?”
Isabel covered her face in her hands and burst into a fit of sobbing.
“Ohh ... mfff ... oohh ... s-stop it ... mmmffff .... stop ... it ... I c-can’t bear any m-more ... mmmffff. . . . mmmffff . . . .”
“Yes,” said Madame Vesta, musingly. “It’s certainly time to bring you to your senses. Despite all my warnings, you disobey me. On top of that, you insult me...”
“You should be more than insulted!” shrieked Isabel, now wild with fury again. “You ... you ... should be f-flogged yourself...”
Madame Vesta raised her eyebrows. “Get hold of her, please, Gog. It’s time her Ladyship learnt a real lesson...”
The Mongolian, nude but for the customary pouch came forward.
“No... don’t touch me .. . don’t you dare ... no ... oooo ... don’t!” shrieked Isabel as she ran in panic.
Large though he was, the Mongolian could move more swiftly. In any case, Isabel had nowhere to go. In moments Gog had her cornered ... and her nails were trying to claw him. With practised ease, he bent Isabel over his raised thigh and slapped her bottom hard. Several times.
Gasping cries rose up ... but they were cries of shock and rage rather than pain. Then he tucked the kicking, struggling figure under one arm and returned.
“Where would you like her, Madame?”
“Stooo .. oppppp ... stooopppp ... you b**sts ... you b**sts!”
“Over the punishment block, please, Gog.”
Isabel’s tune suddenly changed. She realised Madame Vesta had meant what she had said. Now stark terror shafted through her.
“No ... ooo ... NO ... OOOOOOO ... not that ... NO ... OOOOO ... I ... I ... I didn’t m-mean it ... I didn’t ... NO ... OOOOOOO ..... I’ll do w-what you w-want ... I ... will ... I WILL!”
Gog was now carrying Isabel with one hand holding her blonde hair and the other hand thrust between her thighs and under her ... and the latter hand was mauling her obscenely. Shrieking, she kept on Kicking, and wriggling like an eel, as they approached the punishment block, where Magog waited, Oriental face impassive. Madame Vesta watched the proceedings with seeming indifference, but her heart was singing. It was about time this arrogant English woman got what she had been asking for for some time.
“SSTOOO ... OOPPP ... MONSTER ... D-DEVILS ... DEVILS ... OOOOHH ... LET ME GO ... OHH ... YOU SWINE ... YOU FILTHY SWINE ... I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!”
Unceremoniously, Gog dumped Isabel on the leathern top o the punishment block. It was a solid structure of wood, rather like a low vaulting horse used in a gym, but the end was humped so that the hindquarters were upthrust high.
“NO ... OOOOOO ... YOU CAN’T ... YOU C-CAN’T DO THIS TO ME ... OH GOD ... STOP ... ST-STOOOO ... OPPPPP ... I SAY!”
Unemotionally, Gog was strapping her wrist to the side of the block, whilst Magog continued to hold her struggling body down. Isabel was now half demented with terror.
“STOP IT ... OOOOHHH ... STO ... OOOPPPP! NO ... OOO ... AAAAGHHHHH ... I’M SORRY ... I DIDN’T MEAN IT ... REALLY . . . OOOHHH . . . LET ME GO . . .. OOOOO!”
Gog moved round and strapped Isabel’s thighs firmly to the end of the block, rendering her quite helpless, with her bottom perfectly presented to receive its punishment.
“NOO ... OOOO ... OOOOOHHH ... LET ME GO ... I’LL DO ANYTHING ... I TELL YOU ... OOOHH ... LISTEN TO ME ... LISTEN ... I’M SORRY ... JUST LET ME GO! OH GOD ... LET ME ... GO ... OOOOOOO!”
Madame Vesta, who now had a supple willow rod in her right hand ... three foot six inches long and as thick as a little finger ... moved to the end of the block and pulled Isabel’s head up by her hair. Pitilessly, she looked into the distraught, aristocratic features, now unrecognisable in their shock and terror.
“Now, listen to me, you arrogant English bitch, I’m about to give you a caning you’ll remember for the rest of your days....”
Isabel’s eyes were wide and dilating.
“NOO . . . OOOO ... NOO . . . OOOOOOO!”
“After I have given it to you. I do not think you will insult me again in a hurry ... nor will you disobey my orders....”
“NOO . . . OOOOOO . . . NO . . . OOOOOO!”
“Look at the rod ... look at it ...” Madame Vesta thrust the cane before Isabel’s terrified eyes. “It’s going across your backside until you’ll wish you’d never been born!”
“NOOOOOO ... OOOOOOOOOOOO!”
“Oh, yes! You’ll learn; when it comes to pain, that a lady’s bottom and a peasant’s are very much alike. They feel it just the same!”
Madame Vesta released Isabel’s hair and walked round to the other end of the block. There was that splendid naked bottom ... thrusting ... curvaceous ... high and helpless... sadistic joy bubbling, she measured it.
This was a thrashing she was going to thoroughly enjoy.
The whippy cane went up and came lashing down and biting into the tautened flesh. A breathless, agonised scream echoed round the room.
The first of many.

After ten full-blooded strokes, Madame Vesta walked back to the other end of the block and yanked up Isabel’s head again. The tear stained face was now even more unrecognisable. The mouth was sagging and slavering.
“It hurts, doesn’t it, slave? You don’t like it, do you?”
Isabel could make no coherent reply. Only her eyes could appeal.
“No ... you don’t ... but perhaps it will teach you to behave in future.” Madame Vesta smiled bleakly. “You don’t imagine I have finished, do you?” She shook her head. “Oh no ... oh no ... in fact, I’ve only just started!”
Madame Vesta released the hank of hair. With a howling groan, Isabel’s head thumped down.
“U-U-Ugghhhhh ... AAGGGHHHH ... N-NOOOOOOO...”
Unhurriedly, Madame Vesta walked to the other end of the block again . . . once more measured the helpless bottom ... and the caning was resumed.
“Now you’re really beginning to feel it, aren’t you, my girl?”
Another ten strokes had been laid on and once more Madame Vesta was gazing viciously into Isabel’s wild, wide eyes. She got the impression those eyes were beginning to glaze a little.
“Gog ... give her a booster injection, please.”
“Yes, Madame ...” The needle was thrust into Isabel’s arm. Madame Vesta continued to smile down at her victim.
“Can’t have you passing out on us, can we? Because we’ve got a long way to go yet ...”
Isabel’s mouth was opening and closing like that of a goldfish. a****l sounds were coming from it. But also something else. Could it have been ‘Mercy’?
Madame Vesta uttered a short laugh. “My God,” she rasped, “you insult me ... you disobey me ... then you have the nerve to ask for mercy. Believe me, slave, that’s the last thing you’ll get from me.” She let Isabel’s hair go again. “By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll know what I mean by a GOOD caning.”
She returned to the end of the block where Isabel’s weal-striped bottom awaited, the buttocks now clenching uncontrollably with dread.
Once more the rod was raised ... once more the caning resumed.

Five times, in all, Madame Vesta walked from the back of the punishment block to the front ... to gaze into the agony which distorted her victim’s features unrecognisably.
Each time, ten more vicious strokes had been laid on ... And, somewhere along the line, a second booster injection was thought necessary (the maximum possible in any twelve hour period) thus ensuring Isabel fully felt every one of the fifty strokes she received.
When it was at last over, her splendidly curvaceous bottom was a ghastly mass of red and purple weals, crossing and criss-crossing ... with no white flesh to be seen at all.
For the final time, Madame Vesta looked into the petrified eyes, starting from their sockets, wide and wild with pain and horror. Once again they seemed to be glazing over ...
Yes, Lady Isabel had certainly learnt a lesson this time!
A considerable improvement in her behaviour could be expected in the future.
“No treatment for twelve hours, Magog.”
“Very well, Madame Vesta.”
“And rub plenty of wet salt into her bottom every two hours.”
“Certainly, Madame.”
Madame Vesta turned back to Nadine who was still kneeling, trembling with shock at what she had seen and heard.
“There, my girl,” she said, “you see what happens to slaves who are disobedient. And insolent. You are not going to be either, are you?”
“N-No . . . ooohhh . . . n-noooo, Madame . . . I swear it!”
“Good ... good ... I’m pleased to hear it, for your sake. Now, Gog, come forward, please, and remove that loincloth. It’s time this young lady learnt to put her mouth to good use.”

MADAME VESTA HAD been right, reflected Belle as she continued to lie on the leathern top. That was a thrashing she would remember for the rest of her days. she shuddered.
The incredible agony of it ...
Particularly in view of her experience.
The next time she had been brought before Madame Vesta, stark terror had made her grovel and beg ... and obey the most outrageous commands. She had disgusted herself with what she had done. Hated herself. But that stark terror had driven her on.
That’s what training was about.
Of course, there had been more rebellions later on. Several of them. With subsequent canings, birchings, whippings. Also, use of an iron pear gag, which she had sometimes had to wear for days at a time. Because, as Madame Vesta had told her ‘you too easily lose control of your tongue’. Oh those agonising jaw-stretching, choking hours and days!
But now that was all behind her.
There was no more true rebellion or resistance in her. Only just the occasional little slip like the one for which she had just been caned. For basically Belle now accepted that she was indeed a slave and there was noting she could do about it. It was better to submit and obey than go on suffering the agonies of the damned. It wasn’t easy, but it was better. Also, as time passed, submission and obedience gradually became more natural. That was some kind of help.
Belle heard Haroun returning.
“Up you get,” he said. There came the customary slap on her bottom. Belle twisted off the table and stood waiting. “Your first duties are in twelve hours time, slave,” continued Haroun. “Two hours before that, you will report to Miss Reva. Then you bathe ... and are lacquered. She will take you to your place of duty. Got it?”
“Yes, Master ...”
“But first, go the Recovery Room and get rid of those weals.”
“Yes, Master ...”
“After that, you’re free to wander about the Harem.” Haroun grinned. “Maybe make a few friends ...”
Belle said nothing. She was well aware that lesbianism was rife in the Harem. However, it had no appeal for her. Quite the contrary. That did not mean, though, that she had not frequently had to carry out lesbian acts for the pleasure of women guests.
“Master, may I ask where the Recovery Room is?”
“I’ll take you there. It’ll be some time before you can find your way around this place. Follow me.”
With bottom still stinging painfully, Belle hurried out after the striding Arab.
Once again they returned to the main harem, with its naked figures lounging everywhere. As she moved, Belle was very conscious of the device within her. She felt concerned that others should see it. She also felt a certain shame, which was something which was growing ever more rare for her. But nobody seemed to notice or care.
Incurious eyes were cast upon her as she went by.
She was just another slave-girl.
“It’s at the far end,” said Haroun, pointing. “On the right is the door of the Punishment Room, on the left is the door of the Recovery Room. Lucky for you, you’re going to the right one. Off with you!”
Ssllaapppp!
Belle hurried off as best she could. Oh that awful thing! It wasn’t exactly painful now. Just most uncomfortable and embarrassing. Would she ever get used to it?
At last she reached the far end of the main room and turned left. There it was... Recovery Room, Belle knocked. No answer came. So cautiously, she entered. The familiar lines of wooden tables met her eyes. The lamps above. The shelves with ointment jars. Perhaps half a dozen of the tables were occupied . . . each slave-girl strapped spread-eagled and face down . . . the miracle rays beaming down invisibly into their scarred flesh.
“Yes?”
Belle started. A coal-black figure had come out of a cubicle to her right.
“I ... I was sent here for treatment, Master ...”
“By whom?”
“Haroun, Master.”
“Your name?”
“Belle, Master.”
The Nubian, impassive throughout, made a couple of notes on a pad.
“On that table, girl.”
Belle climbed quickly up and lay down, stretching out arms and legs. She knew the routine well. How thankfully she had often got on such a table ... knowing that relief from blazing welts and weals was at hand! The straps pinioned her wrists and ankles. Then the Nubian disappeared for a few moments. She heard a jar being unscrewed.
“Just a little caning, eh?”
“Yes ... Master ...”
The ointment was slapped on to Belle’s buttocks. It was cold. Heavenly!
“You just had that put up you?”
“Y-Yes ... Master...”
“You new here, then?”
“Yes, Master ...”
The strong fingers were kneading the thick ointment onto her flesh. Belle didn’t mind that it hurt even more at that moment. It would soon get better.
“You no like that up you?”
The word ‘no’ came to Belle’s lips, but she suppressed it. “It ... it is for my own good, Master ...”
“You like it then?”
“Y-Yes, Master,” Belle forced herself to say.
“You like a prick better, then?”
“Y-Yes ... M-Master ...”
“One day, I give it to you, girl . . . when you come here . . .”
Ssllaapp! Ssllaapp!
The kneading of the ointment was finished. The healing lamps would be switched on. But she would not feel the rays.
“Thank you, Master,” she said. It did no harm to grovel verbally.
“Three hours will do for you, girl.”
Ssllaapp! Ssllaapp!
Then the Nubian was gone. Belle lay quietly on the hard surface trying to relax as best she could. It was always best to rest whenever one had the opportunity.
How much, she thought, I resented those marauding black hands at one time ... even though they eased pain. She had hated them, in fact. They treated her as if she were a piece of meat and not a woman. Now Belle no longer cared about that sort of thing. All she cared about was getting healed as quickly as possible.
She closed her eyes.
Already the sting of the weals was beginning to ebb …

Released from the table later, Belle went back into the main room of the Harem. She felt strangely shy. Absurd really. There was something of the feeling of being a new girl at school.
Where should she go?
What should she do with herself?
Finally, Belle seated herself on an unoccupied couch. Two girls on a neighbouring couch regarded her disinterestedly. Belle lay back on the softness of the couch. This, at any rate, she told herself, is better than being in the Stables. The smell . . . the straw . . . the constant discomforts. Oh thank God that, at least, was over!
Belle tried to shut her mind to the future. Her new duties. The fact that she would be in close proximity to Princess Karina ... however humble her tasks might be.
“Hallo ...” A youngish-looking, quite pretty girl with dark brown hair and green eyes had seated herself on the couch. “You’re new, aren’t you?”
Belle nodded. “Yes,” she answered. It was strange to be speaking in this way. To an equal, as it were. It seemed she hadn’t done such a thing for years. Indeed, in the Stables, she had not spoken at all for six months! Just neighed ...
“I’m Tessa. Are you English?”
“Yes ...”
“What’s your name then?”
“Belle ...”
“It’s a bit difficult at first here. But you soon get used to it. Did they send you from the main Harem?”
“No. I came from the Stables.”
“Oh ... you poor dear. How awful! I’ve escaped that so far. Maybe I won’t ever go there either. I think I’m too small.”
Belle studied the neat-figured girl alongside her. She was right ... she was not Stable material. Lucky for her. “You are most fortunate then,” she said.
“What’s it like here?”
“Terrible, too. On occasions. But not all the time. You have some awful things to do when you’re on duty. I suppose you’re starting in the lavatory?”
Belle felt a faint colouring coming to her cheeks at having to admit to this lowly grade. “Yes,” she replied.
“We’ve all had to do it,” said Tessa. “There are worse things.”
“Yes ... I suppose so ...”
“Are you being stretched?”
“Yes ... I am ...”
“It’s horrible at first. But you’ll soon get used to it.” Tessa put out a hand and touched Belle on the arm. She gave a half-smile. “I’m sure things here can’t be worse than the Stables.”
Tears came into Belle’s eyes. She could not recall when she had last been shown any kindness. “Th-Thank you ...” she said in a whisper. “You’re very kind.” Then she paused. “Tell me,” she went on, “is there much of that here?”
“Much of what?”
“Buggery ...”
“A fair bit. But not all that much. Does it worry you?”
“Belle nodded. “I loathe it ... for me ... it’s the worse thing ...”
“Don’t show it then,” advised Tessa sagely. “Or they’ll bum-fuck you all the more.”
Two overseers strolled by ... one brown-skinned, one white. They were deep in conversation and did not even glance their way.
“I ... I’ll try not to,” said Belle.
“Another thing. You’ll get fucked a lot to begin with. New girls always do. Apart from that, with a body like yours ... and your looks ... it would be surprising if you didn’t.”
Belle experienced an odd glow of pleasure at this compliment. “Thank you,” she said. Then she shrugged. I’m pretty used to being fucked by now. Sometimes I even enjoy it ...”
“We all get like that,” Tessa said with a wry smile. “Well, the majority of us. I expect it’s a blessing in disguise. I suppose your Overseer has fucked you already.”
“Oh, yes. He’s called Haroun. He’s a big brute of a man. What a size!”
“I know him. Mind you, they’re all much the same. Specially selected. By the way, when are you on duty?”
“In about eight or nine hours now.”
“Same as me ...”
“What will you be doing?”
“It’s difficult to say exactly. Probably decorative. I’m pretty new here myself. Sometimes I am used as a wine-server. That’s one of the easiest. Don’t let that lavatory thing let you down. It has its nasty moments, of course, but mainly it’s more boring than anything.”
Again Belle felt a warmth towards this girl. It was a marvellous thing to have a companion in misfortune. “You’re being very nice to me,” she said.
“It’s best we help each other. If we can,” replied Tessa. She looked at Belle directly. “Are you lesbian?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not.” Belle shook her blonde head.
“That’s all right. Nor am I. There are some right dykes about here, I can tell you.”
“As if we haven’t got enough troubles anyway.”
“Quite so ...” Tessa stood up. “I’ve got to go now,” she said. Then she strolled away as quietly as she had come.
“See you again ... I hope ...”
“Don’t worry, you will.”
Belle watched the trim young figure disappear into one of the passageways. She felt pleased, almost excited, by the meeting. Her first ‘human contact’ for so long, for a moment she almost wished she were a lesbian, so that the relationship could take on great depths. She sank back into the couch, momentarily almost content.
Then she felt the impinging of the device ...
Her brief contentment vanished. She closed her eyes and sighed. The distant murmuring sounds of the women in the harem came to her. They had a lulling effect. Perhaps she dozed. The next thing she knew was a hand on her breasts.
“Hullo, beautiful,” said a voice. It was a woman’s voice.
She opened her eyes to see a tall, black-eyed woman bending over her. The hair was black, too. The mouth was wide and red. Smiling. Hard and smiling. Belle started back.
“Who ... who are you?” she gasped.
“I might well ask the same.”
“I ... I’m Belle. I’m new here.”
“I know that. You’ve got a lovely body, Belle. Maybe, one day, you’ll rise to my job.”
“W-What’s that?”
“I’m her Highness’s chief slave. Name of Natasha. I’m Russian.”
Belle remembered about that chief slave. She had once seen one when she was newly arrived. A tall, golden figure, heading a group of slaves carrying Princess Karina on her litter into the dining hall filled with guests. Belle had been engaged on a humble decorative role ... a ‘living statue’ in an alcove. But, Belle recalled, despite the fact that she was ‘chief’, that tall figure had had to give an exhibition for the guests later in the evening . . . servicing three guards simultaneously.
“I see...” said Belle.
“And that gives me a bit of pull around here.”
Belle doubted that, but she could not be sure. She would have to go carefully at first. Tessa would tell her the truth later. A hand went down and ran lightly over her mound.
“Please ... don’t,” she said, recoiling a little, “I’m not like that.”
Natasha smiled. “I don’t give a damn whether you are or not,” she said. “I get what I want from the girls in here.”
Belle suddenly found herself clasped in the woman’s arms and her protest was cut short as her mouth was kissed passionately. She struggled as best she could but she seemed to have only half Natasha’s strength. Then she became aware that her mound was being pressed and rubbed by Natasha’s mound. She struggled harder, but all in vain.
Then Natasha’s mouth came away.
“Stop . . . stop it . . .” gasped Belle. “I don’t want it . . .”
“And I don’t care, replied Natasha. “Come on ... rub ... rub ... I want to feel you!”
“Please ... please ... don’t...” Oh God, why didn’t someone help her? Were they all indifferent to whatever went on?
“Listen” said Natasha viciously, “I can make trouble for you in here. I’ve got some pull.”
Again, Belle doubted it; but again she couldn’t be sure. Best to go along for the moment rather than risk trouble. The black eyes were looking down at her hawkishly. This Natasha looked more like a female Overseer than a slave.
“Y-You ... h-horrible ...”
“Come on, you little bitch ... rub... I won’t warn you again!”
Reluctantly, Belle began to move her haunches, pressing and rubbing co-operatively.
“Mmmm ... that’s better ... mmmmm ... my God, you’ve got a body, girl!” Natasha’s mouth fastened over one of Belle’s breasts and began to suck. She began to press harder and rub more urgently. Then the mouth came up for air. “I ... ahh ... I’d ... ahhh ... love to ... fuck you . . . aaahhhh . . . with a dildoe,” panted Natasha.
Belle said nothing. She too was now rubbing harder ... hoping to get it over more quickly. She loathed this woman crushing her down. How wicked for one slave to make another suffer!
“Oooohh ... yes ... yes ... that’s good ... hhaaaahhhh ... your cunt feels lovely ... hhhaaaahhhhhhhh .... lovely ...” gasped Natasha.
Belle closed her eyes. The end could not be far away. Thankfully.
Natasha began to pant. She was almost pounding herself up and down on Belle.
“Hhhhhaaaahhhhhh . . . HHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
The climax came with Natasha jerking and shuddering convulsively, biting one of Belle’s breasts as she did so. Belle screamed, striking out at her...
At that moment, she was aware of a figure standing over them ... then of a hand descending. There was a resounding slap as it hit Natasha’s bottom. “No biting, you stupid woman!” bellowed a voice. Belle saw that it was Haroun and he was looking down at the teeth marks in her breast.
Meanwhile, Natasha had slid down to her knees. She had not yet quite recovered from her orgasm. “I ... b-beg pardon, Master ... I didn’t realise ...” she began.
“Get into the Punishment Room, woman ... I’ll be along shortly,” ordered Haroun.
Belle’s heart sang with joy! So this was the woman with ‘pull’ was it? She almost laughed as Natasha did not delay a second to obey the order. Why . . . she was just another slave-girl . . .on her way to get a thrashing!
“Fine friends you make,” said Haroun, smiling down.
“She ... she forced me, Master,” replied Belle.
“That’s what they all say. Back to the Recovery Room. They can fix that in half an hour.”
“Yes, Master ... Thank you, Master ...”
How grateful Belle was to Haroun for his intervention! She watched with something like glee as he strode off towards the Punishment Room. Natasha’s bottom would soon be jerking again. But this time with pain and not pleasure.
Once more Belle made her way to the Recovery Room.

As the time to go on duty approached, Belle became more and more nervous.
“It’s always the same the first time,” said Tessa, whom she had met again. “Try and relax. Nothing’s ever quite as bad as you imagine.”
Belle wasn’t sure about the truth of that!
She had told Tessa about Natasha and what had happened to her ... and Tessa was delighted. “She always tells new girls what ‘pull’ she’s got but, of course, she hasn’t any. I saw her not long ago and it looked as if she’s had at least a dozen with the rod from Haroun.”
“Serves her right,” said Belle. “Why doesn’t she keep her attentions for those who like it?”
“You know why. Dykes enjoy a bit of ‘****’ from time to time. Just like men do!”
They began to drift towards the end of the main chamber where a group of girls were assembling.
“This is us,” said Tessa.
Belle studied the naked figures around her, trying not to do so too obviously. All had excellent figures. They wouldn’t have been selected for Princess Karina’s retinue otherwise, she realised. Most had excellent features too. Either beautiful, pretty, attractive or striking. Hair was of all shades from blondes even lighter than Belle herself to the black of Natasha. The eyes, Belle saw, though often large and beautiful, had a dull resigned look about them. That’s how my eyes look, she thought.
They are the eyes of slave-girls.
In due time, four Overseers appeared. They included the German, Otto and Haroun. The other two were tall and handsome-looking Nubians. Now the girls were herded along a corridor and into the bathing room, which Belle had passed through before. Here, to Belle’s intense relief, Haroun took her into a cubicle and removed the device he had put there earlier. For a little while, after it came out, it felt almost strange ...
Then the girls sank into the pool ... there to wallow lazily, covering each other with scented oils. Belle kept near to Tessa and they tended each other ... though several girls tried to intervene and get their hand on Belle. However, it soon became apparent that their attentions were unwelcome and they drifted away again.
Around the edge of the pool strolled the four guards, occasionally tossing in more sachets of the scented oils. It suddenly occurred to Belle that the scene was reminiscent of a pool in a zoo where the seals were kept . . . with the keepers throwing in fish to their captive charges! There was the same indifference . . . the same faint traces of amusement ... as when men are in charge of a****ls.
“All out!” came the order after twenty minutes or so.
“Follow me,” said Tessa, slithering up out of the pool. She went through one of the numerous archways around the pool and into an ante-chamber with a massage table in the centre and a series of dressing tables and mirrors around the wall. Four girls followed them in as well as one of the guards. It was Otto.
“We each get a massage,” said Tessa. “Just a five minute one. Then we do our own hair and make-up.
She jumped up on the table and soon Otto’s hands were slapping and pummelling her vigorously. Once again, the similarity of handling a meat-carcass came to Belle as she stood by, watching. Then her turn came.
“Face down,” said Otto. As Belle turned, he gave her bottom a couple of unnecessarily hard slaps. Then his fingers began to knead and delve. From time to time, he probed into Belle, whose features remained impassive. She was, of course, quite used to that sort of thing by now.
“You been fucked today, slave?” asked Otto suddenly. Belle was now face up, her breasts oiled. She couldn’t stop her nipples firming.
“Yes, Master,” she answered demurely.
“Haroun?”
“Yes, Master.”
“I fuck you when you finish duty.”
“Thank you, Master.”
One great brute will feel much like another great brute, reflected Belle resignedly. However, Otto’s grossness and Germanic appearance were rather more repellent than Haroun’s light-brown muscular smoothness.
“Off you go ...”
Another slap and Belle made her way to one of the dressing tables. It’s still me, she thought, as she regarded her own reflection. She began to comb her long soft hair. How can I look so much the same after all I have gone through? she asked herself. It was absurd. Rather frightening, in fact. This was Lady Isabel Dysart looking out from the mirror! Belle tore her mind away from the thought. Why torment yourself? Except for those eyes, of course. Yes ... they had lost their lustre. They were the eyes of one defeated.
Scarcely anything else could be expected.
Slowly and carefully, she made up her face ...
It certainly made a change, she said to herself, from having a bit between one’s teeth and being hosed down by a Stable hand!

The final stage came.
Six at a time, wearing close-fitting bathing hats, the girls climbed down into a tank filled with the gold lacquer. Each ducked down a little until the liquid reached the underside of the chin. Then they rose and climbed out again ... and moved into the drying room.
Six beautiful, gold-glistening bodies emerged.
Now each overseer painted the six faces by hand.
That done, they were considered in suitable condition to be in the presence of her Highness Princess Karina ... and to serve and amuse her as she desired. All that remained was Miss Reva’s final inspection ... and for her to lead them into the sanctum sanctorum of Quireme.
That would be in half an hour.
Nothing to do but wait.
Oh how often I have waited, thought Belle. In apprehension. In dread. In terror. Waiting could be like a coiled spring, ever tightening...