Arabian Plaything Chapter 6
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BELLE, STILL FEELING the sharp sting of the weals raised by Miss Lirium, began to assimilate the information just given to her. Of course, she was quite familiar with such pain — and worse. It was simply part of the everyday existence of a slave-girl and had to be borne. Belle accepted it, not even feeling any resentment against the tall, striking-looking woman before whom she now knelt submissively, hands clasped at the back of her head. After all, it was no more than the duty of an Overseer to punish a slave if she, or he, thought a girl had erred. That was simply part of the pattern of life in Quireme.
“You are sensible of this opportunity, slave? This honour?” enquired the leather-clad figure. She had Slav-like features, high cheekbones and slanting eyes but her wide lips were thin.
“Yes, Miss.” Belle spoke clearly and firmly. Her voice had a genuine ring to it. She really did feel something at being selected in this way to serve the all-powerful Princess of Quireme. Could one have called it pride? Maybe ... maybe not. At the same time, Belle also felt a kind of freezing inner dread. A fear of failure. A fear of the consequences of failure. That was understandable enough.
“You may have thought,” continued Miss Lirium in a matter-of-fact way, “that standards of discipline in the Quireme Harem are strict. However, as a member of her Highness’s slave retinue you will find them even stricter. You appreciate that?”
“Yes, Miss.” Once again Belle absorbed the sting of her new weals. She certainly did appreciate that already! For those weals were there simply because she made the error of falling to her knees voluntarily — before Miss Lirium. The Princess’s Chief Overseer deemed that as ‘acting without an order’. Punishable therefore. Meriting only a dozen or so from the rod.
And whilst she was giving them to this newly-arrived slave, Miss Lirium not only noted the splendid, curvaceous proportions of the bottom presented to her, but also the way that bottom was kept square to her throughout punishment. She was quite impressed ... even though, by Quireme standards, the punishment was quite mild.
“The regime here,” went on Miss Lirium, “is a little different to that of the general Harem. I will explain something of it to you. Listen carefully.” She seated herself on the edge of a table, short, pleated black skirt riding high. One saw the whiteness of the top of her thigh above the black leather boot which came halfway up its length. Somehow that garb epitomised her power, just as Belle’s nakedness epitomised her helplessness. Oh what a world of difference between these two women! Yet the one who casually flexed the rod had once been a peasant’s daughter, while the one who knelt had been born an aristocrat.
O tempora! O Mores!
“Although you have been selected,” said the Chief Overseer, “that does not mean you will remain in her Highness’s slave retinue. That will depend on your performance. May I say, at the outset, if you fail to make the grade, the consequences for you will be most unpleasant. Both immediately and when you return to the general Harem. Clear?”
“Yes, Miss.”
That freezing sensation within Belle intensified. Though she had suffered immeasurable — and somehow survived — she was becoming aware that, on a different level, she was facing perhaps her toughest test yet.
Yet, how could it be tougher than her initiation?
How could it be tougher than her first days in the Harem?
Or being trained as a Pony Girl?
It did not seem possible ... and Belle tried to comfort herself with that thought. Surely nothing could be worse than what she had already gone through!
“A slave-girl ‘on probation,’ as it were, such as yourself, is given the lowliest of tasks in the service of her HIghness. Yet even so, she will consider those tasks an honour. Any service of a personal nature on behalf of her Highness is an honour. You understand that, slave?”
“Oh yes, Miss ... “ Belle’s reply was low and vibrant. Again, the genuineness of her reply could scarcely be doubted.
“You will remain on such lowly tasks until another slave-girl is chosen as a possibility for her Highness’s retinue. Then she will take your place ... and you will move one rung up the ladder. A ladder of servitude; yet a ladder which any slave is privilege to scale.”
Belle said nothing. Her blue-green eyes were humble and respectful. Intent. Once they had shone with scornful defiance. With arrogance. With fire and fury.
No longer.
“Her Highness Princess Karina has some eighty slave-girls in her retinue,” resumed Miss Lirium. “Perhaps at any one time about 10% are unfit for duty. This number may seem quite large ... and it has grown steadily but surely. First six ... then twelve ... then twenty four ... and so on. Suffice to say that, at the present time, her Highness is constantly attended upon by twenty four slaves at any moment of the day. From that you can calculate that you will spend eight hours on duty, in every twenty four, and sixteen hours off. Not too arduous, you will agree?”
“Yes, Miss.” Of course, Belle had no idea whether it would be arduous or not. It much depended on the nature of the duty. However it was best to agree.
Miss Lirium now continued once again. “Whilst on duty, all personal slaves of her Highness have their bodies coated with gold lacquer. You will have noticed that in the Harem ... “
Bell nodded.
“.... and you should know that this lacquering is done an hour before duty commences. It is removed immediately after so that no permanent harm comes to the skin. These tasks and others of a similar nature, are carried out by what I might term Princess Karina’s ‘praetorian guard’. This consists of twelve individually chosen young men ... all of exceptional physique. As you will discover, four are Nubians, four are Arabs, four are from Europe. You will of course, show each and every one of them the utmost respect.” Miss Lirium smiled faintly. “And, I should tell you, they all have free run of you at any time ... as is the case with all slave-girls in her Highness’s retinue.”
Belle’s features remained impassive, though she felt a little quivering of emotion deep inside. She called, momentarily, on her inner reserves. She had been used and abused so much that nothing really made much difference any more. Or so she told herself. Had she not had to service overseers, guests, stable hands? So...
“Perhaps that idea appeals to you.” Miss Lirium’s dark eyes were almost reptilian in their stare. “Yes?”
“It is not for me to say, Miss,” replied Belle, using a time-honoured formula in such situations, “It is simply for me to serve ... to the utmost of my ability.”
“Correct.” Miss Lirium’s voice had a snap to it. One got the impression that if any other answer had been made, Belle would have suffered for it.
“Whilst you are on duty,” continued the Chief Overseer, “you will be quartered with the other slave-girls of her Highness’s retinue. There you will find life easy. You will rest as much as possible. You will also undergo various beauty treatments ... bathing, massage and so on. This will be carried out by the guards I have already mentioned. There may be times, as I have said, when you may be called upon to amuse one or more of them but that will present no problems.”
No, thought Belle, none. I am quite used to giving myself to any one who wants me. No problems.
“The guards ... and my three assistant female overseers ... are all permitted to administer punishments of a minor nature. Slappings ... strappings ... canings. However, anything of a more serious nature is reported to me. Then I decide the punishment. And, believe me, my girl, I show no mercy on a slave who has got out of line or failed in her duty!”
Belle believed her. Very much so!
“I am fair,” said Miss Lirium, “but firm. Very firm. I do not advise you to cross me.”
“N-No .. oo ... Miss ...” said Belle in a whisper. She certainly had no intention of attempting to do so. All her experience told her that this woman before whom she humbly knelt had not an atom of mercy in her. If that were not so, in any event, how could she have become the Chief Overseer of Princess Karina?
Miss Lirium paused. The slave-girl before her had spoken without being actually asked a direct question. Punishable, surely? But then she considered. Her statement had, perhaps, invited an answer. It had been a most’ respectful answer, anyway. Miss Lirium decided against punishment. As she had just announced, she was fair but firm.
“Now ... as to your duties ...”
Belle tensed, seeing a faint, sneering smile flicker over the Chief Overseer’s thin lips. What was in store for her now?
“... as I told you, they will be of a lowly nature. But, nevertheless, you will carry them out with the same meticulous thoroughness that you will carry out every other duty assigned to you while you are part of her Highness’s retinue. You fully understand that?”
“Oh yes ... Miss!”
“Good. Well, let me tell you that you have been assigned the duty of lavatory attendant to her Highness. You will spend the eight hours of your tour of duty within her lavatory. You will be responsible for seeing that it is spotlessly clean throughout every moment of the day. Thus your tongue will be most frequently at work.” Miss Lirium smiles that thin smile. “For, you see, there will be nothing else to clean that lavatory with.” Now the face hardened again. “Beyond that, you will attend upon her Highness whenever she visits her lavatory. An honour indeed, is it not? You, slave, will clean her to her satisfaction before she departs!”
Belle remained impassively silent as ever ... taking in the utter degradation of the duty assigned her.
They had been called lowly ...
But this!
Once again, Belle called on inner reserves and displayed no emotion. If anything, she was well aware, she should look joyful. Was it not an honour to lick the bottom of her Highness? Of course ... oh of course ... it was!
Miss Lirium stood up, tapping the rod to her boot.
“You understand all I have said, slave?”
“Yes, Miss,” answered Belle. She swallowed. Then spoke again. “And ... and ... I am honoured, Miss ...”
“Yes, indeed you are, Belle. But don’t let it go to your head. Don’t get careless or slack. If your duties are not carried out to perfection, I shall hear of it. Then you will have me to account to. And that, as I have told you, you will not enjoy.”
“I ... I ... understand, Miss ...”
“Very well, then. Now I shall have you taken to your quarters and prepared. Miss Reva, one of my assistants, will inform you of your hours of duty. Also, she will give you a little instruction in how to carry them out.”
Miss Lirium pressed a bell-push by her side, continuing to gaze down on the kneeling woman before her. Yes ... she thought ... this one has considerable merit. A superbly-proportioned body. Just look at these firm, round breasts! Those thighs! The hindquarters, too, she knew, were first class. Add to all that the fine features of good breeding and long, golden-blonde hair, and you had a worthy slave-girl indeed.
One fit to serve a Princess!
There came a knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Miss Lirium.
In strode a muscular man in his mid twenties. A giant of a man, one might say ... approaching six feet six inches and broad with it. He was caste in the mould of all of Princess Karina’s ‘praetorian guards’, whatever the colour of their skin. In this case, it was an amber-brown. That of an Arab. The muscles rippled, the flesh was lean and heathy-looking. The man was nude but for a white satin pouch slung about his private parts. That pouch bulged formidably.
“Miss ... you rang ...” The Arab made a short, formal bow. It was not the bow of a servant. Rather one of respect between equals.
“I did, Haroun.” She pointed down to Belle with the rod. “This is a newly-arrived girl. Her name is Belle and she is being considered for a place in her Highness’s retinue.”
“Ah ...” The Arab Haroun looked down ... and liked what he saw. He had in fact, heard of this newcomer ... this English ‘lady’ who had been made into a slave. Her reputation, as it were, had preceded her. Haroun liked very much the idea of the high-born being humbled. Maybe it was because, for centuries, his race had been despised and ridden over roughshod by whites. Not only by men but by women also.
Now one of those Christian infidels was getting her just desserts!
“To start with, her duties will be of the lowest. Her Highness’s lavatory attendant.”
“I understand, Miss.”
“Meanwhile, please take her to her quarters ... and inform Miss Reva of her arrival. Any treatment necessary, you may give her.”
“Very well, Miss Lirium.”
The Chief Overseer turned her attention back to |Belle, who had remained kneeling quietly and submissively. She was summoning her will and strength to contend with the various ordeals ahead of her.
Her new surroundings...
Her new ravagers...
Her new tormentors...
Her new duties...
It was going to be difficult. Very difficult. But, somehow, she must brace herself to endure ... to the limit ... yet again. Did it, she asked herself, become less difficult to do that as time passed and experience was gained?
She asked the question ... but received no answer.
“Do not ever forget what an honour this is, Belle,” said the Chief Overseer.
“N-No ... Miss ...” She saw the faint, derisive smile on Miss Lirium’s lips. That was something which, in her early days in the Harem, would have driven her to a fury of rage and rebellion. And, thus, earned her a merciless thrashing. Now, Belle just accepted the sneer. She was but a slave. There to be derided and spat upon.
She must show no resentment.
She must not complain.
Indeed, she dare not!
Haroun’s big strong hand took hold of a hank of Belle’s blonde hair. He tugged ... but gently.
“Up, my beauty,” he said softly.
Belle rose from her knees with natural grace. She felt as well as saw the lustful, liquid-brown eyes upon her. She was at once aware, too, of the massiveness of the Arab guard. He was overpoweringly huge ... making her feel weak and helpless simply to look at him.
“Master ...” she said.
It was a sighing whisper. An instant acceptance of the relationship between them. Not of the relationship of a year or two previously. Then, ‘her ladyship’ would have gone riding by, leaving another ‘stinking Arab’ choking in the dust.
“Correct, slave,” said Haroun. He smiled, showing lovely big white teeth. Very even teeth.
Belle felt even weaker as Haroun continued to hold her by her hair. She thought, for a moment, he was going to swing her by it. Since she was five feet eight inches, he had but to extend his arm and she would have dangled before him, toes scrabbling for the floor.
“Good tits,” said Haroun, eyes genuinely appreciative.
“Thank you ... M-Master ...” Belle had, over a period of time, acquired the correct technique for mentally, verbals and physically grovelling to make guards and overseers. She had learnt the sort of thing they wanted ... and contrived to give it to them.
It could be easier that way ...
“And a good bottom, too!”
Haroun’s right arm swung and his broad palm smacked resoundingly on Belle’s left buttock cheek.
“Ah ... thank ... you, Master.”
“You might make the grade . . . if you behave yourself.”
“Yes, Master ... I w-want to, Master...”
Miss Lirium gave the Arab a nod. “You may take her away now, Haroun.”
“Yes, Miss.” He turned to Belle. “Follow me, girl.”
Submissively Belle followed the near-nude giant from the room ... conscious of the immense power of the back, loins and thighs she saw before her.
Down a wide, tall corridor they went. It was Byzantine in style, collonaded, mosaic tiled, marble walled, gilt etched. There was a magnificence about it ... a reminder of splendours of the past. What a contrast, reflected Belle, to the rough practicality of the Stables, with the straw -strewn wooden floors! At least, it was something to be free of that horror m... even though she guessed the existence which now faced, though different, would scarcely be any easier. She would be subjected to constant degradation: subject to an iron discipline: punished for the slightest of faults: a plaything for the guards. However, could that be worse than being treated literally like an a****l. Being tethered in a stall? Having to eat mush? Straining and sweating between the shafts as a whip cracked and cracked again across one’s hindquarters?
It did not seem possible that what lay ahead could be worse. Even being her Highness’s lavatory attendant ...
But she would have to wait and see. And, meanwhile, show the utmost respect and complete obedience to those who were now in charge of her.
“These are the quarters of Princess Karina’s slave retinue,” said Haroun as he opened one of a pair of huge double doors. “Here you will be kept while you are not on duty.”
They entered a huge chamber — in the same style as the corridor they had just left — and, at first sight, it appeared rather like some lavish ballroom from another age. Except that the floor, where the dancers would have been, was covered with chairs, tables and couches. On these could be seen perhaps twenty or thirty naked women. Some were alone, seemingly asleep. A couple of the giant guards — both coal-black Nubians — were strolling around the periphery apparently indifferent to the mass of pulchritude all about.
My fellow slaves, thought Belle, all in the personal service of her Highness!
No one paid any regard to their entrance and Haroun made his way down one side of the long room. Belle noted the complete lack of inhibition as women lay sprawled in various postures of naked abandon. Like myself she thought, they had all become so accustomed to nudity that they behaved more like a****ls than humans. Glancing to her right, through the colonnade, she saw it was honey-combed with passages and smaller rooms. It was indeed a vast place and Belle could not help but be impressed by the luxurious opulence of everything. However hard their duties, the slave-girls obviously lived a life of comparative ease when their services were not required.
What a strange world it was!
A world of its own!
It reflected the immense power Princess Karina wielded ...
They turned under the colonnade and made their way along a series of smaller passages. Finally they came to a black door with a large gilt handle. The guard knocked.
“Come in...” A woman’s voice.
Get to your knees when you enter Miss Reva’s room,” warned Haroun.
“Yes, Master.”
They entered, to find the room occupied by three people. First, a fair-haired woman of about twenty five, garbed very similarly to Miss Lirium, except that this outfit was of gleaming red leather. Before her knelt a naked girl. To one side stood another guard, this one white-skinned, but just as huge as the rest.
“What’s this?” asked Miss Reva sharply as Belle sank to her knees.
“The new slave-girl, Belle, Miss Reva.”
“Ah ... thank you, Haroun. I’ll deal with her in a moment.” The she turned back to the white guard. “You say she put on two pounds in a week, Otto?”
“That’s right, Miss Reva.” The voice was slightly guttural, betraying the man’s German origins. “I thought it best to bring it to your attention. A half a pound ... well, that’s all right ... but two pounds ...”
“You were quite correct, Otto.” She turned back to the kneeling girl and Belle was conscious of Miss Reva’s glittering blue eyes. They were truly wicked eyes. Eyes that openly revelled in power and cruelty.
“What is the meaning of this, Sophia? Been stuffing yourself with sweetmeats, I suppose!”
“I ... I didn’t think so, Miss ...”
“Didn’t think so! Well how do you explain it then?”
“I ... c-can’t, Miss ...”
Belle saw the girl’s hands clasping. She knows she is for it, she thought.
“Do you think her Highness wants fat gutted slaves in her presence?”
“No ... oh no, Miss ...”
“And I intend to see she does not have them! I will not have this greed ... this lack of self-control in a slave. It’s outrageous! I shall take some skin off your backside, Sophia, to remind you of that fact.”
The girl’s head drooped momentarily, then came up again. Miss Reva went to a tall, ornately decorated cabinet and opened it. From the interior she removed a three-thronged martinet.
A little gasping-moan came from Sophia. “O-Ohhh ... no … ooooo ...” It was scarcely audible, however.
“A good whipping will probably cure you, my girl,” said Miss Reva. Holding the short, silver-cased handle of the martinet in her right hand, she trailed the three leather thongs over her left palm. Each was eighteen inches long, slim and very tightly plaited ... and each ended in three small knots from which dangled a little leather tassel. Belle felt a tremor of apprehension go through her. Though life in that Harem might appear fairly easy on the surface, it was obvious that penalties were severe for misdemeanours. Belle resolved all the more to behave herself. Miss Reva nodded to the giant Otto, who at once moved across and, taking Sophia by her wrists, pulled her up and then twisted her around as if she were no more than a five-year-old girl rather than a mature woman in her early twenties. And a voluptuously mature one at that. Then he forced the girl’s head down and thrust it between his tree-trunk thighs. These clamped together, pinning Sophia helpless, and then, by pulling her wrists up her rent back, the girl was forced to raise her hindquarters high.
“Yes ...” said Miss Reva, surveying the lush, curving bottom before her, “that’s more than ample. When I have finished with you, slave, you’ll not only lose those two pounds but three more besides. And you’ll do it in three days flat! Do you hear me?”
Sophia had some difficulty in doing so, in view of Otto’s clamping thighs ... but she made the correct answer all the same. “Y-Yes ... Miss ...” she croaked.
The thongs left Miss Reva’s palm and fell straight down by her side. The tassels touching the carpet. She stood directly behind her victim noting and appreciating the quick quivers of apprehension which passed over the milky-white flesh. She remembered Sophia of old. This girl had the sort of softly fulsome bottom ideal for whipping. Up went the martinet ... then down whistled the three individual thongs, lashing over Sophia’s right buttock cheek, curling round her flank.
A clenched teeth, whinnying cry came from between Otto’s thighs.
The soft bottom, now carrying three bright red weals on one side, squirmed and juddered convulsively.
A brief pause...
Then the three thongs came singing down again. This time they lashed across Sophia’s left buttock cheek, to produce very similar reactions.
Another whinnying cry.
Another convulsive squirm.
A brief pause...
Then the martinet lashed across the right buttock cheek again. And, this time, it produced not a whinnying cry, but an outright yelp of pain ... and an even more convulsive writhing movement.
A momentary sadistic smile flickered over Miss Reva’s lips. Already, so soon, she was getting through to this soft-bottomed girl. Well, she would soon yell a lot louder before she had done with her!
Remorselessly, the whipping proceeded in this way. First one buttock cheek, then the other, would fee the triple-biting torment of the martinet ... that torment over intensifying as the number of weals increased and began to overlay each other.
By the time four strokes had fallen across each buttock cheek, Sophia was screaming uninhibitedly and, whenever she could catch her breath, howling for mercy too. For all her experience, Belle tried to shut her ears to the sounds (and the sight of Sophia’s frantically squirming bottom, too) but, of course, she could not.
Belle felt a vague sympathy and understanding for the girl, but no more. One had to guard closely such sentiments as one needed them all for oneself! Nor did Belle feel any anger or resentment against Miss Reva. Respect ... yes. Fear ... yes. The woman was only doing her duty. She was employed to discipline disobedient slaves ... and that was what she was doing.
Four more strokes fell across Sophia’s wildly gyrating bottom. Her yelping screams reached a new pitch of intensity.
Then it stopped.
The thongs of the martinet dangled to the floor again.
But Sophia’s cries did not stop.
Her ample bottom, which continued to judder and quake uncontrollably, now carried thirty-six vivid weals.
Miss Reva sighed to Otto, who let go his grasp of Sophia’s wrists. The girl slumped to the floor, the twisted this way and that with pain. Her pretty face wet and red, now looked ugly.
“If you ever indulge yourself again ... and put on unwanted weight ... I’ll give you double that number, girl! Do you hear me, Sophia? Do you?” The voice was rasping.
“Uuuugghh ... yyyyuuughhh ... y-y-eesssss .... M-Miss ... uuuuggghhhhh ... yyyuuughh.” The reply was almost incoherent, but just adequate.
“Take her away, Otto. And see that she loses that weight.”
“Yes, Miss Reva.”
Otto stooped and picked up the weeping Sophia ... again, as if she had been no more than a small c***d. Powerless as each slave-girl actually was, each one felt far more powerless when in the grip of such a brute.
“Oh ... and Otto ... she is not to go to the Recovery Room for another eight hours.”
“Very well, Miss Reva.”
The giant opened the door and carried the wretched Sophia out. Miss Reva turned slowly and her cruel blue eyes fastened on the kneeling figure who remained.
“So this is Belle, is it?”
Her voice was soft and sibilant ... but one knew there was a cutting edge that was fractionally below the surface!
At that moment, a house phone rang ... and Miss Reva strolled across to answer it...
(Recovery Room:This is where slave-girls receive Intensive Treatment following a punishment. Special Ointments and deep-ray treatment remove weals and welts in hours rather than days. Full recovery is usually made within eight hours but more serious cases may take up to sixteen hours.)
“You are sensible of this opportunity, slave? This honour?” enquired the leather-clad figure. She had Slav-like features, high cheekbones and slanting eyes but her wide lips were thin.
“Yes, Miss.” Belle spoke clearly and firmly. Her voice had a genuine ring to it. She really did feel something at being selected in this way to serve the all-powerful Princess of Quireme. Could one have called it pride? Maybe ... maybe not. At the same time, Belle also felt a kind of freezing inner dread. A fear of failure. A fear of the consequences of failure. That was understandable enough.
“You may have thought,” continued Miss Lirium in a matter-of-fact way, “that standards of discipline in the Quireme Harem are strict. However, as a member of her Highness’s slave retinue you will find them even stricter. You appreciate that?”
“Yes, Miss.” Once again Belle absorbed the sting of her new weals. She certainly did appreciate that already! For those weals were there simply because she made the error of falling to her knees voluntarily — before Miss Lirium. The Princess’s Chief Overseer deemed that as ‘acting without an order’. Punishable therefore. Meriting only a dozen or so from the rod.
And whilst she was giving them to this newly-arrived slave, Miss Lirium not only noted the splendid, curvaceous proportions of the bottom presented to her, but also the way that bottom was kept square to her throughout punishment. She was quite impressed ... even though, by Quireme standards, the punishment was quite mild.
“The regime here,” went on Miss Lirium, “is a little different to that of the general Harem. I will explain something of it to you. Listen carefully.” She seated herself on the edge of a table, short, pleated black skirt riding high. One saw the whiteness of the top of her thigh above the black leather boot which came halfway up its length. Somehow that garb epitomised her power, just as Belle’s nakedness epitomised her helplessness. Oh what a world of difference between these two women! Yet the one who casually flexed the rod had once been a peasant’s daughter, while the one who knelt had been born an aristocrat.
O tempora! O Mores!
“Although you have been selected,” said the Chief Overseer, “that does not mean you will remain in her Highness’s slave retinue. That will depend on your performance. May I say, at the outset, if you fail to make the grade, the consequences for you will be most unpleasant. Both immediately and when you return to the general Harem. Clear?”
“Yes, Miss.”
That freezing sensation within Belle intensified. Though she had suffered immeasurable — and somehow survived — she was becoming aware that, on a different level, she was facing perhaps her toughest test yet.
Yet, how could it be tougher than her initiation?
How could it be tougher than her first days in the Harem?
Or being trained as a Pony Girl?
It did not seem possible ... and Belle tried to comfort herself with that thought. Surely nothing could be worse than what she had already gone through!
“A slave-girl ‘on probation,’ as it were, such as yourself, is given the lowliest of tasks in the service of her HIghness. Yet even so, she will consider those tasks an honour. Any service of a personal nature on behalf of her Highness is an honour. You understand that, slave?”
“Oh yes, Miss ... “ Belle’s reply was low and vibrant. Again, the genuineness of her reply could scarcely be doubted.
“You will remain on such lowly tasks until another slave-girl is chosen as a possibility for her Highness’s retinue. Then she will take your place ... and you will move one rung up the ladder. A ladder of servitude; yet a ladder which any slave is privilege to scale.”
Belle said nothing. Her blue-green eyes were humble and respectful. Intent. Once they had shone with scornful defiance. With arrogance. With fire and fury.
No longer.
“Her Highness Princess Karina has some eighty slave-girls in her retinue,” resumed Miss Lirium. “Perhaps at any one time about 10% are unfit for duty. This number may seem quite large ... and it has grown steadily but surely. First six ... then twelve ... then twenty four ... and so on. Suffice to say that, at the present time, her Highness is constantly attended upon by twenty four slaves at any moment of the day. From that you can calculate that you will spend eight hours on duty, in every twenty four, and sixteen hours off. Not too arduous, you will agree?”
“Yes, Miss.” Of course, Belle had no idea whether it would be arduous or not. It much depended on the nature of the duty. However it was best to agree.
Miss Lirium now continued once again. “Whilst on duty, all personal slaves of her Highness have their bodies coated with gold lacquer. You will have noticed that in the Harem ... “
Bell nodded.
“.... and you should know that this lacquering is done an hour before duty commences. It is removed immediately after so that no permanent harm comes to the skin. These tasks and others of a similar nature, are carried out by what I might term Princess Karina’s ‘praetorian guard’. This consists of twelve individually chosen young men ... all of exceptional physique. As you will discover, four are Nubians, four are Arabs, four are from Europe. You will of course, show each and every one of them the utmost respect.” Miss Lirium smiled faintly. “And, I should tell you, they all have free run of you at any time ... as is the case with all slave-girls in her Highness’s retinue.”
Belle’s features remained impassive, though she felt a little quivering of emotion deep inside. She called, momentarily, on her inner reserves. She had been used and abused so much that nothing really made much difference any more. Or so she told herself. Had she not had to service overseers, guests, stable hands? So...
“Perhaps that idea appeals to you.” Miss Lirium’s dark eyes were almost reptilian in their stare. “Yes?”
“It is not for me to say, Miss,” replied Belle, using a time-honoured formula in such situations, “It is simply for me to serve ... to the utmost of my ability.”
“Correct.” Miss Lirium’s voice had a snap to it. One got the impression that if any other answer had been made, Belle would have suffered for it.
“Whilst you are on duty,” continued the Chief Overseer, “you will be quartered with the other slave-girls of her Highness’s retinue. There you will find life easy. You will rest as much as possible. You will also undergo various beauty treatments ... bathing, massage and so on. This will be carried out by the guards I have already mentioned. There may be times, as I have said, when you may be called upon to amuse one or more of them but that will present no problems.”
No, thought Belle, none. I am quite used to giving myself to any one who wants me. No problems.
“The guards ... and my three assistant female overseers ... are all permitted to administer punishments of a minor nature. Slappings ... strappings ... canings. However, anything of a more serious nature is reported to me. Then I decide the punishment. And, believe me, my girl, I show no mercy on a slave who has got out of line or failed in her duty!”
Belle believed her. Very much so!
“I am fair,” said Miss Lirium, “but firm. Very firm. I do not advise you to cross me.”
“N-No .. oo ... Miss ...” said Belle in a whisper. She certainly had no intention of attempting to do so. All her experience told her that this woman before whom she humbly knelt had not an atom of mercy in her. If that were not so, in any event, how could she have become the Chief Overseer of Princess Karina?
Miss Lirium paused. The slave-girl before her had spoken without being actually asked a direct question. Punishable, surely? But then she considered. Her statement had, perhaps, invited an answer. It had been a most’ respectful answer, anyway. Miss Lirium decided against punishment. As she had just announced, she was fair but firm.
“Now ... as to your duties ...”
Belle tensed, seeing a faint, sneering smile flicker over the Chief Overseer’s thin lips. What was in store for her now?
“... as I told you, they will be of a lowly nature. But, nevertheless, you will carry them out with the same meticulous thoroughness that you will carry out every other duty assigned to you while you are part of her Highness’s retinue. You fully understand that?”
“Oh yes ... Miss!”
“Good. Well, let me tell you that you have been assigned the duty of lavatory attendant to her Highness. You will spend the eight hours of your tour of duty within her lavatory. You will be responsible for seeing that it is spotlessly clean throughout every moment of the day. Thus your tongue will be most frequently at work.” Miss Lirium smiles that thin smile. “For, you see, there will be nothing else to clean that lavatory with.” Now the face hardened again. “Beyond that, you will attend upon her Highness whenever she visits her lavatory. An honour indeed, is it not? You, slave, will clean her to her satisfaction before she departs!”
Belle remained impassively silent as ever ... taking in the utter degradation of the duty assigned her.
They had been called lowly ...
But this!
Once again, Belle called on inner reserves and displayed no emotion. If anything, she was well aware, she should look joyful. Was it not an honour to lick the bottom of her Highness? Of course ... oh of course ... it was!
Miss Lirium stood up, tapping the rod to her boot.
“You understand all I have said, slave?”
“Yes, Miss,” answered Belle. She swallowed. Then spoke again. “And ... and ... I am honoured, Miss ...”
“Yes, indeed you are, Belle. But don’t let it go to your head. Don’t get careless or slack. If your duties are not carried out to perfection, I shall hear of it. Then you will have me to account to. And that, as I have told you, you will not enjoy.”
“I ... I ... understand, Miss ...”
“Very well, then. Now I shall have you taken to your quarters and prepared. Miss Reva, one of my assistants, will inform you of your hours of duty. Also, she will give you a little instruction in how to carry them out.”
Miss Lirium pressed a bell-push by her side, continuing to gaze down on the kneeling woman before her. Yes ... she thought ... this one has considerable merit. A superbly-proportioned body. Just look at these firm, round breasts! Those thighs! The hindquarters, too, she knew, were first class. Add to all that the fine features of good breeding and long, golden-blonde hair, and you had a worthy slave-girl indeed.
One fit to serve a Princess!
There came a knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Miss Lirium.
In strode a muscular man in his mid twenties. A giant of a man, one might say ... approaching six feet six inches and broad with it. He was caste in the mould of all of Princess Karina’s ‘praetorian guards’, whatever the colour of their skin. In this case, it was an amber-brown. That of an Arab. The muscles rippled, the flesh was lean and heathy-looking. The man was nude but for a white satin pouch slung about his private parts. That pouch bulged formidably.
“Miss ... you rang ...” The Arab made a short, formal bow. It was not the bow of a servant. Rather one of respect between equals.
“I did, Haroun.” She pointed down to Belle with the rod. “This is a newly-arrived girl. Her name is Belle and she is being considered for a place in her Highness’s retinue.”
“Ah ...” The Arab Haroun looked down ... and liked what he saw. He had in fact, heard of this newcomer ... this English ‘lady’ who had been made into a slave. Her reputation, as it were, had preceded her. Haroun liked very much the idea of the high-born being humbled. Maybe it was because, for centuries, his race had been despised and ridden over roughshod by whites. Not only by men but by women also.
Now one of those Christian infidels was getting her just desserts!
“To start with, her duties will be of the lowest. Her Highness’s lavatory attendant.”
“I understand, Miss.”
“Meanwhile, please take her to her quarters ... and inform Miss Reva of her arrival. Any treatment necessary, you may give her.”
“Very well, Miss Lirium.”
The Chief Overseer turned her attention back to |Belle, who had remained kneeling quietly and submissively. She was summoning her will and strength to contend with the various ordeals ahead of her.
Her new surroundings...
Her new ravagers...
Her new tormentors...
Her new duties...
It was going to be difficult. Very difficult. But, somehow, she must brace herself to endure ... to the limit ... yet again. Did it, she asked herself, become less difficult to do that as time passed and experience was gained?
She asked the question ... but received no answer.
“Do not ever forget what an honour this is, Belle,” said the Chief Overseer.
“N-No ... Miss ...” She saw the faint, derisive smile on Miss Lirium’s lips. That was something which, in her early days in the Harem, would have driven her to a fury of rage and rebellion. And, thus, earned her a merciless thrashing. Now, Belle just accepted the sneer. She was but a slave. There to be derided and spat upon.
She must show no resentment.
She must not complain.
Indeed, she dare not!
Haroun’s big strong hand took hold of a hank of Belle’s blonde hair. He tugged ... but gently.
“Up, my beauty,” he said softly.
Belle rose from her knees with natural grace. She felt as well as saw the lustful, liquid-brown eyes upon her. She was at once aware, too, of the massiveness of the Arab guard. He was overpoweringly huge ... making her feel weak and helpless simply to look at him.
“Master ...” she said.
It was a sighing whisper. An instant acceptance of the relationship between them. Not of the relationship of a year or two previously. Then, ‘her ladyship’ would have gone riding by, leaving another ‘stinking Arab’ choking in the dust.
“Correct, slave,” said Haroun. He smiled, showing lovely big white teeth. Very even teeth.
Belle felt even weaker as Haroun continued to hold her by her hair. She thought, for a moment, he was going to swing her by it. Since she was five feet eight inches, he had but to extend his arm and she would have dangled before him, toes scrabbling for the floor.
“Good tits,” said Haroun, eyes genuinely appreciative.
“Thank you ... M-Master ...” Belle had, over a period of time, acquired the correct technique for mentally, verbals and physically grovelling to make guards and overseers. She had learnt the sort of thing they wanted ... and contrived to give it to them.
It could be easier that way ...
“And a good bottom, too!”
Haroun’s right arm swung and his broad palm smacked resoundingly on Belle’s left buttock cheek.
“Ah ... thank ... you, Master.”
“You might make the grade . . . if you behave yourself.”
“Yes, Master ... I w-want to, Master...”
Miss Lirium gave the Arab a nod. “You may take her away now, Haroun.”
“Yes, Miss.” He turned to Belle. “Follow me, girl.”
Submissively Belle followed the near-nude giant from the room ... conscious of the immense power of the back, loins and thighs she saw before her.
Down a wide, tall corridor they went. It was Byzantine in style, collonaded, mosaic tiled, marble walled, gilt etched. There was a magnificence about it ... a reminder of splendours of the past. What a contrast, reflected Belle, to the rough practicality of the Stables, with the straw -strewn wooden floors! At least, it was something to be free of that horror m... even though she guessed the existence which now faced, though different, would scarcely be any easier. She would be subjected to constant degradation: subject to an iron discipline: punished for the slightest of faults: a plaything for the guards. However, could that be worse than being treated literally like an a****l. Being tethered in a stall? Having to eat mush? Straining and sweating between the shafts as a whip cracked and cracked again across one’s hindquarters?
It did not seem possible that what lay ahead could be worse. Even being her Highness’s lavatory attendant ...
But she would have to wait and see. And, meanwhile, show the utmost respect and complete obedience to those who were now in charge of her.
“These are the quarters of Princess Karina’s slave retinue,” said Haroun as he opened one of a pair of huge double doors. “Here you will be kept while you are not on duty.”
They entered a huge chamber — in the same style as the corridor they had just left — and, at first sight, it appeared rather like some lavish ballroom from another age. Except that the floor, where the dancers would have been, was covered with chairs, tables and couches. On these could be seen perhaps twenty or thirty naked women. Some were alone, seemingly asleep. A couple of the giant guards — both coal-black Nubians — were strolling around the periphery apparently indifferent to the mass of pulchritude all about.
My fellow slaves, thought Belle, all in the personal service of her Highness!
No one paid any regard to their entrance and Haroun made his way down one side of the long room. Belle noted the complete lack of inhibition as women lay sprawled in various postures of naked abandon. Like myself she thought, they had all become so accustomed to nudity that they behaved more like a****ls than humans. Glancing to her right, through the colonnade, she saw it was honey-combed with passages and smaller rooms. It was indeed a vast place and Belle could not help but be impressed by the luxurious opulence of everything. However hard their duties, the slave-girls obviously lived a life of comparative ease when their services were not required.
What a strange world it was!
A world of its own!
It reflected the immense power Princess Karina wielded ...
They turned under the colonnade and made their way along a series of smaller passages. Finally they came to a black door with a large gilt handle. The guard knocked.
“Come in...” A woman’s voice.
Get to your knees when you enter Miss Reva’s room,” warned Haroun.
“Yes, Master.”
They entered, to find the room occupied by three people. First, a fair-haired woman of about twenty five, garbed very similarly to Miss Lirium, except that this outfit was of gleaming red leather. Before her knelt a naked girl. To one side stood another guard, this one white-skinned, but just as huge as the rest.
“What’s this?” asked Miss Reva sharply as Belle sank to her knees.
“The new slave-girl, Belle, Miss Reva.”
“Ah ... thank you, Haroun. I’ll deal with her in a moment.” The she turned back to the white guard. “You say she put on two pounds in a week, Otto?”
“That’s right, Miss Reva.” The voice was slightly guttural, betraying the man’s German origins. “I thought it best to bring it to your attention. A half a pound ... well, that’s all right ... but two pounds ...”
“You were quite correct, Otto.” She turned back to the kneeling girl and Belle was conscious of Miss Reva’s glittering blue eyes. They were truly wicked eyes. Eyes that openly revelled in power and cruelty.
“What is the meaning of this, Sophia? Been stuffing yourself with sweetmeats, I suppose!”
“I ... I didn’t think so, Miss ...”
“Didn’t think so! Well how do you explain it then?”
“I ... c-can’t, Miss ...”
Belle saw the girl’s hands clasping. She knows she is for it, she thought.
“Do you think her Highness wants fat gutted slaves in her presence?”
“No ... oh no, Miss ...”
“And I intend to see she does not have them! I will not have this greed ... this lack of self-control in a slave. It’s outrageous! I shall take some skin off your backside, Sophia, to remind you of that fact.”
The girl’s head drooped momentarily, then came up again. Miss Reva went to a tall, ornately decorated cabinet and opened it. From the interior she removed a three-thronged martinet.
A little gasping-moan came from Sophia. “O-Ohhh ... no … ooooo ...” It was scarcely audible, however.
“A good whipping will probably cure you, my girl,” said Miss Reva. Holding the short, silver-cased handle of the martinet in her right hand, she trailed the three leather thongs over her left palm. Each was eighteen inches long, slim and very tightly plaited ... and each ended in three small knots from which dangled a little leather tassel. Belle felt a tremor of apprehension go through her. Though life in that Harem might appear fairly easy on the surface, it was obvious that penalties were severe for misdemeanours. Belle resolved all the more to behave herself. Miss Reva nodded to the giant Otto, who at once moved across and, taking Sophia by her wrists, pulled her up and then twisted her around as if she were no more than a five-year-old girl rather than a mature woman in her early twenties. And a voluptuously mature one at that. Then he forced the girl’s head down and thrust it between his tree-trunk thighs. These clamped together, pinning Sophia helpless, and then, by pulling her wrists up her rent back, the girl was forced to raise her hindquarters high.
“Yes ...” said Miss Reva, surveying the lush, curving bottom before her, “that’s more than ample. When I have finished with you, slave, you’ll not only lose those two pounds but three more besides. And you’ll do it in three days flat! Do you hear me?”
Sophia had some difficulty in doing so, in view of Otto’s clamping thighs ... but she made the correct answer all the same. “Y-Yes ... Miss ...” she croaked.
The thongs left Miss Reva’s palm and fell straight down by her side. The tassels touching the carpet. She stood directly behind her victim noting and appreciating the quick quivers of apprehension which passed over the milky-white flesh. She remembered Sophia of old. This girl had the sort of softly fulsome bottom ideal for whipping. Up went the martinet ... then down whistled the three individual thongs, lashing over Sophia’s right buttock cheek, curling round her flank.
A clenched teeth, whinnying cry came from between Otto’s thighs.
The soft bottom, now carrying three bright red weals on one side, squirmed and juddered convulsively.
A brief pause...
Then the three thongs came singing down again. This time they lashed across Sophia’s left buttock cheek, to produce very similar reactions.
Another whinnying cry.
Another convulsive squirm.
A brief pause...
Then the martinet lashed across the right buttock cheek again. And, this time, it produced not a whinnying cry, but an outright yelp of pain ... and an even more convulsive writhing movement.
A momentary sadistic smile flickered over Miss Reva’s lips. Already, so soon, she was getting through to this soft-bottomed girl. Well, she would soon yell a lot louder before she had done with her!
Remorselessly, the whipping proceeded in this way. First one buttock cheek, then the other, would fee the triple-biting torment of the martinet ... that torment over intensifying as the number of weals increased and began to overlay each other.
By the time four strokes had fallen across each buttock cheek, Sophia was screaming uninhibitedly and, whenever she could catch her breath, howling for mercy too. For all her experience, Belle tried to shut her ears to the sounds (and the sight of Sophia’s frantically squirming bottom, too) but, of course, she could not.
Belle felt a vague sympathy and understanding for the girl, but no more. One had to guard closely such sentiments as one needed them all for oneself! Nor did Belle feel any anger or resentment against Miss Reva. Respect ... yes. Fear ... yes. The woman was only doing her duty. She was employed to discipline disobedient slaves ... and that was what she was doing.
Four more strokes fell across Sophia’s wildly gyrating bottom. Her yelping screams reached a new pitch of intensity.
Then it stopped.
The thongs of the martinet dangled to the floor again.
But Sophia’s cries did not stop.
Her ample bottom, which continued to judder and quake uncontrollably, now carried thirty-six vivid weals.
Miss Reva sighed to Otto, who let go his grasp of Sophia’s wrists. The girl slumped to the floor, the twisted this way and that with pain. Her pretty face wet and red, now looked ugly.
“If you ever indulge yourself again ... and put on unwanted weight ... I’ll give you double that number, girl! Do you hear me, Sophia? Do you?” The voice was rasping.
“Uuuugghh ... yyyyuuughhh ... y-y-eesssss .... M-Miss ... uuuuggghhhhh ... yyyuuughh.” The reply was almost incoherent, but just adequate.
“Take her away, Otto. And see that she loses that weight.”
“Yes, Miss Reva.”
Otto stooped and picked up the weeping Sophia ... again, as if she had been no more than a small c***d. Powerless as each slave-girl actually was, each one felt far more powerless when in the grip of such a brute.
“Oh ... and Otto ... she is not to go to the Recovery Room for another eight hours.”
“Very well, Miss Reva.”
The giant opened the door and carried the wretched Sophia out. Miss Reva turned slowly and her cruel blue eyes fastened on the kneeling figure who remained.
“So this is Belle, is it?”
Her voice was soft and sibilant ... but one knew there was a cutting edge that was fractionally below the surface!
At that moment, a house phone rang ... and Miss Reva strolled across to answer it...
(Recovery Room:This is where slave-girls receive Intensive Treatment following a punishment. Special Ointments and deep-ray treatment remove weals and welts in hours rather than days. Full recovery is usually made within eight hours but more serious cases may take up to sixteen hours.)
Gert
- 09.03.2020
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