Arabian Plaything Chapter 8
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Meanwhile, Belle's life followed its early pattern. She was summoned up to the Palace perhaps three or four times in a week... and still always to perform the most menial duties. She either had some decorative use or something more functional like acting as an ash-tray holder or a drink and food trolley. In general she carried out these tasks to the satisfaction of the overseers and only on one occasion did she earn herself a punishment. Sheer fatigue caused her to become slightly unbalanced whilst she was holding a tray of drinks upon her back as she knelt on all fours. Naturally the wine stained the carpet and the first thing she had to do was to clean that up thoroughly with her mouth and tongue. Then she resumed her duties for another hour or so.
Finally dismissed, she returned to the slave quarters carrying a note for Hassan from one of the women overseers. It reported her fault and instructed him to give her a sound thrashing. Hassan shook his head as sorrowfully as ever, but lost no time in ordering her to fetch a cane. Then he tied her down to the leathern whipping block which stood ever-ready in the quarters.
"That was very naughty, wasn't it, Belle?" he asked as he sawed the supple willow to and fro across her quaking nates.
"Y-Yes... M-Master..." she answered tremulously. "I... I... beg forgiveness, Master... I beg for mercy..."
"I'm afraid this is not a time for mercy," replied the Nubian. "This is a time for correction."
"Master... Master... I entreat you..."
"I am going to give you ten, Belle. Good and hard ..."
"M-Mercy... ahhh... have mercy... M-Master... I c-couldn't h-help..."
The whistling rod bit for the first time into the curvaceous bottom-flesh and a gasping cry was torn from Belle's throat.
By the time Hassan had finished with her, Belle was doing more than begging and entreating for mercy. She was screaming hysterically for it.
But she did not get it. The final stroke was as full-bloodedly vicious as the first.
"Everyone behaving themselves?"
It was Vesta who spoke. She was making one of her periodical inspections of slave quarters. Prostrate on the colourful mosaic flooring before her were six naked slave-girls. It was a posture which met with her approval. They wriggled, grovelling forward to slaver on her boots.
"All pretty good girls, Miss," replied Hassan with one of his big white-toothed smiles.
"Not so much this one, it would seem," said Vesta, her eyes lighting on Belle's weal-striped nates.
Hassan explained that, in general, Belle's behaviour had been quite satisfactory apart form her careless lapse on the previous evening. The girls were now kneeling up in a little semi-circle around Vesta. Utterly attentive, utterly submissive. Had they not all been through this woman's hands and did they not know to what lengths she was capable of making them suffer?
"You did right to give her a good hiding, Hassan," pronounced Vesta... noting the convulsive twitch that crossed Belle's proudly beautiful features. "Belle is a relative newcomer here and, on that account, is to be severely corrected for even the most minor faults. In that way she will improve all the faster.
"Of course, Miss Vesta," nodded Hassan.
Vesta's words were bitter gall to the kneeling Belle. Despite all the physical effort... despite all the demands on her will and deep inner emotions... she could scarcely have been said to have put a foot wrong during her initial days and weeks of slave duty. Yet, rather than receiving some form of commendation from the Chief Overseer for this, she only heard that the penalties for her would be increased if not only was this standard not maintained but, in fact, if it was not improved! The cruel injustice of the words were like knives driving through her vitals and it was impossible for her to stop herself shuddering.
"Have you nothing to say, slave?" demanded Vesta, standing right before her.
"N-No... no... Mistress..." whispered Belle.
She received two-rattling slaps across the face. "Nothing?" queried Vesta with a snarl.
Belle thought desperately. Some answer was required. But what?
"Only... only, Mistress... to thank you... for... for ensuring that I shall b-be s-severely corrected for any failures," choked Belle.
Vesta nodded coolly. "That's better," she said. "But a little late. Hassan, you will give this slave another ten for her stupidity."
And with that, Vesta turned on her heel and strode from the slave quarters. Within less than a minute of her departure Belle's shapely bottom was thrusting up into the air yet again and she was squirming agonisedly as the whistling rod bit into it once more.
Still Belle's life continued in much the same way. It alternated between the enclosed environment of the harem slave-quarters and the brief, but always degrading and often arduous periods of duty, in the Palace above. In the former, the lesbian pastimes flourished as ever and Belle still appeared to remain Hassan's favourite ... and scarcely a day passed when she did not service him one way or another. She supposed that this situation would remain until some other new girl joined their small group. Would she then feel jealousy of his preoccupation with this new girl, as the other girls obviously felt of her? That was something that at one time would have been quite unimaginable. To feel jealousy because she was no longer the favoured sexual plaything of a brute black? No... no... surely not! Yet, deep down, she knew that it would almost certainly be true. That was yet another measure of the astonishing mental and emotional changes that, step by cruel step, she had been forced to make since arriving at Quireme. She, who had plumbed the depths... she who was the basest of slaves... now had an undeniable desire to be a better and more worthy slave. To rise in the hierarchy of servitude. If not to actually be commended by Miss Vesta and other overseers, at least to satisfy them by her submission and performance, to the utmost limits of her capability.
Ah yes, how low are the mighty fallen! But these were facts. Belle was no longer Isabel and thus, in the inverted scheme of things in her new existence and personality, it became of importance to remain the favourite of Hassan. She gave herself to him with voluptuous abandon, received the solid thrust of his massive organ with a strange kind of joy, and strove to satisfy him with every fibre of her female being.
Hassan was well content!
However, Belle seemed to make little progress up the scale. Still she was used for the most humble decorative or utilitarian purposes. Yet she dare make no suggestions as to otherwise for fear of being punished for being presumptuous and also having to wait even longer to advance.
Then another girl did join the group. A sloe-eyed twenty-year-old Italian beauty... and, although by no means entirely neglected, Belle found herself having to watch more often whilst the big, black organ was accommodated in new depths of succulent delight. She knew jealousy. And she knew a greater despondency.
Yet, all the same, it was now that a move was made. There was no greater artist than Vesta in the final production of a true slave and no one knew better than she when any of her charges (however proud and obdurate they might once have been) had reached the degree of true servitude she required. Servitude that was complete in the physical, mental and emotional senses. So it was that, about this time, that she judged that Belle had reached this nadir.
She had Belle brought to her and allowed the grovelling naked figure to slaver over her boots for a minute or more. Belle's heart was filled with dread. Was she there for some punishment? Deserved or undeserved? At last Vesta spoke.
"I have noted an improvement in your behaviour, girl," she said. The dread in Belle's heart changed to what one can only describe as pride. A very different kind to that of her former days, of course! Her mouth slavered even more zealously.
"As a result you will have some different duties to perform in her Highness's service," continued Vesta. "From now on I shall be making you available to any of the guests - male or female - who may want to make use of you."
"Th-Thank... th-thank... y-you... Mistress..." slobbered Belle.
A rare smile crossed Vesta's harsh features. Remembering well how this creature once had been, this was indeed a most satisfying moment for her. There was a time when it would have been quite unbelievable to imagine that Lady Isabel Dysart should ever be gratuitously thanking her for the piece of information she had just been given! Yet it was so!
"Furthermore," said Vesta, "if I continue to receive satisfactory reports as to your behaviour in future, it is possible I shall come to a further decision. That is to make you one of the slave handmaidens of Princess Karina herself. Of the lowest grade to begin with, of course. But, at least, you would be a handmaiden."
Belle's slobbering thanks became even more effusive. At that moment it did indeed seem an honour to her that her worthiness as a slave had at last been recognised and that, one day, she might have the opportunity to serve the All-Highest herself!
It was in the same week that Belle received news of the prospect of ultimate personal service to Princess Karina that Nadine was introduced to it directly herself. That introduction took the form of the Princess's slim, knotted, leathern horsewhip cracking repeatedly across her swinging rump as, teamed with Gretel, she went from the walk to the trot to the canter to the gallop around the pony circuit.
Her Highness had commended Kemal and Marisa on their equipage... and deemed them worthy of her patronage. She was even more pleased after a trial run and ordained that, individually and as a pair, they be awarded the Royal Cypher. This meant that Nadine and Gretel would be reserved for her personal use for track outings or for racing. She was particularly pleased with the twin-like appearance and rhythm of the two ponies... the smoothness of their change of pace... their strength and stamina... and, above all, their speed.
"Find two or three similar pairs, Kemal," she smiled as she patted the flanks of the two ponies after that initial outing. In the coolness of the air of the underground track one could literally see the steam rising from them. "Then we'll really have some great racing."
"I am yours to command, Highness," said the paunchy Kemal, bowing. He too was delighted by what had been achieved and the praise he had earned.
Later, when he had led the two back and installed them in the small stable reserved for Royal ponies, he was profuse in his praise for their efforts... enforced though they might have been. He even permitted them a goblet of champagne apiece after they had been rubbed down and had healing salve rubbed over the snaking weals which the Princess Karina had raised.
Left tether side by side in the same stall, it is to be wondered, however, whether Nadine and Gretel were quite so delighted by the prospects ahead of them as those who owned and trained them! Belle stood in a small antechamber of one of the main corridors of the Palace of Quireme. Like all the apartments, it was richly and ornately furnished in Byzantine style. She stood alongside five other naked slave-girls. Like Belle herself, each had a chain running from her neck-collar to individual hooks set along one wall. They stood in silence, each girl looking her best... with seductive make-up, magnificent hairstyles and beautiful jewellery. They were bedecked with ear-rings, nipple rings with pendant jewels, necklaces, jewelled belts, navel jewels, slave bangles, on wrists and ankles. Each wore a pair of calf-length high-heeled boots. Belle's were silver... but there were other colours, such as pink, crimson and white.
The six statuesque beauties made a quite ravishing spectacle. They were the girls who, for that evening, had been selected to be made available to guests. It was Belle's first selection and, not unnaturally, she was a little nervous. Like a thoroughbred filly before a race. All the same - and she did not deny it to herself - she felt that strange kind of pride at being chosen. I am now a slave of worth, she told herself, and felt nothing bizarre about the fact that she should now think that way!
A youngish, beautifully gowned woman, dressed in the Roman style, entered the ante-chamber. Immediately there was a little flurry among the waiting girls. Heads were held higher, breasts thrust more prominently as shoulders were squared, some thrust forward one thigh in the classic model pose. They were under examination. Belle's heart pounding away and she tried not to tremble. The woman, attractive even if rather hard-faced, moved slowly from one girl to the other, studying them in the same kind of way she might have looked over a row of dresses in a rack. Occasionally her fingers ran over a breast or buttock. Belle felt as tense as a bowstring under the intense and callous gaze. The woman studied her for quite a while, occasionally silently indicating she should move this way and that, or turn right round. The examination went on for so long that Belle felt sure she was going to be chosen... but, suddenly, the woman moved off and unhooked the chain of the girl who stood second in line. She was a glorious, black-eyed octoroon with skin the colour of rich honey. In silence the woman led her out of the antechamber. Watching the lovely girl's naked hindquarters swinging from side to side as she moved. Belle wondered for what purpose she was to be used. That woman was undoubtedly a lesbian, but equally she might be a sadist too.
At the same time, Belle felt a faint sense of anti-climax, amounting almost to disappointment. The woman had obviously been debating between her and the dusky-skinned girl... and Belle had lost.
The five girls relaxed their poses a little and the silence continued. Did her own eyes have that same opaque, resigned look that the others had, wondered Belle? Probably so. For it was ultimately better to resign oneself to one's fate than resist it. What, any longer, was the point of rebellion? All that was over. She had suffered enough. So, surely, had they. Now they merely stood silent and waiting. Available. All of them.
Occasionally, from a long distance, came the sounds of laughter. Or an agonised scream. No doubt there was a banquet in progress. Pleasure and pain would be rife. How long will I stand here? Perhaps I will not be required. But, if I am, for what purpose? There were, Belle knew, many and varied ways in which a slave could give a man or woman pleasure. She felt the flesh of her buttocks suddenly quivering. There was nothing she could do to control it. It was something she had observed happening to her silent companions as well. I am here, chained to a hook, she reflected, wanted or not wanted. It gave one cause to tremble. Time passed... and so slowly. How much more preferable it would be to find oneself again within the enclosed, conventional slave-quarters... playing games with one of the girls or servicing Hassan. That was a known world; this was an unknown one. Belle pressed her thighs together and felt a sudden hotness within herself at the memory of that powerful black organ thrusting so conqueringly into her.
Then there came the sound of footsteps and jovial male voices. The five tensed and posed automatically. Two men came into the ante-chamber. One was tall and lean, hatchet-faced, about mid-thirties. The other was fat, balding, in his mid-fifties, lecherously repulsive.
"Mmmm... not a bad little collection, Mario," said the fat lecher.
"Not bad... not bad, Herman," agreed the hatched-face.
They moved down the line, eyes probing, hands fondling. Belle, striving to maintain both her pose and her poise, found the fat Herman's fingers parting her sex lips.
"Oh... I fancy you, pretty one," he said. "Yes... yes... you have the look of a lady. I like that... oh yes, indeed." His index finger thrust while his other hand mauled the thrusting breast-fruit. Belle shuddered involuntarily but proffered herself fully. Was she not there to serve, to please?
But hatchet-faced Mario was close behind his companion. "I fancy her too," he said. Another index finger was thrust...
"I saw her first," protested Herman. "My God... what a lovely ripe beauty!"
Belle could not control her shuddering, and Herman continued to finger her lasciviously. She had learnt to restrain herself whilst on public exhibition, but to be intimately used and handled in this way was something new and different. Difficult, too. She fought to keep herself submissive. To give out rather than recoil.
"Are you new, girlie?" asked wet-lipped Herman, fingers still trusting.
"Y-Yes... yes... M-Master..." whispered Belle.
"So much the better," grinned Herman, jowls quivering. "Don't tell me this is the first time you've been put on the hook?"
"Y-Yes, Master..." admitted Belle, still unable to control her shuddering as she continued to be mauled and fingered.
"So much the better," said Herman. "Oh my God, you're going to make a lovely fuck."
"Just a minute," interrupted the hatchet-faced Mario. He had been watching proceedings with equal interest and envy. "What makes you think you're going to have her, Herman my boyo? At your age and with the drink you've got inside you, I doubt if you'll be able to raise a stand. She'd get a far better fucking from me. And that's what you want, isn't it, doll?" Mario's features contorted into a travesty of a smile.
"Yes, Master," answered Belle dutifully. For that was her duty.
"She'll give me a stand. In time," insisted Herman. "One way or another. I've got plenty of time. Tell you what... why don't you satisfy yourself with a piece of this? He moved to the big, dark-haired buxom girl chained next to Belle and gave her a stinging slap on her ample rump.
"Because I prefer this," answered Mario, giving Belle an equally stinging slap on her bottom.
Belle bared her teeth at him in an enforced smile of acceptance. She thrust her bottom towards Mario more pronouncedly. "Thank you... Master," she made herself say. "Y-Your slave is honoured... and... deserves any p-punishment you deem f-fit if she does not please you..."
Mario slapped the beautifully proffered naked bottom again. "Of course," he said, with another mask-like grin. "Don't worry, I would personally thrash the hide off you if you did not please me."
The two men faced each other. "Well?" asked Herman, red-faced and agitated.
"I suggest," said Mario, "that we toss for her. That seems fair. After all, we both arrived here together."
"True," admitted Herman reluctantly. "O.K. it's a deal..."
Belle watched as the coin which was to decide her fate was spun, gold-glinting, in the air. Either alternative was as acceptable as it was unacceptable to her.
"Heads," said Mario.
The fat Herman bent and picked up the coin. His congested features spread into a glow of triumph. "Tails," he said.
Mario shrugged resignedly as he watched Herman unhook Belle from the wall. "You can't win 'em all," he said. Then he turned to the big buxom brunette whose bottom Herman had slapped. "You'll do for the time being." His hand ran over the fulsome, soft-quivering buttocks. "What's more, if you don't happen to please me, there's even more skin to take off your backside!"
"I am honoured, Master," said the brunette.
"You sure are," said Mario, giving a cruel yank on the chain as he led her off.
Herman, still savouring his win, took more time about it. He gave two or three gentler tugs on the chain as he began to lead Belle from the antechamber. "Come along my beauty," he said. "You're going to give me a really lovely time, aren't you? However long Daddio takes?"
"Y-Yes, Master," replied Belle.
And thus, long-limbed and long-striding, moving with the grace of a princess, her shapely curvaceousness all a-quiver, Belle (once the proudly arrogant Lady Isabel Dysart) was led off on the end of a chain to be the sexual slave and plaything of a paunchy, repulsive lecher more than twice her age.
That she would deny him nothing was certain. That she would strive to please him with every fibre of her beautiful body, equally so.
For now she was truly a slave of Quireme.
Finally dismissed, she returned to the slave quarters carrying a note for Hassan from one of the women overseers. It reported her fault and instructed him to give her a sound thrashing. Hassan shook his head as sorrowfully as ever, but lost no time in ordering her to fetch a cane. Then he tied her down to the leathern whipping block which stood ever-ready in the quarters.
"That was very naughty, wasn't it, Belle?" he asked as he sawed the supple willow to and fro across her quaking nates.
"Y-Yes... M-Master..." she answered tremulously. "I... I... beg forgiveness, Master... I beg for mercy..."
"I'm afraid this is not a time for mercy," replied the Nubian. "This is a time for correction."
"Master... Master... I entreat you..."
"I am going to give you ten, Belle. Good and hard ..."
"M-Mercy... ahhh... have mercy... M-Master... I c-couldn't h-help..."
The whistling rod bit for the first time into the curvaceous bottom-flesh and a gasping cry was torn from Belle's throat.
By the time Hassan had finished with her, Belle was doing more than begging and entreating for mercy. She was screaming hysterically for it.
But she did not get it. The final stroke was as full-bloodedly vicious as the first.
"Everyone behaving themselves?"
It was Vesta who spoke. She was making one of her periodical inspections of slave quarters. Prostrate on the colourful mosaic flooring before her were six naked slave-girls. It was a posture which met with her approval. They wriggled, grovelling forward to slaver on her boots.
"All pretty good girls, Miss," replied Hassan with one of his big white-toothed smiles.
"Not so much this one, it would seem," said Vesta, her eyes lighting on Belle's weal-striped nates.
Hassan explained that, in general, Belle's behaviour had been quite satisfactory apart form her careless lapse on the previous evening. The girls were now kneeling up in a little semi-circle around Vesta. Utterly attentive, utterly submissive. Had they not all been through this woman's hands and did they not know to what lengths she was capable of making them suffer?
"You did right to give her a good hiding, Hassan," pronounced Vesta... noting the convulsive twitch that crossed Belle's proudly beautiful features. "Belle is a relative newcomer here and, on that account, is to be severely corrected for even the most minor faults. In that way she will improve all the faster.
"Of course, Miss Vesta," nodded Hassan.
Vesta's words were bitter gall to the kneeling Belle. Despite all the physical effort... despite all the demands on her will and deep inner emotions... she could scarcely have been said to have put a foot wrong during her initial days and weeks of slave duty. Yet, rather than receiving some form of commendation from the Chief Overseer for this, she only heard that the penalties for her would be increased if not only was this standard not maintained but, in fact, if it was not improved! The cruel injustice of the words were like knives driving through her vitals and it was impossible for her to stop herself shuddering.
"Have you nothing to say, slave?" demanded Vesta, standing right before her.
"N-No... no... Mistress..." whispered Belle.
She received two-rattling slaps across the face. "Nothing?" queried Vesta with a snarl.
Belle thought desperately. Some answer was required. But what?
"Only... only, Mistress... to thank you... for... for ensuring that I shall b-be s-severely corrected for any failures," choked Belle.
Vesta nodded coolly. "That's better," she said. "But a little late. Hassan, you will give this slave another ten for her stupidity."
And with that, Vesta turned on her heel and strode from the slave quarters. Within less than a minute of her departure Belle's shapely bottom was thrusting up into the air yet again and she was squirming agonisedly as the whistling rod bit into it once more.
Still Belle's life continued in much the same way. It alternated between the enclosed environment of the harem slave-quarters and the brief, but always degrading and often arduous periods of duty, in the Palace above. In the former, the lesbian pastimes flourished as ever and Belle still appeared to remain Hassan's favourite ... and scarcely a day passed when she did not service him one way or another. She supposed that this situation would remain until some other new girl joined their small group. Would she then feel jealousy of his preoccupation with this new girl, as the other girls obviously felt of her? That was something that at one time would have been quite unimaginable. To feel jealousy because she was no longer the favoured sexual plaything of a brute black? No... no... surely not! Yet, deep down, she knew that it would almost certainly be true. That was yet another measure of the astonishing mental and emotional changes that, step by cruel step, she had been forced to make since arriving at Quireme. She, who had plumbed the depths... she who was the basest of slaves... now had an undeniable desire to be a better and more worthy slave. To rise in the hierarchy of servitude. If not to actually be commended by Miss Vesta and other overseers, at least to satisfy them by her submission and performance, to the utmost limits of her capability.
Ah yes, how low are the mighty fallen! But these were facts. Belle was no longer Isabel and thus, in the inverted scheme of things in her new existence and personality, it became of importance to remain the favourite of Hassan. She gave herself to him with voluptuous abandon, received the solid thrust of his massive organ with a strange kind of joy, and strove to satisfy him with every fibre of her female being.
Hassan was well content!
However, Belle seemed to make little progress up the scale. Still she was used for the most humble decorative or utilitarian purposes. Yet she dare make no suggestions as to otherwise for fear of being punished for being presumptuous and also having to wait even longer to advance.
Then another girl did join the group. A sloe-eyed twenty-year-old Italian beauty... and, although by no means entirely neglected, Belle found herself having to watch more often whilst the big, black organ was accommodated in new depths of succulent delight. She knew jealousy. And she knew a greater despondency.
Yet, all the same, it was now that a move was made. There was no greater artist than Vesta in the final production of a true slave and no one knew better than she when any of her charges (however proud and obdurate they might once have been) had reached the degree of true servitude she required. Servitude that was complete in the physical, mental and emotional senses. So it was that, about this time, that she judged that Belle had reached this nadir.
She had Belle brought to her and allowed the grovelling naked figure to slaver over her boots for a minute or more. Belle's heart was filled with dread. Was she there for some punishment? Deserved or undeserved? At last Vesta spoke.
"I have noted an improvement in your behaviour, girl," she said. The dread in Belle's heart changed to what one can only describe as pride. A very different kind to that of her former days, of course! Her mouth slavered even more zealously.
"As a result you will have some different duties to perform in her Highness's service," continued Vesta. "From now on I shall be making you available to any of the guests - male or female - who may want to make use of you."
"Th-Thank... th-thank... y-you... Mistress..." slobbered Belle.
A rare smile crossed Vesta's harsh features. Remembering well how this creature once had been, this was indeed a most satisfying moment for her. There was a time when it would have been quite unbelievable to imagine that Lady Isabel Dysart should ever be gratuitously thanking her for the piece of information she had just been given! Yet it was so!
"Furthermore," said Vesta, "if I continue to receive satisfactory reports as to your behaviour in future, it is possible I shall come to a further decision. That is to make you one of the slave handmaidens of Princess Karina herself. Of the lowest grade to begin with, of course. But, at least, you would be a handmaiden."
Belle's slobbering thanks became even more effusive. At that moment it did indeed seem an honour to her that her worthiness as a slave had at last been recognised and that, one day, she might have the opportunity to serve the All-Highest herself!
It was in the same week that Belle received news of the prospect of ultimate personal service to Princess Karina that Nadine was introduced to it directly herself. That introduction took the form of the Princess's slim, knotted, leathern horsewhip cracking repeatedly across her swinging rump as, teamed with Gretel, she went from the walk to the trot to the canter to the gallop around the pony circuit.
Her Highness had commended Kemal and Marisa on their equipage... and deemed them worthy of her patronage. She was even more pleased after a trial run and ordained that, individually and as a pair, they be awarded the Royal Cypher. This meant that Nadine and Gretel would be reserved for her personal use for track outings or for racing. She was particularly pleased with the twin-like appearance and rhythm of the two ponies... the smoothness of their change of pace... their strength and stamina... and, above all, their speed.
"Find two or three similar pairs, Kemal," she smiled as she patted the flanks of the two ponies after that initial outing. In the coolness of the air of the underground track one could literally see the steam rising from them. "Then we'll really have some great racing."
"I am yours to command, Highness," said the paunchy Kemal, bowing. He too was delighted by what had been achieved and the praise he had earned.
Later, when he had led the two back and installed them in the small stable reserved for Royal ponies, he was profuse in his praise for their efforts... enforced though they might have been. He even permitted them a goblet of champagne apiece after they had been rubbed down and had healing salve rubbed over the snaking weals which the Princess Karina had raised.
Left tether side by side in the same stall, it is to be wondered, however, whether Nadine and Gretel were quite so delighted by the prospects ahead of them as those who owned and trained them! Belle stood in a small antechamber of one of the main corridors of the Palace of Quireme. Like all the apartments, it was richly and ornately furnished in Byzantine style. She stood alongside five other naked slave-girls. Like Belle herself, each had a chain running from her neck-collar to individual hooks set along one wall. They stood in silence, each girl looking her best... with seductive make-up, magnificent hairstyles and beautiful jewellery. They were bedecked with ear-rings, nipple rings with pendant jewels, necklaces, jewelled belts, navel jewels, slave bangles, on wrists and ankles. Each wore a pair of calf-length high-heeled boots. Belle's were silver... but there were other colours, such as pink, crimson and white.
The six statuesque beauties made a quite ravishing spectacle. They were the girls who, for that evening, had been selected to be made available to guests. It was Belle's first selection and, not unnaturally, she was a little nervous. Like a thoroughbred filly before a race. All the same - and she did not deny it to herself - she felt that strange kind of pride at being chosen. I am now a slave of worth, she told herself, and felt nothing bizarre about the fact that she should now think that way!
A youngish, beautifully gowned woman, dressed in the Roman style, entered the ante-chamber. Immediately there was a little flurry among the waiting girls. Heads were held higher, breasts thrust more prominently as shoulders were squared, some thrust forward one thigh in the classic model pose. They were under examination. Belle's heart pounding away and she tried not to tremble. The woman, attractive even if rather hard-faced, moved slowly from one girl to the other, studying them in the same kind of way she might have looked over a row of dresses in a rack. Occasionally her fingers ran over a breast or buttock. Belle felt as tense as a bowstring under the intense and callous gaze. The woman studied her for quite a while, occasionally silently indicating she should move this way and that, or turn right round. The examination went on for so long that Belle felt sure she was going to be chosen... but, suddenly, the woman moved off and unhooked the chain of the girl who stood second in line. She was a glorious, black-eyed octoroon with skin the colour of rich honey. In silence the woman led her out of the antechamber. Watching the lovely girl's naked hindquarters swinging from side to side as she moved. Belle wondered for what purpose she was to be used. That woman was undoubtedly a lesbian, but equally she might be a sadist too.
At the same time, Belle felt a faint sense of anti-climax, amounting almost to disappointment. The woman had obviously been debating between her and the dusky-skinned girl... and Belle had lost.
The five girls relaxed their poses a little and the silence continued. Did her own eyes have that same opaque, resigned look that the others had, wondered Belle? Probably so. For it was ultimately better to resign oneself to one's fate than resist it. What, any longer, was the point of rebellion? All that was over. She had suffered enough. So, surely, had they. Now they merely stood silent and waiting. Available. All of them.
Occasionally, from a long distance, came the sounds of laughter. Or an agonised scream. No doubt there was a banquet in progress. Pleasure and pain would be rife. How long will I stand here? Perhaps I will not be required. But, if I am, for what purpose? There were, Belle knew, many and varied ways in which a slave could give a man or woman pleasure. She felt the flesh of her buttocks suddenly quivering. There was nothing she could do to control it. It was something she had observed happening to her silent companions as well. I am here, chained to a hook, she reflected, wanted or not wanted. It gave one cause to tremble. Time passed... and so slowly. How much more preferable it would be to find oneself again within the enclosed, conventional slave-quarters... playing games with one of the girls or servicing Hassan. That was a known world; this was an unknown one. Belle pressed her thighs together and felt a sudden hotness within herself at the memory of that powerful black organ thrusting so conqueringly into her.
Then there came the sound of footsteps and jovial male voices. The five tensed and posed automatically. Two men came into the ante-chamber. One was tall and lean, hatchet-faced, about mid-thirties. The other was fat, balding, in his mid-fifties, lecherously repulsive.
"Mmmm... not a bad little collection, Mario," said the fat lecher.
"Not bad... not bad, Herman," agreed the hatched-face.
They moved down the line, eyes probing, hands fondling. Belle, striving to maintain both her pose and her poise, found the fat Herman's fingers parting her sex lips.
"Oh... I fancy you, pretty one," he said. "Yes... yes... you have the look of a lady. I like that... oh yes, indeed." His index finger thrust while his other hand mauled the thrusting breast-fruit. Belle shuddered involuntarily but proffered herself fully. Was she not there to serve, to please?
But hatchet-faced Mario was close behind his companion. "I fancy her too," he said. Another index finger was thrust...
"I saw her first," protested Herman. "My God... what a lovely ripe beauty!"
Belle could not control her shuddering, and Herman continued to finger her lasciviously. She had learnt to restrain herself whilst on public exhibition, but to be intimately used and handled in this way was something new and different. Difficult, too. She fought to keep herself submissive. To give out rather than recoil.
"Are you new, girlie?" asked wet-lipped Herman, fingers still trusting.
"Y-Yes... yes... M-Master..." whispered Belle.
"So much the better," grinned Herman, jowls quivering. "Don't tell me this is the first time you've been put on the hook?"
"Y-Yes, Master..." admitted Belle, still unable to control her shuddering as she continued to be mauled and fingered.
"So much the better," said Herman. "Oh my God, you're going to make a lovely fuck."
"Just a minute," interrupted the hatchet-faced Mario. He had been watching proceedings with equal interest and envy. "What makes you think you're going to have her, Herman my boyo? At your age and with the drink you've got inside you, I doubt if you'll be able to raise a stand. She'd get a far better fucking from me. And that's what you want, isn't it, doll?" Mario's features contorted into a travesty of a smile.
"Yes, Master," answered Belle dutifully. For that was her duty.
"She'll give me a stand. In time," insisted Herman. "One way or another. I've got plenty of time. Tell you what... why don't you satisfy yourself with a piece of this? He moved to the big, dark-haired buxom girl chained next to Belle and gave her a stinging slap on her ample rump.
"Because I prefer this," answered Mario, giving Belle an equally stinging slap on her bottom.
Belle bared her teeth at him in an enforced smile of acceptance. She thrust her bottom towards Mario more pronouncedly. "Thank you... Master," she made herself say. "Y-Your slave is honoured... and... deserves any p-punishment you deem f-fit if she does not please you..."
Mario slapped the beautifully proffered naked bottom again. "Of course," he said, with another mask-like grin. "Don't worry, I would personally thrash the hide off you if you did not please me."
The two men faced each other. "Well?" asked Herman, red-faced and agitated.
"I suggest," said Mario, "that we toss for her. That seems fair. After all, we both arrived here together."
"True," admitted Herman reluctantly. "O.K. it's a deal..."
Belle watched as the coin which was to decide her fate was spun, gold-glinting, in the air. Either alternative was as acceptable as it was unacceptable to her.
"Heads," said Mario.
The fat Herman bent and picked up the coin. His congested features spread into a glow of triumph. "Tails," he said.
Mario shrugged resignedly as he watched Herman unhook Belle from the wall. "You can't win 'em all," he said. Then he turned to the big buxom brunette whose bottom Herman had slapped. "You'll do for the time being." His hand ran over the fulsome, soft-quivering buttocks. "What's more, if you don't happen to please me, there's even more skin to take off your backside!"
"I am honoured, Master," said the brunette.
"You sure are," said Mario, giving a cruel yank on the chain as he led her off.
Herman, still savouring his win, took more time about it. He gave two or three gentler tugs on the chain as he began to lead Belle from the antechamber. "Come along my beauty," he said. "You're going to give me a really lovely time, aren't you? However long Daddio takes?"
"Y-Yes, Master," replied Belle.
And thus, long-limbed and long-striding, moving with the grace of a princess, her shapely curvaceousness all a-quiver, Belle (once the proudly arrogant Lady Isabel Dysart) was led off on the end of a chain to be the sexual slave and plaything of a paunchy, repulsive lecher more than twice her age.
That she would deny him nothing was certain. That she would strive to please him with every fibre of her beautiful body, equally so.
For now she was truly a slave of Quireme.
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