Arabian Plaything Chapter 6
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Despite heavy sedation and intensive healing treatment, it is not surprising that it took Isabel several days to recover from this terrible initiatory flogging. When she had adequately done so she was taken, along with Nadine, back to the I.T. Room by the two massive Mongolians who, incidentally, were known familiarly at Quireme as Gog and Magog. Both girls, unchained, stood silent, fearful, trembling... from time to time casting anguished glances at each other. Each was aware that their ordeal was but beginning.
They were right. For in less than ten minutes after Vesta's arrival, Nadine had received ten strokes from what the overseer called her 'Training Switch' and Isabel had received twenty - each five at a time. This instrument was slim and very flexible, having a core of whalebone around which was tightly plaited snakeskin. It dangled from Vesta's wrist on a leathern loop attached to a silver handle. These strokes - for so-called 'offences' - were laid across the culprit's buttocks or thighs with her held with head between the gripping thighs of either Gog or Magog, arms being twisted up behind the back. Nadine's offences were once to forget to address Vesta as 'Mistress' and once to be slow at going down to kiss the floor before Vesta's feet; Isabel had committed both these offences twice during the same period.
"The quicker you learn, the less painful it will be for you," said Vesta, addressing her tearful charges. "That must already be obvious to you. For there is no limit to the number of times I can lay this across your backsides." She swished the switch through the air and both girls flinched. "This hurts. You've already discovered that. It will go on hurting... whenever I am not fully satisfied. Now, both of you, make the obeisance... the one you must make every time I enter."
This time there was no delay as the girls fell to their knees, bent head forward and kissed the stone floor before Vesta's feet. Then both knelt rigidly erect, clasping hands at the back of the neck, gazing straight ahead. The degradation of what she was having to do was like a burning brand in Isabel's heart and she felt a bitter hatred of Vesta that almost matched her fear of further pain. There was less hatred and more fear within Nadine. But both knew, for certain now, that if they did not do as Vesta commanded, they would be trashed. And wounding as it might be to pride and dignity, that was less painful than the bite of the deadly switch.
"Now," said Vesta, "we will begin again with the qualities required of a slave. What are the essential, prime qualities?"
"Instant obedience and absolute submission... Mistress..." replied both simultaneously.
"These you will learn," said Vesta, "until they become as natural as breathing to you. That moment is still a long way off. Isabel, you will crawl to the feet of Magog and humbly ask his permission to kiss them, addressing his as 'Master'."
Isabel's features twitched, her whole body shuddered as she made the necessary effort to comply with this humiliating order. Every instinct in her cried out against doing such a thing.
"P-Please... oh... p-please..." she sobbed, her torso twisting, her head drooping. The natural hesitancy became more than that. It became a delay.
"You see," said Vesta. "I am right. That day is a long way off. You should be kissing Magog's feet by now, girl." She nodded at the giant. "Get her bottom up again, Magog," she said.
Shrieking in protest, Isabel fought to escape Magog's clutches.
"I meant to... I d-did... I was... going to..." she cried.
Remorselessly Magog forced the blonde head between his strong thighs. Remorselessly he twisted up Isabel's arms until she was forced to thrust her hindquarters high in the air. Remorselessly Vesta whiplashed the switch across the squirming nates. Five times. Producing five yelping screams from Isabel.
"Now do as I ordered," said Vesta.
Isabel, kneeling, white shoulders heaving, choked out the words. "M-May... m-may... I... k-kiss... your feet..." She paused fighting herself. "M-Master..." she managed to say.
"You may," acceded the Mongolian impassively.
Sobbing loudly and bitterly, Isabel kissed them.
"If you had done that immediately," said Vesta, "you would have had five fewer stripes across your bottom. Now, crawl back here, slave."
Isabel crawled... kissed the floor in front of her tormentor... and once more knelt erect. The hate in her heart was even stronger, but her intelligence told her it was folly to resist and rebel, however much one might be goaded to. That way only greater suffering lay. When one is so powerless, one must temporarily submit, she told herself. She must wait, with unimaginable patience and resolve, for the day of revenge.
It seemed as if Vesta had somehow divined Isabel's new resolution. But she knew, of course, that it did not mean that the girl had accepted slavery. By no means. That would come at a much later stage. When she truly accepted it. In her heart of hearts. When she was glad to serve master or mistress. Ah yes... that was a very different thing. All the same, she now tested her victim's new resolve.
"Why were you punished, slave?"
"For... f-for disobedience... M-Mistress..."
"You deserved to be punished, did you not?"
"Y-Yer... ess... y-yes... Mistress..."
"And it was an honour to be allowed to kiss your Master's feet, was it not?"
"Y-Y-Yes... sss... Mistress..." nodded Isabel, voice choking.
In a certain sense, things were improving, thought Vesta. As they invariably did under the circumstances. Already Isabel was performing acts of which she would never once have thought herself capable. She had taken the first important steps into slavery. Yet there were many more ahead of her.
"Crawl back and ask your Master for the same honour again," ordered Vesta.
This time, without any hesitation, Isabel obeyed.
The training of the two new slave girls continued for a further hour... in similar fashion. Every order of Vesta's was deliberately designed to wound their pride and to strip them of their last vestiges of female modesty. At her command they displayed themselves blatantly before Gog and Magog. Step by step they were made more and more aware that they were no longer women with any rights or who could expect to be respected, but simply female objects whose sole purpose was to give sexual gratification in whatever way it was demanded. It was a conversion more difficult for Isabel then Nadine. That was, to some extent, understandable, for she had had a rather different upbringing.
Vesta brought the session to a climax by signing to the two guards to remove their only covering - the brief loincloths. "Now," she said, "each of you will pay proper respect to your Master. You will kiss the object which it is now your duty to serve!"
A protesting cry came from Isabel and she covered her face in her hands. Nadine however, went forward at once, fell to her knees before Gog and pressed her lips to his solid length. More than that... she began to lick the swelling organ with true slavish devotion. It was very obvious that she had learnt a most healthy respect for Vesta's switch already!
Isabel got a slashing cut across the tops of her thighs before she could force herself to stumble forward. "O-Oh... ooohh... God... no... no... no-oooo!" she cried as she too fell to her knees.
The switch bit into her buttocks yet again.
"Yes!" rasped Vesta.
Isabel's face lifted up, her nostrils flaring with revulsion at the sight before her, her mouth a letter-box slit of pain and horror.
"In fact, slave," said Vesta, "you will not just kiss your Master's prick... you will suck it!"
"Oooh... no... ooo!" came Isabel's despairing cry, "I can't... oohhh... I c-can't .. for God's sake don't make me... m-mistress... I beg you... oohh... I beg you!" She was clasping frantically at Vesta's black high-heeled boots.
"Suck that prick, my girl," ordered Vesta relentlessly, "or you'll regret it..."
Something seemed to snap in Isabel. Frenziedly her fists pounded the floor. "I can't... I C-CAN'T!" she screamed, "I won't... I WON'T!"
Vesta smiled faintly. "We'll see about that," she said. "By the time I've finished with you, my beauty, you'll be begging me for the privilege!"
Vesta had a struggling Isabel taken into a smaller adjoining room and bound once more to the contrivance on which she had been whipped by Princess Karina. Obviously expecting to be whipped again, she was weeping copiously and making a series of semi-coherent pleas.
A couch and a table were drawn up and placed before the contrivance. Food and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne were placed upon the table. Then Vesta seated herself, sprawling back and looking up at her victim.
"This is going to take some time," she said, sipping at the champagne. "Now, Lady Isabel Dysart," she continued, "you are going to learn a lesson. For some reason you appear to be under the impression there is something special about you. But I am going to prove to you that there is not. You are now just one more slave-girl at Quireme."
Now silent but for sobs, Isabel looked on aghast at these words, mouth sagging. She looked even more aghast when, the next moment, the door opened and one man after another came filing in. Each one was stark naked. Most were white, some half-coloured, one or two were black. Six, eight, twelve... still they came. Some were strong looking young stallions, others were fat, middle-aged lechers of repulsive appearance; all looked appreciatively towards the pinioned form of Isabel whose superb breasts thrust so invitingly at them. Isabel wanted to close her eyes against the awful scene, yet fascinated horror held her. Fifteen, twenty... still they came... lining the facing wall, then down one side wall, finally to the wall behind the framework. Those who arrived there saw the curvaceous, up-thrust hindquarters, the splayed thighs and delights awaiting them.
"These are some of the palace guards," said Vesta calmly. "You Lady Isabel, are going to service them. All of them!" There must have been twenty-five men lined up round the room. "After that," added Vesta, "I do not think you will have such a high and mighty opinion of yourself!"
"No... oooo!" Isabel's cry was wafer-thin. Such a monstrous thing surely could not be! Yet it was. There was the mass of brute maleness... with many of the men winking and grinning obscenely. One of the more repulsive middle-aged ones was already playing with himself. "Y-You... c-can't... you can't... ooohh... no!"
"On the contrary," said Vesta, re-filling her glass.
"I... I... I'll do it... I will... oohh... I will!" shrieked Isabel.
"Suck Magog's cock, you mean?" smiled Vesta. "Oh yes ... you'll do that alright. You'll do it beautifully. But later. After I've had you fucked silly."
"No... oooooo!" It was Isabel's last despairing cry. For the first of the men was already up on the contrivance, kneeling, and clasping Isabel's flanks. Her cry changed to a choking gasping-gurgle as a rampant organ thrust brutally into her.
The procession was relentless. Some took only a few minutes; others lingered longer over the lush female fruit free for the taking.
a****l-like sounds came from Isabel's sagging, slavering mouth; her eyes started wildly in their sockets. Her awful gasps, groans and cries were interspersed with piteous pleas to Vesta... who, needless to say, ignored them completely and only favoured her victim with an occasional callous glance. Vesta smiled up mockingly when a series of shuddering gasps announced that Isabel was experiencing a hideously unwanted orgasm.
Several more unwanted orgasms followed... particularly when the number of men serviced had reached the teens and before Isabel became virtually completely exhausted. Again and again the hard rods of male flesh thumped into her depths while she threshed and writhed in demented horror. Gasps and groans indicated the pleasure of those she served as, again and again, the juices of lust squirted strongly into her.
And all the time Vesta, reclining voluptuously, smoked and drank with the utmost unconcern... until at long, long last the final brute guard had had his way. Then Gog and Magog were summoned. To remove what was now hardly more than a hunk of quivering, fainting flesh.
"Injections," order Vesta briefly. "And clean her up. Then bring her back."
It was Magog who carried Lady Isabel Dysart out of that room of horror, carting her under one arm as if she weighed no more than a young c***d.
The nightmare is never ending.
Isabel kisses the floor in front of Vesta. That she now knows she must always do. The switch has taught her.
"I can arrange to have all that happen over again, slave," says Vesta.
Isabel moans, still slobbering on the floor.
"Kneel up." Isabel does so, eyes still wide with horror. "So what have you got to ask me slave?"
The white throat works convulsively. The words come out weak and hoarse. "T-To... to s-suck... my... M-Master's... p-prick..."
"No. You beg me slave, for that privilege..."
Isabel begs.
Her plea is granted and Magog sits himself impassively on a low couch. Isabel crawls between his thighs. In her small white hand she takes the still half flaccid organ... raises it... and slips the big red-mauve knob into her mouth. Half-choking, shuddering uncontrollably, she begins to suck.
It is a full five minutes before Magog can no longer restrain himself. As the moment approaches he sieged the long blonde hair cruelly, so that the wet-warm mouth cannot be removed. With jerking haunches, he spurts and spurts into the retching throat.
Vesta continues to look on with a mocking little smile of satisfaction. For Lady Isabel Dysart is now really beginning to learn what being a slave girl means!
The nightmare is never-ending.
There are other forms of training apart from those which Vesta directs personally. Military-style foot drill. With Nadine, Isabel joins a small squad of six women, making up the number to eight in all. Each girl drills naked but for calf-length white k** boots with spike heels and heavy Oxon yoke upon her shoulders to which her arms are fastened at the wrist and on the spread. It is yet another killing ground of the will and of the spirit.
Azif, a young Arab, is in charge of the squad. He is in his early twenties and exceedingly handsome of features and figure. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, with honey-coloured flesh. He loves his job. Who, indeed, would not - with eight beautiful young women at his beck and call. He carries permanently a two-foot long strap, half an inch thick, of supple leather to ensure that his commands are carried out to the letter. He is also entitled to a free run of all his charges. Perhaps that is why he always drills them with himself in a state of complete nudity.
High-stepping, his 'troops' wheel and march and turn under his orders. Their bodies glisten with sweat as they strive to achieve the perfection he demands. For each one knows that burning leather strap will surely fall if they fail to satisfy. And at every session they are driven to the limit of endurance. Then, smilingly, at the conclusion he picks one to be rewarded for her merit. He takes her in the presence of the others with prolonged sexual expertise... ensuring always that his choice comes to a climax. Azif is exceedingly well made. Whatever her true feelings, no woman can resist his overpowering sexual drive. Not only does he leather them into implicit and instant obedience, he conquers them as a male. They are truly his slaves.
Lady Isabel quickly becomes one of Azif's favourites. She, more often than any of the others, has to present herself to receive a 'reward' at the end of a session. That does not mean, however, that she does not feel as much leather as the others whilst 'on parade'. Perhaps more so. Moreover... just once... in one of the earlier sessions, Isabel was driven to break down into one of her traumatic tantrums. A brief but wild frenzy of rebellion. Azif appeared sorrowful... but quickly communicated with Miss Vesta. A sound strapping, he pointed out, did not seem adequate to meet the situation. Vesta agreed... and authorised him to use the birch. Twenty-five strokes, she suggested.
Isabel was tied down over a leathern-topped vaulting horse... and Azif proceeded to take the skin off the beautifully curvaceous bottom presented to him.
It was a punishment quite sufficient to ensure that Isabel did not rebel again.
Thus we see how Lady Isabel Dysart's training had proceeded. It is an unhurried process... for, indeed, there is no hurry. Step by step she is made to submit. Fully submit. No more is it on the surface. It is a true submission. That is what is required. That is what is achieved.
Her whole mental and emotional outlook had been changed. Now, in a bizarre way, she is glad to serve. The recognition by a Master or Mistress becomes of importance to her. It shows to her that she is a slave of merit. And for that, one must repeat, she is glad. Indeed, she has become so converted that she holds Vesta in a kind of slavish adoration for having achieved this transformation! There is nothing, absolutely nothing, she would not do if Vesta snapped her fingers and demanded it.
It is now far easier to see how it came about that, having been assigned to the Nubian slave-master, Belle (as she had now been called) so passively accepted his overlordship. She realised she belonged to Hassan and must instantly obey him in the minutest degree. It was right that he should slap her bottom, or cane her, if she displeased him. She was a slave-girl; so she could expect nothing else. The Princess Karina who was far, far away and above, scarcely dared be contemplated. It would indeed be an honour to be even seen in her presence.
Thus it was, having been of service to her new master, Belle complacently followed him, led on collar and chain, to her new quarters, there to join five other slave-girls. They, of course, were fully-fledged. Now, so was she. Could it be said that she now actually felt a kind of pride in that fact?
Yes... that is indeed a possibility!
Three naked girls came running to Hassan. They fell to their knees, kissing his feet, his calves, high thighs. One of them pressed her lips to the bulging sack about his genitals. The Nubian seemed indifferent to these signs of submission, his gaze being directed to two other naked girls who lay on a couch, clasped together, their mounds rubbing urgently. He strode forward and slapped each quivering bottom hard.
"Have you no respect?" he demanded in mock anger. "Did you not see your Master enter?"
The two, abruptly dragged from a private Heaven, fell to their knees as the others had done, kissing and clasping the handsome black giant. Hassan grinned hugely. "You've both earned yourselves a taste of the cane," he said.
"No... no... oh please no..." both pleaded earnestly, but obviously without hope.
"Later," pronounced Hassan generously. "Meanwhile you will meet your new companion... Belle..."
The five girls, all on their knees, looked at Isabel. They could see her beauty. Isabel could almost sense their jealousy.
"Kiss her in welcome," smiled Hassan.
In turn the girls came crawling forward, pressing warm mouths to Isabel's proffered sex lips.
"Now you..." ordered Hassan.
In turn, on her knees, Isabel kissed each of the other five girls similarly. She felt no reluctance in doing so. They were slaves. She was a slave. All did as they were ordered.
"She's lovely," said one of the girls who had been on the bed. "Can I... Master... go all the way with her?"
Isabel felt almost a glow of pride at these words.
"Not until you've been caned, Dina," grinned Hassan.
"Oh no... Master... please no," simpered the shapely brunette, "we... we were... so engrossed..."
"I saw that," said Hassan. "But that is no excuse. Respect for your Master is paramount..."
"Yes... yes..." agreed Dina.
"Bend over and touch your toes," ordered Hassan. Dina did so at once. "Melanie, fetch the cane," added Hassan.
The other culprit on the bed hurried to obey. Isabel watched silently, understandingly. She still had the feel of Hassan's massive black root in her. She respected his power. In every sense. She was his slave. One of his slaves. That neither Dina nor Melanie had hesitated to obey his orders for an instant was utterly right.
"Melanie," said Hassan, "give Dina five strokes across her bottom. As hard as you can. If I think you're stinting yourself, you'll get ten. From me."
"Yes, Master," said Melanie submissively, meanwhile measuring the tightly-rounded young bottom before her. But a few minutes before that bottom had been receiving a great deal of pleasure from her... now it was to receive pain.
The cane rose and fell with merciless force. Five times. Each stroke forced a yelp from the bending Dina... but her fingertips never left her toes by more than an inch or two. Five weals blazed across the white flesh.
Then the position were reversed... and it was the rather plumper, blonde Melanie who bent and Dina who welded the cane. She did it with an astonishing venom, as if to gain full revenge, driving Melanie down to her knees with the final whiplashing stroke.
"Now kiss and make up," said Hassan when it was all over. The two girls did so at once... and were soon rubbing themselves together again, the immediate past seemingly quite forgotten.
Hassan patted Isabel indulgently on her bottom. "Just a little matter of domestic discipline, you understand?"
"Yes, Master," replied Isabel respectfully.
"I often think it better for you girls to keep each other up to the mark."
"Yes, Master," said Isabel again.
"Of course," said Hassan, running a hand over the smooth softness of Isabel's buttocks, "I sometimes cane myself. And I have a strong right arm."
He felt Isabel's lush nates contract and quiver involuntarily under his hand.
"I realise you appreciate that fact," he said smilingly.
"Oh yes, Master... I do indeed..." replied Isabel. She went to her knees before the glistening black giant and pressed her mouth with a kind of reverence to the bulging white sack. "I am your slave... and if I ever displease you... I deserve to feel your rod."
The off-duty life in the slave quarters was rather monotonous. Boring even. Though the conditions were quite comfortable. The girls all slept together in one vast bed; slim chains running from one neck collar to another secured them together. Really there was no need for this chaining. It was done symbolically rather than anything else as a mark of their perpetual servitude.
The day began with a shower. Then a long time spent on body and facial beauty treatments, make-up, hairstyling and so on. In this the girls would help each other. Everyone had to look her best at all times, for one was never sure when a summons might come from the Palace above. Then there was Hassan to be attended to. He had to be shaved, bathed, oiled and massaged and so on. The girls, two at a time, took it in turns to do this. More often than not, when the handsome Nubian was awoken he would have a tremendous hard on and one of the girls would be called upon to deal with that first! Each would consider herself fortunate if she could start the day off by pleasing her Master in this fashion.
At some time during the morning an hour would be spent on physical exercise... for fitness was an important requisite in a slave. Some of the duties they had to carry out were arduous, to say the least. After a midday meal, the afternoon would probably be spent relaxing. Sewing, embroidery and trinket-making were permitted. Sometimes a large case would be brought into the quarters. It would contain dozens of straps, tawse, whips and the like... all of which the girls would have to oil thoroughly to keep them at the peak of suppleness. A rather salutary exercise!
Sometimes the girls would pass the time with lesbian play. Perhaps in pairs or foursomes. Occasionally, partly with the idea of entertaining Hassan, if he were present, they would perform as a six some, forming a daisy-chain pattern and all working on each other simultaneously. Sometimes they would devise and put on erotic dancing displays for his benefit. And, of course, there were times when Hassan gave one of the girls a sound fucking. He was very much an artist... and one with stamina, too. He could quite easily perform for half an hour if he so wished. That was something not only memorable to experience but to watch as well!
Summonses for duty in the Palace above usually came via one of Vesta's assistants in the late afternoon or early evening. Sometimes it would be for just one girl, sometimes for three or four. A girl might be summoned individually by name but, if not, Hassan made the decision as to who should go.
This then was the life that the new slave-girl Belle had to quickly adapt to. She did so without apparent difficulty. Vesta's groundwork had been as excellent as ever. Naturally, being new, she was a fancied favourite of the girls for lesbian sport, and she also got fucked more frequently by Hassan. Only occasionally did she reflect on the fact that she had come to accept this state of affairs as quite naturally normal.
It was four of five days before Belle was first selected for duty. Two girls were asked for and Hassan chose her and the blonde Melanie. Belle felt highly nervous as the chain was attached to her collar and she was led off to the ornate, luxurious rooms above. What would she be called upon to do? Either a woman or man might use her for their pleasure. Pleasure of one kind or another. Belle was not re-assured by the memory of what had happened the previous evening. The eighteen-year-old Marie had been summoned. The girl had an innocent, almost nun-like face, and her youth was emphasised by the way her light brown hair was worn in a pony-tail. However, there was nothing innocent about her body... she was maturely and superbly shaped. Almost an hour later she was led back, sobbing tearfully, her bottom a crisscross mass of cane weals. There could have been twenty-five, thirty or even more in number. Apparently some middle-aged male guest had had his particular fun by dressing young Marie up in a schoolgirl uniform and then giving her 'lessons'.
For every mistake she made, he began by putting her across his knees, taking her knickers down and slapping her bottom hard. Later, his cruel lusts fully roused, he started using the cane. Marie recounted that she had had to bend across his desk at least half-a-dozen times. Needless to say, Belle was apprehensive that something similar might happen to her. Or even something worse.
However, nothing of the sort did. And to say the least, her duties were of a humble nature. At the end of the banqueting chamber two large niches were carved into the wall... as if ready for statues. Melanie was led to one, Belle to the other. There she had to go down on hands and knees, facing the wall, hindquarters upthrust. On these an assistant placed a vase of lovely red roses!
Belle's duties as a flower-vase holder were to continue for some hours... the length of one of Princess Karina's shorter banqueting entertainments.
They were right. For in less than ten minutes after Vesta's arrival, Nadine had received ten strokes from what the overseer called her 'Training Switch' and Isabel had received twenty - each five at a time. This instrument was slim and very flexible, having a core of whalebone around which was tightly plaited snakeskin. It dangled from Vesta's wrist on a leathern loop attached to a silver handle. These strokes - for so-called 'offences' - were laid across the culprit's buttocks or thighs with her held with head between the gripping thighs of either Gog or Magog, arms being twisted up behind the back. Nadine's offences were once to forget to address Vesta as 'Mistress' and once to be slow at going down to kiss the floor before Vesta's feet; Isabel had committed both these offences twice during the same period.
"The quicker you learn, the less painful it will be for you," said Vesta, addressing her tearful charges. "That must already be obvious to you. For there is no limit to the number of times I can lay this across your backsides." She swished the switch through the air and both girls flinched. "This hurts. You've already discovered that. It will go on hurting... whenever I am not fully satisfied. Now, both of you, make the obeisance... the one you must make every time I enter."
This time there was no delay as the girls fell to their knees, bent head forward and kissed the stone floor before Vesta's feet. Then both knelt rigidly erect, clasping hands at the back of the neck, gazing straight ahead. The degradation of what she was having to do was like a burning brand in Isabel's heart and she felt a bitter hatred of Vesta that almost matched her fear of further pain. There was less hatred and more fear within Nadine. But both knew, for certain now, that if they did not do as Vesta commanded, they would be trashed. And wounding as it might be to pride and dignity, that was less painful than the bite of the deadly switch.
"Now," said Vesta, "we will begin again with the qualities required of a slave. What are the essential, prime qualities?"
"Instant obedience and absolute submission... Mistress..." replied both simultaneously.
"These you will learn," said Vesta, "until they become as natural as breathing to you. That moment is still a long way off. Isabel, you will crawl to the feet of Magog and humbly ask his permission to kiss them, addressing his as 'Master'."
Isabel's features twitched, her whole body shuddered as she made the necessary effort to comply with this humiliating order. Every instinct in her cried out against doing such a thing.
"P-Please... oh... p-please..." she sobbed, her torso twisting, her head drooping. The natural hesitancy became more than that. It became a delay.
"You see," said Vesta. "I am right. That day is a long way off. You should be kissing Magog's feet by now, girl." She nodded at the giant. "Get her bottom up again, Magog," she said.
Shrieking in protest, Isabel fought to escape Magog's clutches.
"I meant to... I d-did... I was... going to..." she cried.
Remorselessly Magog forced the blonde head between his strong thighs. Remorselessly he twisted up Isabel's arms until she was forced to thrust her hindquarters high in the air. Remorselessly Vesta whiplashed the switch across the squirming nates. Five times. Producing five yelping screams from Isabel.
"Now do as I ordered," said Vesta.
Isabel, kneeling, white shoulders heaving, choked out the words. "M-May... m-may... I... k-kiss... your feet..." She paused fighting herself. "M-Master..." she managed to say.
"You may," acceded the Mongolian impassively.
Sobbing loudly and bitterly, Isabel kissed them.
"If you had done that immediately," said Vesta, "you would have had five fewer stripes across your bottom. Now, crawl back here, slave."
Isabel crawled... kissed the floor in front of her tormentor... and once more knelt erect. The hate in her heart was even stronger, but her intelligence told her it was folly to resist and rebel, however much one might be goaded to. That way only greater suffering lay. When one is so powerless, one must temporarily submit, she told herself. She must wait, with unimaginable patience and resolve, for the day of revenge.
It seemed as if Vesta had somehow divined Isabel's new resolution. But she knew, of course, that it did not mean that the girl had accepted slavery. By no means. That would come at a much later stage. When she truly accepted it. In her heart of hearts. When she was glad to serve master or mistress. Ah yes... that was a very different thing. All the same, she now tested her victim's new resolve.
"Why were you punished, slave?"
"For... f-for disobedience... M-Mistress..."
"You deserved to be punished, did you not?"
"Y-Yer... ess... y-yes... Mistress..."
"And it was an honour to be allowed to kiss your Master's feet, was it not?"
"Y-Y-Yes... sss... Mistress..." nodded Isabel, voice choking.
In a certain sense, things were improving, thought Vesta. As they invariably did under the circumstances. Already Isabel was performing acts of which she would never once have thought herself capable. She had taken the first important steps into slavery. Yet there were many more ahead of her.
"Crawl back and ask your Master for the same honour again," ordered Vesta.
This time, without any hesitation, Isabel obeyed.
The training of the two new slave girls continued for a further hour... in similar fashion. Every order of Vesta's was deliberately designed to wound their pride and to strip them of their last vestiges of female modesty. At her command they displayed themselves blatantly before Gog and Magog. Step by step they were made more and more aware that they were no longer women with any rights or who could expect to be respected, but simply female objects whose sole purpose was to give sexual gratification in whatever way it was demanded. It was a conversion more difficult for Isabel then Nadine. That was, to some extent, understandable, for she had had a rather different upbringing.
Vesta brought the session to a climax by signing to the two guards to remove their only covering - the brief loincloths. "Now," she said, "each of you will pay proper respect to your Master. You will kiss the object which it is now your duty to serve!"
A protesting cry came from Isabel and she covered her face in her hands. Nadine however, went forward at once, fell to her knees before Gog and pressed her lips to his solid length. More than that... she began to lick the swelling organ with true slavish devotion. It was very obvious that she had learnt a most healthy respect for Vesta's switch already!
Isabel got a slashing cut across the tops of her thighs before she could force herself to stumble forward. "O-Oh... ooohh... God... no... no... no-oooo!" she cried as she too fell to her knees.
The switch bit into her buttocks yet again.
"Yes!" rasped Vesta.
Isabel's face lifted up, her nostrils flaring with revulsion at the sight before her, her mouth a letter-box slit of pain and horror.
"In fact, slave," said Vesta, "you will not just kiss your Master's prick... you will suck it!"
"Oooh... no... ooo!" came Isabel's despairing cry, "I can't... oohhh... I c-can't .. for God's sake don't make me... m-mistress... I beg you... oohh... I beg you!" She was clasping frantically at Vesta's black high-heeled boots.
"Suck that prick, my girl," ordered Vesta relentlessly, "or you'll regret it..."
Something seemed to snap in Isabel. Frenziedly her fists pounded the floor. "I can't... I C-CAN'T!" she screamed, "I won't... I WON'T!"
Vesta smiled faintly. "We'll see about that," she said. "By the time I've finished with you, my beauty, you'll be begging me for the privilege!"
Vesta had a struggling Isabel taken into a smaller adjoining room and bound once more to the contrivance on which she had been whipped by Princess Karina. Obviously expecting to be whipped again, she was weeping copiously and making a series of semi-coherent pleas.
A couch and a table were drawn up and placed before the contrivance. Food and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne were placed upon the table. Then Vesta seated herself, sprawling back and looking up at her victim.
"This is going to take some time," she said, sipping at the champagne. "Now, Lady Isabel Dysart," she continued, "you are going to learn a lesson. For some reason you appear to be under the impression there is something special about you. But I am going to prove to you that there is not. You are now just one more slave-girl at Quireme."
Now silent but for sobs, Isabel looked on aghast at these words, mouth sagging. She looked even more aghast when, the next moment, the door opened and one man after another came filing in. Each one was stark naked. Most were white, some half-coloured, one or two were black. Six, eight, twelve... still they came. Some were strong looking young stallions, others were fat, middle-aged lechers of repulsive appearance; all looked appreciatively towards the pinioned form of Isabel whose superb breasts thrust so invitingly at them. Isabel wanted to close her eyes against the awful scene, yet fascinated horror held her. Fifteen, twenty... still they came... lining the facing wall, then down one side wall, finally to the wall behind the framework. Those who arrived there saw the curvaceous, up-thrust hindquarters, the splayed thighs and delights awaiting them.
"These are some of the palace guards," said Vesta calmly. "You Lady Isabel, are going to service them. All of them!" There must have been twenty-five men lined up round the room. "After that," added Vesta, "I do not think you will have such a high and mighty opinion of yourself!"
"No... oooo!" Isabel's cry was wafer-thin. Such a monstrous thing surely could not be! Yet it was. There was the mass of brute maleness... with many of the men winking and grinning obscenely. One of the more repulsive middle-aged ones was already playing with himself. "Y-You... c-can't... you can't... ooohh... no!"
"On the contrary," said Vesta, re-filling her glass.
"I... I... I'll do it... I will... oohh... I will!" shrieked Isabel.
"Suck Magog's cock, you mean?" smiled Vesta. "Oh yes ... you'll do that alright. You'll do it beautifully. But later. After I've had you fucked silly."
"No... oooooo!" It was Isabel's last despairing cry. For the first of the men was already up on the contrivance, kneeling, and clasping Isabel's flanks. Her cry changed to a choking gasping-gurgle as a rampant organ thrust brutally into her.
The procession was relentless. Some took only a few minutes; others lingered longer over the lush female fruit free for the taking.
a****l-like sounds came from Isabel's sagging, slavering mouth; her eyes started wildly in their sockets. Her awful gasps, groans and cries were interspersed with piteous pleas to Vesta... who, needless to say, ignored them completely and only favoured her victim with an occasional callous glance. Vesta smiled up mockingly when a series of shuddering gasps announced that Isabel was experiencing a hideously unwanted orgasm.
Several more unwanted orgasms followed... particularly when the number of men serviced had reached the teens and before Isabel became virtually completely exhausted. Again and again the hard rods of male flesh thumped into her depths while she threshed and writhed in demented horror. Gasps and groans indicated the pleasure of those she served as, again and again, the juices of lust squirted strongly into her.
And all the time Vesta, reclining voluptuously, smoked and drank with the utmost unconcern... until at long, long last the final brute guard had had his way. Then Gog and Magog were summoned. To remove what was now hardly more than a hunk of quivering, fainting flesh.
"Injections," order Vesta briefly. "And clean her up. Then bring her back."
It was Magog who carried Lady Isabel Dysart out of that room of horror, carting her under one arm as if she weighed no more than a young c***d.
The nightmare is never ending.
Isabel kisses the floor in front of Vesta. That she now knows she must always do. The switch has taught her.
"I can arrange to have all that happen over again, slave," says Vesta.
Isabel moans, still slobbering on the floor.
"Kneel up." Isabel does so, eyes still wide with horror. "So what have you got to ask me slave?"
The white throat works convulsively. The words come out weak and hoarse. "T-To... to s-suck... my... M-Master's... p-prick..."
"No. You beg me slave, for that privilege..."
Isabel begs.
Her plea is granted and Magog sits himself impassively on a low couch. Isabel crawls between his thighs. In her small white hand she takes the still half flaccid organ... raises it... and slips the big red-mauve knob into her mouth. Half-choking, shuddering uncontrollably, she begins to suck.
It is a full five minutes before Magog can no longer restrain himself. As the moment approaches he sieged the long blonde hair cruelly, so that the wet-warm mouth cannot be removed. With jerking haunches, he spurts and spurts into the retching throat.
Vesta continues to look on with a mocking little smile of satisfaction. For Lady Isabel Dysart is now really beginning to learn what being a slave girl means!
The nightmare is never-ending.
There are other forms of training apart from those which Vesta directs personally. Military-style foot drill. With Nadine, Isabel joins a small squad of six women, making up the number to eight in all. Each girl drills naked but for calf-length white k** boots with spike heels and heavy Oxon yoke upon her shoulders to which her arms are fastened at the wrist and on the spread. It is yet another killing ground of the will and of the spirit.
Azif, a young Arab, is in charge of the squad. He is in his early twenties and exceedingly handsome of features and figure. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, with honey-coloured flesh. He loves his job. Who, indeed, would not - with eight beautiful young women at his beck and call. He carries permanently a two-foot long strap, half an inch thick, of supple leather to ensure that his commands are carried out to the letter. He is also entitled to a free run of all his charges. Perhaps that is why he always drills them with himself in a state of complete nudity.
High-stepping, his 'troops' wheel and march and turn under his orders. Their bodies glisten with sweat as they strive to achieve the perfection he demands. For each one knows that burning leather strap will surely fall if they fail to satisfy. And at every session they are driven to the limit of endurance. Then, smilingly, at the conclusion he picks one to be rewarded for her merit. He takes her in the presence of the others with prolonged sexual expertise... ensuring always that his choice comes to a climax. Azif is exceedingly well made. Whatever her true feelings, no woman can resist his overpowering sexual drive. Not only does he leather them into implicit and instant obedience, he conquers them as a male. They are truly his slaves.
Lady Isabel quickly becomes one of Azif's favourites. She, more often than any of the others, has to present herself to receive a 'reward' at the end of a session. That does not mean, however, that she does not feel as much leather as the others whilst 'on parade'. Perhaps more so. Moreover... just once... in one of the earlier sessions, Isabel was driven to break down into one of her traumatic tantrums. A brief but wild frenzy of rebellion. Azif appeared sorrowful... but quickly communicated with Miss Vesta. A sound strapping, he pointed out, did not seem adequate to meet the situation. Vesta agreed... and authorised him to use the birch. Twenty-five strokes, she suggested.
Isabel was tied down over a leathern-topped vaulting horse... and Azif proceeded to take the skin off the beautifully curvaceous bottom presented to him.
It was a punishment quite sufficient to ensure that Isabel did not rebel again.
Thus we see how Lady Isabel Dysart's training had proceeded. It is an unhurried process... for, indeed, there is no hurry. Step by step she is made to submit. Fully submit. No more is it on the surface. It is a true submission. That is what is required. That is what is achieved.
Her whole mental and emotional outlook had been changed. Now, in a bizarre way, she is glad to serve. The recognition by a Master or Mistress becomes of importance to her. It shows to her that she is a slave of merit. And for that, one must repeat, she is glad. Indeed, she has become so converted that she holds Vesta in a kind of slavish adoration for having achieved this transformation! There is nothing, absolutely nothing, she would not do if Vesta snapped her fingers and demanded it.
It is now far easier to see how it came about that, having been assigned to the Nubian slave-master, Belle (as she had now been called) so passively accepted his overlordship. She realised she belonged to Hassan and must instantly obey him in the minutest degree. It was right that he should slap her bottom, or cane her, if she displeased him. She was a slave-girl; so she could expect nothing else. The Princess Karina who was far, far away and above, scarcely dared be contemplated. It would indeed be an honour to be even seen in her presence.
Thus it was, having been of service to her new master, Belle complacently followed him, led on collar and chain, to her new quarters, there to join five other slave-girls. They, of course, were fully-fledged. Now, so was she. Could it be said that she now actually felt a kind of pride in that fact?
Yes... that is indeed a possibility!
Three naked girls came running to Hassan. They fell to their knees, kissing his feet, his calves, high thighs. One of them pressed her lips to the bulging sack about his genitals. The Nubian seemed indifferent to these signs of submission, his gaze being directed to two other naked girls who lay on a couch, clasped together, their mounds rubbing urgently. He strode forward and slapped each quivering bottom hard.
"Have you no respect?" he demanded in mock anger. "Did you not see your Master enter?"
The two, abruptly dragged from a private Heaven, fell to their knees as the others had done, kissing and clasping the handsome black giant. Hassan grinned hugely. "You've both earned yourselves a taste of the cane," he said.
"No... no... oh please no..." both pleaded earnestly, but obviously without hope.
"Later," pronounced Hassan generously. "Meanwhile you will meet your new companion... Belle..."
The five girls, all on their knees, looked at Isabel. They could see her beauty. Isabel could almost sense their jealousy.
"Kiss her in welcome," smiled Hassan.
In turn the girls came crawling forward, pressing warm mouths to Isabel's proffered sex lips.
"Now you..." ordered Hassan.
In turn, on her knees, Isabel kissed each of the other five girls similarly. She felt no reluctance in doing so. They were slaves. She was a slave. All did as they were ordered.
"She's lovely," said one of the girls who had been on the bed. "Can I... Master... go all the way with her?"
Isabel felt almost a glow of pride at these words.
"Not until you've been caned, Dina," grinned Hassan.
"Oh no... Master... please no," simpered the shapely brunette, "we... we were... so engrossed..."
"I saw that," said Hassan. "But that is no excuse. Respect for your Master is paramount..."
"Yes... yes..." agreed Dina.
"Bend over and touch your toes," ordered Hassan. Dina did so at once. "Melanie, fetch the cane," added Hassan.
The other culprit on the bed hurried to obey. Isabel watched silently, understandingly. She still had the feel of Hassan's massive black root in her. She respected his power. In every sense. She was his slave. One of his slaves. That neither Dina nor Melanie had hesitated to obey his orders for an instant was utterly right.
"Melanie," said Hassan, "give Dina five strokes across her bottom. As hard as you can. If I think you're stinting yourself, you'll get ten. From me."
"Yes, Master," said Melanie submissively, meanwhile measuring the tightly-rounded young bottom before her. But a few minutes before that bottom had been receiving a great deal of pleasure from her... now it was to receive pain.
The cane rose and fell with merciless force. Five times. Each stroke forced a yelp from the bending Dina... but her fingertips never left her toes by more than an inch or two. Five weals blazed across the white flesh.
Then the position were reversed... and it was the rather plumper, blonde Melanie who bent and Dina who welded the cane. She did it with an astonishing venom, as if to gain full revenge, driving Melanie down to her knees with the final whiplashing stroke.
"Now kiss and make up," said Hassan when it was all over. The two girls did so at once... and were soon rubbing themselves together again, the immediate past seemingly quite forgotten.
Hassan patted Isabel indulgently on her bottom. "Just a little matter of domestic discipline, you understand?"
"Yes, Master," replied Isabel respectfully.
"I often think it better for you girls to keep each other up to the mark."
"Yes, Master," said Isabel again.
"Of course," said Hassan, running a hand over the smooth softness of Isabel's buttocks, "I sometimes cane myself. And I have a strong right arm."
He felt Isabel's lush nates contract and quiver involuntarily under his hand.
"I realise you appreciate that fact," he said smilingly.
"Oh yes, Master... I do indeed..." replied Isabel. She went to her knees before the glistening black giant and pressed her mouth with a kind of reverence to the bulging white sack. "I am your slave... and if I ever displease you... I deserve to feel your rod."
The off-duty life in the slave quarters was rather monotonous. Boring even. Though the conditions were quite comfortable. The girls all slept together in one vast bed; slim chains running from one neck collar to another secured them together. Really there was no need for this chaining. It was done symbolically rather than anything else as a mark of their perpetual servitude.
The day began with a shower. Then a long time spent on body and facial beauty treatments, make-up, hairstyling and so on. In this the girls would help each other. Everyone had to look her best at all times, for one was never sure when a summons might come from the Palace above. Then there was Hassan to be attended to. He had to be shaved, bathed, oiled and massaged and so on. The girls, two at a time, took it in turns to do this. More often than not, when the handsome Nubian was awoken he would have a tremendous hard on and one of the girls would be called upon to deal with that first! Each would consider herself fortunate if she could start the day off by pleasing her Master in this fashion.
At some time during the morning an hour would be spent on physical exercise... for fitness was an important requisite in a slave. Some of the duties they had to carry out were arduous, to say the least. After a midday meal, the afternoon would probably be spent relaxing. Sewing, embroidery and trinket-making were permitted. Sometimes a large case would be brought into the quarters. It would contain dozens of straps, tawse, whips and the like... all of which the girls would have to oil thoroughly to keep them at the peak of suppleness. A rather salutary exercise!
Sometimes the girls would pass the time with lesbian play. Perhaps in pairs or foursomes. Occasionally, partly with the idea of entertaining Hassan, if he were present, they would perform as a six some, forming a daisy-chain pattern and all working on each other simultaneously. Sometimes they would devise and put on erotic dancing displays for his benefit. And, of course, there were times when Hassan gave one of the girls a sound fucking. He was very much an artist... and one with stamina, too. He could quite easily perform for half an hour if he so wished. That was something not only memorable to experience but to watch as well!
Summonses for duty in the Palace above usually came via one of Vesta's assistants in the late afternoon or early evening. Sometimes it would be for just one girl, sometimes for three or four. A girl might be summoned individually by name but, if not, Hassan made the decision as to who should go.
This then was the life that the new slave-girl Belle had to quickly adapt to. She did so without apparent difficulty. Vesta's groundwork had been as excellent as ever. Naturally, being new, she was a fancied favourite of the girls for lesbian sport, and she also got fucked more frequently by Hassan. Only occasionally did she reflect on the fact that she had come to accept this state of affairs as quite naturally normal.
It was four of five days before Belle was first selected for duty. Two girls were asked for and Hassan chose her and the blonde Melanie. Belle felt highly nervous as the chain was attached to her collar and she was led off to the ornate, luxurious rooms above. What would she be called upon to do? Either a woman or man might use her for their pleasure. Pleasure of one kind or another. Belle was not re-assured by the memory of what had happened the previous evening. The eighteen-year-old Marie had been summoned. The girl had an innocent, almost nun-like face, and her youth was emphasised by the way her light brown hair was worn in a pony-tail. However, there was nothing innocent about her body... she was maturely and superbly shaped. Almost an hour later she was led back, sobbing tearfully, her bottom a crisscross mass of cane weals. There could have been twenty-five, thirty or even more in number. Apparently some middle-aged male guest had had his particular fun by dressing young Marie up in a schoolgirl uniform and then giving her 'lessons'.
For every mistake she made, he began by putting her across his knees, taking her knickers down and slapping her bottom hard. Later, his cruel lusts fully roused, he started using the cane. Marie recounted that she had had to bend across his desk at least half-a-dozen times. Needless to say, Belle was apprehensive that something similar might happen to her. Or even something worse.
However, nothing of the sort did. And to say the least, her duties were of a humble nature. At the end of the banqueting chamber two large niches were carved into the wall... as if ready for statues. Melanie was led to one, Belle to the other. There she had to go down on hands and knees, facing the wall, hindquarters upthrust. On these an assistant placed a vase of lovely red roses!
Belle's duties as a flower-vase holder were to continue for some hours... the length of one of Princess Karina's shorter banqueting entertainments.
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