Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so we 
can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon. 

	Sent to the Farm
	She wasn't about to put up with this shit. She was a human 
being with rights and she was going to see these people got what was
coming to them. You couldn't just grab someone and take them
off...somewhere.
	Tisha really had no idea where she was. She was vacationing in
Marsailles when a sack was thrown over her and she was hit on the
head. When she woke up, the motion of the floor told her she was on a
ship. When next she was allowed to see light, she was surrounded by
men of a dark hue. Africans, Arabs probably, they spoke in a tongue
that sounded like hacks and hisses to her.
	They made her understand with hand signals and rough pushes
until the man in the white linen suit arrived.
	"Parlez vous Francais? Sprachen sie Deutsche? Habla Espanol?
Capishe Italiano? Do you speak English?" he said until he recognized
her reaction to the last.
	"Ahhh, I would say an American by the look of you," he said.
	"Well, buddy, I can tell you you're in a world of shit!" she
started, "You can't grab people off the dock and drag them to some
third world dump. You're going to pay for this big time."
	"My little dear, I assure you we can grab people wherever we
wish and I warn you that it will be you, 'in a world of shit' as you say if
you do not learn to act in a more mannerly way," he said cooly.
	"I'll enjoy watching that smug expression fade as they drag you
off," she spat at him.
	"I remind you that you have been warned to have a civil tongue.
The next time you will be punished. You will not be warned again," he
said and motioned to the men.
	They stripped her naked and then fit her with a leather thong
that was pulled tightly between her legs by a belt of rough rope. They
didn't need locks and keys. Her wrists were secured by iron shackles
that were simply bolted together, but that was enough. When she saw
the African heave the bolts tight, she knew there would be no way she
could get them open even if she had a wrench.
	And she could not hold her tongue. She cursed and threatened
again and the man said something harsh in the native tongue. Tisha was
lifted bodily and the single link between her shackles was placed over a
hook high on a post.
	"Perhaps you will understand the price of your insolence better
now," he said.
	She could sense the motion behind her, but she was unable to
turn and see the African with the whip. She heard the whistle an instant
before the tearing shock of the lash ripped across her back. The pain
obliterated everything. She was no longer a woman, only an animal
trying to escape as the lashes fell.
	They gave her five lashes that seemed like they took hours to
her as she squirmed in pain. When she was taken off the hook, she
collapsed. It was more than the pain and the cuts of the whip. She felt
beaten. All the fire had drained from her and she felt exhausted as if she
had been dragged behind a horse. His voice came to her as if from a
distance.
	"Forty lashes will kill a woman and there is no mercy," he
informed her, "The laws are strict. Take care to never earn forty or you
will be beaten to death. There is no clemency. A pasha's wife would be
whipped to death if she earned the lashes."
	Tisha received no comfort then. No water- even salt water- to
wash off the blood that streamed down her back, no salve or bandages
for her wounds, she was put in a dark van and driven to another hole of
darkness. The beating had snuffed out her anger like a bucket of water
over a candle flame. She held nothing but fear and despair at her
situation.
Even the hope of rescue had faded to a hazy dream.
	For all the dryness and heat of the sun- wherever she was- the
stone walled chamber that held her was damp and cold to the naked
woman. She was in a large room with all the tools of a dungeon. Off in
the distance she could hear the faint sounds of other life. She was in no
condition to explore and had no desire in any case. She only wanted to
sleep and try to forget the nightmare that had become her waking life.
	When she woke she found a crockery jug of water and some
indeterminate cold pale grey stew on a plate near her. It was horrible,
but she was hungry.
	A man approached, probably drawn by the clank of her
manacles as she stuffed the tasteless food into her mouth. He said
something in the strange tongue and then jerked her to her feet. He
passed his hand roughly over her body and she thought she heard a
murmur of appreciation. Strangely, she was pleased that her captor
found her deisrable.
	She found that the sounds she heard were indeed other life.
There were rows of stone cubicles with heavy wooden doors and she
was pushed into one containing two other women. They were
obviously native to the area, since the man addressed them in the
foreign tongue. When he had shut the door, the two came over to her,
making signs of friendship, and began to tend the wounds on her back.
	Hours and days passd as one in the dim torchlight. Tisha didn't
know how long she had huddled in the cell with the others when a man
returned and pulled her to her feet. He was not a physically impressive
as the others that had handled her, but a greater intelligience seemed to
shine from his eyes. He was in no hurry, but methodically set about
whatever it was he was to do.
	When she saw the man with the whip, she panicked. What had
she done? She had not even spoken a word in days. But the large
African made no move toward her. He only stood and watched as the
man pulled away the rope and thong that was her only garment.
	She knew their intention now. She was pushed to her knees
where she waited, still eyeing the man with the whip. There was a faint
scent of sesame and then she felt something viscous being smeared on
her anus. Something deep within her tried to cry out as she realized the
man's intention, but the cowed shell that surrounded what had once
been Tisha didn't let the protest escape her lips.
	He spat something in the strange tongue when his first attempt
to enter her was rebuffed. His hand cracking down on her upraised ass
startled her and he coupled it with a thrust that lodged part of his
member in her rectum. In a moment it was an unsued passage no more.
	The screams came unbidden, but she struggled not to fuss. Her
eyes, wide with fear, were still fixed on the whip at the African's belt.
However much the rape of her ass was tearing her, she feared the lash
more. Her body's resistance seemed to amuse the rapist. He would push
firmly against her and then lunge to force the tortured sphincter to open
and admit his girth. He was no more gentle as he took her, pulling out
sharply and then forcing himself back inside in stages again.
	He forced her anus into submission the same way she had been
cowed- by force. Finally her battered sphincter deserted its guard and
she opened to his steady thrusting as easily as she would to a somewhat
overlarge organ in the normal orifice. But the resistance had cost her
dear. Her anus was torn and aching as he went on and on thrusting
methodically with no sign of reaching the end.
	As she endured, Tisha realized that she was both shivering and
sweating as the man violated her ass. She knew she was shaking in fear,
but the heat? Surely there was nothing about this impalement that
excited her. She was being totally debased and she was submitting like
a frightened child. How could she be excited by that?
	It was another shock when he came in her ass. She felt only
disgust at the unnatural feeling, but then again was cast into doubt as
she seemed empty when he withdrew his member. She couldn't want it
back in her! But she had to admit that was the first feeling she had
when he left her gaping asshole to whistle in the draft.
	She had not been told to move, so she remained in her
vulnerable open position, ever mindful of the whip. She heard a
commotion coming down the hall to the chamber. It sounded like a
woman speaking French. Then there was an all-too-familiar crack and a
scream and the protests stopped. She heard sobbing and then she felt a
hand feeling around her neck.
	There was an expletive in the strange tongue and she was lifted
to her feet and propelled to one wall of the room. The man
lackadaisically dropped her shackles over an iron peg protruding from
the wall, as if she was a horse he expected to obediently stay at the
hitching post. To her shame, she knew that was what her fear of the
whip had made her.
	But the French girl was no braver. She could see the bright red
cut curling up her thigh, over the curve of her buttock and ending
halfway across her back She could hear the girl's sobs and see that she
was no longer resisting the man pushing her to the table in the center of
the room. However this place was arranged, she now felt that there
were different kinds of men. The man that was placing the link between
the French girl's shackles over a peg in the table was of a kind with the
man that had so recently violated her. These men were more in charge
than the burly guards and more in direct control of the women.
	They also had their own techniques. This man was looping a
strap that was fixed in the floor around one of the French girl's ankles
and then pulling the hole in the strap back down over the pin. He pulled
her legs wide and did the same with the other ankle. She was again
assaulted by the similarity to handling animals.
	The French girl took her rape with more courage than she,
Tisha thought. She only cried out when the man came up hard on her
damaged buttock. Before the man had finished. her own torturer
returned with an object in his hand and the man in the linen suit.
	"Akhmed is disturbed that you have no collar on," he said
congenially, "He wishes you to have 10, perhaps 15 lashes for
removing yours. It is a serious crime. I am considering whether to tell
Akhmed you never had a collar or to allow him to have you punished.
Which would you prefer?"
	She had no qualms about begging him. She pleaded tearfully
without any shame. She could not imagine suffering while the lash bit
into her ten times. She only knew anything would be better than that.
He seemed pleased by her surrender of her ego. He opened his trousers
and pulled out his organ.
	"You can guess what to do, I imagine," he said smugly.
	When she took her shackles off the peg, Akhmed flinched, but
held still as the man in the suit held up his hand. She knelt in front of
him and lifted his member to her mouth. It was better than anything
that had happened to her, she decided as she took him in her mouth. 
	As her tongue worked his salty flesh in the warm suction of her
mouth, she felt Akhmed behind her. He pulled her hair away and placed
a collar around her neck, cinching it firmly before buckling it closed.
When it was in place, the man in the linen suit took hold of it.
	At first his hands just rested on it, but as he came erect in her
mouth, he began to pull her to him and force his organ down her throat.
This was not the worst for her. She had lovers that had treated her that
way before. When he came, she tried to freeze her muscles and her
concentration kept her from choking on the gummy semen he jetted
into her throat. She went back to sucking when it subsided and he
pushed her roughly away. Was he less than pleased with her total
devotion and submission?
	"I will tell Akhmed he may beat you now," he said, his grin
popping back across his face when he saw her despairing reaction.
	Akhmed did not beat her. He put her shackles back on the peg
in the wall and left her again. She looked at the French woman and saw
a second man had mounted her and she was again in open-mouthed
agony, though she let no sound escape as the man pounded on her
bottom.
	A different man came to take her shackles off the peg. She was
afraid to go, but just as afraid to struggle. As he led her to an obvious
torture machine, she despaired of ever escaping the pain whatever
course she chose. She had seen horses in pictures. It was a 2X4 with
arcane supports to fix the victim in a myriad of helpless and
uncomfortable positions. But this man was not interested in the
vagaries of bondage.
	He threw her across the 2X4 and parted her buttocks. He was
many times more brutal than Akhmed as he speared his hard rod into
the abused orifice. He used her perfunctorily, hard and fast and jerked
her to her feet by her collar almost before he was finished ejaculating.
Tisha was entering a surreal world. Things her eyes saw no longer
made sense. She was unsure of how she moved because she was
unaware of her feet.
	She was pushed into a new cell without the foreign women.
Head swirling, she sank to the floor. She did not sleep, but time passed
without her being aware of it slipping by. She was roused from her
state by the creak of the door. There was something familiar about the
squawk as the girl was thrown into the cell with her.
	They stared at each other a moment. Tisha slowly regained her
focus and then said, "Do you speak English?"
	The other girl was startled.
	"Yes," she said hesitantly, "What is going on here."
	"Pain," Tisha said, "I think it's some form of brainwashing to
make us willess sex slaves."
	"Do you know where we are?" the girl asked.
	"Not a clue. Don't know how long I've been here. Just that I
don't want to be whipped ever again," Tisha repled.
	The girls eyes became pools of white.
	"Whipped?" she whispered.
	"Flogged, beaten," Tisha said, turning to show the girl the fresh
marks on her back, "I hate to admit what I'd be willing to do to never
feel that again."
	The girl fell silent for a time and then began to softly cry. Tisha
didn't have the pity to spare and let her feel her own despair alone.
	Her story made it seem the man in linen was telling the truth.
Alexis had been in Sierra Leone with the Peace Corps when she was
taken. She was not a random pickup. She had been hunted. She
reported thinking that she had been bitten by a tsetse fly because she
felt the bite and then couldn't help slipping down into unconsciousness.
She was taken overland to this dungeon, so it seemed they were
somewhere in North Africa.
	Neither was comforted by the piece of the puzzle the other
added. They might as well be on the moon for all the chance they had
of escape. And Alexis seemed as cowed by the threat of a whipping as
Tisha had been by the whipping itself.
	They had little to say after the first burst of personal history.
Alexis seemed afraid to find out her purpose here and Tisha was not
disposed to tell her about the sexual abuse Alexis faced. In a way, the
appearance of the man in the linen suit forced them back to their
objective peril.
	"See how pleasant we can be, giving misery its company?" he
said, mainly to Tisha, "We think you learn better if you have the chance
to discuss your lessons. And you will be good to our blonde godess
here, won't you?"
	"Is that what I'm for- a training aid?" Tisha asked.
	"Of course not," he laughed, "Though I am a little embarrassed
to say that taking you was a mistake. Our agents simply took the wrong
woman."
	That sure made Tisha fell better. It was more than rotten luck.
It was a conspiracy of rotten luck that had brought her to this fate.
	"On the other hand, Alexis is a special order," he said.
	"You know who I am?" Alexis sounded shocked.
	"Yes, of course, of course, and I have a bit of news that you
might find even more shocking," he said to the confused blonde, "Casey
knew of the order. He even co-operated in our filling it."
	"Casey?!? But why?" Alexis looked ready to blubber again.
	"In these matters who can tell?" he said airily, "But he was well
paid."
	"Paid?!" she snorted, "How much am I worth?"
 	"To Casey, $10,000, to us, much, much more," he said.
	Tisha could see that Alexis believed it could happen. It was
enough money to overpower whatever she had with this Casey. It still
hurt her.
	"Was I betrayed as well?" Tisha asked.
	"We are investigating that. You can appreciate how little we
enjoy being made fools. We are determining whether our contact in
Marsallies pointed you out or whether our acquisition team made the
mistake," he said coldly, "I am sure you can imagine how vehemently
each is accusing the other to escape our wrath."
	The thought made Trisha shudder. They liked her- at least had
an interest in her and they were willing to beat her to death. She tried
to find something else to think about to avoid the scenes of horrible
death that flashed through her mind. Her eye fell on Alexis' golden hair.
	"Is that why I'm not a blonde," she asked.
	"If you mean: were we after a blonde, the answer is no. Not all
our clients want wives and some do not even want blonde wives. Our
target was a woman know to be extremely, how should I say, docile,"
he said.
	"Then what do you do with your mistakes?" Tisha asked, not
wanting to know the answer, but fearing it too much not to ask.
	"You tremble so needlessly," he said and Tisha was not sure if
he was mocking her, "There is always room for one more. If our client
declines you as a substitute there is always room on our administrative
staff."
	She knew that was a joke. But why should she expect more
from this man that had her kidnapped, whipped and raped on a whim?
He reacted to her scowl.
	"You are disappointed? I assure you that our staff members
receive only the finest care," he said, "And perhaps the periodic nature
of your tasks makes you better off than if you go to the brothel."
	She had found out too much already. Tisha fell silent. The man
turned back to Alexis.
	"You shall fare even better," he told her, "The client that
requested you wishes to treat you like a queen. You will have every
advantage, except, of course, your freedom."
	The news did nothing to cheer Alexis up. She was even less
amused when the man revealed the real reason for his visit.
	"Your new owner," that devastating reality rolled smoothly off
his tongue, "has posed us with a bit of a puzzle, though. He wants you
prepared for him in all ways, but he does not wish you touched by any
of our trainers. And we know how tight-assed you American women
are. We have thought carefully about it and this is our solution."
	He held up a latex contraption that looked like a jumble of
disparate parts.
	"Now, if you will kneel with your rear facing me, we will see
how it works," he said.
	Alexis hesitated. She wavered. She wanted no part of the
cobbled contraption. She wasn't sure what he intended, but she was
convinced she wanted no part of it.
	"Alexis! We have also thought with great care how to punish
you. While you may escape the whip- at your owner's request, I am
sure you will find any of the alternatives just as unpleasant," he
snapped.
	She hesitantly did as she was told. When she was presenting her
bottom to him, he knelt and rubbed some ointment into her anus. Then
he started the wedge-shaped head of the device into her rectum. That
part looked like the top of a butt plug. It had a flange to hold it beyond
the sphincter, but he did not stop when it passed inside her anus. Alexis
had passed the begging straight into the sobbing and each extra
intrusion made a great gulp well up through the already ragged
breathing of her crying. After another inch or two, he stopped and
pumped the bulb that hung off the rear of the device. Tisha finally made
the connection. It was some kind of balloon nozzle that would swell up
the contraption so Alexis could not expell it.
	"You see, we do not wish for you to have the fullness, we are
trying to achieve the expansion," he said as he got to his feet and
dusted off the knees of his trousers.
	"You will, of course, not toy with it. Better, you will not touch
it," he warned.
	He might as well have told a frog in a room of flies not to eat.
From the moment he closed the door, she obsessed on the fancy ass
opener. She asked Tisha to describe it. She described the feeling of it
holding her open yet blocking her shut. She tried to imagine how they
could punish her without marking her. She wondered how they would
know.
	Tisha warned her. Tisha advised her to make the best of it and
not dare the punishment. And then Tisha was taken off for another of
her own preparation sessions.
	This time her 'trainer' was an African, obviously chosen for his
size. Akhmed led her to the table and put her shackles over the peg as
had been done with the French woman. Her ankles were not strapped,
however. The scent of sesame, the oil on her anus, and then she sensed
the African behind her.
	She could not imagine that it would be pleasant. She might not
be able to estimate to the millimeter, but his member was certainly over
a foot long. It was longer than both hands of the young man that was
stroking it when she was brought in. She didn't think that his obvious
practice on men would make him more gentle, either.
	She was both right and wrong in her assessment. It was far
from pleasant as he forced her to open wine-bottle wide to admit him.
He was also the least brutal of the men that had so far taken her in this
unnatural way. But it went on forever. Her guts twisted as he slid into
them and she felt him force them into a new position. And there was
the matter of the size increase as he pushed this formidable pole to the
root.
	He was not much on fucking either. He seemed to prefer
rocking with his organ forcing her bowels to spasm as they found new
routes around the intrusion. She dreaded his climax as well, but that
was not to be one of her worries. After ten or fifteen minutes of him
holding her open, Akhmed said a word and the African withdrew. She
could not see clearly, but glimpsed enough to tell that the young man
was finally satisfying her tormentor with his mouth.
	Still sweating from the tension, she mused that the next one
would certainly have an easy entry. But that was not to be either. That
knee-quaking fifteen minutes seemed to be enough for the evening.
Akhmed took her back to the cell.
	She heard the moans outside the door and Akhmed turned her
to him and made a shaking finger 'no' sign to her before he opened the
door. Alexis was squirming on the floor like a dog after a tangle with a
skunk.
	"You took it out, didn't you?" Tisha accused.
	"Noooooooo, I didn't even get that much relief," she moaned as
she thrashed on the floor.
	Tisha couldn't see the reason for Alexis' distress, but she saw
that it was real.
	"What did they do to you?" she asked.
	"Pepper!" Alexis yelped, "They put pepper - up there."
	Tisha winced. She didn't like the sting of soap. She could
imagine the burning that Alexis was suffering. And her hands were
tightly tied behind her so she could not touch herself. As an added
bonus, Alexis had to be careful of the bulb so as to not inflate
the device in her recutm farther.
	If the girl was not in so much distress, it would have been
funny. Tisha still had to supress a laugh even so. The girl was so
frantic! And Tisha knew she could not help her.
	"Could you... could you... maybe lick it?" Alexis asked in a
pained tone, "Anything to make it just a little better?"
	It made Tisha feel almost good to refuse. Oh yes, she was
bombarded by her shame at being a coward before the whip, but at
least it was a good excuse not to give Alexis any comfort. She didn't
like her enough to lick her private places in any case and she was
getting a guilty thrill watching the girl's agonized flailing.
	Alexis was going to be the queen and she was going to be
company entertainment anyway. But she tried to make Alexis believe
she really wanted to, but was too afraid.
	The fire between Alexis' legs burnt itself out early in the
morning. Tisha was finally able to sleep as Alexis' thrashings dwindled
to a fitful sleep. In what seemed only a few seconds of dozing, but must
have been three hours, the women were roused.
	The man in the linen suit had come to check on Alexis. Seeing
him handle the task personally, Tisha knew that Alexis was a very
important commodity for them. The price being paid for her must be
very large indeed. She was not surprised then when he knew she had
not gone to the girl's aid.
	"It was the wisest decision for both of you," he congratulated,
"We would have had to punish you and start Alexis' punishent all over
again."
	Despite his praise, Tisha found herself in another cell when she
was returned from her morning reaming. That mostly suited Tisha fine.
It was nice to have someone who spoke English, but her resentment of
Alexis and her freedom from the whip had grown steadily. She was
now with the French woman, whose private places she may have licked
if she was in the same torment as Alexis. She saw Alexis once more,
obviously after another faux pas. Miss queen was trying to win the
battle of fatigue to stay on her tiptoes so the clamps fixed to her nipples
would not yank her breasts painfully into the air.
	And then one morning the man in linen came to see her.
	"Your trainers tell me you now accommodate Jabar with the
minimum of problem," he said, "And you have not been punished once.
Your training is therefore complete. You will please excuse this
unpleasantness."
	As he spoke he covered her mouth and nose with a rag having a
sweetish odor and her world went dark.
------------------- Part II - the Hammurabi Hilton
	Tisha awoke in the eye-afflicting light of day. For the first time
in weeks, she was dressed- after a fashion. She hadn't thought her
costume existed outside Hollywood. It was 'I Dream of Jeanie" gear
complete with see-thru harem pants and slippers with turned-up
pointed toes.
	The room was furnished in the same made for Hollywood 1001
Arabian Nights decor. She was laying on a pile of pillows- pretty
comfortable pillows actually, in a room with no other furniture. She
wondered if this was the brothel or if this was where the company
entertained.
	Her reverie was interrupted by the man's entrance. He didn't
look like a client. The ring of keys on his belt re-inforced her
perception. And if he spoke English, he made no effort to reply to her
questions. He examined her. When he pulled down the top of her
costume, he made a clicking noise.
	She found herself missing the man in the linen suit after that
encounter. At least he spoke her language. She was not sure she would
ever again know what was going on around her or what plans were in
store for her.
	That fear was made flesh when the door was opened again. She
only realized that she had been free of her shackles when the large
black man handcuffed her arms behind her back. He held her then as the
man that had examined her pulled down her top again. Behind him a
third man held a tray of ominous looking instruments and bottles.
	He sprayed something from an aerosol on her left nipple and it
froze. She could see it crinkle into an instant erection, but there was no
feeling in it after the initial cold. She watched with horrified fascination
as the man took a silver object from the tray. It was like an awl and she
observed with detached interest as he pushed it though her nipple. He
jerked it to push it through her flesh, but she felt nothing as she
watched her nipple stretch and then part as the tip of the awl pushed
through the other side.
	He followed the awl with a curved needle and she winced in
sympathy as he drew a thick thread through the hole, though she still
felt no sensation. He painted the nipple with a yellow-brown fluid and
then put a small gold ring through the hole. He pulled up her top, they
released her and left.
	The pain began in about fifteen minutes. It was as if she was
reliving the piercing on a time delay.
	She found out the reason for the ring a week later. It was
obvious she had not been taken to the brothel by then. She had waited
all those days in her pillowed cage, something no brothel owner would
have allowed her to do. The only abuse she suffered was the isolation
and that made her somewhat glad when her keeper came to take her
from the room.
	She was now sitting on a vast round bed, the ring through her
nipple fastened to one of the posts by a fine gold chain. It looked
strange appearing above the cup of her top and dangling off to the
small golden ring on the post, but she figured it would have a better
effect when she was naked.
	The door opened and an Asian man walked in. His face was
very expressive of his pleasure at seeing her. He immediately crossed to
the bureau beside the bed and pulled out the drawer. She saw an array
of manacles and cuffs, straps and chains and the even broader grin on
the man's face.
	There was nothing she was going to do about it. That fact was
even more evident as the man chattered something to her, perhaps
thinking she would understand. Realizing his mistake, he indicated her
clothes and motioned for her to remove them.
	He started taking out an array of restraints as she removed the
genie costume. As he proceeded in his gleeful task, Tisha wondered
why she took off her clothes at all. He bound each breast around its
base and then pulled them toward the sides with a strap that buckled on
her back. He strapped her upper arms, lower arms and then her wrists
as close as he could pull them behind her back and then lay her on
them.
	A rope went around her left thigh, just above the knee, lapped
lovingly and then was used to pull her leg up near her breast. He passed
the rope under her and pulled the other leg into the same position and
again tied it just above the knee.
	He wrapped more rope in arcane patterns around the bowed
package she had become and then abruptly entered her. Her circulation
was impeded and her position cramped, but his orgasm was nearly as
abrupt as his entrance. 
	Then he left her there and disappeared from her sight. She
feared she had been deserted in her bondage, but then felt a weight at
the foot of the bed. By rocking on her hands, she was able to catch a
glimpse of the man sipping from a champagne flute as he recuperated.
	After a limb-numbing pause, he tried to turn her over- the
wrong way.
	"No, stupid, the ring, the ring," she scolded him and tried to
throw herself over the other direction.
	He relented and put her on her face without tearing the ring
from her nipple. The lash he used was a plaything compared to the
whip. It was felt or suede or some such material chosen for the sound
rather than the impact. It stung a little, but it was a pain that made
Tisha understand pain as foreplay a little bit. It made her butt jerk as if
she was aroused anyway.
	Then came the inevitable anal entry. The man struggled initially,
but it was becoming a familiar abuse for Trisha. It was less irritating
than the pain in her shoulders as he sawed in and out of her rectum. He
heightened that disparity by grabbing her wrists to propell himself
harder into her ass.
	He left her in position, but she was quickly released after he left
the room. She was not allowed to stay in the bed and was returned to
her pillow-filled room.
	Then next morning the man that had pierced her came in with a
scowl on his face. The big black man with him grabbed her without a
sign from the man. He reached up a slapped her across the face and
then jabbed her in the arm with a hypodermic needle.
----------Farmed out-------
	She awoke in a familiar dungeon.
	"You are trying to get me into trouble?" said the man in the
linen suit as he strode into her cell, "Two weeks is not a long vacation
from the farm."
	The farm, what an idyllic name for this palace of pain. She
squinted at him still groggy from the drug.
	"I don't even know what I did," she protested, "What did I do
wrong?"
	"I understand there was some protest, very bad, and our client
mentioned that you were not very well broken in," he said, "Actually he
was not upset with either one, but Ahmir was not happy. Between you
and I, I think you were being used too little for Ahmir's taste and he
found an excuse to return you to me."
	"And why would Ahmir want me to be butt-fucked by Bobo
day and night?" she asked.
	"Jabar, his name is Jabar," he corrected, "And you would find it
difficult to understand Ahmir. His is a mixture of unconcern and
contempt that Westerners find difficult to grasp. You see, in Islam, the
woman is both the fountain of purity and the well of filth. You are the
well. Ahmir barely would concede that you are human."
	"Is that why he wanted to poke holes in me?" she asked.
fingering her nipple ring.
	He laughed, "No, no, that has nothing to do with it. He happens
to think women look better fully adorned. He would prefer a ring for
each nipple, clit and vaginal lip, then perhaps the nose, the navel... you
see the pattern."
	"I don't understand," she said.
	"Just as I said," he told her, "But I am afraid that Ahmir's
preferences are going to have more catyclismyic consequences for
you."
	When he became airy, Tisha got frightened. He was most
devastating when he was offhand with her.
	"As you know I have no reason to lie to you, I am sure you will
believe me when I tell you that I had no part in this," he said.
	"Any part in what?" her voice began to quaver as she saw the
guards walk in the room.
	"You are not to disparge those who come to you," he said, "I
am told you spoke sharply and are due 10 lashes."
	It was as cold a sentence as she had ever heard. The terror that
had crawled just beneath her skin now enveloped her. She shivered as if
he had doused her with ice water. Worse, the terror reached into her
chest and squeezed her heart.
	"Is there nothing I can do to escape this?" she asked in a hoarse
whisper.
	He shook his head with an air of pity to match her contrition. 
	Her only hope was that the whip would take her senses and she
would bear the last few lashes in the anesthesia of unconsciousness.
She knew she would not be able to bear the agony. And she feared it so
much that she didn't even dare protest, thought she felt sure that he
would not increase her punishment for so small a crime.
	Her torturer escorted her to the main room, the instrument of
her punishment slapping lightly against his thigh as he walked as if it
were teasing her with the burlesque of the pain it was to give her. There
was no post in the room. Instead a chain was dropped from a beam
high over her head and her manacles were hooked to it and she was
pulled erect.
	She at least had a firm footing, but there was nowhere to move.
As the first lash's evil kiss split her skin, she found that she could only
swing by her wrists. And she found that the large African used her
swing to let her body meet the lash with even more force. But there
was no help for that now. She could no more stop herself from cringing
from the mind-exploding pain than she could hope to escape it.
	She danced through an unknown number of lashes until a cut
upon a cut lanced her mind too deeply and she found that rest of
unconsciousness. It was a period of deep darkness, more Stygian than
dreamless sleep that she neared the surface of many times before she
finally awoke with a start.
	A sort of pain still burned from her back, but it was the ache
and stiffness that most screamed for attention when she again joined the
living. It felt like someone had ripped out her spine and replaced it with
an ungiving steel rod. Perhaps she could move, but no part of her being
wished to make the effort against the dire warnings abused muscles
were crying out. Her arms ached. Only her legs seemed to be without
distress.
	An iron band of pain beat around her skull, but she felt driven to
force open her eyes and see where she was. A pink fog seemed to fill
the room as she saw she was again in a cell. Her eyes adjusted to the
disturbing illusion, but could not drive it away. Blinking only dragged
the sandpaper of her eyelids across her eyeballs and she abandoned that
attempt after the first try.
	Only then did she notice that she had been carefully wrapped in
a blanket of rough fibers and dared to inventory the messages from her
flayed back. It was not resting on the same material and she surmised
that her wounds had been dressed while she languished in the land of
the dead. She was not fool enough to move and test this theory,
however. 
	What she found was enough for the excursion into
consciousness. She felt great fatigue sneak over her like an immersion
in water and she slept. This time without the luxury of dreamless sleep.
	She danced like a puppet over the fires of the Pit. She was
bound, branded and hung like a side of beef. She stood helpless in the
face of a pack of advancing wolves. And always there was Jabar with
his hands on his hips, his huge organ swinging erect before him,
throwing back his head and laughing at her predicaments.
	She awoke chilled and shaking. There was the weight of an
additional blanket on her, but she felt no warmth. There was also
something else. Food. Not the grey indescribably mess that formed her
staple in this dungeon, but a pomegranate and a piece of cheese. She
shook so badly that she had to gather most of the pomegranate seeds
from the floor, but she devoured all of them with a great need.
	She summoned the bravery to sit up finally and found that the
pains of movement were not too great to bear and settled back to the
steady ache when she stopped moving. She also discovered that she
had been resting on a pad rather than the straw of most of the cells.
Then that was enough discovery and she drifted off again without
remembering laying down.
	The next time she awoke, she found herself again bundled in the
blankets in a way she was sure she could not have managed on her
own. She was bathed in a medicinal smell that she was sure she had not
noticed before. She knew she was tended, but the care with which she
was being treated was just beginning to occur to her.
	This time when she sat up, the pain was only a dull throb. And
then the door opened and she saw the familiar figure of her captor.
	"How go affairs in the land of Nod?" he asked with a smirk.
	"Horrible dreams," she croaked, her vocal chords stiff with
disuse.
	"Perhaps I have news that will cheer you," he said and paused
for dramatic effect. ""You are not alone in your dreams of the Seven
Hells. Ahmir's charges and the sentence he passed on you was found to
be capricious. I imagine he is enjoying himself even less than you at this
moment."
	"Why for me?" she rasped as the ability to talk slowly returned.
	"You still think like Western woman," he shook his head,
"Ahmir had damaged goods in the past and narrowly escaped censure.
This time there was no reason to whip you. The client didn't even
notice your insubordination. He clearly was damaging goods for personal
 reasons. It had nothing to do with you personally."
	She wasn't sure she was following his conversation. But his glee
was evident as he talked of Ahmir's downfall. What it meant to him she
could not fathom and did not care. She no longer cared what it might
mean for her.
	"But for now, your training is to continue until your disposition
is finally decided," he said.
	Even the ominous sound of that didn't rouse Tisha. She was no
longer even ashamed of her compliance. She was broken. She was
finding it difficult to think, let alone form opinions. She simply waited
for what would come next. She thought she saw disappointment on his
face.
	"Well, then, let's to it," he said abruptly and lifted her off the
floor.
	She noticed for the first time a low bench on the far side of the
cell. She had slept with her back to it since being thrown in the cell. He
placed her across it with her legs hanging off onto the floor. He pulled
away the blanket and she realized what training was to continue.
Sesame smell. Oiled anus- and then conversation.
	"I didn't think we had to start you with Jabar," he said politely
and then she felt the intrusion at her rectum.
	She was used to it by now, but she had not yet grown
accustomed to opening for the invasion. He was insistent without being
brutal, but when he pushed hard against her buttocks, a pain tore
through her. He was tormenting a wound but she did not have the
energy to scream. She only grunted in protest as his belly reminded her
of the cuts across her back and buttocks.
	 He did not back down from causing her pain, but his manner
varied greatly from her usual trainers. He was not pounding or simple
impaling her and jerking deeper. He was making love to her asshole. It
would have been difficult for her to respond in any case, clearly
impossible as his thrusts opened her wounds to bleed again, but he
fucked her like a lover and not a master.
	And when he came, he did not immediately withdraw and leave.
Instead he stroked her buttocks gently, tracing the cuts with a finger as
he slowly pulled back from her.
	"You have been trained, there certainly can be no trouble about
that," he said, more to himself than to her.
	He lay her back on the pad before he left and covered her. A
short time later a dark-complected woman, neither African nor Arab,
but perhaps a blending of the two came to dress her wounds again.
	Troublesome thoughts now haunted her waking moments as
well as her dreams. She had slept enough, but she was still too drained
to move about her cell. She sat mostly, trying to fend off the terrible
images that came unbidden into her mind. Rings hanging from every
loose flap of skin until she looked like a side-show freak- lines of men
waiting to penetrate her with impossibly large organs- groveling like a
whipped puppy at the feet of a toad-like pasha, begging to eat his
excrement.
	She was more alert when the man in the linen suit entered the
next time. She was anxious to see him. He brought a brief rescue from
her haunting thoughts. 
	"You look alive again," he said when she looked up as he
entered, "and with the most exquisite timing."
	"Why?" she asked, wondering what he would mock her with
today.
	"Because, my dear, your stupor decreased your price even
more," he said with a smile, "Poor Ahmir, may Allah rest his stones,
had no doubt ruined you for all but the lowest brothels, but your
zombie-like demeanor made you even worthless beyond that."
	Terror took her. Perhaps even her dream-like imaginings had
been brighter than her true fate. She shrank against the cold stone wall.
	"What is to be done with me?" she asked, horrified.
	"It is better you do not know for a time, but release your fear. I
promise you you will find better treatment," he said.
	He barked an order to guards and she was taken down the hall
in a direction she had never travelled conscious. She was led into a
room that gleamed. There were tiles on the wall in the Moorish fasion
and a few appointments that led her to think it was some sort of offices
for her captors. She stood acquiescent as the manacles were unbolted
from her wrists and dressed in the rough garmets she was thrown.
	She made no move unbidden, but nothing was left to her good
behavior. She remained unshackled, but was put in a cage of 3X4X6 in
the back of a truck and the canvas closed over her. Then the truck took
her off.
	Her thoughts were coming more under her own control as
Tisha seemed to emerge from some underworld of animal survival. But
as this Tisha re-emerged, it seemed that her fate was attempting to push
her back down into despair. The iron bars and uncertain destination
were more devastating than the vague horrors that had been haunting
her because they were solid and real.
	When the cover was thrown back, she found herself looking
down through the bars at a small man with a red fez and an ear to ear
grin. His slightly bug-eyed stare gave him the look of a bad Peter Lorre
imitator.
	One man climbed in the back of the truck to open her cage
while another stood with the faux Lorre. The little man lightly
dismissed the pair after she was handed down and pointed the way into
a square white stucco building. Inside there were wide rooms with
columns from floor to ceiling each done a bright color- red- yellow- 
white. She was pointed to a room in the rear which she found contained
a bathing area. It was not properly a pool, but much closer to that size
than could be called a tub. It was again tiled in a Moorish pattern
except the Moors never envisioned the gold fittings on everything that
brought water into or took it away from the room.
	She stood gazing about her as the little man became agitated.
He slapped at his head with both hands as he spluttered in his foreign
tongue and then he brightened a looked up with a smile.
	"You--" he said pointing at her, "go- in."
	He embellished the last with a two handed shooing motion
toward the water. Tisha was far past caring that he watched as she shed
the clothes. Naked, she walked to the edge of the pool and found the
steps leading down. The water came up to her breasts as she reached
the bottom and was pleasantly warm. Any hotter and she knew the
sharp sensation of the water on her wounded back would reach the
level of pain. She saw there were ledges in the water like seats in a
huge hot tub and she chose one that would bring the water over her
shoulders when she sat.
	She turned to face the little man as she sat and saw him with his
broad grin back on his face. As she relaxed back against the wall
gingerly to settle with the least amount of pain and considered the little
man. His grin had nothing of the leer in it. He seemed more proud of
himself than interested in her. When she was settled, he clapped his
hands and barked out a three word order in his foreign tongue. She
looked, but he was not looking at her, instead looking off to his left and
right for the response.
	Two women scampered in, one from each direction. As they
approached the stair, each undoing a wrap tied loosly around their
waist, Tisha recognized the half African- half Arab woman that had
bound her wounds. She smiled and the woman smiled back warmly.
	She was again abandoned in a world with which she could not
communicate, but at least this time she was better treated. The little
man in the fez was a little oily for her taste, but she assumed from his
manner that he was just a servant of her new owner. Her new owner-
the last month had taken away most of the sting of that phrase. She had
reached the point where she realized the best she could expect would
be a kind owner.
	They bathed her gently and then rubbed her back with a
numbing ointment. In the arid heat, she was spared the need to dry off
and the two women gave her a scarf identical to their own and showed
her the way it tied around her hips. It was a brief costume, but more
covering that some she had worn in the recent weeks. And it made her
fit in with the other two.
	They led her to another pillow filled room. It seemed like that
would be her new fate. She thirsted for conversation. They had a kind
of communication with hand signals for the most blatant things, like the
toilet and food and sleep, but there was no way for girltalk. She felt
lonly.
-------------
	He let her stew in this solitary world for another day. And then
he had her brought to him. She was a different woman. No longer the
fiery harridan that attacked and swore the first day she was brought to
him. And it only took 15 lashes. Of course the French strumpet was
cowed with one.
	She came in properly, head bowed with her hands folded in
front of her. Her feet were bare with the fine chain of an ankle bracelet 
around the left. She would not know, but the design was his name in
Arabic. Her only garmet was the scarf knotted about her waist- yellow
silk with a brown pattern. And for all her questions, the reminder of
Ahmir was hanging from her left nipple.
	She stopped when she could see his shoes and waited for a
word from him. He appraised her one more time before he broke the
spell.
	"You may look upon my face," he permitted.
	She looked up with befuddlement on her face. Her mouth
opened and then snapped shut again.
	"You may speak, but I commend you on your reserve," he told
her.
	"Are you- You are my master?" she asked.
	"Yes, little one, I saw value where no one else could," he said
formally.
	"I don't understand," she said.
	"Nor do you need to," he said and then softened, "but it is such
a mavellous tale I will tell you while you adore me."
	He undid the crocodile-skin belt and opened his cashmere pants
to indicate his meaning. She knelt on the step before his chair and took
over the duty of taking his member from his underclothes. When her
mouth closed over him, he began his story.
	"You are more than passing fair, however you vary from our
normal merchandise. I saw that immediately and I have to admit that I
found your unseemly display likewise engaging. I knew I would enjoy
seeing the change as you were tamed. Though at that time I had no
thought of keeping you for myself. As you recall, many things were
pressing me at that time.
	"I thought you reacted well to your first whipping. Some break
utterly under the lash. Others become useless mewling things. You
learned. I was impressed with that, but I believe the thought of
 obtaining you began when you first honored me the way you are doing
now. Mmmmm- very tender," he sighed as he paused in his soliliquy,
"But it was only a rogue thought in a complicated world. Were you put
on the block I might have inquired as to your price, but as you recall,
you were assigned to provide hospitality for our clients. And remanded
 Ahmir. I put you out of my mind. I had the difficult Alexis to
prepare. Then, praise Allah, Ahmir returned you to me in his fatally
flawed judgement- rest his stones."
	He paused as his member began to twitch. She sucked eagerly,
certain his climax was imminent. When it came, her tongue became a
tout, rapidly flickering back and forth beneath the glans of his organ to
urge out his best effort to fill her mouth with his seed. And when it
subsided, she again took as much of him as she could manage and held
him in the warm, moist embrace as his erection fled.
	"I am glad that it came to pass," he complimented her, "Perhaps
you now understand my luck in the face of your misfortune. You were
a pitiable mess after the second whipping. I answered straight away all
questions put to me and faithfully followed all instructions, but perhaps
their disgust with Ahmir also led them to give up on you. I prefer to
think it was the hand of Allah bringing us together. I mentioned that
your price was a pittance and I quickly acquired you."
	She looked up with a question in her knit brows.
	"You may sit up. I was pleased with your adoration. And you
may speak," he instructed her.
	"What is to become of me now?" she asked.
	"You will live here. You will do as you are told. You will obey
or you will be whipped. But if you remain as you are now, I will have
you come to me often. Has your life been hard here?" he said
	"No- but it is lonly having no one to talk to," she said.
	"Then I will speak to you. And in time perhaps you will learn
our language," he said simply.
	"Does that mean I can ask questions?" she brightened.
	"Certainly, but it does not mean you will get answers," he
replied.
	"You mentioned Alexis- I had almost forgotten. What happened
to her?" she asked.
	His face grew dark and pained.
	"She was not as bright as are you," he said, "Perhaps she never
believed that we could do with her as we wished. Perhaps it would
have been well to beat her for a lesson."
	"What happened?" she asked, impatient for him to get to the
point.
	"She attacked her owner- a very powerful man. Very, very bad.
He had her beheaded. It is said she called him names even as the blade
fell," he told her.
	If he was expecting dismay, he was fooled. She snorted at the
news.
	"She wanted me to... um.. lick off the pepper that night," she
said with a stern look, "I didn't really like her."
	"You are like a deep river with a smooth surface," he laughed,
"Very full of surprises. Perhaps you would be amused with Ahmir's
penalty."
	She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. She could imagine
terrible things and was sure these people could imagine more. But her
interest was piqued. She nodded.
	"Ahmir is a eunuch. No greater penalty exists. Allah rest his
stones. He now serves as staff where you served as entertainment," he
said.
	He did not smile, but she did. And then he saw the next thought
pass over her face.
	"Why all the... training of my rear parts?" she asked.
	He broke into a laugh.
 	"Do you know nothing of Arabs?" he chuckled, "Why, I
thought the world knew us as buggerers. It is a favorite way in our
world and some, like you, have to be accustomed to it to please your
masters. It is a matter of course with Americans and most Europeans."
	"Well, of all the trainers, you were the most enjoyable," she
sighed.
	"Did I say it was a favorite way of mine?" he asked, growing
smug, "My vice is what you have just done. I enjoy relaxing and being
served. Does that disappoint you?"
	She thought he was making a joke. There was little for her in
any of it, but her mouth accomodated him much more easily than her
rectum. And that made her think of her own pleasure.
	"What?" he asked as the quizzical look crossed her face.
	"I do not wish to anger you or ask for too much," she began.
	"Ask- I will deny it if I wish," he said breezily.
	"What of my pleasure? Is it allowed- Is there some way for me-
I don't know how to ask it," she stumbled through her thought.
	"Your own release? Perhaps you will come to love satisfying
me enough that you will climax because I climax," he said, "I don't
think that was the answer you hoped for. Should I say your time is your
own in your chambers and you may seek it there?"
	"You mean with the other women?" she asked.
	"I mean nothing," he said, growing impatient with the
conversation, "I mean you are free to do what you will in the harem.
Two women together is not unheard of, nor is it the business of the law
or me."
	"Then a better question," she proposed.
	"Ask." he said.
	"What laws should I know that I do not break them?" she
asked.
	It was a good change. His face brightened at no longer having
to discuss her pleasure.
	"Just one. Do what you are told. You will be safe enough with
that one," he said, "Should someone order you wrongly, they will bear
the lash."
	She nodded slightly as she again cast her eyes down. He was
pleased with her transformation. He was even more pleased to notice
that the time had passed for him to be stirring again where her hand
rested on his member.
	"I think I shall reward you," he told her and her eyes shot up.
	 "You have revived me," he said with a smile, "You may again
show me your gratitude for your kind treatment."
	She bowed into his lap with that suggestion and again took him
into her mouth.
	"Yes, you will teach your manner to the others," he said as he
came erect under her ministrations, "Perhaps they can capture some
part of this that you do so well."
	She sucked. He was not so ready the second time and she took
the risk of letting him out of her mouth while she ran her tongue over
the surface of his organ. He enjoyed that as well. When she licked his
scrotum, he sighed a sigh of happiness. When she resumed the urgent
pull he was not so far away. He rewarded her fully.
	Then she was dismissed back into her limbo. Another Tisha
might have grown sour with this isolation, but she was nothing like the
old version of herself. Perhaps it came in the red fog of looking through
blood-shot eyes after her whipping, or perhaps in the dreams, but there
was a kind of animal understanding of her new role at the foundation of
her personality now.
	The new Tisha was considering the best way to learn the
foreign tongue. She was sure her companions would teach her, if she
could only make them understand what she wanted. Asking the master
to tell them didn't occur to her. It wasn't her place.
-------------Settling in -----------------
	The half-black half-arab woman was named Jay-sha. She had a
definite liking for Tisha. She was fascinated by her skin- or used that as
an excuse to be constantly stroking her once Tisha indicated her
willingness to be friends. Haifa was the other woman- all arab and as
retiring as Jaysha was forward, though she exuded invitation even as
she retired.
	Tisha immediately knew she had come into the middle of
something and felt that was the place both women wanted her. She
could become Jaysha's new toy and Jaysha would give her Haifa as a
reward. The thought had not been planted by her owner. She had felt
the stirrings as she was bathed in relative comfort- given her healing
scars, and watched the two fawn over each other.
	She had long since lost any hesitation about having a woman as
a lover. Tisha's only question was whether the act itself would repulse
her. Would she be repulsed by the taste or feel of another woman?
Would some unbidden reaction dampen her lust at a crutial time when
she was receiving pleasure? She knew she would- but could she?
	At the same time she questioned, Tisha knew she would soon
be finding the answers to her questions. When Jaysha stroked her, she
stroked back and looked into the girl's dark, dark eyes. With a care that
said, be gentle, Tisha lay back against Haifa's bosom and held out her
arms to Jaysha. Jaysha smiled eagerly and for a moment Tisha felt that
she was expected to understand something she did not. Then she found
that she did understand as Jaysha closed the distance and leaned against
her to deliver a passionate probing kiss.
	Their breasts pressed together and Tisha could feel the hard,
hot centers of Jaysha's  nipples pressing above her own. Jaysha's tongue
was not demanding, but teasing as it stroked her tongue and then
retreated, waiting to put up a defense of lashes and jabs as her own
tongue sought the dark woman's. Jaysha pulled her down into Haifa's
lap to contine the kiss and Tisha saw that the Arab girl was busy
loosening the scarfs the three of them wore. It was good she had
adjusted to the idea of a woman lover because it was surely where they
were going.
	For their first encounter Jaysha kept it simple. She kissed down
Tisha's body and when the defining moment could no longer be
delayed, turned her on her side before her tongue, lizardlike, sought out
the folds of her womanhood. Jaysha's tongue skittered and probed and
then retreated much like it had when she kissed. When her eyes
flickered open for a moment, Tisha saw Haifa had taken much the same
position as Jaysha and was applying her own tongue to the dark
woman's privates.
	It seemed only natural that her hands would seek the smooth
flesh of the Arabian and pull her to where Tisha could complete the
chain of joined mouths and genitals in a squirming circle.
	Nothing diminished the experience for her. While she felt
clumsy and unsure, probing Haifa's femininity with her tongue was not
distasteful. And she found release- wonderful release in the experienced
tongue and fingers of Jaysha
	It was a world full of newness. None who had known her
before would have recognized the woman she had become. Even her
appearance was altered by her new meekness. The hard lines of her face
had gone softer with acceptance, but her bearing had become more
straight and tall as a paradoxical sureness in her submission made her
certain of her place and the expectations for her. She obediently called
a man master and pleased his every wish without hesitation. She had
loved and been loved by a woman and in the void of having her own
life she was as satisfied as she had ever been when her life was a
constant struggle to make her own way.
	It was better to think that way. It may have been the only way
she could think, but that was not a hypothesis she wanted to strain to
test. It was better- indescribably better than the whip.
	And perhaps better than she thought. His air was aloof and
whimsical, but her owner was a man of sentiment unbefitting his calling
as a slaver. She was not to acknowledge that this was true, but she felt
she knew his real purposes. She had no doubt he had told her the truth
when he revealed his interest in oral sex- and only oral sex.
	Then he called her to him with another duty. A smooth-looking
foreigner sat beside him. Only that- foreign- could she tell by looking at
him. No particular nationality was evident. He was as dark-complected
as her owner, but not an Arab.
	This she only noticed out of the corner of her eye as she stared
at her master's feet.
	"Show my friend how lovely you are," he told her.
	She stood up straight and turned for him, her hands going to the
knot of her scarf to free it from her hips. She turned again, naked and
then stopped and stood in front of the foreign man. He smiled and
nodded.
	"You will be his tonight," her owner said simply.
	It was only doing what she was bid. There was no longer any
Tisha protruding into that part of the world. She stood and waited for
the man to take her hand and lead her away.
	He was amused by her nipple ring and careful with her body.
And most amazingly, he took her like a woman rather than a boy. He
was not concerned with her needs, but it was still a welcome reminder
of passion for her.
	Considering it in the world where Tisha still held sway, she
realized that there was something strange in the coincidence of her
questions and this duty she was assigned. And it was not the only time
that the subtle message was delivered by her owner.
	But in between, she had days of leisure, slowly learning Arabic
from her companions, usually fading into an evening when she would
be summoned to demonstrate her coveted oral skills. Sometimes she
simply knelt between his knees and took him into her mouth until he
climaxed, but more and more she was being given other duties. As 
he had mused, she was called on to demonstrate her talent while Jaysha
and Haifa watched. And she was told to watch the others try and show
 them however she could how to perform better. And he had acquired
quite a liking for her to take him in her mouth as a preliminary or
postscript to his taking one of the other women.
	To the slave known as Tisha, the taste of shit on her master's
organ was of no consequence as she finished him after he had buggered
one of the others. In reality, Tisha felt little different. This time she did
not believe the whip was directly responsible for the change. Before she
may have balked simply from fear of the unknown and her
conditioning, but having the option removed forced her to base her
opinion on experience and she had decided that sour taste was hardly a
factor in the larger duty of bringing her master to orgasm and draining
out his climax with a greedy mouth.
	Her willingness to learn about the culture was another change
that sprang from the same source. Her new state of mind allowed it.
The practicality of her old opinions and prejudices was nil in her
present life.