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.