A Life of Submission
Page 22
Finally the horse stopped, and I lay still, moaning, chest heaving, sweat pouring off me. His shadow loomed, and he gripped my wrist, pulling me up, then over his shoulder. He carried me like a bag of potatoes back to his horse, then as if I weighed nothing, turned and flung me up across the horse before climbing up behind me. I lay face down, moaning, as the horse started forward again, bouncing lightly as he kicked the horse into a faster stride.
The sand hardened, and then became dirt, and scrubby little bushes began to appear. Then we were in among a group of trees which surrounded a small pond of clear water. He unceremoniously lifted my head up and flung my body back off the side of the horse so that I fell into the water. I sat up, sputtering and coughing, but made no effort to stand. I was relieved, and scooped water up in my palms to slurp thirstily.
He ignored me, at first, seeing to his horse, unfastening its saddle and gear, then leading it up a bit to drink from the pond. As it was doing this he set up a small camp, and gathered twigs and small sticks for a fire. Only when that was completed did he yank on the rope still bound to my wrists and pull me out of the water. He led me, dripping, to one of the trees, and threw the rope over a low branch, then pulled down. The branch was only a foot or so above my head, and my hands and arms were pulled up and then back over my head behind me. As he continued pulling the rope tightened around my wrists, and began to cut into the soft skin. Then the skin of my arms scraped over the branch as they were forced down, and I was lifted off my toes.
He pulled on the rope until my arms were bent back over the branch, the back of my elbows jammed painfully against the hard wood, and my hands down behind my neck. Then he led the rope between my thighs and pulled it up hard so that it wedged in between my labia, curled it over my right hip, around my waist, and back over my left hip to tie together at my abdomen.
I was then left in place as he continued to attend to setting up a camp.
Chapter Twelve
I have to say that at the time I had a young girl's view of Arabs and the middle east. Which is to say that I did not think it strange that a man in a flowing robe, riding a horse, would have taken captive a European girl he happened upon. Nor did I wonder at the absence of cities, or even towns. In fact, my only surprise at my treatment to that point was that the man had ridden a horse rather than a camel.
I thought, as I hung there, that I was destined for his harem, or something similar, perhaps to be masked and hooded and hidden in some type of enormous tent with his other harem girls.
And the idea of being a slave to Arabs, to be a prisoner in a harem, was, to be honest, not an unpleasant one to a person of my curiously masochistic sexual desires. As I watched him strip naked and step into the water, I could not help but admire his powerful masculine body, his firm jaw and dark, flashing eyes. I felt a little shudder of excitement pass through me at the idea of being the sexual plaything of such a man.
His treatment of me to that point had hardly been gentle, yet he had displayed a strength and will which I found quite impressive. In all respects he seemed a far and away more exciting master than the one I had so recently been imprisoned with.
You might find some amazement that a girl would even consider such things, would possibly find any aspect of such a situation intriguing and exciting. But as I have already demonstrated, I was no longer an ordinary girl with an ordinary sense of the proprieties. Being slapped and used, being treated strongly, being bound in discomfort, all these were rather normal aspects of my life now. And so while I was in quite some discomfort due to my position, I was not sobbing in misery and fear as would a girl fresh off the streets of London or New York.
In fact, even my position was not beyond my ability to find comfort. For while my arms ached quite badly behind the elbows, where they were holding up a good portion of my weight, the rope attached to my wrists was also pushing in quite hard between my legs. And the pressure was beginning to inspire the same sort of throbbing, aching pleasure as had the narrow piece of wood I had been forced to straddle in India. There was less pain to go with it, however, because the rope was soft where the wood had been unyielding, and because most of my weight was on my arms.
I was in pain, principally from my arms, but pain and I had long acquaintance, and the near nymphomania which now seemed a part and parcel of my personality required quite a bit more discouragement than it was now being offered. Especially as my mind raced with the possibilities and fantasies of a life in the harem of the handsome, strong-willed man who had captured me.
I watched the sun glisten off his wet body, watched as he soaped himself up, watched his hands sliding over his muscular chest and arms, then down his trim stomach. He stepped into shallower water, and I panted and licked my lips as he cleaned himself. I found myself wishing I could be there with him to help him bathe, to use my own hands to soap up his groin, and the soft, but lovely long penis dangling there.
I remembered again how thick and long he had been as he had driven himself into my body, and felt my groin thrumming with desire to be taken by him again.
He finished his bathing and rinsed himself, then strode from the water, back straight, head high. A little ripple of sexual admiration passed along my spine, and I moaned lightly in hopes of drawing his eye. He ignored me, however. Instead, naked, he set food into a pot and placed it in the fire he had built. That done he stood up and pulled on his robe, belting it at the waist, then pulled on the headdress which covered his head and neck.
He continued to ignore me, and his strength of will, of character, served to impress me further, and to give my loins even more desire.
Suddenly he rose and turned towards me. I felt my heart pounding and blood racing, wondering if he would take me once again, or perhaps torture me as my previous master had. He walked up beside me, his height allowing him to look down on me even while I was suspended many inches from the ground. He did not look aroused, but rather calm and considerate. He regarded my body for a moment, then reached out and cupped one breast.
He spoke, but the words had no meaning to me. However, as he fingered my stiff, swollen nipple I was sure he was commenting on my evident arousal.
He took a long, frightening looking knife from his belt but I had only a moment's anxiety before he sliced the rope free and I fell at his feet. He took my arm in a powerful grip and half dragged me towards the fire, then set me down. He sat next to me, completing his cooking, not looking at me until he removed the pot from the fire. He produced a wooden spoon and began to eat a kind of thick stew. After several spoonfuls he turned toward me, holding the spoon laden with stew before my mouth.
I licked my lips, then opened my mouth and took the stew off his spoon. He nodded slightly and fed himself once more as I swallowed. I had no idea what it was, and tried not to imagine. It was quite tasty, however, and when he held the spoon out for me once again I quickly opened my mouth and took it.
In this way he fed the both of us, though he, of course, took the lion's share (like a lion would, I thought, with indecent admiration). The sun was setting by now, and I could not help think of what a romantic setting I was in, there in the small oasis next to a strong, ruggedly handsome Arab. Perhaps he was a prince, I thought, taking water from a steel cup he held to my lips.
I was set to wash the pot and cup after dinner, and then, with nothing to note any change in his thoughts towards me, he took my arms, set me firmly down upon hands and knees, and positioned himself behind me.
A sudden gush of excitement flowed through my belly and my chest tightened with anxiety as I felt his hands on my hips. A moment later his cock rubbed back and forth against my bare slit, and then pushed into me. I was wet in an instant, and raised my bottom like a bitch in heat, shifting my knees apart in the soft grassy dirt as he slowly forced his immensely thick organ into my welcoming body.
I could not help groaning lightly as he filled me to overflowing, as the soft, elastic walls of my sex were forced taut around his hard, ridged erection. Already
I came in no more than two minutes, came powerfully, and made little effort to disguise my pleasure. I wanted him to know how much I lusted for his touch, how enthralled I was to his hard use, how much I welcomed being his slave.
He continued to thrust into me, strongly, firmly, but unhurried, his thick organ pumping back and forth, in and out of my straining opening, jamming deep within me on each stroke and rocking my body forward in the sand. The sexual heat never left me, and even as the first orgasm faded my body continued to thrum with sexual tension and need.
I loved it. I loved it. I loved it. I felt truly in my element, being ruthlessly used by such a powerful man, forced to his bidding, to please his sexual desires. His hands did not roam my body, but remained firmly on my hips, thrusting steadily, hard powerful strokes jerking my body in a delicious rhythm.
I came again, more powerfully, my head thrashing from side to side, the air puffing out of my slack mouth as every fibre in my body flared with white-hot pleasure. I was being ridden by a real man, ridden like I deserved to be ridden, used as I was meant to be used, and I gloried in it. I came a third time, grunting weakly, unable to think or talk, hardly able to breath at the clamour of sensory joy within me.
And still he rode me, rode me as my arms sagged, as I sank to my elbows, breasts dangling against the ground. Yet I was immediately brought up short. A harsh hand gripped my loose, tangled hair, yanking my head up and back so that I cried out in pain, forcing me back onto my hands, and then resuming its place on my hip.
Yet again, I did not resent this. Rather, it aroused me once again, as a display of his strength of will and character, of his mastery over me. He would not let me slack in the slightest thing, this master. I was his and would know it. He continued to drive himself into me, his powerful hips slapping against my buttocks again and again, and my heat rose once more.
But then he gave a final flurry of fast, shallow strokes as his orgasm arrived. He was silent, yet his fingers dug in harder against my flanks, and he forced himself even harder against me before stopping, his cock fully enveloped by my sex. He knelt there for long seconds as I felt his erection softening, then he slipped back and out. He slapped my buttocks lightly, then stood and moved away.
I was hog-tied that night, wrists and ankles bound together behind my back. Yet he was not needlessly cruel. The rope was not as tight as it could have been, as others had made it in the past, and he ensured the flow of blood to hands and feet was not constricted before leaving me and setting himself into a very light sleeping bag.
It was chilly that night, and I shivered there in the dirt, laying naked on my side. Yet despite that I managed to fall asleep with a degree of contentment I had not felt since leaving China.
Morning came, and he cut loose my ankles, while leaving my wrists bound behind my back. He raised me to my knees and pulled aside his robe, revealing his erection, and I immediately placed my lips around it, bobbing slowly up and down as I worked moisture into his dry flesh. As it became more slick I increased the length of my movements, and then, hoping it would surprise him, pushed forward to the base of his cock, taking the full length down my throat. I felt quite rewarded by a grunt of pleased surprise, and his strong hands coming down lightly upon my head. I held my position, my nose jammed against his abdomen, then slowly eased back, letting him slide back out of my throat and into my mouth.
I sucked and licked at the front of his erection for long seconds, then pushed deep once again, taking him all the way inside me. As before, I let my lips hold still against his groin for long seconds, then backed off to work on his head with my mouth again. His fingers began to comb through my hair, and I felt a little shiver of gladness at this sign of affection, redoubling my efforts.
No man, however strong, could resist such treatment for long, and soon he was spurting a prodigious amount of seed into my mouth. I swallowed quickly, working my lips and tongue as fast as I could around his fountaining cockhead so as to maximize the length and pleasure of his orgasm. Only when he softened did I pull back, licking lightly along his cock so as to clean him off.
He let his robe fall in place and moved away, leaving me on my knees. I sat back on my heels, feeling pleased, and watching as he set up his bowl for breakfast. As before, joined him, kneeling in place, sitting on my heels as he fed himself, and then me. Neither of us spoke. It would have seemed wrong, somehow, even if we spoke each others' language.
He washed his things off himself, then saw to his horse. When it was saddled and ready to go he pulled me to my feet and led me over to it once again. At its side, however, he halted. His hand rose to my hair and pulled it back, firmly, but not cruelly, so as to raise my face and arch my back. His other hand slipped between my legs, and strong, rough, but knowing fingers slipped inside me. He must quickly have noted my heat and moisture, for he smiled ever so slightly. Then his fingers began to manipulate my sex, stroking quickly against my clitoris so that the heat fairly exploded within me.
In mere seconds I was panting and moaning, my legs spread apart, my hips grinding shamelessly against his fingers as I stared up into the sky above. I came quickly, explosively, bucking wildly against his fingers and crying out my pleasure.
He casually mounted then pulled me up before him where I rested my head against his shoulder and gulped in air.
We left the oasis and soon found ourselves back in the soft sand of the desert. We rode for an hour before the ground hardened again. This time there was no oasis, but long fields of scrubby grass, and then crops appeared, and soon after a narrow river. A light trail appeared, which turned into a well-used track, and then a dirt road. Small white houses appeared in the distance off to left and right, then.
We saw a few people, but none close enough to identify, and then after another hour or so of riding we turned onto a tree-lined road which led to an enormous structure. It was a palace. Long and beautiful and white, with towers at the corners and uncountable windows along its length. We rode around to one side, where stables and a garage lay, and he slipped gracefully down, then took my hips and lifted me down as well.
Two small, thin Arabs in dark robes hurried out, their eyes widening at sight of me. After only a few days back among "polite society" I had already lost my casual acceptance of public nudity, and knew a fluttery little tremor of excitement at their reaction. They bowed their heads rapidly, though, and when he spoke to them bobbed up and down and quickly took the horse away. He led me into the palace, then.
The corridors I was led through were all wide and high enough to run a bus through, and my bare feet stepped alternately atop polished marble and deep, soft carpeting. Paintings and sculptures were everywhere, and the richness of the place outshone anything in my experience. Whenever we passed someone in the hall their reaction would be to stare at me, then bow deeply, or sometimes, drop to their knees as we passed.
We turned a corner and came upon an immense carved wooden door. Two uniformed guards in white trousers and blouses stood framing it, each with an actual sword in his belt. They both bowed low to him and one opened the rightmost door. Neither gave me a second glance.
Now we were in a wide, low-roofed area, the floors and walls of dark gold stone, with many alternating patterns picked out in black and silver. Different areas were curtained off, sometimes by heavy curtains in red or gold, other times by sheer curtains through which we could see people moving about.
We halted before a woman of middle years. She was Arabic, with a full stomach and heavy breasts. Her dark hair was bound back, and her nose was quite large. He spoke to her as she bowed her head, then she looked at me and spoke back. He nodded as if satisfied, turned and left.
The woman stepped closer to me, then took my jaw in a strong hand, turning my head to left, then right as she examined me. A heavy thumb pushed against my lower lip, forcing it down, and I opened my mouth as she examined my teeth. She muttered to herself, looked at my breasts and sex, then took my arm and wordlessly led me through an opening in a long brown curtain into another part of the area.
Was this the harem, I wondered with some excitement. Was I to be a harem girl?
The purpose of the room seemed obvious, for a half dozen enormous golden marble tubs were placed about, each with gold fixtures. The wall was mirrored, the mirrors holding gold tracing. The floor was also marble, but in green. Lights were recessed in the ceiling, making the room fairly glow.
She ran a tub, and then released the rope binding my wrists. I stepped into the tub and sat, submissively allowing her to wash me, and then shampoo my hair. Done, she sat me on a fine padded chair and spread my legs wide, then shaved my sex of the small bit of hair which had begun to grow back. She massaged sweet-smelling oils into my skin from toe to throat, then brushed out my hair until it was full and soft and seemed to shimmer around my head.
All of this done she led me back through the curtain and then through another. Now we were in an area with rack after rack of clothing, shelf after shelf of colourful silk, satin and lace fabrics.
She wound the top of a two inch wide T-shaped belt of sheerest white silk about my hips, bringing the vertical strip down between my legs and up between my buttocks before tying it off there with a thin string. On top of this went a loin-cloth of sorts, made of a bright blue satin fabric. It was perhaps a foot long and half that wide. A white halter so sheer as to be almost invisible was tied over my breasts so that it pressed in like a second skin. Then a kind of half vest in blue satin covered it, left open. Blue slippers followed and she nodded her satisfaction before taking my arm and leading me through several curtains to a wooden door. This she unlocked with a key kept on a chain around her neck.
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