A Cruel Passing of Innocence

by J. D. Jensen

  The whip sliced the air again, slashing down on the girl’s shoulder blades. She fell forward onto the sand, her moans and pleas coming in stifled sobs, and trying to catch her breath she curled away from her tormentor.

  Another girl, standing to Nassara’s left, suddenly mumbled words that were of a language similar to Nassara’s. The girl’s eyes were wide with fear but strangely vacant, as though what she was seeing could scarcely be true. ‘Oh, mother, mother, what place is this? Oh mother take me…’

  For a moment Nassara thought the girl might flee in panic at any second, and she knew how dreadful would be the consequences. Moreover, the horrified face of the girl was turned slightly to one side, watching the whip-man with a fatal fascination, unaware of her danger. ‘Be silent, turn your eyes away, do not attract their attention or…’ Nassara began to warn her, comforted at least by the knowledge that there was someone from her own world who spoke in her tongue, but the warning came too late. The man saw the girl’s head turned disobediently towards him, and strode quickly to her side, and even though his fierce eyes were staring menacingly into her face, she was lost in her trance of disbelief and terror, unprepared for the danger and wrath that was to come.

  Cringing inwardly, Nassara forced herself to avert her eyes from her companion, knowing the man was also watching her out of the corner of his eye, almost willing her to look at him, as if seeking excuse for greater scope of cruelty.

  Nassara was conscious of his apparent sudden calm, as though his anger had devolved to a greater, more pleasurable contemplation. There was a sly, guttural laugh, and he spoke to the girl softly, feigning tenderness and compassion. The crowd, which had roared and jeered before, were now silent, confused. Suspicious, sullen faces waited to see why the whip was not yet upon her. The man was so close that Nassara could smell his stale stench. He had sidled right up against the girl now. Her terrified eyes were fatally locked to his. Trying to back away, to humbly withdraw, she begged him, distancing herself from his leering face, her hands covering her breasts and moving in protective little winding movements. But she was only playing into his cunning plan, misreading the deceptive curl of his sinister smile.

  Suddenly the whip swished through the air and cut into the flat of the girl’s lower belly. Nassara winced, feeling the wake of displaced air against her own skin. The girl screamed and doubled over, gagging from the shock, her hands dropping to clutch her belly. She bent forward, her body contorted into a wounded, crumpled posture, convulsing in her agony. Out of the corner of her eye Nassara could see how the girl’s hips and buttocks were now thrust back and upward, tautened by her bent stance. She imagined her terrible suffering, knowing instinctively that it was not yet over.

  Now the heathen man looked down upon the girl’s vulnerable buttocks, his lips twisted in lustful endeavour. With slow deliberation, taking careful aim, he held the whip like a dagger in his fist, pointing the end downward, poised just above her buttocks. It hovered there waiting for its moment, before he brought its angled shaft down into its target. The black lance rammed down hard between the cleft of her rump, thrusting deep into the shaded crevice there. Finding the vulnerable opening it stabbed in and beyond, and as momentary resistance blocked its path the shaft bent, abruptly stopped in its vile descent. For a second the heathen paused, before withdrawing the instrument in a triumphant, upward flurry. Grinning wickedly at his audience he held up the black whip for them to behold its newfound venture of torment.

  The girl shrieked, straightening up instantly, her desperate hands flying from her tummy to the point of her vile penetration, her spine arching back in her dreadful excruciation. ‘Oh, dear mother help me,’ she sobbed.

  Nassara understood the words, but this was nectar to the evil minds of the baying onlookers. Gleefully they began to mimic her screams, making exaggerated moaning noises between their laughter.

  The girl’s involuntary jerking pitched her pelvis forward, thrusting her belly out, revealing the full flush of her inner thighs. Again the men roared their approval, some falling onto the sand with helpless mirth, oblivious to their evil inhumanity.

  Nassara stood there, trembling in the dreadful knowledge of what hellish fate surely awaited them all at the hands of these fiendish men. There would be no mercy, no escape, and no future.

  Apart from the two wounded girls, whose crumpled bodies grovelled, moaning still in the sand, the other girls remained standing in line, struck rigid with terror, as if frozen into elegant statues. They knew now that their lives were forever changed. Any lingering images of the past were quickly scudding away, fleeing across the vastness of the dunes.

  Nassara had no idea how long they must have stood there. Her mouth was parched. The friendly sun of her childhood was hostile now, beating down upon her naked flesh, the sand burning the soles of her feet.

  But at least the whip-men had tired of their games, and seemed to be waiting for something – or someone. Some ragged youths – about the age of her younger brother – carrying goat bladders of water, moved along the line of girls. They drank gratefully, gagging in their haste, spluttering between their desperate gasps. The youths grinned and mocked as they passed along the line, leering at the nakedness of the girls, sometimes tweaking nipples or rubbing their fingers suggestively into the girls’ pubic hair, giggling inanely as they did so, causing renewed merriment amongst the watching men.

  One of the youths came before Nassara, holding out the water bag for her. His mischievous eyes feasted upon her breasts with fascination, but Nassara’s thirst made her oblivious to the impurity of his impish gaze and she drank eagerly, tipping her head far back for the cool water to run into her parched throat, gasping between each mouthful, her chest heaving with relief. The youth watched her, his nostrils sniffing the glistening sweat that ran down her throat and between the peaks of her ripe, pointed breasts. Then, obscenely bending forward, he poked out his tongue and licked her right nipple.

  The whip-man, hovering menacingly nearby, let out a crude laugh, encouraging him to go on amidst fresh grunts of merriment from his companions. His grin widening, and now flushed with the success of his own wicked game that so amused his elders, the youth pushed up against Nassara, and she could feel his stiffness against her leg from beneath his ragged clothing, and she could smell the stale dirt of his body.

  She knew better than to pull away out of line, so instead she pushed the water bladder between her body and his, making him step back. For a second his eyes held hers with glinting mischief, and then she felt his fingers fumbling between her legs, feeling for the tight folds of her sex and roughly seeking its entrance. Involuntarily she jerked her hips away, but the whip-man had become angry with the youth. It seemed he had gone too far. Her flesh could be teased, it appeared, but not soiled.

  The whip-man lashed out at the youth, making him scuttle quickly out of the way. But now the whip-man turned furiously towards Nassara, as if somehow she had been responsible for her own defilement. His black whip slashed down across her breasts and she screamed out in sudden agony, protectively crossing herself with her arms and bowing down from its stinging excruciation.

  And then a slender trace of fortune came. There was a sudden stir of activity in the camp. Horsemen were coming, and there was a sound that, even in her agony, was strangely familiar to Nassara… the clinking of chains of beasts.

  Yet these were not beasts, as she knew them. A single file of stumbling human forms came into view. They were young men, their lean bodies streaked with dirt and sweat. Each of them was chained to the next by a studded leather collar. Behind a group of horsemen these human cattle stumbled, as if sensing respite at last from their terrible journey, almost mad from thirst, their eyes unseeing in their terrible misery.

  Mounted upon a fine white horse the leader of the new arrivals was a fierce but darkly handsome man. From his striking upright bearing, and his white robes, it was clear that he held authority in t
his place. When he looked upon the line of girls burning in the hot sun, and at the whip-man who stood in front of Nassara with his cruel implement raised as if to strike her again, this stern leader became angry.

  Dismounting with graceful poise he barked orders, berating the assembly with his sharp tongue, his eyes blazing belligerently. The crowd scattered and the whip-men were cowed and fearful in his presence, uneasy at his displeasure.

  There was an instant flurry of activity as the youths rushed to the horsemen with their water bags. The girls, scarcely daring to believe their deliverance, were now quickly ushered away towards the large tent they knew, eager for its shade, desperate to savour its cool interior.

  Stumbling towards its welcome entrance, Nassara grimaced at the throbbing welt growing across her breasts. Perhaps she should feel some sense of gratitude towards this leader of men; perhaps he would be their saviour, but her mind was no less empty of confusion and hate.

  The chained young men knelt exhausted in the sand, their arms outstretched, begging for the water bags that were passing all too slowly amongst them. Despite their dusty, ravaged appearance, and the scars and wheals that covered their naked torsos, Nassara could see they were of scarcely more than her age.

  They were tall and muscled, although their bellies and backs and their striped buttocks from busy whips were wasted from lack of food, or from the gruelling pace or distance of their journey. Their unkempt hair was mainly fair – as though they had come from far off places – although their pale skins were now deeply bronzed or burned red by the sun. Like her they were entirely without a stitch of clothing, almost as though their captors imposed nakedness upon them as a mark of captivity, a mantle of their lowly status.

  Nassara could see the young men’s hanging sheaths of flesh and their sacks of manhood between their legs. A fleeting moment of shame came over her, as if she should not have let her eyes linger there, not in the men’s humbled state. Yet memories of her brothers and her father came flooding back. Once more her mind was caught in confusion, remembering brief images that had troubled her then. How long ago all that seemed now, here in this dreadful desert.

  The dismounted horsemen, armed with long knives and ferocious-looking coiled whips, watched the young men warily for any sign of insurrection or dissent. But the silent, chained captives were beyond such ambitions, their faces etched with weariness and dejection, resigned to their fate, their eyes vacant of all emotion.

  So, too, must Nassara and her companions learn to suffer their ignominy and the taking of their freedom, and to endure the bidding of their masters, their whims and cruelties. All else was futile.

  Chapter 2

  They had been watered and fed some thin gruel, and now again the girls were lined up in the sand, waiting fearfully. The sun was almost at its highest, its rays fiercer than before. There was commotion and bustle all around, with men shouting and rushing about and tents being dismantled as if the camp were being abandoned, its purpose spent.

  Nassara’s twin welt was proud and livid. Whenever she moved the pain nagged at her breasts instantly. Thankfully the welt across her shoulders was healing, and the pain from it was tolerable now.

  Her two companions who’d been victims of the whip-man’s earlier wrath were clearly in greater discomfort. The girl who’d been lashed many times across her buttocks and shoulders was wracked by pain. Her face a mask of misery she shivered uncontrollably, finding it difficult to walk, moaning softly to herself all the while. The girl next to Nassara in the line up seemed to have coped far better with her predicament, despite the blotchy purple weal across her belly and the obvious discomfort deep within the valley of her buttocks. She seemed to have resigned herself to her fate, the shock having numbed the acuteness of her senses. Snatching a moment out of earshot of the guards, Nassara managed to speak furtively to the girl, who thanked her for the warning she’d given, and for her previous words of encouragement. Her name was Belithza. Although her manner of speech was not the same as Nassara’s, her village had been less than a full day’s ride away, and both girls drew comfort from one another, glad of each other’s company in their mutual misery.

  Like Nassara, her father had brought Belithza here. She had awoken as usual on a normal day, having had no warning or sign of her fate to come. Then, unsuspecting and with joyful excitement in her heart at the prospect of going on a journey, she was delivered. She cried, first with disbelief, then with fear and anger, watching her father ride off, his pouch of gold safely stashed away. He too had never turned again in the saddle, not even when she yelled the name she had called him ever since that first time her child’s lips formed the word. Every so often Belithza would break down in bitter tears at the thought of her cruel betrayal. The two girls tried to make sense of it, shaking their heads with incomprehension. Resentment burned deep within each of them at that intolerable image of their fathers taking that miserable pouch of gold.

  The fierce leader was mounted again on his white horse. Animal and man stood aloof, watching the proceedings of lesser mortals. In a while some beasts of the desert whose name Nassara did not know – lumbering, ugly animals with sour faces – were led into the centre of the camp by the same youths who’d been the water carriers.

  Three of the bad tempered beasts were led towards the girls, and made to get down on their haunches in the sand. The whip-men gestured for the fearful captives to approach, and Nassara realised they were to ride these strange beasts. She was used to animals, having no fear for them, but one or two of the other girls were clearly afraid, but whether of the beasts themselves or of the journey ahead, she was unsure.

  Belithza was next to her, and on Nassara’s other side was the girl whose skin was almost ebony-black, and from the men’s impatient gesturing it was clear that the threesome were to mount the same beast.

  Holding its ugly head by a rein was the smirking youth who had obscenely licked Nassara’s nipple. Now again he ogled her, clearly amused at having her at close quarters once again. Grinning, he tapped his stick against the sheepskin cover of the hard leather saddle, indicating for Belithza to get up upon it. The girl, wincing, mustering what dignity she could in her nakedness, cautiously mounted. Sitting astride the beast as erect as she could, her hands gripping the high wooden pommel in front of her, her thighs spread wide across its broad back, the animal snorting and stirring beneath her.

  Now it was Nassara’s turn, and the youth moved to help her, his eyes again devouring her breasts. But Nassara was too quick for him, climbing up briskly behind Belithza. The youth sniggered, turning his attention to the waiting black girl. His face set in a mocking expression he stared at her breasts, watching their quivering movement intently as she climbed up and manoeuvred herself behind Nassara. Now all three girls, with Nassara wedged between the other two, perched awkwardly on the saddle, waiting for the beast to be made to rise.

  There was a flurry of commands and activity around them. The other girls had been quickly mounted on the two remaining beasts behind. Nassara heard the plaintive groans of one of the girls, wondering what agony was in store for her on the ride ahead. The youth hissed at the animal and tapped its rear flank with the stick, smirking, as if anticipating the onset of fresh delight.

  The back legs and haunches of the beast immediately rose up steeply, and the three unsuspecting girls instantly rolled forward, thrown against each other, compressed together against the high pommel of the saddle. The youth chuckled, happy with his trick. He hissed again, clucking at the beast, tapping its front legs, and it lurched to its feet, snorting, this time rocking its human load backward in the saddle.

  The sun was fierce, burning naked flesh. The leader had given orders for single strips of cotton to be handed up to each girl to wind around their faces. Then the men held up a large heavy strip of material – drapes from the dismantled tents, Nassara thought to herself – for each mount. The girls were made to wrap the rough cloth around thei
r shoulders, so that their bodies were enveloped and protected.

  Soon after the procession moved off. In a while there was a hushed, plodding rhythm of padding hooves in the sand, broken only by an occasional shout from one of the men. Although the drape around the three mounted girls was coarse, and smelt of untold odours, Nassara was glad of its protection from the sun, as much as by the cloth around her head and face, leaving only her eyes exposed. The strange drape was now a single, common garment to the three girls, covering them. Their sweating bodies moved in a strange swaying rhythm, rubbing against each other at every lurch of the beast, and after a while the heat beneath the drape was almost unbearable.

  The beast’s curious motion took some time to get used to. With every lurch Nassara felt her groin drag and her hips jerk forward against the spread of Belithza’s rump, while at the same time feeling the thighs of the black girl press into her from behind. Their legs, precariously hanging on either side of the saddle, were locked together, one against the other. The welt across Nassara’s breasts throbbed constantly as they rubbed against Belithza’s back to every motion of the animal’s awkward gait.

  The leader on his white horse was somewhere out in front; his mounted guards a few respectful paces behind. Then came the three beasts carrying the girls. A youth walked in front of each beast, leading it by a rein, occasionally tapping the animal with a stick to maintain a constant stride.

  On Nassara’s left flank, slightly behind, walked the shackled young men, spaced out by their chains in single file. She could see that their studded collars chafed and worried their necks from every drag of the chains. There was no protective covering for their raddled figures, their naked flesh exposed to the full glare of the sun’s rays. Riding beside the wretched, clinking file was one of the horsemen, carrying a long whip that tapered into a leather tail. Every so often he would flay it at the ground, sometimes flicking the ankles of the young men, making them break into a shambling trot. Nassara hoped the journey would not be far; otherwise they would be dangerously stricken by heat and exhaustion.