The Captive Flesh

by Cleo Cordell

  Claudine was leaning over the rail already. In the near distance there was a hillside, piled with the dazzling white cubes of buildings. Cypress trees were everywhere, looking like dark green candle-flames. There were spires and towers of pink stone. The sun on the little waves that broke on the shore turned them to sparkling turquoise.

  'It is so beautiful,' Marietta whispered.

  'Wait until you see my house,' Kasim said, standing at her elbow. 'It is far more lovely. But you and Claudine will outshine all of my treasures. You will love it there. Both of you.'

  Claudine threw Marietta a look of excitement. There was no time for words. The other passengers were crowding the deck, collecting together relatives and possessions. Kasim turned suddenly and stood with his back to the sea. Something passed over his face - it looked like hunger - then was quickly gone.

  'Will you and Claudine indulge me? Algiers can be a dangerous place for unveiled women. Only whores display their naked faces, indeed, any part of their bodies. Though you will be safe enough with me and my retinue, you will attract an undesirable amount of attention dressed as you are. Will you consent to wear the traditional garments of concealment?'

  Claudine laughed merrily. 'Really monsieur, is that necessary? Ah, you seek to flatter us by telling us how special we are, no? Perhaps you wish to cage us and keep us for your pleasure alone. Oh La! We are free young women, not birds of paradise!'

  They all laughed.

  'Claudine's sense of humour is preposterous at times,' said Marietta, indulgently. 'But I think we should agree. I do not relish being the centre of so much attention. Claudine?'

  'Of course, I agree also. I spoke only in jest. Where are these garments we should wear?' Claudine smiled at Kasim.

  Kasim smiled back, but his eyes glittered with some contained emotion. Marietta did not think that he was amused. He seemed edgy, impatient for them to leave the ship.

  She felt again, that small dart of fear. Their conversation, below decks a few minutes before, seemed unreal. This man was sophisticated, wealthy, used to getting what he wanted. Should they go with him? It was not too late to refuse. It might be possible to seek the protection of one of the other passengers.

  For Kasim could be ruthless - even cruel - she sensed it with utter certainty.

  Then he smiled and the warmth suffused his angular features, turning him from being merely striking to being completely breathtaking. Ah, he was so beguiling. His presence was a forbidden fruit. The temptation of Eve.

  It was impossible to refuse his invitation.

  Marietta's stomach turned over.

  One could forgive such a man - anything.

  Chapter Two

  Kasim stood in the shadows, listening, as Marietta and Claudine packed their few belongings and prepared to leave the ship.

  Folded across his arms were a pile of black garments, two capes/veils and long black gloves. In a moment he would go into the cabin and give the robes to the young women to wear. But first he waited.

  He wanted to savour the moment. It seemed impossible that in a short time he would step off the ship and be on his way to his house with such charming guests. His head seemed full of all the wonderful possibilities. Such things they would do together.

  Claudine now. She would not be difficult. It would be easy to win her. She was a creature who responded to pleasure. Delightful in her way, and lovely. Undeniably so. Who could not want to feel the tickle of that sleek red-gold hair on his bare skin? Or to lay hands on the luscious rounded curves of her body. To part the globes of her fine whip-marked buttocks and explore the scented, shadowed valley therein.

  He recalled the sight of her, naked, as she showed the whip marks to Marietta the night before. Through the hole in the cabin wall he had seen everything.

  He had seen Marietta's nakedness also, all too briefly. But it was enough to inflame him.

  Ah, how fine she was. Sleeker, less opulently curved than her friend, and with that hesitancy, that self-fear that he found utterly compelling. He heard the recounting of Sister Anna's ministrations. The hesitancy and the shame as both young women confided in each other. How delightful it had been.

  And how convenient that the bedclothes had slipped aside. So that he glimpsed the curve of Claudine's thigh, flexing and releasing as she rubbed herself to a climax against Marietta's body. He had seen the swell of her heavy breasts as she crushed them against Marietta. The nipples were quite small. Pale, a colour like coffee mixed with peach. They looked new, tender.

  His erect penis jumped at the thought of them. There was a pleasing pressure in his scrotum. Since he first laid eyes on the two of them he had been in a permanent state of arousal. It made him feel vital, truly alive. He savoured the heaviness, the engorgement at his groin. The pleasure-ache of it. Prolonging that sensation was what pleased him most. The final release could be delayed indefinitely. It was just a matter of being strong enough to keep the level of arousal restrained.

  Restrained. He liked the word. It described him admirably. He was controlled, self-disciplined to a fault. Not many people ever guessed at the torrent of passion he kept leashed. His self-control was remarkable. The quick release, the dissipation of pleasure into brief uncontrolled ejaculations, random miltings, were not for him.

  He had long ago discovered a world of refinement. A world where the level of pleasure was fed by surroundings of the utmost sensual luxury - where pleasure and pain could mix, if one so desired, and be transformed into ecstasy.

  And Marietta, Claudine too, might be invited to share that world.

  He thought of how Marietta had looked, when he walked into the cabin, just before land was sighted. She looked charming in the ridiculous western clothes. The pale grey-violet gown suited her perfectly. Her slim throat rose from the gauzy white scarf, which was crisscrossed over the low-cut bodice and tied at the small of her back. She had her arms raised to dress her hair. The tight sleeves, flaring out from the elbow, had fallen back like blossoms, to cover her upper arms and expose her slender forearms and wrists.

  He found the sight of the constricting bodice and flaring skirt captivating. The thought of all that cool satin-smooth flesh, restricted by the boned bodice and tight sleeves, the many layers of stiffened skirts made him feel hot.

  His cock stirred, the swollen end pulsing, nudging at the heavy belt he wore at his waist. There was a tightness in his stomach. It seemed that he was more aware of the skin between his thighs.

  He had not meant to touch her, but could not resist. Her skull felt so delicate as he cupped it in his palm. The cloud of her hair surrounding his hand had been warm, feather-light, hay-scented and slightly sticky with salt. He could not wait for it to be washed in soft soap and perfumed with sandalwood. Then he would gather its pale mass in his two hands and bury his head in the softness.

  Her hair had stirred him to take greater liberties. There was the tiny circle he traced on her breast. Ah, how enticingly they swelled from the constriction of the bodice. The skin was smooth, milky. He could hardly contain himself. He had been tempted to dip into the bodice, hook his fingers under one breast and draw out the nipple. He imagined it jutting over the bodice -offered to him like a ripe fruit - by the fabric pushing up hard against the underswell. His lips itched to taste the nipple. He longed to gaze at its unique colour, polish it with his tongue, until it glistened; to suck the smooth silky tip until it grew turgid. A peak to tease with teeth and tongue.

  It had taken a supreme effort to refrain from touching her. To simply walk across the room. Marietta's eyes in the looking-glass had been beguiling beyond measure. So wide and blue. Innocent, but pleading. Her fresh pink lips trembled, fearful and bereft. Did she know that she was ready to be opened? He thought she fought that knowledge.

  All the better.

  The moment, when it came, would be worth the wait. For both of them. And the moment would come, he was certain of it.

  He took a step forward and advanced on the open doorway of the cabin. 'H
ere are the robes of concealment/ he said, his voice perfectly calm and level. 'Are you both ready to leave?'

  Marietta looked around in amazement. Algiers was a place of vivid contrasts.

  The heat was suffocating. Smells of dust and jasmine mingled with the savoury smells of roast meat and spiced pastries. Kasim's entourage made its way through the cobbled streets, passing the stalls of street vendors. Many of them called out, holding up strings of glass beads and lengths of brightly coloured fabrics.

  Doorways, dark and mysterious, peppered the crooked stone walls that lined the narrow streets. In some places blue-tiled courtyards could be glimpsed, nestling behind archways hung with embroidered calico curtains. There too, flowering shrubs stood in pots, fig trees clustered around stone fountains.

  Elsewhere they passed dark stinking alleyways, the entrances slimy with filth. Rats scurried over piles of rotting food. Next to butcher's stalls grimy bare-foot children played with tangles of still bleeding entrails, while nearby a group of old men sat drinking and fanning a charcoal brazier.

  Marietta devoured the many sights from behind the black gauze veil which swathed her head and face. A shapeless black cape covered her body and long black gloves ensured that every part of her was hidden from public view. Claudine walked some way ahead, partly obscured from view by the bulky figure of Mehmet. Marietta could just see the top of Claudine's swathed form. Like herself she was a cipher, featureless in this vibrant, dangerous place. Kasim was at the head of the retinue. Two slaves walked at his side. One held a parasol above his head, the other wielded a huge fan made of peacock feathers.

  Marietta could not help noticing how a way cleared for them as if by magic. People stopped what they were doing to let them pass. Some bowed their heads, or touched hands to foreheads and lips in a form of greeting. Many curious looks came their way. Some hostile ones too, these mainly from groups of painted slatternly women.

  She was glad of the anonymity of the costume, though the dark cloth drew the heat and brought beads of perspiration out all over her body. She had insisted that she wear her own clothes under the cloak, but now she wished she had listened to Kasim. The loose flowing garments from the chest would have been more comfortable than her cotton gown, laced tightly over stays and the bustle pad at her hips.

  As they approached what seemed to be a market, a roar of noise greeted them. A crowd had gathered to watch some spectacle. The slaves on either side of Marietta nudged each other and grinned, pointing towards a raised wooden platform. The crowd cleared a space for the entourage. Kasim gave the order to halt. The slaves gathered around the two women, shielding their backs but allowing them a clear view of the platform.

  Four men ascended the steps, dragging a fifth between them. It took the strength of all four to hold

  Marietta supposed that the man must be a criminal. He had a wild rakish look about him. He was so close that she could see his clear grey eyes, narrow with contempt. Whatever his crime, he was not contrite. He held up his chin and threw his chest out proudly. She admired the sheer animal force of him. He was like a lion; beautiful and dangerous.

  Her eyes lingered on his body; on the straight muscular limbs, the flat stomach, slim hips, and especially on the thick phallus and sac at his groin. The skin on the cock-stem was darker than on his body. She was fascinated, never having seen a man naked before. The prisoner's male parts were surrounded by a dark blond thatch. The curls had been brushed out into a crisp halo and shone as if they had been oiled. A thick mane of light yellow hair tumbled unbound over his powerful shoulders. Over the whole of his body the skin had a light sheen as if it had been polished.

  Someone had taken pains to see that the prisoner's body was groomed to perfection for the public spectacle of his punishment. A fact that seemed odd to Marietta.

  'Magnificent, isn't he?' Kasim whispered, close to Marietta's ear.

  'Yes. He is/ she breathed, unthinkingly. Then she caught the brief flare of interest on Kasim's lean face. Was he jealous? How ridiculous. She almost laughed, but something stopped her. Kasim was not a man to be laughed at.

  'What . . . what is the man's crime? Do you know?' she asked.

  Kasim laughed, 'Certainly I know. He is a runaway slave. His name is Gabriel. He belongs to a merchant friend of mine.'

  On Martinique her father had kept slaves, but no one had ever run away. It was the most serious crime, next to murder. She feared for Gabriel. So aptly named, for he was as beautiful as an angel. Slavery must be a hard yoke for one such as he. For an instant Gabriel's restless grey eyes lingered on her. She felt the sudden urge to pull aside the veil, to look him full in the face and let him see her distaste for this public spectacle.

  As if he sensed her thoughts Kasim laid his hand on her arm. Marietta turned towards him and saw that his face looked slightly flushed. The tip of his tongue snaked out to moisten his mouth.

  'Have you ever witnessed a beating?' said Kasim.

  'No. Father never beat our slaves,' replied Marietta.

  'Indeed? How strange. Then you missed a rare treat.'

  She looked at him with horror, thinking she had misunderstod. 'You enjoy watching such a thing?'

  He chuckled. 'But of course. A measure of pain is a potent spice to stir the senses. And not only to those who witness the act. Do not look too concerned, he will not be badly hurt. That is not the intention. Watch Gabriel closely. You will see what I mean.'

  Marietta trembled. Half of her was revolted by Kasim's words, but a larger part of her being was morbidly fascinated.

  A thickset man, holding a lash, ascended the steps. He took up his position behind Gabriel. Putting down the lash on the boards, he grasped the thick flaxen hair and pulled Gabriel's head back. Gabriel's chest was forced outwards, his back curved in like a bow, while his neat buttocks were thrust into prominence. Laughing, the thickset man ran a meaty hand over Gabriel's chest, massaging his chest muscles, pinching his nip-

  pies until they stood up. He flicked them in turn, between finger and thumb. Soon they glowed a deep red-brown.

  Marietta thought how awful, how humiliating it must be to be pawed openly in this way.

  The coarse, thick-fingered hand, moved down over the prisoner's flat belly and circled the navel. Travelling to the groin the fingers began tugging at the pubic curls. Gabriel had closed his eyes, but Marietta knew that he could not help hearing the roars of appreciation from the crowd. The roars redoubled when the thick hand closed around his phallus, jerking it crudely upright and beginning to pump it with firm strokes.

  As the phallus stiffened and stood proud, the crowd went wild. Gabriel's hair was released, his head grasped and his neck bent forward so that he could watch while the thick set man worked his glowing member up and down.

  How does he stand it? Marietta thought, appalled. But like the crowd she could not take her eyes from the rigid stem, crowned by the tight swollen bulb.

  After a while the man picked up the whip. He stood to one side of Gabriel, grinning and running his tongue around his thick fleshy lips. Gabriel mouthed an obscenity and the man laughed. Grasping the erect stem and scrotum in one hand, the man wrapped the lash tightly around the root, under the sac. The organs were now painfully exposed. Gabriel's shame was tangible. For a time the man tormented him further, tapping the head of the cock with the end of the whip, beating it lightly down its length.

  The crowd jeered and cheered. Judging the mood of the crowd, and picking his moment, the man released Gabriel's organs. Then he trailed the whip over his shoulders and walked around Gabriel to his back.

  'You want more?' he shouted, suddenly, grabbing Gabriel's buttocks in both hands and dragging them apart. The phallus stirred, jerking. It was dark red, suffused with blood.

  Gabriel winced as the thick fingers pulled at him, exposing the tight puckered little nether mouth, surrounded by damp blonde curls. The crowd were delighted.

  'Lash him! Lash him now!' Someone began. Others took up the cry.

  T
he thick set man grinned. 'Oh, you've had enough of just looking. Right then,' he said.

  Marietta could not tear her eyes away from Gabriel's beautiful face. His jutting cheekbones were set, flushed darkly with shame, and ready now for the first biting sting of the lash. His mouth - full and tender - was still curled with disdain.

  Her thoughts rioted disturbingly. Suddenly she wanted to see his expression change. To see him slimed with sweat. His beauty broken as he sobbed with pain. Ah, then she would love to cradle his proud head in her arms. Kiss his bruised mouth . . .

  She was alarmed by the darkness inside her. Where had such thoughts come from? Did she know instinctively what Kasim spoke of?

  Yes. All at once, she knew. Sister Anna had awoken hungers - not planted them. Her senses had been slumbering only. What a startling discovery. She needed space to think, to encompass this new revelation. But she had no time to wonder at herself.

  The beating began.

  The sound of the lash hitting flesh broke the air. It was a soft sound. There was not too much force behind the blow. A sigh went up from the crowd. Marietta saw Gabriel's head jerk back, but his expression did not change. Another blow. The lash tip curled around his waist. She saw the slight weal it left, pink against the white flesh. Beads of sweat broke out on Gabriel's forehead.

  She wondered at his tension. The blows could not be very painful. A third blow. Then another. The people standing behind the prisoner must have seen how the marks coloured his white skin. Pink and white. Such symmetry. She would have liked to see that too. But she had his face. That was even better.

  Now the cords stood out in Gabriel's neck. The blows came often. He strained against his bonds. Marietta saw how the shackles cut into his wrists. His hands were curled into fists, the fingers pale and bloodless. His chest swelled. The copper-brown nipples were stiffly erect, small and tight. At the next blow he drew in a great breath. His ribcage gaped and his belly grew concave. Tremors ran down his thighs. A sheen of sweat pearled his limbs, running down his legs like rain down glass.