by Paul Blades
Nothing much happened in the house during the day. She heard he woman moving around a little bit. She vacuumed the living room at one point. There were a few phone calls. Someone came to visit. Leslie heard the door bell ring. But the woman chased whoever it was away. She watched TV for a long time. One of the programs was in English, a soap opera. Leslie thought it might be General Hospital.
When the woman came in to feed her lunch, Leslie indicated that she had to pee again. Rather than freeing her ankles, she untied them from the end of the bed, raised her legs and put the bowl under her quim. Leslie felt herself dribbling into it. The woman wiped her off and retied her ankles to the bed frame. Then she loosened the tie that went to her collar, helped her to sit up and fed her some soup. When done, she tied her back down again.
It was dark when Abib came back to the house. This time there was little shouting. He fed Leslie, playing with her breasts at the same time. He brought her to the bathroom again and actually brushed her teeth.
Later that night, he came to her again. It was the same story, only tonight, Leslie still had the abrasions from the night before. She moaned and whined while he entered her. He had just gotten buried to the hilt when Leslie heard his wife begin an awful racket. She was hitting him with a stick. Abib leapt from the bed. He started yelling back, but his wife’s position was morally superior and she soon had him defeated. He slunk back to his bedroom. The woman tied Leslie’s legs back up and left.
In the morning, Abib didn’t stop in to see her. Leslie heard the woman and him have an argument which she apparently won. Then he left.
The woman came in with her breakfast a little while later. She helped her pee. After she fed her, she put down the bowl and restored her gag. She tied her collar off to the head of the bed and then looked at Leslie thoughtfully. She looked at her loins and then pointed to her own. “You hurt?” she asked. Leslie nodded her head.
She got up from the bed and returned with a tube of ointment. She freed her ankles. She made a motion for Leslie to raise her knees and lift her hips. Pushing up the hem of Leslie’s black miniskirt, she put a little dab of the ointment on her finger and pressed it against her hairless love lips. “Men bastards,” she said as she dipped her finger into Leslie’s slit. She slowly reached her finger in as far as it would go and applied the ointment to the walls of her crevasse.
The gentle handling of her quim soon had Leslie lubricated. She didn’t want to, she couldn’t help it. She had been handled so many times with lustful intent that her reaction was automatic. While at the Moussa’s, if she did not lubricate quickly, she would be beaten.
After a few moments, the woman noticed that Leslie was getting aroused. At first, she pulled back. Then she tentatively brought her finger back and slid it along the rim of her crevasse. She brought it up and touched her stiffened love bud lightly. Leslie gave a little jump. She looked Leslie in the eyes. She put down the tube of ointment and edged closer. Placing her hands on Leslie’s thighs, she pushed them further apart. She brought her hand back to Leslie’s pussy and, placing her fingers gently above it, started stroking her moist divide with her thumb. When she ran her thumb over her love bud, Leslie moaned. She slipped it inside her, stroked up and down her gash and returned, circling her clit slowly, running over it back and forth, tickling it softly. Leslie moaned again and her hips started to thrust gently back and forth.
The woman drew her hand from Leslie’s puss for a moment. Her eyes were soft and moistened. Her chest was heaving. She was wearing a cheap, flowered, cotton skirt that went down to her ankles. She reached under her skirt and slid her panties down her thighs, over her knees and over her feet, dropping them on the floor. Her left hand returned to its task and her right snuck under her skirt.
She pleasured Leslie slowly and lovingly. Leslie could see her hand moving under her skirt. Her legs were spread wide. Her face was getting flushed as was her chest over her breasts. After a while, her hands, as if synchronized, began to pick up speed. Her breathing came heavier and heavier. Leslie felt her lusts growing higher and higher. Her thighs started to quiver. When the woman began to groan and shake, her torso doubled over, her left hand frigging Leslie’s clit excitedly, Leslie’s dam burst and her pussy began a series of intense, familiar contractions. The room was filled with both women’s voluptuous groans.
After their passions had crested, the woman kept a gentle stroking of Leslie’s quim until her pussy came to rest. She paused for a moment. Then she gave Leslie a shamed look. She picked up the tube of ointment and, after putting on the cap, shoved it into the pocket of her skirt. She pulled Leslie’s legs down, hooking them together, and then tied them off to the foot of the bed. She pulled down her miniskirt to cover her. All the time, she kept her gaze averted from Leslie’s face. She picked up the breakfast tray and retreated from the room, closing the door behind her. A few moments later, she returned. Her face was red with embarrassment as she picked up her white cotton panties from the floor. Her eyes downcast, she fled the room.
Leslie luxuriated in the afterglow of her orgasm for a long time. It had certainly been unexpected. The fact that the woman had taken pleasure with her, in Leslie’s eyes, would increase the chances that she would eventually help her. Seeing her as another human being with feelings and desires could only be a good thing.
The day went on as yesterday. There were a few telephone calls. The doorbell rang twice, but the woman sent the people away whoever they were. And for a while, the TV blared. Early in the afternoon the woman came back into the room with Leslie’s lunch. When she removed Leslie’s gag, Leslie tried to engage her in conversation. “Please help me,” she said. “My name is Leslie Harrington and I’m from Buckstown, Pennsylvania. My father’s telephone number is 717-555-1717. Please call him and tell him I need help.”
“No talking,” the woman said angrily. “No talking or no soup!”
Discouraged and afraid of not getting to eat, Leslie remained silent.
When the soup was done and Leslie’s collar tie restored, the woman released Leslie’s legs again and let her pee. When she had removed the bowl of urine and wiped her down, she took the ointment from her pocket again and proffered it to Leslie. “I do?” she asked tentatively. Leslie nodded yes.
It was the same as earlier. Her ministrations to Leslie’s wounds soon turned into a delicate, gentle manipulation of her sex. She quickly had her underwear on the floor. When they were both greatly aroused, she looked Leslie in the eyes, hesitated, and then removed her hand from Leslie’s puss. Leslie watched as a wave of lust passed through her. She leaned forward, pushing Leslie’s right thigh wide with her left hand and lowered her lips to Leslie’s quim. She started slowly at first, licking her gash along its length, lightly touching her stiff clit with her tongue. After a short while, though, she began addressing Leslie’s lusts with alacrity. She moaned and sighed as she washed Leslie’s gash with her tongue. She suckled on her nubbin of pleasure, flicked it with her tongue and drove her tongue deep within her.
Leslie was driven beyond distraction. Her hips ground back at the mouth that was pleasuring her. She moaned and arched her back. She spread her legs wide, raised her knees, curled her feet.
The woman went on and on. Leslie came, groaning and shaking on the bed, and yet the woman continued. Suddenly, she groaned loudly. Her own hand had brought her over the top. Her tongue licked Leslie’s quim excitedly. She gave her clit a long, hard suckle. She flattened her tongue and drew it up and down, delving into Leslie’s fevered tunnel and then lathering her clit. Leslie howled with pleasure. She thrust her hips madly towards the mouth that was pleasuring her.
The woman continued to lick her while Leslie’s climax wore down. She was moaning softly. Finally, she sat up and gave Leslie an embarrassed look. She wiped Leslie’s goo from her face with the sleeve of her blouse and then quickly restored Leslie’s legs to bondage. She took up the bowl and tray, this time remembering her underwear, and left the room, closing the door.
Leslie lay there, her body suffused with warmth. Her pussy glowed. After a while she passed off to sleep.
She awoke somewhat later. The TV was on. She spent an hour or so listening to the voices. It was some kind of game show and there was much audience laughter. The commercials came loud and brash. Everything was in Arabic except once she heard a Coke commercial.
The light was just starting to fade in her window when the door opened again. It moved slowly, tentatively. The woman’s face peered around it, as if checking to see if Leslie was still there. When she came in the room, she closed the door. She hesitated for a moment and then began to strip off her clothes. Her breasts were full and although a little low on her chest, still firm. She had released her long, salt and pepper hair from its bindings and it flowed down over her shoulders and shrouded her breasts.
When she had cast away her panties, she sat on the edge of the bed and began to stroke Leslie’s thigh. She pushed up her black miniskirt and flitted her hand over Leslie’s pudendum. Then she slowly released her ankles. When Leslie’s legs were free, she edged her way between them and slid her body forward. Leslie spread her legs widely to accept her. When their bellies matched, the woman pressed down her hips, bringing their sexes into contact. She gave a great sigh and began to abrade them together.
Slowly, surely, the women’s lust rose. She pulled Leslie’s blouse free of her skirt and ran her hands up over her belly and took hold of her breasts. She massaged them gently, plucking nimbly at her teats.
Leslie raised her hips the better to facilitate the friction between their loins. Her hands were crushed to her chest by the woman’s weight. She was staring intently into Leslie’s eyes. Leslie was moaning behind her gag. She knew that what the woman was doing was a form of rape. She had no power to deny her, but she was so gentle, so passionate that Leslie gratefully accepted her assault. Only with Jana, the Moussa’s daughter, and, at times, with Jamilah, her cellmate, had making love been so soothing and comforting.
The woman reached her hands behind Leslie’s head and released her gag. She mashed her breasts against Leslie’s bound hands and took her lips. Their tongues merged and danced together. Their pelvises ground. Their breathing, matched, became heavy. They moaned and sighed. Leslie came first, a soft, glowing orgasm that drifted out from her quim and spread throughout her body. The woman quickly followed suit, issuing high pitched squeals as her pussy sent her wave after wave of delight.
When they had crested, the woman laid on Leslie for a long while. She kissed her softly, murmuring her name again and again. “Ghaniyah. Ghaniyah. Ghaniyah.”
Leslie tried to speak, but the woman placed her fingers on her lips. Carefully, as if making sure that she caused her no discomfort, she lay the padded gag across her mouth again and tied it behind her head. Slowly, as if in a daze, she tucked Leslie’s blouse back into her skirt and then rebound her ankles. She pulled the miniskirt back down to cover Leslie’s froth covered mound. Then, after giving Leslie a sorrowful look, gathered her clothes and left.
Abib returned just after dark. He took Leslie to the bathroom to use the toilet and then fed her. He turned out the light when he left.
The house was unusually quiet. At one point, voices raised for a little while and then calmed back down. Leslie had the sense that something was going to happen.
She had fallen asleep. When she felt her ankles being untied, she awoke. It was still dark out. Abib was dressed in civilian clothes. He released her collar from the bed frame and pulled her to her feet. He undid the clasp to her miniskirt and pulled it down over her hips to the floor, making her step out of it. He unbuttoned her blouse. Before releasing her hands, he reclipped her ankles together. When he had the blouse removed, he refastened her hands to the front of her collar, released her ankles and, after removing her gag, brought her to the bathroom.
The woman was standing there naked. She refused to look Leslie in the eye. The shower was on and the woman helped Leslie step into it. She took a sponge from a ledge, soaped it up and began to wash Leslie’s body.
Leslie started to cry. She knew why they were washing her. Today she was going to be sold. Abib wanted her nice and clean for when the buyer inspected her. She stood there docilely while the woman cleaned her. The sponge ran over her breasts, her belly, her legs. She washed her pussy carefully. The shower head was on a hose and she took it out of the holder and ran it through her hair. She applied shampoo, washed it and then used a sweet smelling cream rinse.
When she turned the shower off, she dried Leslie with a big, fluffy, cotton towel. She helped Leslie step from the shower stall and brought her to sit on the toilet lid. Leslie saw, as the woman gently brushed out her hair, that she was crying.
The man had been watching the whole time. When the woman had finished with Leslie’s hair, he barked out an order to her. The woman nodded, went to the medicine cabinet and removed a pink, lady’s razor. She made Leslie spread her legs and she shaved the few days’ growth off of her loins. When she was done, she covered the area with lotion and rubbed it in.
Abib stepped up and took Leslie by the arm. He dragged her into the bedroom and pushed her onto the bed. He had two pairs of pliers in his hands. He made Leslie spread her legs. He grabbed the ring that held her medallion to the ring in her labia with the teeth of the two pairs of pliers, one on each side of the ends and, with some difficulty, pulled them apart. He removed the medallion denoting her as “Ghaniyah, Slave of the House of Moussa,” and tossed it aside. The woman came in with a glass of lemon soda. She had dressed. She proffered it to Leslie, but Leslie refused to drink it. She knew that she might need the liquid in her system later, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want the woman’s conscience to be assuaged by this last act of kindness. She was letting her husband sell her into slavery of some kind and Leslie wanted her to have all the guilt of that in her mind. The woman started to cry again and left the room.
Her captor removed her gag and made her stand up against the wall. He took out an ancient, Polaroid camera and took a few shots of her. He locked her hands behind her back so that he could get a good shot of her breasts and then made her bend over, with her head on the bed and her legs spread so that he could get a shot of her nether holes. He put the pictures in his pocket and then joined her ankles together.
A wave of fear passed through her. “Please don’t do this, please,” she murmured. Abib paid her no mind. He applied the gag to her mouth and tied it off behind her head. He pulled her towards him and lifted her up over his shoulder. He carried her from the room, through the house and out onto the carport. It was still dark out. Apparently even Colonel Abib couldn’t keep a naked woman prisoner and he had to hide what he was doing from his neighbors. He popped the trunk and placed Leslie into it. She whined and cried. He pushed her to her belly, connected her ankles to her hands and closed the trunk.
The car didn’t start for a long time. Leslie speculated that Abib was having some breakfast or was waiting until daylight so that he could arrive at the buyer’s at the right time. An hour later, she heard the car door opening and closing. The engine started. The car backed out of the driveway and they were off.
They drove for a long time. The smooth macadam eventually gave way to a bumpy road. Leslie let the rhythm of the road lull her. There was nothing she could do. Why cry after all she had been through? One form of slavery was much the same as the rest. She would never be free again. She just had to accept that. This was her life now, to be owned and used, sold and resold, until she reached some more final end.
It was starting to get very hot in the trunk. Leslie began to rue her rejection of the drink proffered to her by Abib’s wife. Her mouth was dry and she was sweating heavily.
When the vehicle finally came to a halt, there was about a twenty minute delay. She figured that Abib was showing the buyer her pictures and doing some preliminary negotiating. When the lid finally popped open, Leslie had to squint before she was able to see outside of it. She could just see the outline of
her assailant and a woman with long hair standing next to him. She was shorter than Abib, maybe 5’6” or so. She seemed young.
The woman’s voice said something excitedly in Arabic. There was a piercing quality to her voice. Abib leaned over and released Leslie’s ankles and then pulled her out. He set her on her feet.
They were in the middle of a large oasis. There were long strands of brownish green grass, tall palm trees that curved this way and that and a number of large, black tents. In the background, she could hear people talking and she heard the bleating of a goat.
The woman was scanning her admiringly. She had brown skin and a sparkly diamond lodged in the side of her right nostril. Her hair was chestnut colored and very long. She was wearing a rust red halter top that came down to just below her belly button and a pair of colorful, clinging, pants that hugged her hips. Several long strings of beads hung around her neck, settling around her small breasts and she had red and orange ribbons in her hair. She had a long but narrow nose. Her face was attractive, but in a manly way. Her eyes were a bright blue, standing out starkly on her dark brown face. Her lips were thin and her jaw sharp. On her wrists were a number of shiny, thin, gold and silver bracelets. Large, concentric, golden rings of various sizes ran through her earlobes.
She had a bright smile on her face. “Welcome to El Hamma, Ghaniyah," she said brightly. “Maybe you come stay with us a while, eh?”
“My name’s not Ghaniyah,” Leslie thought to herself. She tried to put on a brave stare, but she was shivering inside.
The woman was small, a little smaller than her, actually, but she carried herself in an aggressive, masculine way that bespoke toughness and perhaps cruelty. There was a man with jet black skin standing to her right a little behind her and she said something to him in Arabic. When she turned to walk towards one of the tents, the man stepped forward, took Leslie by the arm and hauled her along.