Chapter Two
The leader of the raiding party, a tall, hawk-faced man of some thirty years, walked over and stood between the two trembling women, his hands on his hips as he stared down at their stained and dusty bodies.
“I am Razak,” he said in English, startling both women. “My father was once Maharajah of Gadoor, and I was his oldest son and a Prince. These lands were his and would have been mine…until the British came. Now, my father is dead, and I am reduced to leading a raiding party, capturing and ransoming those who can afford to pay and enslaving those who cannot.” He paused and gave a venomous smile. “And now, I have captured you. I shall set an extortionate price for you both, and I could almost wish that it is not paid, for then I would have the pleasure of seeing you both sold as slaves to some fat merchant.” His eyes glittered coldly.
Struck dumb with horror, Belinda froze, but his words had the opposite effect on Arabella, and she writhed in her bonds, pleading incoherently into her gag.
Razak studied her for a few moments, then bent and untied her gag. “Speak,” he invited her. “You have until I become bored with you.”
Arabella spat the wooden bar from her jaws. “How dare you?” she began furiously. “How dare you treat us like this and threaten to make us slaves? We are British and I demand you let us go at once. My husband is Colonel of the 17th Lancers at Peshlara; and, when he hears of your disgusting behaviour towards us, he’ll have you and your men hunted down and hanged, you…you…animal.”
Faster than a striking snake, his right hand shot out and gripped Arabella’s throat; and, as she spluttered for air, his eyes blazed down into hers. “Do not try my patience, woman,” he warned, “or I will have you whipped for your insolence.”
Even with the memory of the two whip cuts which had seared across her thighs still fresh in her mind, Arabella could not believe he would really do it. “You…You wouldn’t dare,” she quavered. Then she saw his eyes narrow to glittering slits and realised her mistake.
“No,” she squealed. “No. Please don’t, I beg you. I didn’t mean it. Don’t whip me, please, please don’t.” Her eyes bulged with terror to the horrifying knowledge that he need only say the word, and she would be whipped without mercy.
His lips twisted into a sneer. “You beg like a slave,” he said scornfully. “What would your husband think of you if he heard you pleading for mercy from me, a mere native? Would he still wish to ransom you? Or would he think that as you plead like a slave; you should be a slave and leave you here to be sold?”
“No,” Arabella moaned. “No, no, no. He will ransom me. He’ll pay you whatever you want. He will, I promise. And..And my friend, too. She is to marry a Captain in my husband’s regiment, and she will be ransomed, too. Both of us. You’ll be rich men, all of you, if you just let us go.”
Razak smiled evilly. “But will your men still want you?” he asked cruelly. “Now that you are both…what is the term that you British use…ah, yes…damaged goods?”
Arabella flushed a bright scarlet as he taunted her about her double violation by his men but knew her only hope of freedom was to remain calm. “I..I will not tell my husband,” she replied quietly. “I..I give you my word and that of my friend.”
“Your word?” Razak chuckled. “You give me your word that you will lie to your husband? If you will do that, why should I believe that you would keep your word to me?”
Arabella stared up at him numbly, caught out by her own words; and, before she could think of anything else to say, Razak picked up her gag and thrust it back between her jaws.
He tied it tightly in place then grinned into her face.
“My men and I do not care whether you tell your husband or not,” he chuckled. “It will be some weeks before your ransom can be paid; and, in that time, you will serve us in any way we command. By the time you return to his bed, far from wishing to hunt us down and kill us, he might wish to find us to say thank you for what you have learned.” He gave a great shout of laughter as both Arabella and Belinda whimpered in unison as they learned what their immediate future was to hold.
“Five thousand rupees,” he said, looking down at them. “Five thousand for each of you. It is five times what you would each fetch as slaves. I wonder if your Colonel and your Captain will think you are worth it?”
Kneeling down between the two spread-eagled and gagged women, he sent his hands roaming over their defenceless breasts, fondling the resilient flesh, and caressing their nipples until the tender buds grew hard and engorged and the two girls gasped and writhed in helpless response to the furious arousal his fingers created in their bodies.
He lowered his lips to Belinda’s left breast; and, as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, the small blonde arched her spine, thrusting her body up to meet him in blatant surrender and need, her mind unable to control the urgent desire she felt. His hand raced to her groin; and, as his fingers slid into the slick wetness of her gaping sex, she screamed in ecstatic anguish as his skilled touch built her passion to heights she had never imagined, and she shuddered on the brink of a tremendous orgasm, her eyes wide with awe that such feelings could even exist.
Then, to her total despair, Razak turned his attentions to Arabella, forcing the brunette to the same desperate peak of quivering, gasping lust. Both captives needed only the smallest nudge to push them over the edge of the massive climaxes boiling and seething in their bellies. Squealing heartfelt pleas into their gags, both blonde and brunette begged for the release they were unable to achieve for themselves; and, as he watched the intensity of their desires and the willingness with which they offered to submit themselves to his will, Razak smiled and rose to his feet.
Holding out his hands so that each girl could clearly see the damp evidence of her own passion glistening on his fingers, he gave a mocking laugh. “It seems that perhaps you may be worth the ransom I shall ask for you,” he said, grinning. “And if your lovers do not value you so highly, I know of several rich men who would pay well for a pair of young, white slaves who demonstrate such eagerness to please.”
With a contemptuous chuckle, he turned his back on the two wildly aroused women and strode away, calling orders to his men.
Belinda stared at his retreating back, unable and unwilling to believe that she was not to be permitted to relieve the sexual tension his hands had forced upon her; but, even as her eyes filled with tears of anger and frustration, she could not quite suppress a shameful tingle of excitement at the memory of the arrogance and casual authority with which Razak had pillaged her body. Pillaged her and then walked away, callously ignoring her needs.
Belinda gulped as an extremely unpalatable fact became clear to her. Razak’s arousal of Arabella and her had had little to do with his desire or pleasure but was simply a way of assessing their suitability for enslavement should the ransoms not be paid. Incredible though it seemed to Belinda, the tall Indian actually saw her as a slave, as a commodity or a chattel, to be valued and assigned a price then put forward for sale on the open market, or perhaps even haggled over before the final deal was struck.
All of this at a time and in a country where the British Empire ruled, Queen Victoria was Empress and all forms of slavery had long since been made illegal. It simply could not happen…the law said it could not…and Belinda knew it could not… Yet, as Razak’s men released the ropes at her throat and ankles, pulled her to her feet, then neck-leashed her behind one of the horses, the impossible became all too real…
At a signal from Razak, the raiding party moved off; and, as the long rope from the saddle to Belinda’s throat rose from the dust and tightened, the horrified blonde had no alternative but to follow.
Arabella, too, leashed to a second horse, was equally as helpless to resist. As the sun arced high in the sky and the dust rose from beneath the horses’ hooves, the sweating captives toiled on; their naked bodies coated in yellow dust and gagged lips parched and dry.
Chapter Three
Razak’s camp, near
the Nargal river.
On trembling legs, Belinda and Arabella stumbled into Razak’s camp and fell to their knees as the remorseless pull on the ropes knotted about their necks finally eased.
“Ranee!” Razak shouted, climbing down from his horse. “Fetch wine, slave.” And as the two captives lifted weary heads to his call, they saw a tall, naked Indian girl jump down from a large wagon with a canvas cover and hurry over, carrying a wineskin.
The instant she reached Razak, she dropped gracefully to her knees and, arching her body to present the firm swells of her breasts, held out the wineskin to him.
“Your wine, Master,” she said softly. “Your slave is pleased you have returned, Master.”
While he took it and drank deeply, she thrust her arms behind her back and crossed her wrists as if for binding. Even without her words, it was crystal clear that the girl was a slave, for she wore a black iron cuff on each wrist and ankle and a matching collar around her neck.
Razak tossed the wineskin to one of his men then reached down and pulled the kneeling slave into the crook of his right arm, his left hand gripping her long, glossy black hair to hold her as his mouth descended on hers. Pinned against him, her lips crushed beneath his, Ranee’s hips and belly undulated sensually as she responded to the rapine of her mouth; and when, at length, Razak pushed her away, her nipples were visibly hard as she sank to her knees before him.
“Slut,” he chuckled, and she lowered her eyes but was clearly pleased and hollowed her spine even more deeply.
He chuckled a second time. “Shameless harlot,” he told her. “I should have you whipped.”
“If it pleases you to have me whipped, my Master,” the girl replied instantly, lifting her eyes to his, “then your slave asks to be whipped. I wish only to please you, Master.”
The words were bravely said, but the girl could not quite conceal the glint of alarm that flashed into her eyes as she spoke, or the tremors that rippled up her belly as she offered herself for punishment.
Razak grinned cruelly down at her. “One day, slave,” he said, “I shall take up that offer…but not today. Today, I have another use for you. Up.”
Ranee leapt to her feet, relief clear on her face, and followed Razak as he moved to Belinda and Arabella. At his signal, the two were hauled to their feet and held by warriors.
“These two will probably be ransomed,” he said to Ranee, “but that will take a few weeks. So while they are here, you will be responsible for their training and discipline.” He drew a curved knife from his belt. “Take this and cut yourself a good, strong switch then return here.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. I will teach them well,” Ranee’s eyes glittered, and she gave a brilliant smile as she turned and hurried away into the trees.
Arabella shivered, her brain whirling as she tried to come to terms with what she had heard. The girl, Ranee, was quite clearly a slave; and, yet, if Arabella understood correctly, she had just been given responsibility for Belinda and Arabella. A responsibility she seemed to relish. It was ridiculous; she was only a native girl, not to mention a slave. How could she possibly imagine that two English women, captives or not, would ever obey some slip of a girl? It was unthinkable, quite unthinkable.
Yes, she and Belinda might be prisoners of Razak and his men and might have to submit to their greater physical strength, but that was a mere matter of muscle and most certainly did not mean that they would submit to another woman. As for Ranee’s disgraceful display of sexuality, well that was surely something that no decent, self-respecting woman would ever allow herself to do.
“Remove their gags and give them water,” Razak ordered his men. “Then fetch chains and collar them.”
When her gag was released, Belinda worked her stiff jaws then sucked greedily at the waterskin held to her lips; her urgent need for the cool liquid temporarily overshadowing every other concern.
Her thirst abated, her anxieties rushed back, and she stared wildly around, seeking help where there was none, as she heard the clinking of chain and saw one of the men approaching her with iron manacles draped over his brawny arm. With her wrists still bound behind her back, she knew there was no hope but fought as best she could, twisting in the grip of the man who held her and kicking out with her bare feet as a hinged circlet of cold, hard, implacable iron was placed about her throat and screwed shut.
“Nooo! Nooo!” her screams faded to sobs and whimpers of dreadful anguish as she felt the weight of her collar; and, as one of the men clipped a long chain to it and pulled her forward, she stumbled over to the wagon and stood frozen as he tethered her to an iron ringbolt with a heavy padlock. Numbed, she made no resistance as her wrists were untied and brought before her body; and, as black iron manacles were screwed shut on her wrists and ankles and the men walked back towards Arabella, Belinda slowly lifted her bound hands to the iron about her throat. Gently, as if she was afraid the metal might break, she explored her collar, feeling the snugness of its fit and the iron rings welded to it, then traced the curve of her tethering chain down to the ringbolt and, finally, staring down at the manacles confining her ankles and wrists.
“No,” she moaned softly, shaking her blonde head. “No. This cannot be happening to me.” But when she moved, her chains clinked softly, and her blue eyes grew round with shock as she was forced to accept the stark reality of her bondage.
The sights and sounds of her friend’s vain struggle to avoid being collared knocked all of the stuffing out of Arabella. Suddenly, the enormity of the disaster which had overtaken them both and the full helplessness of their situation struck home. When the men brought her collar and chains towards her, the brunette fell to her knees, eyes wide with fear, as she begged for mercy.
“Please, no,” she squealed. “Don’t chain me. Let me go, please, let me go.” But her words had no effect on the grinning warriors; and, in desperation, she turned to where Razak stood silently watching.
“Razak,” she cried, “stop them. Please, I’ll pay you anything you want. You don’t need to chain me; I give you my word I won’t try to escape.”
Razak frowned and gestured to his men to wait then spoke coldly. “Why should I not chain you, woman?” he asked. “I have searched your baggage, and I know you cannot pay the ransom I have decided upon. You have nothing to offer me, and I do not choose to take your word.”
Arabella racked her brains to think of a way to persuade him to change his mind then licked her dry lips, unable to put into words the shocking thought had come into her brain.
Razak’s frown deepened and he began to raise his hand to signal his men to continue.
“No. Wait, please,” the blonde gasped hurriedly. “I…I…will..will….”
“You will what?” he demanded harshly. “Speak, woman, I grow tired of your tricks.”
Arabella took a deep breath and blurted out her offer before she lost her nerve. “I will s..s..serve you,” she gasped, and her face reddened to a vivid scarlet as she dropped her eyes from his.
“No. Arabella, you can’t. You mustn’t.” Belinda’s cries of protest ended abruptly as a warrior’s hard hand clamped over her mouth and silenced her.
“So,” Razak replied softly, “you will serve me, will you? How will you serve me, woman? And what do you want in return for your service?”
“I don’t w-want to be ch-chained,” Arabella stuttered. “And..And I w..will do whatever..whatever you w-want me to d-do.”
“Lift your head,” he ordered; and, when Arabella complied, he stared deep into her brown eyes.
“I agree,” he told her. “On two conditions. One, until you are ransomed, you will serve me as my personal slave; and two, you will submit and declare yourself to be my slave immediately. Do you agree?”
Arabella stared at his hard, cruel face and gave an involuntary shudder as his eyes blazed into her brain.
“Well?” he snapped. “Answer me!” Arabella trembled wildly, knowing she had only seconds to make her decision. With muc
h effort, she tore her eyes away from his and stared at the heavy iron manacles in the hands of the waiting warriors then shuddered again and looked back at Razak.
“I a..agree,” she whispered fearfully. “I will sub..submit to you and..and be your personal sl..slave.”
Razak gave a chilling smile. “Then, as of this moment, woman,” he told her, “you are my slave and I am your Master. Is this not so, slave?
Arabella hesitated, anxiously wondering whether she had made a terrible mistake.
“I said, is this not so, slave?” Razak chuckled as he repeated his question, but his eyes glittered with steely determination, and Arabella understood that she must answer him or risk his anger.
“Yes,” she replied nervously, “I am your…your slave, and you are my M..Master but only until I am ransomed.”
He smiled. “If you are ransomed, slave…,” his smile grew broader. “If the ransom is ever demanded…”
Arabella gaped, her brain filled with horror; but, before she could gather her racing thoughts, Razak turned to his men. “Chain and collar my newest slave,” he ordered calmly. “Then tether her on her knees beside her friend.”
For several seconds, the brunette was stunned by his cruel betrayal of her; and, in those seconds, his men acted.
Seized by muscular warriors, Arabella was thrown to her belly, her thrashing legs and tightly bound arms pinned by strong hands to receive the manacles of her slavery, her screams of protest and terror met with harsh laughter as iron bands replaced the ropes securing her wrists behind her back and clamped her ankles together. Hauled to her knees, she stared wildly at Razak, her new and merciless Master, as he took her slave collar from one of his men and strolled over to where she struggled vainly against her bonds.
“Why?” she protested bitterly as he gazed down at her. “We had an agreement.”
His lips curved into a predatory smile. “Agreements are for free men. Not women and, certainly, not for slaves such as you.”
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