A little beyond Great Neck we stopped in a wooded area before a heavy iron gate. The driver inserted a card in the gatepost and the gate opened. After we’d driven through, I heard it clang shut behind us. The driveway turned and twisted through big trees for about a mile and finally ended in front of a huge stone mansion.
We were met at the door by a husky young man wearing a black suit and a bow tie. He led us down a wide hall and through a pair of tall oak doors into what had once been a ballroom. It was circular. High overhead arched a domed ceiling. Leaded pane windows were spaced evenly around the walls, however very little light filtered through them. There were sconces along the walls as well as elaborate candelabra. Placed between these were dark leather couches and chairs. The floor was polished hardwood. In the center of the room stood a circular platform with a single step leading up to it. The floor of the platform was also made of gleaming hardwood. Directly above the platform, against the ceiling, hung a circle of black cloth the same diameter as the platform. It was bunched together like drapery that had been pulled up.
Several men in expensive dark suits were gathered at one side of the room speaking in a language I couldn’t recognize. Other similarly dressed men entered and joined them. Most of the men were bearded and dark complexioned. They were all, I guessed, from the Middle East. Our guide ushered us over to the opposite side to sit with Frank and Dooley and an older man I had not met. “Ahh, Billy,” Frank said, “glad you could make it.” He touched the arm of the older man, “This here’s Mr. Stewart. He’s our lawyer. First thing you got to do is sign the divorce papers.”
He led us to a small table. Mr. Stewart opened his briefcase and took out a folder of legal papers. Leafing through the documents, Stewart explained, “Your wife, you will notice, has already signed them. You just sign under her name. No need to read them. It’s a standard agreement. Of course, she’s asking for nothing.”
“Of course,” I said. Under the fat round letters of Lisa’s signature, I quickly scribbled my name.
“It will take a few days for the court to legalize these.” Stewart put the papers into his briefcase. “By Wednesday you will be a free man with no encumbrances.” We were led back to our seats. I noticed that there were two large unoccupied leather chairs against the wall to our right. They were placed between two of the tall windows and rested on a thick red carpet.
“You’d think these rich bastards would at least spring for some booze,” Silk complained.
“They don’t drink. They don’t curse. And they don’t care,” Frank said.
“What the hell are we waiting for?” Silk asked.
“The Emir and his two sons,” Stewart explained.
“She’s being sold to an Emir?” I asked.
“Yeah, one of the richest,” Frank said. “He owns half the oil in Kuwait.”
“Will he be here?”
“I’m not sure.” Frank said.“He’s fucking old and in a wheelchair.”
“What’s he want with a young woman?” Silk wanted to know.
“I think he’s kind of kinky,” Frank said.
“He likes to watch?” Stewart asked, smiling.
“Yeah, in a way. My contact told me the thing on the tape we sent that really made him sit up was the scene with Arisha.”
“The whipping?” I asked.
“Yeah, Billy, the part where you shot your load halfway across the room,” Frank chuckled.
We were interrupted by the sound of chimes. The men at the other side of the room stopped talking and turned to face the entrance. The heavy doors swung open and two tall, dark, heavy-set Arabs in flowing white robes stood on either side of a wheelchair in which sat a small wizened old man. The doors closed behind them. The wheelchair was pushed by a woman dressed from head to foot in black. Except for her eyes, her face was hidden by a back scarf. Behind her walked another younger woman similarly dressed. She carried a long, narrow case.
They crossed to the leather chairs. The old man’s wheelchair was turned around, and the two younger men sat on either side of him. The women stood behind them. Everyone faced the double entrance doors. The chimes rang again and, once more, the doors swung open. In the entrance stood Lisa. It was a different Lisa than I had ever seen. Silk gasped and even Frank looked astonished.
She wore a black severely tailored pin-striped suit. The skirt reached just below her knees. Her jet black hair had been cut in a short bob that framed her pale face. Her make-up was perfect. On her feet were black leather high heels, but not as impossibly high as the shoes she was made to wear at Silk’s. Except for the fact that her legs were bare, she might have been taken for a young tastefully and expensively dressed American socialite. She stared straight ahead, her face an expressionless blank. I watched closely as Lisa walked to the platform, stepped up on it, and stood facing the old man and his sons. She looked at them for a moment. I saw a flicker of fear cross her face. Then, she lowered her eyes and bowed her head.
The older of the two women standing behind the wheelchair rang a little silver bell she’d been carrying. Lisa nodded. There were three large buttons on her suit jacket. Her small hand trembled slightly as she unbuttoned the first, then the second, and the third. She pushed the jacket down over her shoulders and lifted her head. The jacket made a slight whispering sound as it fell to the floor. As I had seen her do so many times before, she cupped her small breasts with her hands as if she were offering them to the men she faced.
I winced as I noticed that each of her beautiful nipples had been pierced to hold a thin gold ring. Her back was partly toward us, and I could see faded whip marks crisscrossing it. The color of the marks suggested that the whipping had taken place several days ago. I was sure Arisha had delivered the blows.
The woman rang her bell again. Lisa obediently unzipped the waist of her skirt, pushed it down over her hips, and stepped out of it. Her tiny body gleamed with a sheen of perfumed oil. She bowed her head, then raised it, but kept her eyes lowered. She placed both hands behind her neck as she’d been taught. Her breasts lifted. Her nipples had been slightly rouged, and the gold rings glinted in the light. She stood on display like that for several minutes. The two fat sons whispered together, then the older one leaned down to say something to his father. Frank nudged me and winked.
The woman shook her silver bell. Lisa turned so that her back was toward the three men. She bent over, placing her hands on her ass cheeks, then spread them to display for the old Emir and his sons her most private place. One of the sons smiled. The old man nodded his head. Lisa’s rounded ass cheeks, like her back, were marked by fading lash strokes. For several minutes Lisa remained bent over exposing her anal opening to the men who, it seemed, looked at her as they might a fine young colt they were thinking about buying.
The sons spoke to one another, and then each said something to the father. Without looking up at them, he shook his head. Again the old woman rang her bell. Obviously, Lisa knew what each of these signals meant. Once more, I saw a moment of fear in her eyes as she stood up. Again, clasping her hands behind her neck, she turned to face the three men. She closed her eyes and I was aware that her breathing was becoming more rapid. Her small breasts rose and fell. I was sickened by the thought of her perfect nipples pierced now to accommodate the gold rings. Who had made the holes for the rings? Arisha most likely, using a piercing tool with nothing to dull the pain. Had Lisa consented? She must have, but it was hard to believe.
The old woman shuffled to the platform and stepped up on it. She carried the elegant leather case and, stooping down beside Lisa, she opened it and drew out several black leather cuffs and several lengths of black velvet cord. These she laid out in a row on the platform floor. She stood and, taking Lisa by the arm, led her out toward the edge of the platform.
She rang the bell again. I noticed Lisa flinch. There was a whirring sound and slowly out of the center of the platform there rose a thick black column made, it seemed, of highly polished ebony. The post was about three feet i
n diameter. It continued to rise to a height of almost twelve feet. Embedded in it at measured intervals were stainless steel rings. The woman quickly fastened a pair of the leather cuffs to Lisa’s ankles. The other pair she placed on Lisa’s upper arms just above the elbows. She fitted a collar around Lisa’s neck and locked it. Finally, she cinched a wide black leather belt tightly around Lisa’s tiny wrist. Both the collar and the belt had a steel ring secured to the front and another attached to the back. Next, the woman picked up a ball-gag. Lisa opened her mouth to accept it. After it was pulled tight and buckled, Lisa stepped back until she stood against the pole.
The woman snapped the collar and waist rings to the fasteners in the pole. She pulled Lisa’s arms back as far as possible, then threaded a cord through the cuffs. She dropped this cord through the ring on the back of the pole and tightened it so that Lisa’s hands could not touch any part of her body. This tightening of the cord served to pull Lisa’s shoulders back and thrust her breasts forward. Then the old woman clipped the ankle cuffs together. She ran another length of cord through a ring between the ankle cuffs and another ring in the platform about six inches in front of Lisa’s high heels. She pulled this cord tight, making it impossible for Lisa to move her feet or legs.
Finally, taking a long length of cord, the woman expertly bound Lisa’s torso to the pole. When she finished, the cord ran over and under Lisa’s breasts and crisscrossed in a black velvet X between them, forcing her shoulders even further back and her breasts up. When the woman finished, Lisa was unable to move. The arrangement of cuffs and cords was designed, not only to immobilize her, but to emphasize her breasts by thrusting them forward.
The woman placed a small bar in the ring behind the post. It was the ring to which the last cord had been secured. As she turned the bar, the ring tightened the cords that bound Lisa to the post. They pressed painfully into Lisa’s flesh. I could see Lisa’s neck constricting. As she tried to cry out, the ball-gag limited her to muffled groans. The woman twisted the ring again and the cords dug further into Lisa’s body. The old Emir nodded and the woman secured the bar and ring. Then, she held up a blindfold. The sons and their father exchanged looks. The father shook his head ‘no’.
The young woman who had been standing beside the wheelchair kneeled down in front of it. At a signal from the old man, she lifted his voluminous silk robe and all but disappearing under it, knelt between his legs. The Emir nodded to the old woman who reached into the case and brought out what looked like a fencing sword but was actually a very thin three foot length of rounded spring steel attached to a leather handle. Carefully, she slid a sleeve of black leather over the steel whip and tied it to the handle. I started to rise, but Frank quickly gripped my arm and forced me back into my chair. The woman moved slightly to one side of Lisa and holding the terrible whip up, swished it through the air several times. Lisa’s eyes widened in fright.
The woman drew its pointed tip over and around Lisa’s nipples, which stiffened immediately. I glanced at the Emir who was smiling. Taking a step back, the old woman raised her arm and brought the whip down hard across Lisa’s right breast. The whip made a short whistling sound and then an explosive crack. Lisa’s body jerked as though she’d received an electric shock. The gag stifled her cry. The woman struck the other breast. Then she brought the whip down again on the right breast. She alternated strokes, first one breast then the other, pausing for about ten seconds between each stroke. The gold rings embedded in Lisa’s nipples jumped with the blows, and each crack of the whip left a thin red welt.
Lisa writhed against the cords, which bound her to the post, and jerked violently every time the whip cut across her tender flesh. As she swung her head from side to side, the tears flowed from her eyes. The whip was landing now on her stomach and thighs, the blows coming faster and harder. I looked over at the Emir. His lips were drawn back in a horrible grin. Under his robe, the head of the young woman moved up and down.
The old woman shifted to the other side of Lisa and began once more to bring the whip down on Lisa’s breasts. Because they were thrust so far forward, they seemed to invite the whip and the painful blows caused them to swell. Her breasts were crisscrossed now with angry red welts, as were her stomach and thighs. With each whistling stroke Lisa’s body jumped and a guttural cry came from behind the gag. Tears streaked her face, and spittle ran from the corners of her mouth.
Suddenly the Emir made a cackling sound. I turned to see him stiffen and push the young woman’s head deeper into his crotch. At a signal from one the sons, the old woman stopped. Lisa sagged against the tight cords that held her to the whipping post. Small whimpering sounds came from behind the gag. After a minute or two, the woman stepped forward and holding the whip at the base of the blade nudged the handle between the vaginal lips of Lisa’s cunt. Slowly she pushed it in. Lisa moaned. The woman withdrew the handle and held it up. It was wet with Lisa’s juices. The Arab men applauded politely and the Emir nodded his head.
“Good,” Frank whispered, “she passed the first test.”
From the ceiling above the platform, we heard a slight clanking noise and looked up to see the black circle of drapery descending like a silken tent. It was designed to enclose the platform. A steel ring the same size as the platform held up the sides, and the conical roof of the tent was suspended from the wire which had lowered it. Inside the tent, Lisa and the old woman were completely hidden from those of us in the room. The younger woman who had serviced the Emir entered the tent through a side flap.
One of the men who had been standing near the Emir and his sons approached us. He handed Frank a note. Frank read it and gave it to me. It said, “We wish to speak to you. Bring the woman’s husband.”
Frank shook his head and smiled. “Don’t you fuck this up, Billy,” he warned, as we approached the three men. I thought we might have a language problem, but both sons had been educated in England and were Cambridge graduates. They spoke perfect English. They appeared to be in their fifties. Both had graying beards and wore caftans and full white silk robes. They were almost as tall as Frank and appeared to be grossly overweight, but with the flowing robes it was hard to tell.
“I am called Allard and my brother is Haji,” the older one spoke to Frank, ignoring me. “The American woman has much to learn, but so far she has been satisfactory. If she performs as well in the next trial we will probably, as you say in your country, have a deal.”
“Yes, yes indeed,” Frank grinned. “I knew she would please you.”
“Well, that is still to be proven, isn’t it?” The younger brother, Haji, looked impassively at Frank.
“Oh, she will do...” Frank began, before Allard cut him off.
“Shortly we shall see what she will do. Now, let us review the terms. Should we decide to purchase her, you will receive a finder’s fee of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A like amount will be placed in a Swiss bank account for her. Her year of servitude to us will not begin until she has spent three months in a training facility to which we will send her. Allowing for preparations and travel, we expect she will be returned to us by August first and her service with us will terminate one year from that date.”
“Yeah,” Frank said, “that’s okay.”
Allard continued, “Just as I am now telling this to you, it is being explained to the American once more. On August first of next year, she will elect to be sold again to some other buyer on more or less the same terms unless, of course, we decide to renew her contract, which is unlikely. Or, as I have promised, she will be free to go on her way. By that time, there will be approximately one million dollars in her account.’
“I think she’ll take the money and run,” Frank said.
“Don’t be certain,” Haji began. “It’s been our experience that after the intensive training and a year of absolute servitude, these women come to understand that their path to pleasure lies through humiliation and pain. They realize that their only reason for being is to submit, to offer
themselves completely to their masters, to obey without hesitation whatever commands they are given, to strive in every way possible to give pleasure.”
“Yeah, but with a cool million in the bank?” Frank questioned.
“In five years, which is as long as most are marketable, they can accumulate five million even if their selling price diminishes as it usually does. But, be assured, they are not concerned about the money. Most of them seldom think of it.”
Allard turned to me. “You are the husband?” I nodded. “I recognize you from the tapes.” He allowed himself a slight smile. The color rose to my face. I started to explain, but he raised a hand to silence me. “You must wonder how it is we can buy your wife. Slavery was abolished centuries ago, yes?”
“Yes,” I said, “it’s illegal. You know that. It’s a federal crime and an international one.”
“You Americans are so naive. The extremely wealthy are above the law. They always have been. Now is no different. The law can be bought. We do it all the time. The great fortunes of the world depend on it. This transaction, the purchase of your wife, is a trivial matter. If you, or a local authority, or a state judge, or even a federal judge could not be bought and wanted to cause trouble, that person or persons would be dispersed. I mean literally: an arm here, a leg there, the head in Barcelona, a foot in Chile. It happens all the time. Not as much as before because most authorities have received the message. They have learned that to be in one piece and rich is preferable to the alternative.”
Haji continued, “As you probably know, our culture does not hold women in high regard. We consider white women, particularly American white women, far less worthy than our own. Of course, this is not so in other cultures. Beautiful white women are looked upon as highly desirable and usually unobtainable. So, since we are men of the world, we realize that a white woman, a white woman we own, has a certain amount of prestige value...somewhat like an expensive painting. Therefore, in service to us your wife will be looked upon as an object of great value, but an object nonetheless. She will, after she’s been trained, obey our commands, serve our needs, pleasure our senses, and cause our friends and business associates and even our enemies to be somewhat envious.”
The Lisa Series Page 32