Bought and Sold

by Tessa Valmur

  'Uhh...nuhh!'

  More of the scarf was fingered into her mouth and now Zoe thrashed her head in alarmed protest. Raoul quickly moved to the top of the bench and caught hold of her hair then Sayed resumed feeding the silk into her mouth.

  Zoe tried frantically to shake her head free from his grasp. She used her tongue to desperately try to push the material back out of her mouth. She saw Sayed grinning as he kept feeding more of the scarf through the steel ring until the tongue became submerged under the folds of silk. Sayed put his hand between her legs and pressed his thumb against her clitoris. Immediately Zoe felt herself orgasm, her back arched, her legs and arms going taut and she groaned feverishly.

  Sayed laughed, lifting his hand to show the glistening juice that now covered his palm. Raoul grinned at his brother then glanced back at Zoe who was urgently forcing the silk from her mouth with her tongue. Her slim body heaved for breath, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

  'You enjoy it, yes?' Sayed pulled the remainder of the silk scarf from her mouth and proceeded to shake it out back into a square. It was soaking wet. Zoe was gulping air and looking dazedly at the two youths. Sayed was tying the silk scarf around itself into a succession of knots. When he'd finished the scarf was like a knotted rope.

  'Okay, Sayed give you good feeling now.'

  Zoe lifted her head weakly as Sayed fingered the scarf into her anus; the silk disappearing knot by knot into her body until there was just a tiny corner of the scarf left protruding.

  As the knotted silk was slowly withdrawn from her body Zoe groaned feverishly, the sensation was so intense it was almost unbearable. As the first knot slipped from her rectum she came, crying out through the gag, so intense was the sensation. As each successive knot made its way out of her body a fresh wave of her climax shook her. As the fifth and last knot, which was larger than the others, forced its way through her rectum, she screamed through the gag certain that if she had to experience any more she'd faint.

  Dazed, exhausted and bathed in sweat from her multiple orgasm, Zoe lay, too exhausted to care what happened next. Hopelessly aroused again now themselves, Raoul and Sayed hurriedly unbuttoned their jeans. Standing over their victim they masturbated until their spunk sprayed over Zoe's face.

  'We can leave her like this for a while,' Sayed announced, discarding the silk scarf and wiping his palms on the back of his cut-off jeans. 'Let's go and have a cold drink and see what the Englishman wants us to do.'

  'What about the weights?' Raoul glanced at the girl's swollen sex lips and the tiny chains that hung taut over the edge of the bench. 'Shouldn't we take them off now?'

  'No, the bitch can stay like that,' Sayed replied. 'So much for the English spy! She's just like the other girls, give them pain with their pleasure and they love it! We'll come back in an hour and water her.'

  'Bye bye, English girl. Enjoy your rest!'

  * * *

  A warm breeze was blowing off the shallow, crystal clear water, where a handful of fishing boats bobbed gently, tied with long, old ropes of hemp to the crumbling stone wall of the harbour wall. A few seagulls circled lazily above the early morning fishermen and pearl divers who prepared their boats with no sense of urgency. It was already close to a hundred degrees and by midday it would be far, far hotter. In such heat, those who had to work, worked slowly and those who did not have to work sat in the shade and sipped mint tea or treacle sweet, thick black coffee.

  Two figures stood on the harbour wall, a dozen yards apart, casting shadows over the sapphire water. One of the figures tossed a date stone into the water and a dozen tiny fish darted towards it. He then turned, and satisfied that no one unwanted was paying him any attention, he walked up to the other man.

  'The Honourable Miles Kingston, I presume?' the Arab asked, in a near perfect Oxford English accent.

  'Sheikh Auda bin Yasel. I've heard much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you.' They shook hands.

  'Just Auda, is sufficient, please. And how might I be of assistance?'

  The two men talked for ten minutes, the Arab listening mostly and nodding with agreement as the Englishman spoke.

  The Arab was lean and very tall; his face intent and with his hooked nose and intense eyes he reminded the Englishman of a hawk. He wore high leather boots and traditional Arab garb, in loosely flowing black silk. As well as a headdress he had a long cloak of silk that was slung over his left shoulder. A scimitar hung from at his left hip from an ammunition belt that held dozens of rifle bullets. A rifle was slung over his right shoulder and partly concealed by the folds of his tunic, there was a sheathed dagger at his waist.

  'Very well, half now,' said the Englishman, 'I don't suppose you can provide me with a receipt can you? We are supposed these days to be accountable.'

  'I will write one out for you later. Meantime...' he gestured for the Englishman to give him payment.

  'Of course, here's your advance then,' the Englishman drew an envelope from his safari suit jacket pocket. 'You will start straight away? Only time is of the essence, you understand?' As he spoke he thumbed through the money in the envelope, withdrew some then handed the envelope to the Arab.

  'Your English expression has an Arab counterpart. Don't worry Englishman, I shall start straight away.'

  'There's half. You'd better check it.'

  The Arab glance at the envelope then slid it into the folds of his tunic without bothering to open it.

  'Rest assured I trust you. That is a great difference between our peoples. We naturally trust until it proves provident not to. You on the other hand are instinctively mistrustful. Besides,' the Arab flashed a smile, 'do they not say that English gentlemen are men of honour?'

  'They might, but I wouldn't recommend that you count on such an assumption'

  The two men parted company, the Englishman walking back to a parked RangeRover; the Arab going to the end of the harbour wall and calling down to a muscular, young black man who was sat lounging in a sleek sports boat that was tied up to the harbour wall.

  'Use some of that to fill the fuel tanks and stock us up on ammunition. Buy enough food for two days as well. I am going to the airport to meet my guest.'

  The Arab tossed the envelope that the Englishman had given him down into the cockpit of the boat and the youth caught it. He was bare chested and wore tight, faded jeans and sandals. From a heavy belt around his waist hung a sheathed diver's knife. He grinned and nodded, showing several gold fillings amongst his gleaming white teeth, as he smiled. He wiped the perspiration from his shaven head and swung his legs down from the map ledge where he had them stretched out and crossed.

  The Arab had turned and was walking back down the harbour wall when the Negro youth drew silently alongside him.

  'What have we got to do?' he asked, not bothering to look at the Arab, his Ray-Ban-shielded gaze fixed on the land ahead.

  'The Englishman wants me to find an agent of theirs, who went missing on arrival at the airport. He suspects Major Mosafa and a renegade Englishman, Sir Rodney Stonefield of abducting her. While I am at the airport, I'll see what I can find out. I'll meet you at the souk at six. Look for me around Abdullah's spice stall. You know the one I mean?'

  'Yes Auda. I know it.'

  The two men parted company at the end of the harbour wall, the youth crossing the palm tree lined boulevard, the Arab turning left and following the paved track beside the beach in the direction of the gleaming steel and glass buildings of the modern quarter of the capital.

  * * *

  Major Mosafa was sat in his leather swivel armchair, half his attention on the reports before him on his desk and half his attention on the queue of passengers at the airport customs desk. Having access for security purposes to all the passenger lists he had scanned them and found amongst the passengers one possible victim: a nineteen year old English girl who was travelling alone to El-Saram for two weeks. Mosafa glanced up at the queue. There was no single, young girl in sight. He looked back at the reports before
him.

  The pro-democracy movement was still carrying out their peaceful demonstrations outside the compound of the American managed oil-refinery. There was no cause for alarm there; allowing such activity even suggested that the King was tolerant of people who opposed him. What was more troubling was that the pro-democracy movement was now gaining support amongst the desert nomads. These camel riding, tent living tribes had never been incorporated satisfactorily into modern El-Saram and whilst they were taxed, they were given nothing back. Naturally enough they had little sympathy with the King.

  Mosafa glanced up again at the secret window concealed as a mirror just in time to see a slim, tall girl standing at the customs desk. She had a mane of blonde hair, smooth, tanned skin and large blue eyes. A white T-shirt tucked into jeans clung tightly around her full breasts, showing the outline of her bra. Mosafa glanced at the name that was being keyed into the customs computer by his security staff. It was the English student. Mosafa pressed one switch on his desk and a discreet green light came on behind the customs desk. Seeing their signal, the female customs officer, smiled apologetically as she asked the girl to step to one side, whilst her backpack was checked. Mosafa leant back in his chair and smiled to himself. He wondered how Sir Rodney was getting on with the English secret agent.

  Ten minutes later Mosafa had his desk cleared of all pressing matters except for one. This was a report from one of his Captains at a remote garrison in the west advising him of a local rumour that the garrison was to be attacked and its arsenal of weapons seized by the rebel activists. Mosafa tried phoning the Garrison Commander to question him about this but found the number was out of order. He then tried to call the local army barracks in that region but found that its number too was unobtainable. Wondering what his security staff had done with the English girl, he irritably punched into his phone the number for the Police station in the town nearest to the garrison. This number he found engaged so he slammed the phone down, cursing and telling himself he would sort it out later.

  Finishing his coffee with one quick gulp Mosafa let himself out of his office and went briskly down the corridor to the interrogation room. There was a mirror window from the corridor that gave him a view of the room and he paused to glance in and see what was happening. The English girl was kneeling on the floor, her arms drawn backwards, her wrists bound together with cord. She was naked except for her white briefs and bra. One of the female security officers was holding her by her hair and had her head pulled back. The other was holding a small glass bottle under the girl's nose.

  Mosafa let himself into the interrogation room. The English girl, turning her head in the direction of the door when she heard it open, looked imploringly at him. Her mouth was opened wide, her jaws forced apart by a dental gag of plastic coated steel. Saliva was trickling over her chin as she shook her head begging the two women guards to let her go. Her body jerked, her head thrashing from side to side as she was forced to inhale the contents of the phial.

  The girl's struggling quickly diminished as the glass bottle was kept under her nostrils. As Mosafa walked across the room he watched her eyes droop shut then her head rested slackly on one shoulder.

  'Don't give her any more. I want her aware of what's happening to her. It's more satisfying to see them struggling. Put her face down over the table.'

  * * *

  Vanessa tried to swallow against the rising feeling of sickness caused by her forced inhalation of the chemical. Swallowing with her jaws forced wide by the steel gag felt almost impossible and she groaned with despair. The two female guards dragged her by her arms across to a table and forced her to bend across it. She had looked for rescue by the man who had just entered the room but now, with dismay, she realised he was here to participate in her torture.

  The two female guards freed the cord from her wrists. One pulled her arms out above her head from the far side of the table while the other grasped her long, blonde hair and drew her head backwards so that she was being pulled from both directions. How could this be happening to her? God, why had she ever accepted Auda's invitation to visit him! Of course, her insatiable sex drive had encouraged her. Now she was in deep trouble, if not for the first time in her life. The previous summer, a spell as the model of a painter of submissive females had introduced her to a whole new world of sexual experience. Some of it had been painful, some frightening, all though had been deeply satisfying, though it had taken her some time to come to admit this to herself.

  'Hold her like that, I'll put the cuffs on her,' ordered the man.

  Vanessa struggled weakly as a leather cuff was wrapped around her wrist. She looked unhappily at the stout leather as the man tightened it around her slim wrist. Feebly she pulled against the hold of the female guard who held her arm outstretched from the opposite side of the table, but the slender nineteen year old girl stood no chance against the two women and man ranged against her. The chemical they'd made her inhale had left her feeling giddily weak and her three assailants worked together with practised ease. The younger female guard held both Vanessa's arms, whilst the older woman grasped her hair and drew her head back, making her eyes smart with pain as her hair was pulled. The man buckled the leather cuff around Vanessa's wrist then felt under the table until he found a strap dangling there. He fed the canvas strap through the steel ring of the wristcuff then slipped the end back into the buckle. Drawing the strap tight he then flicked the toothed buckle back over the webbing and the strap was now held taut.

  Vanessa shook her head, looking wildly at him, her blonde hair damp with perspiration and tangled about her face. The chloroform was starting to wear off, and aware that if she didn't get free now, she would probably not have another chance, Vanessa threw herself into a determined struggle.

  'Come on now, don't pretend you don't want this,' the man smiled down at her as he took hold of her other wrist and folded a leather cuff around her skin.

  Vanessa glowered at him and gave up struggling, well aware now that with both her wrists secured, escape was impossible. The man was gazing appreciatively at her near naked body. His gaze lingered on her breasts, rising and falling with her efforts to pull free, they heaved provocatively under her flimsy bra. The large, dark areoles were clearly visible under the fine cotton. She could imagine how aroused he was and she wondered if he had been watching all the passengers disembarking from her flight, in the hopes of finding one worth abducting.

  Vanessa knew, in fact she was arrogantly aware, that she had the sort of perfect body men went crazy for. Her breasts were high and firm and she loved wearing tight T-shirts that showed them off to good effect. She had a narrow waist and deeply tanned skin from a summer spent in the south of Italy. Her long, blonde hair hung in very loose curls half way to her waist and was bleached by the sun to a golden straw colour.

  'Shall I tell you what's happened to you?' the man smiled at her and Vanessa looked back abjectly, her blue eyes wide and baleful. Her head was being held back and pulled down sideways by a firm grasp on her long hair. She was panting hard through her open mouth, her generous bow-shaped lips forced wide apart by the sprung steel arms of the dental gag. Her mind was racing. What was planned for her? Why had she been abducted? Surely Auda was not involved in this? She had been introduced to the Arab Sheikh by the painter for whom she'd modelled. Vanessa had been loaned, bound and blindfolded to the Sheikh for his pleasure and she'd discovered that he was very well endowed and their brief liaison she had found deeply pleasurable.

  'We found a bottle of vodka in your hand luggage. Now, you know that such things are not allowed here, but you're just a naughty girl,' the man gave a scathing laugh.

  Vanessa shook her head in denial, her protest of innocence was made into nothing more than an incoherent gurgling by the cruel gag that kept her jaws widely prized. The man walked back around the table and stroked his hands down her bare back. She flinched under his touch then when he slipped his hands inside her pants she kicked out at him.

  'Bad gi
rl!'

  He pinned her squirming body with one hand, dragging her pants clear of her bottom with the other.

  'Now, keep still, or you'll only make things worse for yourself.'

  She whimpered through the gag, her slim body trembling as the man slid his hands between her thighs and encouraged her to part her legs for him.

  'Come on now, you're keen enough for a fuck when it suits you, I bet. How many boys have you enjoyed? You probably can't get enough of this, can you?'

  Vanessa shook her head in denial, tears pouring down her cheeks as Mosafa slid one hand between the firm globes of her buttocks and slipped two fingers into her sex. Of course she couldn't admit to him that she couldn't begin to count how many men she'd slept with but in a second she knew he was going to discover something that would give him all too clear an insight into her sexual temperament.

  'So what have we here?'

  Vanessa closed her eyes and held her breath as she knew he'd found the clit ring that she wore. When she had become a submissive she'd been forced to wear the ring by one particularly cruel girl, who had controlled her for a while. Initially Vanessa found the device abhorrent and humiliating but as her submissive nature was encouraged, she'd come to enjoy the feel of the fine steel ring nuzzling between her legs and constantly arousing her sex.

  The man grinned as he felt the ring under his fingers then pulled experimentally on it.

  'Nuhh...nuuhh!'

  Vanessa renewed her struggling with more determination, all too aware that the clit ring was acting as a tacit invitation for her to be sexually tortured.

  'Strap her legs!' Mosafa ordered, stepping back clear of her kicking feet and rubbing his knee where she'd landed a blow against him with her heel.

  The two female guards approached Vanessa from both sides and slid broad leather straps around her thighs, which they buckled then pulled on, forcing her legs apart. The straps were then secured around the table legs and the Vanessa was now not just forced belly down over the tabletop, but her legs were widely spread and held.