by Ian Smith
Still, at least the girl was inviolate for now. Penny envied the solid metal chastity belt that the girl had been forced to wear: it must give her a feeling of (albeit temporary) security that Penny totally lacked. She knew that the shorts she still wore would be not the slightest defence if one of the Negroes decided to have her. The maid still had her uniform, too, whilst Penny had to go around breast naked all the time, and Carrie was totally nude.
Her mind came back to Carrie: it was quite impossible to avoid what was happening for long. The man was coming to a climax, his thrusts fast and frantic now. Beneath him, Carrie was writhing and moaning loudly. It was quite possible that she was having an orgasm: no matter how distasteful, she found what was happening to her, fear and horror were powerful aphrodisiacs, as Penny herself had found out. After long moments of ultimate delight, the Negro came back down to earth. He extracted himself from Carrie, wiped his prick on the soft inside of her thigh, picked up his trousers and left them. Penny moved forwards and gently took her friend into her arms, trying to give what little comfort she could. At first Carrie resisted, then collapsed sobbing in Penny’s arms. Penny could smell the man’s natural musk all over her friend’s body; droplets of semen glistened in her pubic hair in the strong sunlight and the smear of it across her thigh was even more visible. The maid watched silently, doubtless wondering if she had seen her own future here. Penny thought it highly likely.
Chapter Six
At long last, their destination came into sight.
From the back of the cart, the girls watched the silhouette of the town come into view in the late afternoon sun. The architecture was semi-Arabic, confirming Penny’s idea that they had probably come north, perhaps towards the horn of Africa, not that she knew much about the geography of it all. Perhaps here they could get help, but it seemed very unlikely: their captors would not have brought them to this place if they had a chance of rescue.
Penny was ready to appeal for help to the first people she saw, but the rough, daunting looks on the faces she met as they entered the town frightened her. Women looked at her and sneered or just ignored her; the men looked at her and her fellow captives with undisguised lust. Penny covered her boobs as best she could and was once again glad that she still had her shorts. Carrie also looked fearful and being fully naked doubtless didn’t help the blonde. Their former maid still had her uniform, but the flimsy outfit now sported quite a few tears, revealing glimpses of her pale skin and in one or two places the gleam of the metal chastity belt she wore.
Penny looked in vain for someone who might help them. Had she seen a single white face, she might have opted for that person, but everyone outside their party seemed to be either black or Arabic. The girls were ordered off the cart and made to walk behind it through the narrow, smelly streets. There were plenty of whistles and ribald comments as they passed by. Most of them were in a language or languages unknown to Penny, but the gist was not difficult. She blushed furiously.
They came to a large house and waited whilst Norris went inside. When he emerged, he was accompanied by a large, bearded Arab with a hook nose and crooked teeth. Penny shuddered at the look of him. The man reeked of wealth, power and ruthlessness. Suddenly Norris, by comparison, didn’t seem so bad.
The three girls were made to line up against a courtyard wall and the Arab, attended by Norris, stood in front of them. His fingers stroked his straggly beard as he regarded them. His eyes went first to Carrie. Defiantly, the blonde stared back at him, making herself keep her hands by her sides, not covering herself up. For a long moment their eyes locked. Then the Arab smiled and, ignoring Carrie, spoke to their captor. “This one has spirit, Mr. Norris.” Without waiting for a reply, he moved on to Penny. For a very brief moment the brunette tried to match her friend’s defiance, then crumbled and her hands went to her shoulders, covering her breasts. “A shy one here?” the Arab asked. “And why is she still dressed?”
Norris shrugged. “We just never bothered to fully disrobe her, Your Excellency.” Then to Penny: “Get those shorts off, girl, show the sheikh your tits as well.”
Penny stood, shaking with fear, too petrified to respond. Norris lifted the crop he carried, threateningly. Penny eyed it with terror, but still she couldn’t move. With a very fast motion, before she could react, Norris lashed it into her bare thigh. Penny gasped with pain and her hands flew to clutch her burning thigh, baring her breasts, which jiggled delightfully as she danced in pain. Norris raised it again intimidatingly, but the first stroke had already unfrozen her. “All right, all right!” she squealed fearfully. With hasty but trembling fingers, Penny undid the button of her shorts, unzipped them and pushed them down over her hips. They dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of them, feeling totally exposed and vulnerable. Somehow she managed to keep her hands at her sides, clenching and unclenching her fists and occasionally rubbing her very sore thigh. The memory of that awful rape surfaced once again, the only distraction from her awareness of the free show she was giving.
The sheikh looked her up and down, nodding his approval and moved on to the maid. Norris stepped forwards and grasped the front of the girl’s tattered uniform. There was a sound of ripping cloth and the whole outfit fell away from her. Another brief tug and her bra was gone. Like Penny, the youngster covered up her breasts with her arms as best she could. The silvery chastity belt, gleaming in the fierce African sunlight, quite adequately covered her genitalia, but the knickers she still had on underneath it were torn away.
The sheikh considered the metal girdle. “A virgin, Mr. Norris? You have done well.” The young girl blushed even more deeply. Penny, still standing with her own charms fully exposed, envied the girl her protective belt, but at the same time it could not be pleasant for an inexperienced young girl to stand undressed whilst her intact maidenhood was openly discussed. The kid - at last Penny remembered her name, Samantha - was also a good deal younger than herself or Carrie and naturally lacked their self-confidence.
“Very well,” the sheikh was saying. “Take them below to the pens. I am sure I will soon be able to sell these creatures for a good price. I might just keep the blonde, though: it would be amusing to break her fully to my will. Mr. Norris, let me offer you some refreshment whilst we discuss your commission.”
Penny bent down to pick up her shorts, but straightened up sharply as one of the Negro guards gave her a stinging slap on her bottom. The girls were moved on and she had to leave them where they lay, along with the rags that were all that now remained of the maid’s uniform. Penny felt the loss of her last item of clothing keenly. Those shorts, small and tight and now dirty though they might be, were the only remaining link to what now seemed a fading dream: the delicious, carefree days of herself and Carrie sunning themselves on the yacht. Now they were just two naked girls, their exposed beauty and evident breeding being purely for the enjoyment and amusement of their captors. Nude, Penny found herself thinking of herself as her captors did: a slave. How Carrie, who had spent nearly two days now fully undressed, maintained her sporadic defiance was a mystery to Penny.
The girls were led into the sumptuous house and down stone steps into a basement. The sumptuousness faded away as they descended into a cold, sunless world lit by dim florescent lights. They came to a locked door and one of the guards rattled a key in the lock and opened it. The three girls were thrust inside and the door clanged shut behind them. They heard the key rattling in the lock and then footsteps receded, leaving them alone with their new companions.
Scattered around the cavernous, smelly dungeon were nearly a dozen girls. All were black or coloured, in their teens or early twenties. Most were nude, some wore tiny scraps of flimsy rags which covered only small proportions of their privates. They lay around on heaps of straw, staring inquisitively at the three white girls. Somebody pointed at the maid’s chastity belt and made a comment in an unknown language. There were a few laughs from some of the others at
the comment. Penny was feeling increasingly sorry for Samantha - finally shorn of her uniform, she no longer thought of the girl as the maid - and put an arm around her shoulders. Perhaps remembering her earlier treatment, the girl shrugged the arm off.
“Does anybody here speak English?” Carrie demanded. Nobody replied. Penny saw an unoccupied corner and moved over to it, holding Carrie’s hand to keep together with her friend. The two girls sank down onto the floor. Penny felt the cold from the stones seeping into her bare bottom. After a moment or two’s hesitation, Samantha followed them, although she sat down well away from them.
For a few moments the three white girls remained the centre of attention, then the others lost interest and an air of lethargy returned to the dungeon. With absolutely nothing else to do, Penny studied the other prisoners. There seemed little doubt that the sheikh was, perhaps amongst other things, a slave trader and this was his “stock”. All of the girls were young and attractive. Their moods seemed to vary from depression to resignation: there was certainly no sign of resistance. Penny wondered how each of them had come to be here. Kidnapped? Sold by their families? Children of slaves, born, possibly even bred, to be sold? Peasants, property of some feudal lord who was getting the sheikh to sell them for him? Perhaps some of each, she reflected. Certainly none of these girls looked as if they entertained any hopes of rescue.
“What are we going to do?” Carrie asked.
Penny looked at the heavy, locked and bolted door, the only way out of the room and then at the uncommunicative and dispirited dark-skinned girls around them. “Nothing much we can do right now. When the guard comes, I’ll ask to speak to the sheikh, tell him our families will pay a ransom.”
“You think he’ll go for it?”
“Maybe.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Penny shrugged. Then we’re stuck here, was the unspoken answer.
Some hours later, when the keys rattled loudly in the lock, Penny got to her feet and hurried to the door. She was very frightened, but this had to be done.
The door opened. Two burly guards, both black, entered. A harried little black woman also came in with a bucket, but Penny focused her attention on what looked to be the senior guard. With some effort, she kept her hands away from her front and said, “please, sir?”
The guard leered at her, unspeaking, his eyes roving over her lithe young body. Penny flushed, but persisted: “please, sir, is it possible to ask the sheikh if I could speak to him? It could be to his financial advantage.”
The guard stared at her for a moment, then grabbed her and called something to his friend.
“No! Please! I only ... aiiiieeeee!”
Penny squealed as the second guard laid a wicked riding crop across her bare behind. A red line of fire appeared across her creamy buttocks. A moment later a second stroke doubled the pain. As the guard let her go, she clutched her slim young fingers to her burning rear and retreated sobbing apologies. The woman with the bucket having finished emptying it into a trough, the three of them departed. Penny was far too concerned about the atrocious throbbing pain in her bottom to notice their departure. Carrie hurried over to her friend and led the sobbing girl back to their corner. The cold stone floor was a welcome relief this time as it numbed just a little of the pain. The two girls hugged each other in frightened despair. The other girls had crowded around the slops in the trough and were greedily eating it. Samantha was amongst them, the metal of her chastity belt occasionally glinting as it caught the light from the single florescent tube. By the time the two girls had sufficiently recovered to go to the trough, there were only scraps left.
Time passed. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. It had been late afternoon when they had arrived at the town, so the meal had most likely been supper. It was impossible to tell down here, with no sight of the world outside. Most of the black and coloured girls had settled down to sleep. Carrie and Penny followed suit as best they could, the stone floor being very cold and uncomfortable. There were some bits of straw lying around which insulated them a little in places from the cold stones. Samantha continued to ignore them and they her.
Many hours later, the guards appeared once more with what was probably breakfast. The two girls had agreed that it was pointless to make another demand to speak to the sheikh, they would wait for a better chance. Even after a troubled and disturbed night’s sleep, Carrie looked refreshed and determined once more, but Penny felt depressed. She knew that the ransom idea was their last chance and was increasingly thinking about how their lives would be if it didn’t work.
An hour or so after breakfast, the guards appeared once more. This time they had a middle-aged Arab who looked well educated with them. The guard who Penny had spoken to pointed in her direction and after an exchange with this new man beckoned her over to him. The girls exchanged nervous glances, then got up and walked towards the door, but Carrie was immediately waved away. She evidently wanted to stand her ground, but Penny pushed her away. It was better, the brunette considered, to humour these people as much as possible, although she felt very lonely without her friend.
The men left the cell, taking her with them. She followed the middle aged man, her bare feet padding along the stone floor, aware that the guards were drinking in the sight of her bare body from behind as she moved. They went into the more plush part of the building, into a grand office. The middle aged man sank into a comfortable chair and a guard pushed Penny so that she stood before the chair. She made herself stand straight, arms at her sides. The middle aged man regarded her. She hated letting him study her body, but she was desperate not to upset him.
At length he asked in clear English, “what is your name?”
“Penelope Elizabeth Fortescue, daughter of Sir Arnold Fortescue,” she replied, trying to emphasise play her upper class background as much as she could. It wasn’t easy: Her normally silken, shoulder length brunette hair was now matted and unkempt and she was very aware that after two days’ forced march and last night in the cells she smelt more than a little. It was also difficult to stand aristocratically whilst she was naked.
He considered her answer. “You are of the English upper classes?”
“I most certainly am,” she said, just a fraction of her old confidence returning with this. “My father is the cousin of the Duke of Argyle. My mother is the sister of Lord Browning of Oxford. We can trace our family history back for five hundred years, including three direct links to the British royal family.”
“Excellent. And your friend?”
“She comes from a very good and very rich family.” Hurriedly, she went on. “That’s why I asked to see the sheikh. However much he might get for us on the ... markets, our families would offer far more for our safe return. Far more,” she emphasised.
“I will convey your message to his excellency,” the man said without much interest. “In the meantime, the guard here will take you to a bathroom. Make yourself very presentable.”
The bathroom was a wonderful luxury. Penny bathed herself in the ornate bath, soaping herself with masses of hot water and deftly scented oils. Only the guard’s presence marred her comfort, his watchful eyes never leaving her youthful form, but the bath was too nice after her days of squalor and torment for that to get in the way. She thoroughly washed and combed her hair back to its normal elegance and applied gentle perfume from the many expensive scents available to her as well as some deft touches of makeup. There seemed to be no hurry: even after she had finished her marathon preparations, she was left sitting and waiting for an age before another guard arrived with a summons for her. She walked along the corridors of the huge building, plush carpet sinking between her bare toes. She was still naked, with twin pairs of piggish male eyes on her posterior as she walked ahead of the two guards, but at least she was elegant and pampered once more.
She felt her nudity more keenly, however, when she
was ushered into the sheikh’s presence. His ugly face, dominated by the hook nose, was not one she would ever have seen invited to one of her father’s society balls. Still, it had to be endured. She was far from out of the woods yet.
He looked at her, causing her to blush. Then he spoke, his firm voice brooking no interruption. “I have invited a business friend of mine over here. It would amuse him enormously to own a member of the English aristocracy and I think that he will give me a very satisfactory price for you. It will be as good a price as I could get for you on the auction block and will bring me favour with him.”
Penny’s mouth dropped open. She was stunned to hear that he was considering selling her when she thought she would be beginning negotiations for the ransom and release of Carrie and herself. As if he had read her mind - or, more likely, her expression - he went on: “my man conveyed your message to me about your families paying a ransom for you. Doubtless they would, but for political reasons it would not be wise. Nor will my friend consider it. You would be wise to forget such dreams and make the best of your new life by co-operating and doing as you are told.” As Penny struggled to take all this in, he leaned a little closer and said, “in particular, if you misbehave now and put this man off buying you, I will have you thrashed to within an inch of your life. Do you understand?”
Penny felt herself go hot and cold with terror. “Y-yes,” she stuttered fearfully.
The sheikh stood up and came over to her until he was standing only inches in front of her. His eyes bore into hers as she quailed before him. Suddenly she felt her arms grasped in a grip of steel by the guard behind her. For a moment, the tableau held; then she felt the sheikh ram two fingers forcefully up her vagina. Penny gasped in shock and pain. Instinctively she struggled, but he only pushed the fingers deeper into her. The guard’s fingers were like iron, digging into her arms and totally immoveable. The sheikh was far too close to her for her to knee or kick him.