by Henry Morgan
David looked around the room at all the nude girls and shook his head. ‘It’s a job I suppose,’ he said to himself. ‘Someone has to do it.’
Imran offered his bemused guest some more champagne. ‘I can see you are wanting some relief, David,’ he said. ‘Drink up and I will take you to a place where the women are not so well treated. It is a place I sometimes visit after a difficult day at work. I shouldn’t really go, it is against my beliefs. But I am a man too, and I have a man’s weaknesses.’
The car had built up a little momentum before Wassim pulled up outside the International Club. ‘You will see why it is so called inside,’ said Imran.
It cost the equivalent of fifty pounds for entry, and the proceeds were not going on lighting and decoration. A man in a long dirty white khurta brought them a hookah each and sat them at a table near the wall. His departure to fetch the pitcher of lager they had ordered was followed by a hushed warning from Imran. ‘Watch your back in here,’ he whispered. ‘The only white skin you are likely to see in here is on a woman.’
David peered through the gloom and haze of countless hookah pipes. There were no other white people, and no women either. Imran nudged his arm and motioned for him to start using the hookah.
‘Don’t stand out more than you already do,’ he advised.
The dry vapours swirled in David’s throat until he felt like he could smoke a kipper with one breath, but he had to admit it was relaxing stuff, and when the man in the khurta returned with the drinks he bolted the first one down in one. The two flavours didn’t mix, but the combination was explosive; David’s inhibitions all but left him. He was conscious of the need for sleep, but a desire for experience prevented his eyelids from closing, and a further prod by his friend drew his attention to dozens of cages hanging by chains from the ceiling.
‘What are they?’ he asked, desperately trying to focus on the gently swinging miniature pens. Imran didn’t answer, but waited for David’s eyesight to clear. It took a time, and David actually had to get up and take himself nearer before he was able to determine the shapes of females strapped and chained inside the cages.
‘Each one from a different country,’ said Imran. ‘From all over the world.’
David was amazed. ‘There are dozens of them – dozens.’ His eyes darted around the assortment of female flesh on display; all colours, shapes and sizes. Some were cuffed to the top of their cage and some to the sides. Others were strapped by their wrists and ankles and hung compliantly between the top and bottom of their cage. David walked beneath one such woman and looked up. She was a tall Latin who watched him with fiery contempt as he disappeared beneath her legs. A rough looking man leaned out of his seat and motioned him to move away, but David was enjoying the view of her well parted sex.
‘She was just brought in yesterday,’ wheezed the man. ‘They haven’t broken her yet. She still has plenty of fight.’
‘I’ll take her anyway,’ said David. ‘How much is she?’
‘You are too late, my friend,’ said the Pakistani. ‘I tried to book her myself. I too like them when they have some fight. It excites me. But she has been bought by Mohammed Khan. His men are coming to collect her later tonight. She is to go to his yacht.’
‘I’ll pay double,’ said David. ‘Whatever it costs. This Khan chap can have another woman.’
Upon hearing that the man skulked away and Imran grabbed his naive friend by the arm. ‘Don’t say such things. Khan is a very powerful man – a dangerous man. He deals in drugs, and people don’t say let Mohammed Khan have another woman. Not if they want to keep their head between their shoulders.’
He led David across to a small grubby stage. ‘Sit here,’ he ordered, ‘and I will see which women are available.’
‘Smoke for you, sir,’ said a waiter. ‘Smoke. The show is about to start. Good show. You smoke.’
David required no second invitation. A few pulls on the mouthpiece brought back the wonderful feelings of weightlessness and tranquillity, and he slumped back in his seat to watch as a cage was lowered from the ceiling to the stage. It landed with a gentle bump, and was met by a dwarf. Despite his meagre size he looked athletic and fit, and there was an air of menace about him. Taking a huge key ring from his belt he unlocked the cage. Inside the girl had already begun to writhe and squirm, pulling helplessly at her bonds and desperately trying to free herself from the manacles that kept her on tiptoe, tethered to the top of the cage. The dwarf clambered up the sidebars, released her shackles and kicked her out onto the stage where she fell in a heap. As he jumped down she rose to her knees and began babbling in French, apparently begging for mercy. The midget was having none of it. He slowly released a sjambok from his belt and pointed it at her. Her gibbering stopped and her eyes widened with trepidation. With a gentle flick of the rhinoceros whip he signalled for her to turn around. In an instant she was face down on the stage, her bottom straining up, her sex clearly visible between her thighs, as were the weals from numerous lessons taught by the sjambok. In a suddenly playful mood the midget sat on her bottom and gave her several firm, if not serious, smacks. David watched the firm cheeks of her bottom quivering beautifully, much to the pleasure of the baying audience who were cheering and applauding everything the little man did. Their enthusiasm heightened when he drew the sjambok once more and began to masturbate her with the handle. She did nothing during the whole performance, but remained resolutely on all fours with her forehead lowered to the stage. In and out went the whip in unison with the shouts from the crowd. The clamour reached a feverish peak, before suddenly falling absolutely silent. Out of the backstage gloom walked a man of giant proportions. He was well over six feet tall – perhaps even seven – and his well-oiled body rippled and gleamed in the light of the burning lamps. He wore nothing but a cloth around his waist, and into the centre of the stage he pushed a large mechanical bull with three dildos fixed to its back.
‘Everything okay?’ asked Imran.
‘Bloody great,’ beamed David. ‘How did you get on?’
Imran took his seat at the table and drew heavily on the hookah. ‘I don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘I was told to see the little guy on the stage. He holds all the keys to the cages.’
The bull was made ready and the dwarf rose from the girl’s bottom, leaving the whip firmly embedded in her pulsing vagina. Turning to the audience he began pointing, first at the girl and then at the bull. Imran translated events for David.
‘They are going to have a competition to see which dildo the girl is put on,’ he said. ‘Whichever one gets the biggest cheer is the one she will have to sit on and ride.’ Imran gave a shrug of apathy before continuing. ‘It is a little pointless to me. They always stick her on the big one in the middle. As you can see it is by far the longest and the fattest, and therefore the most popular.’
True to form the loudest cheer rose just as Imran had predicted.
The dwarf withdrew the whip from the French girl’s sex and pointed at the bull with it. She clearly balked at the proposition. The dwarf didn’t whip her for her petulant display, but simply instructed the giant to put her in the saddle. She looked a mere toy in his arms as he hoisted her across the bull and brought her down in line with the awesome dildo. From their position Imran and David were able to see the tip of the false cock nudge between her lips, before disappearing completely as the giant eased down on her shoulders and impaled her on its length. Her back arched as she struggled to accommodate the monster. To ease her stretched vagina she tried desperately to lift her legs and rise off the intrusion, but the midget quickly attached each ankle to a strap that ran beneath the bull. Her wrists were then tied to a chain around her waist. Once she was securely in place the midget left the stage, and the big man in control.
He lost no time in turning the power right up to maximum, which meant the bull rocked and bucked, forcing the girl to accept the delicious fucking it would give her,
only stopping when the crowd grew tired of the spectacle and demanded variety.
As the midget passed their table, Imran shouted through the noise and signalled for him to join them.
‘Are there any women not taken?’ he asked. ‘My friend and I would like a woman.’
The dwarf looked to the ceiling, trying to recall which girls had been booked and which hadn’t. ‘There a few left. You should come earlier. There is better choice when you come earlier. What you looking for?’
‘An Indian,’ said Imran, ‘as long as she is young. What about you David?’
David scanned the women chained inside the numerous pens. ‘What types do you have?’
The midget laughed aloud, then called to the bartender who brought him a bottle of scotch. ‘You name it and we have it; black, white, Chinese – anything. From four corners of the world.’
‘How do you get them?’ asked David. ‘Where do they all come from?’
It was an invitation to boast, and the midget needed no second bidding. ‘Most of the Moslem and Hindu girls sold by their families desperate for rupees. They think I’m agent who will find their daughters work as domestic servants, so I don’t tell them different. By end of the day I got them on end of my cock, showing them what they be doing from then on. When I had my fill of them I bring them here to work. Javed take care of them then.’ He nodded at the giant on the stage who was still tormenting the French girl on the bull. ‘He a good worker, and hung like a donkey, as you see in a minute.’
‘But what about the European women?’ asked David. ‘Where do they come from?’
‘Oh, tourists, aid workers. My favourites,’ he grinned, ‘are the dancing girls, especially the English. They so stupid – so gullible. My cousin over there advertise for girls to join dancing troupe to tour Asia. Half the time they so desperate to get out of England his interview is around who give the best fuck. When they flying out for their first show at the Club International, Karachi, he on the phone telling me who is the best screw. It’s great. He fuck them over there, I take their passport over here an’ day later I fucking them. Within week I have them screwed senseless by half men in Karachi. A new girl worth a lot of money to me.’ He nodded at the Spanish woman thrashing against her bonds. ‘Khan is paying twenty-five thousand rupees to be first with her. Lets hope she live up to his expectations.’
‘Do you have any Americans?’ asked David.
‘Plenty Americans,’ said the midget. ‘They always over here on some aid mission or another. The interfering bastards, think they own the world. I got one you’ll love, she been reported killed in the mountains. Came to open school up north,’ he chuckled. ‘The only thing she been opening is her legs. Hold on and I take you to them – Javed’s about to do his stuff.’
On the stage the giant was lifting the exhausted girl off the bull and the slippery dildo. It was coated with the liquid consequence of dozens of orgasms she had fought against but was unable to stop. Despite the discomfort, in spite of the humiliation, that massive implement and the action of the bull had forced her to come in unstoppable and relentless waves of pleasure.
With powerful arms Javed carried the half conscious girl to the edge of the stage where he paraded her in front of the audience. With her back against his chest and a hand underneath each thigh he held her legs open for all to see. David could see the girl had almost passed out from the strain of so many orgasms, but her ordeal wasn’t yet over. Javed flipped her round and put her down on the stage. He pulled her to her knees by tugging her hair. She whimpered as she lifted her hands to undo the cloth that draped his waist. She obviously knew what was expected. With great effort she managed to free his erection to fervent applause from the crowd. The crowd was eager. He had a truly huge cock, in strict proportion to his physical bearing. It stood easily twelve inches from base to tip. Lifting the girl he turned her to face the crowd, and then bent her forward a little and inched his length into her well lubricated sex. She closed her eyes and gasped as he filled her and rhythmically pounded his groin against her clenched buttocks, until she orgasmed yet again and fell limp in his arms. At that moment Javed pulled out and ejaculated over her bottom and back. The crowd went wild, cheering and whooping and closing around the girl who was very slowly recovering from her ordeal. David guessed that her duties for the evening had only just begun.
With the show over the midget led David and Imran away to pick up their girls.
‘What happens when the girls get too old?’ asked Imran. ‘What do you do with them?’
‘We sell them,’ the midget answered. ‘Mostly to Arabs who use them as slaves, but some go to Far East. Here Imran, a nice Hindu for you.’
The cage was opened and the midget snapped a collar around her neck, then pointed to a room where Imran was to take her.
‘What about the ones you can’t sell?’ put in David. ‘What happens to them?’
The midget bristled. ‘Your American over here,’ he snapped. ‘Follow me.’
A cage lowered to the floor with a clattering of chains and a heavy bump. Inside a beautiful young woman of about twenty years backed nervously into the corner. At the sight of the midget she started trembling, and shaking her head, and mumbling: ‘No… please.’
The midget told her to shut up and opened the cage door. Again she pleaded with him, and at the sight of his hand moving to the sjambok she pulled wildly at the cuffs that secured her wrists to the overhead bars. He swiftly flicked the whip across her legs. She shrieked and winced at the pain. It took only two strokes before she begged him to stop and stammered apologies for her ungrateful behaviour.
But the midget wasn’t satisfied.
He released her and then took her to where a metal ring hung by a chain from the ceiling. He attached her cuffs to it and called for a waiter to pull her up. The ring rose, lifting her until her feet were suspended a few inches off the floor. The waiter then held her there while the midget stroked the sjambok across her buttocks and legs. He warned her against making any further sounds of descent. Frantically she kicked and writhed, trying to escape from its sting, but it was all about her, parting the air with a scything whoosh before striping her flesh with its venomous bite. Her mouth gaped and she arched and twisted.
For a brief moment David saw the beautiful Afghan hanging by her ankles in building eleven, her shaven lips pleading for the caress of the cane. His balls tightened at the memory; at the unexpected pleasure he found in witnessing her punishments.
The American was lowered to the floor, where she fell to her knees and thanked the midget for teaching her to behave. Her hair was no longer a mass of attractive curls, but damp with perspiration, the fringe plastered to her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed and tearstained. She looked as if she had run a marathon. She looked perfect for sex; compliant and freshly reminded about her position. The midget tugged on her collar and pointed to a door.
‘Use that room,’ he said. ‘If she show any more defiance there things in there which bring her back in line.’
David took the lead and led the now submissive American to the room. She remained silent, except for the occasional sob as the sting in her backside came and went. He opened the door and entered. It was sparsely furnished. There was a futon mattress in one corner, presumably for those who liked their sex straightforward – no nonsense. But this room was designed for the more imaginatively minded. The walls were festooned with hooks, chains, whips and canes, and the few other pieces of furniture were designed for bending, shaping, and displaying your woman. It was not the stuff you picked up at your local furniture store. The only thing David recognised was a well worn leather club chair, into which he slumped after first taking the young lady to a display podium.
‘Let’s see what you’ve got,’ he said to her. ‘Show me.’ The American stood straight, pushing out her lovely breasts. ‘Very nice. What’s your name?’
‘Donna.’
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br /> ‘Donna,’ he repeated. ‘What part of the States are you from, Donna?’
She turned around and bent slightly to display her freshly striped bottom. ‘California… San Diego.’
David smiled. ‘Ever been to Malibu Beach?’
‘Plenty of times. You?’
‘Never,’ he said.
She had engaged him in conversation just like she had hoped she would when she first realised he was English. She saw in him her only chance to escape from the hell she had fallen into.
‘Stretch your arms up,’ he ordered, ‘and turn round.’ She did as he instructed. The action made her breasts lift and pulled her skin tight. David scrutinised her young body intently; her tiny waist, slim hips, and shapely legs. ‘Who shaves you?’ he asked.
She moved one leg in front of the other, trying to hide her denuded mound. Even with all the indignities she had suffered and had come to accept, she was still acutely embarrassed that they shaved her. It took her back to the days of high school when she was one of the last girls to grow pubic hair. How the other girls used to torment her on sports days when they were in the changing rooms. Stripped naked, they would point at her hairless mound and laugh, saying that she was just a little girl.
David rose from his chair and went to where she was standing to run a finger along her smooth sex-lips. ‘Who shaves you?’ he repeated.
‘Javed,’ she blushed and whispered. ‘Javed shaves all the girls.’
The thought made her shudder. The way he strapped her and all the other girls across the shaving pot, with their legs held wide apart by the bar between their ankles. A rough brush was used to spread soap over their mounds and once lathered up the brush was used as a frigging tool, the handle sliding in and out until each girl shuddered in orgasm. Then he shaved them. They dare not complain or he would screw them for real with his huge monster of a cock. He could have every girl in the club, one after the other after the other.