Stacie had not fainted, but she had reached the misty land of disorientation. When her wrists were loosed she slumped to the stone, rubbing first the hurt wrists themselves and then seeking tentative explorations of wounds such as she had never previously borne, her body seemed welted everywhere. When she was lifted and carried away in the same manner by which she had been brought to her first torture she cared no whit for her destination, even the bound wrists and the tiny dungeon would have been welcome if she could have lain upon the rug in peace without the whip seeking her. When she was finally tossed contemptuously upon something soft it was some time before she opened her eyes enough to know herself upon a bed in splendour. She did not care about her pain, the strong naked arms of Mohammad Yasin enveloped her and felt searchingly the ridges across her back and all the curves of her loveliness. One had even found her breast and this he lingered upon most of all with fingers and with lips. Her moans mounted and mounted until he stilled them with his mouth. He ravaged his slave girl lustily, brutally and with love. Stacie knew that to be loved like this as her reward she would happily submit herself to be whipped every day. She had never known such intensity of sensation. She clung and clung, raking the back of her master with sharp fingernails as he thrust and thrust into her very heart. Stacie Blair was exquisitely happy.
“You must possess a magic.” Rannah pronounced sardonically. “Our master has gone away on his endless business and left you with me to torture. I have orders to torture you to the extent of my knowledge of such things.” She laughed ruefully. “My knowledge is very great. You will scream a lot while we are together.”
“I asked for you,” Stacie said simply.
“I know. Yousef will be disappointed.”
“Don’t give me to Yousef, please.”
“Never fear. You are mine. You may wish otherwise.”
“No. If I am to be tortured I wish you to do it.”
“He loved you through the night, did he not?”
“Yes. I am his slave. It is all I want.”
“You are one of the richest girls in the world, yet you seek slavery?”
“With Mohammad Yasin, yes.”
“And with me! Why me?”
“You know why.”
The dark eyes burned bright. “Of course I know. I lusted for you when first I put your wrists within those handcuffs in the truck. I could have killed Salim for baring your breasts.”
“You laughed.”
“We are women, you and I. We say yes only when we must, then it is real for us. We do not shout desire from the housetops. I am going to torture you. Aren’t you afraid?”
“Yes terribly afraid. Can I have more coffee?”
Rannah leaned across the breakfast table and replenished cups. “You ooze lubricity, our master lit a fire within your loins. At this moment you do not care about the torture, you think it will not happen, that I’ll relent. I won’t!”
“Torture me, Rannah. It is his wish, his order. Please may I have more toast?”
“I spoil you. You are outrageously happy. Surely Yousef made some impression on your mind? I can see those he made upon your skin.”
Stacie knew herself drunk with ecstasy. She gloried and knew shame. “I am done with Yousef,” she said grandly. “Will you whip me as hard?”
Rannah recognized the euphoria of infatuation. “I will whip you so you think Yousef’s hand held no more than a feather. It takes a girl to hurt a girl. I know those places where you can be hurt.”
“You mean my breasts?” Stacie asked absently. She was still within Yasin’s arms.
“You are quite ridiculous,” Rannah affirmed angrily. “A girl in love! Pouf! I had intended to be easy with you today, but now I will make you scream in ways you have not even thought of.”
“Don’t be angry with me. I know I’m being silly.” Stacie was contrite. She wanted very much to please this enigmatic girl who held her person in thrall. “I will behave. See, I’m not chained or tied, but I do not run away.”
“Will this fine courage carry you to the room where it will happen?”
The captive wrinkled her brows in confrontation with the conscience of her past. “Oh yes, I will walk with you to the torture chamber where you will make me scream,” she said slowly and solemnly. “But everything I do, or perhaps it’s the way I do it, leaves me guilty. You know: the Protestant ethic thing. I ought to be screaming now: I ought to throw this lovely food in your face: I ought to be demanding release with every second breath I take: I ought to be reviling Yasin and you and Yousef . . . In fact, I ought to be making an absolute ass of myself as a . . . a sort of social conformity. Am I being silly?”
Rannah eyed her captive with amusement. “I have wondered about you,” she admitted. “So has our master. He believes you are by nature a slave girl even though you do not seem to be. For the rest, you are only being sensible, facing the facts of your condition,” Rannah grinned confidingly. “But I will tell you honestly: I am not sure I could behave as you. In your place I think I would be hostile, getting myself many blows and tight bindings and feeling noble within my mind.”
“You’ve read about brainwashing. Is that what you’re doing to me? I mean, you switch me back and forth between terror and luxury, I’m always off balance.”
“That is by our own caprice,” Rannah admitted. “We are selfish. We do not allow our sadness at what we must do to you to rob us of the pleasure of treating you as our guest. We are also curious about your reactions.”
“In other words, you’re playing with me.” Rannah shrugged.
“Allah plays with all of us.”
“I’m sure good old Allah is a big comfort to you guys,” Stacie said drily. She gazed earnestly across the table. “Look, Rannah, I like being your guest, I like you. If you enjoy my company, don’t torture me. There has to be some other way. My father will do anything Yasin demands to get me safely back.”
“What could your father do! Think. There is nothing.” Stacie thought. Just what could her father do! Money, apologies, the United Nations, all were inapplicable. She looked woefully into the dark watching eyes. “But this revenge . . . ! It’s so savage, it doesn’t belong anymore. It’s out of the past.”
“Mohammad Yasin has sworn an oath.”
“That brings us back to Allah again.” The voice of the captive lost its insouciance. The two girls looked starkly at each other in full reality.
Stacie wondered at the lack of grimness and foreboding in the huge chamber where she would spend her pain-filled days, and perhaps some pain-filled nights. The stone was mellow and light flooded in from the iron-barred windows that half-circled the room high in the walls. No doubt plenty of light was desirable that those who did the torturing might clearly see what they were doing and assess its results.
“Does the need to strip yourself at each beginning bother you?” Rannah asked curiously.
“It was Yousef who stripped me yesterday. He ruined all my clothes. I supposed it was done as . . . as part of my punishment.”
“It was.”
Stacie set aside the last of her scanty clothing and stood naked. “No, I don’t mind stripping before you. It’s the purpose of being stripped that bothers me.”
“I have left the door open to tempt you. Go, run if you wish. Does your nakedness doubly impel you to flight?”