The entranced youth leaped into the fray. His eager application to his task reminded the naked girl of the more enterprising of her dates in her early teens. Bracing herself for her ordeal she wondered how so much friction could emanate from a single boy. Relaxed after release from the awfulness now over she found herself responding. After all, the attention she was receiving could hardly go unnoticed. Without shame she pulled the bare male loins close so that the rampant penis was pressed tight against her hip, her own orgasms were incidental, what counted was his!
Stacie supposed she would always compare her ‘nows’ with her memories of her life in the other world from which she had been wrested. Ruefully she considered her immediate condition. Nothing in her other existence was comparable: nothing could condone. “You can put a finger inside me if you wish,” she said dreamily.
“Is most hot dog!” Salim took the barest time for his commendation before returning to work.
When it became evident that further delays might jeopardize the entente cordiale between herself and her would-be ravisher Stacie lay herself down on the cool stone and invited the son of the desert with open arms. “Some men like to rub it all over a girl’s nipples,” she offered tentatively.
“You are meaning tits?”
“Try it, you might like it.”
She lay quiescent while the play ran its course. Would the camera record this absurdity! To see his daughter act the wanton as she was doing would break her father’s heart as badly as the scenes of torture. All that had been done to her and made her a child of Jedrah in word and act. What did it matter! For her, freedom was a dream.
She saw it happen in his eyes, they blanked and were lost in some vision of their own. Stacie closed her mind to disgust as the boy’s ejaculation inundated her breasts. She had planned it and it had happened. She had won the first round. She lay and contemptuously watched the disintegration of a male libido. She thought of dogs and cats and barnyards.
“Am most sorry. Should have put in cunt,” Salim sounded bereft.
“Never mind,” Stacie was magnanimous in victory. “I’ll make it up to you. May I have your loincloth to wipe myself?”
He did it for her. He was insistent. “Is most bad thing. I cut him off,” he declared morosely. “He is liking tits too much.”
The thankful girl allowed herself to be cleansed. She watched while the same cloth was used on the fallen warrior. So far she was winning, could she keep it up! “Do you want to tie me back the way I was?” she asked experimentally.
In the throes of post coital depression the idea appeared to have some merit in the adolescent mind. “For not getting cock in cunt?” he inquired interestedly.
“I don’t want you to feel cheated.” Stacie wondered what maniacal impulse was prompting her.
“If tie most tight Salim get no punish!”
The naked girl wanted to kick herself. Why was she doing this! Was it true that she thought and acted as a slave! Or was it simply the cutting of a loss! She had enjoyed freedom and easement from her torture at the expense of no more than some fleshy friction and a damp chest. Or did she feel a kindred sympathy for this youth who might be mercilessly whipped for what he had so far failed to receive.
“You let Salim tie you?”
“If you want.”
“You are most hot dog! Then I not get punish.” It was his greatest accolade. “You are now to kneel please.”
How stupid can a girl get! She asked herself savagely as she obeyed his request and rested her ankles in the clamps that would hold them immovably. Looking over her shoulder she morosely watched his suddenly urgent fingers make her captive, with the snapping of the lock she knew herself consigned to helplessness.
The boy looked at her in wonder as, without prompting, she placed a slender chafed wrist on each side of the waiting post and smilingly invited him to tie them. “Must make most tight,” he consoled apologetically.
Stacie winced as the cords made their familiar grooves within her flesh. Salim made a competent job of both the tie and the knot, she could never free herself, but she no longer ever expected to. It did not matter, it was her life.
“Is most funny with hair,” the amateur torturer ruminated picking up the cord still entwined within the victim’s braid. “Am not much like.”
The naked girl did not like it either as the slow pull brought her more and more upright and took from her the ability to look down at her own person. Her knees were hurting afresh, even on the flat stone she was getting a bitter foretaste of pain to come.
“Is about right I think?” Salim enquired.
“About right,” she agreed listlessly. “You’ll have to lift me to get the timber under my knees.”
It was a strange intimacy that took place then between the Arab boy and the white girl who had become a slave. To lift her he must grasp her firmly in a manner without lustful intent. For him it was the hardest thing he had ever done with her, for her it was an unexpected reliance in his maleness that he should do for her something she could not do for herself, his strength was surprising and oddly comforting. There came into being between them a kindred something Stacie could not name. When he gently lowered her to a resumption of her agony his hand continued to rest upon her naked shoulder in a tender sympathy.
“Is hurt most bad.” He had a gift for the obvious. Stacie moaned, not in pain but at her own illogic.
Everything was insane and impossible, nothing made sense. Tears of weariness with pain welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She could not touch them, she could not move.
“Have done a thing most bad,” said Salim in a sad shocked voice.
It hurt to look sideways and up, but Stacie enquiringly did so, sensing disquiet. What she saw was a thing for laughter or for rage. An embarrassed youth was holding up her briefs and bra.
In her nakedness they were both condemned.
“Never mind,” she said wearily. “I don’t care what happens.” Then, remembering his vulnerability: “Oh, Salim, I’m sorry . . .”
“I think we both get much whip,” he mourned lugubriously.
“Just let me loose. I’ll put them on and we’ll start over.” With quick decisive motions he set her free. Without pause she donned the two forgotten trifles, then once more knelt for punishment.
“Salim no can tie.”
She looked in astonishment at his dejected face. “You are so nice girl. Most kind.”
“It won’t take you long to tie me, Salim, then you’ll be safe.”
He shook his head. “No. No tie. I am liking you.” Always the unexpected! Some magic had come from her and touched this naive boy. He would accept his penalty and she would be free, her pain behind her for the day. Yet she was not happy.
“Oh, Salim, I’m sorry.”
He looked at her with infinite pathos. “So nice a cunt.” It was as though he mourned the dead.
The girl of Jedrah knew what she must do. She could not have done it once, but she could do it now. Kneeling before him as a slave she fondled his genitals in her hands and used her lips to revive that which its owner believed lost. She did not care for pictures or of memories or of guilt. All Stacie Blair wanted at that moment was to give this sad young man some pleasure for the pain he would suffer as her price.
There are many kinds of love.
When they separated and surveyed each other with new eyes Salim was not as he had been, he had passed a milestone. The slave girl knew that had he possessed wealth he would have paid any price to buy her for his own. For this boy who, before her capture, had never seen a naked girl she was all the treasure of the world.
“Am most sad.” Sheepishly he retrieved the discarded handcuffs. “The lady Rannah tell me I must do this.”
Stacie laughed gaily and offered him her hands. “I don’t mind, Salim. I know I have to be chained.”