“You are going to be much whip. I wish to watch, but Yousef is much not kind, he say no.”
Salim was neither friend nor enemy. But, if only she could condition herself to his scrutiny of her nakedness, he was at least someone to talk to. At the moment she felt all breasts and vulva. “Where are the other girls?” she asked casually.
“Are chained to wall in nice stone room,” he informed absently. “Salim much wishes to fuck you.”
She supposed the male hunger would never be far removed, her nakedness would always generate lust. Stacie had little expectation of remaining inviolate, but surely not this buffoon of a boy! “Set me free and I’ll let you,” she offered without hope.
“Cannot set free. Salim thinks can fuck you like now.” His mind was obviously busy with the mechanics of vertical congress.
“Oh, Salim, it’s no fun standing up! Please untie me.” For a moment the boy weakened, she could see desire tearing his caution to shreds. But caution won. “First I have good look at cunt,” he said non-commitally. “If you kick, I bite tit most hard.”
She had lost nothing by trying, but it was infuriating to have so totally failed and now to have to stand and pretend indifference while he explored her sex. Shame mantled her at his next request. “Please to open wide the legs.”
Stacie did not want her nipples savagely bitten, so she sulkily obeyed, presenting the avidly curious youth with a complete exposure of her pubes. He was like a concupiscent puppy wagging its tail, using his finger to search within her cleft and to make her gasp, then sniffing her pungency as might a dog. Suddenly she yelped in pain.
Triumphantly Salim held up his trophy. Stacie saw her own pubic hair between his finger and thumb, she could cheerfully have killed the beaming lout. “Don’t do that!”
she commanded vehemently.
He was delighted with his provocation. “Could pull many. Salim much enjoy to see.”
He bent once more to his new found hobby.
Stacie kicked at him, but without success. Craftily he bent beside her, encircling her waist with one arm whilst employing his other to pluck. Angrily she fought to shake loose his grip, she kicked and stamped, but she was too helplessly tied. Through the most frantic of her struggles his hand found her black triangle so that, defeated, she stopped her futile and painful efforts. “Please, Salim, don’t. If you pull any more I’ll tell Yousef and Rannah.”
It gave him pause. He did not loose his grip, but stood holding his treasure while considering. “Will not miss one more,” he decided firmly. “Salim pull very slow.”
The captive miserably realised that from now on her life would always be like this. She would be used as others desired, never as she herself would wish. To be tied naked while an Arab boy amused himself with her body might very soon seem a trivial diversion, perhaps even a welcome one, all things were relative. She resigned herself to the “One more".
If it had not hurt she might have laughed. She was suddenly smitten by the absurdity of what was taking place. It would make a quaint picture. But it did hurt! Stacie was positive that more than one of her pubic hairs was being gripped, and was astonished by the pain of the slow withdrawal, her skin followed the anchored curl and would not let go, each increase of the steady pull made her gasp with the severity until, in furious revolt, she writhed and lunged away from his lecherous hand so that the roots surrendered their hold in one single flash of pain that left her flushed and bitter as she was forced to examine the shining strands wrested from her flesh.
“Salim keep always,” said the boy who had stolen them. She was getting accustomed to being naked and open to the eyes of the male. For her, now, it would become commonplace. Nakedness was implicit in Yousef’s work upon her flesh, there would be other male members of Yasin’s staff who would get a look at her. Salim would be endlessly intrigued and increasingly demanding, but still, she did not want him as an enemy. “Well, have you had a good look at a naked girl?” she asked him without sarcasm.
“Oh, is very nice.” His eyes glowed their approval. “Much best than men. Must now fuck.”
The captive sighed, always back to the eternal square one.
Youthful females were never left unaware of her desired orifice. “Set me free then,”
she demanded negatively.
Salim scarcely heard, his eyes and mind were busy.
Without preamble he loosened fastenings and produced a male weapon that, whilst lacking the massiveness of the torturer’s, was still formidable. “You kick, I hurt you,”
he said decisively.
Facing the inevitable, Stacie once more spread wide her legs.
It was then that Yousef returned.
Had her plight been less drastic, Stacie would have laughed. Her would be rapist stood for a moment stricken in dismay, his male organ ridiculously rampant before he tucked it out of sight and dived for the open door. A grinning Yousef caught the flying figure half way, shook it as one does a bag of rubbish, then sent it on its swift retreat with a well planted kick. There came a thud and a cry and the receding sounds of fleeing feet. “Is too young for fuck,” said the torturer indulgently.
Yousef lounged against the wall and surveyed the naked girl he was to torture. He discerned her weariness and absence of hope. He also enjoyed her loveliness for what it was. “I intend to make you give me pleasure,” he said simply.
“Is it now?”
He laughed enjoyably at the mixed emotions in her voice.
As he passed he slapped her bottom with a huge hand. The door thudded and once again Stacie was alone. But now there was a change, before her on the stone was the coiled wickedness of a black whip.
She had no delusions, this play was torture. Her skin remained unmarked, but she was tired and cringingly afraid. It would have been kinder to have whipped her when she was first tied. It was what she had expected, thus it had not been granted. Some time in the day the black horror on the floor would be used on her: but when! By the time it happened she would be a wreck. Suppose they were waiting for her to plead to be whipped . . . ! To get it over with, to end the awfulness of knowing and waiting for it to happen. She might be tempted. If Yousef were present at this moment, would she have the courage!
As the hours passed she hung more and more heavily upon her wrists. They took the strain protestingly, but it was the only relief she could contrive. She constantly varied her posture within the small tolerances of her bonds: this foot and that, cheek against one arm or the other, head bowed or thrown back so that she could gaze upon her captive hands. That was all. There was nothing else but loneliness.
Rannah had stood before the pinioned nakedness for some time before Stacie became aware and opened her eyes. The girl had been silent on bare feet and the hinges of the door well oiled. The captive had hung so long alone that sight of the dark eyed beauty was a shock.
“You are very tired,” said Rannah. “Please whip me,” Stacie pleaded.
The Arab girl nodded in confirmation and picked up the whip. She ran its sinuous length through her fingers several times. “It will hurt far more than you believe,” she said tonelessly. “After the first stroke you will no longer be weary.”
The captive nodded and closed her eyes. “Do it to me now. Don’t make me wait any longer, I can’t stand it.”
Rannah set her free.
For a moment the relief of the lowered arms was agony.
Then, with a small inarticulate cry and in a purely instinctive compulsion, the naked girl fell to her knees and clasped and hugged herself against Rannah’s legs, weeping noisily in great gusts of pent up emotion.
“She has a wonderful instinct for the right clothes,” Mohammad Yasin conceded as he broke open a roll and knifed the hard refrigerated butter. “Rannah is a sweet child, she is indispensable.”
Stacie supposed she could call herself clothed, but she was almost bare. Her breasts were covered, and her loins, but that was all. The scantiness of what she wore was quite lovely and patterned with gems. She was adorned at neck and wrists with metal and jewels worth several ransoms, her feet were chained and fettered by silver shackles. She was intimately at dinner with her lord. She refused to be ashamed of her hunger.