"Sleep and fuck on nice thick rugs, must never try and cover anything. No blanket. Most comfort! Now you walk."
It was actually possible! But Corey?s collar snubbed her neck just short of the neighboring ringbolt to either side. From one snub to another was about five paces. She could walk the same distance toward the centre aisle. Approving the demonstration, Talifa then proffered a container of small red pills. "One every night." Her grin was lewd.
Corey blushed and put the feminine object in the small cabinet provided for each girl, along with brush and comb and a few other female trifles. At least, the sperm Abdul Nour had promised her would be rendered sterile. But all these small things designed for her wellbeing only intensified awareness of her new condition. Whores were valuable and should be cared for.
"If man not want other girls watch him fuck, is nice curtain."
Corey blushed again. No privacy even for that! Wryly, she watched Talifa emulate a hospital nurse in the tugging of a drape around a rail to provide a shrouded gloom in which she could give and receive the vulgarities of sex alone with the client who did not have to pay. "But isn?t there a… room… somewhere?"
Talifa giggled. "Is no time. Often all girls being used at once. Curtain plenty good. Some don?t want."
It was becoming frightening real. In minor panic, Corey blurted: "Talifa, I?ve never done this! I don?t know…!"
"You been fucked." Talifa accused reasonably.
"Well, yes… but this…!#
"Is no difference. Don?t be silly girl."
"Isn?t there some sort of… greeting? Something that?s expected of me? I don?t want to be punished just because I dont know."
Talifa laughed at such innocence. "You pretent you love. Plenty touch, plenty kiss… unzip!"
"Do I have to do anything he wants?"
"Course you do, silly! Unless it injure. Then you shout."
The youthful Matron grinned at such vaivete. "Some like to whip you. Just al little bit… first. It make them very hard. You pretent you like." Remembering a vital service, Talifa added: "You always suck kock at start. It clean it off nice for you."
Watching Talifa depart, Miss Corey Gibson realised she had received her terms of reference and was now in business. The other girls admired Corey?s weals and exhibited their own. In the boredom of living chained to a wall, their visits to the punishment room and its pain made a dramatic interlude. They donated unsolicited advice.
"Please man good. Then no punish."
"Don?t argue. Raynee and Talifa get mad and whip."
"Is O.K. we play with tongue. Raynee and Talifa make us do for them."
"Is early now. Soldiers start come later."
The girl on either side advanced the length of their chain and kissed her. It was a spontaneous demonstration of sisterhood in the oldest profession and made Corey want to cry.
On her first day Corey serviced eleven men, on her second it was twelve. She did not earn the whip. One of the men gave her a chocolate bar. At night Raynee gave her a douche. Servants carried a tub from ring to ring and washed each girl with vigour. It was reasonably hygenic and methodicial. Examining herself and her vagina every night, Corey was puzzled to know if she had really changed at all.
The girls in the bordello of Abdul Nour lived on their chain. More than any single thing it was their life, immutable and omnipresent. In this chamber of slated lusts it was different from the cell. Corey could never be entirely unaware of her iron collar and its weight of links. Like the rest, she was forever fingering it as she might have fingered a Rosary. The men fingered it too. She was surprised at the delight they found in this metallic evidence of a girl sequestered helplessly for their refreshment. Her padlock was tested and commented on until she began to find an absurd price in wearing it. The Guerilla?s need of what the girls provided was spasmodic. A day of incessant thrusting at their loins and lips might be followed by others in which they played hostess to only one or two heroes at a time. As the weary warriors fingered breasts and nipples and pubic hair they imparted bits of gossip. From it, Corey learned of the absence of Abdul Nour on a mission spoken of in whispers. She suspected her relegation to harlotry resulted from a lack of time in which to practice upon her body and limbs those mild tortures he had promised.
And there was Achmed! His visit made her feel like a patient in a hospital, she was so glad to see a friend. She serviced his hunger with all the finesse at her command. Like most trades, whoredom had its own small skills. She was picking them up fast.
"You learn jij-a-jij real good." He was proud of her.
"Thank you, Achmed. Do you think I?ll ever get out of here?"
"You don?t like nice chain and collar?"
"It?s O.K. I meant, have you heard anything about me being sent back to America?"
"No one ever send girl like you away." He sounded shocked.
"I expect you?re right." She shrugged the subject into the oblivion it deserved. "Have they recaptured Audrey Cotswold yet?"
"No search any more. Is gone. Very bad." He gestured forcefully. "If ever find her she get whip much hard."
It was a pleasant visit. Miss Corey Gibson told Achmed to come again soon.
The girls all envied her the prestigious connection.
She had become accustomed to the vagaries of male concupiscence. Talifa had been right. Some wanted to whip her breasts or vulva lightly with a small light whip provided by the house on request. Corey had learned to control her reactions while she disposed her body for their pleasure and gritted her teeth. The marks they placed upon her skin with this pleasantry faded rapidly but inspired superb erections over which she was expected to enthuse. There were also the ?Tie-uppers?. They had their own notions but several had caught on to Achmed?s trick… with hands tied behind her back to arch and raise her loins, a girl delivered a superior joy. When one of the nondescript valiants of The Cause made this want known, Corey provided him with a length of The House rope, kept under a cushion for this purpose, and crossed her wrists behind her back for them to be bound. All these oddities had become a bit of a bore like the husband who wanted chile con carne for supper every night. The gag was a surprise and came as something extra. He had brought it with him, a modern facility filling her mouth with rubber and buckling harshly behind her neck. Corey was as mute as she had ever been. When he pulled away the curtain behind which he had rendered her helpless she realised instantly the depth of his deception. Every girl visible was similarly captive. As other curtains were folded away one by one they revealed other strictured maidens tugging at bound hands and shaking frustrated heads at tight gags. When Corey looked toward the door and beheld Raynee and Talifa in the same plight her heart plummeted. If this was rescue it was not the kind she wanted.
The men looked like all others. They sported no Leader. But they had been drilled. A huge bolt cutter made short work of the padlocks but left the collar locked on each small throat. In the collar was a ring. Through the ring was threaded a new half inch sisal rope. Counting Raynee and Talifa, there were twenty girls. One by one their collars were threaded so that none was independent of the rest. It was not a coffle. There were no knots in the rope, it could slide back and forth. But, nonetheless, the twenty were inexorably joined. One man stood on a chair and answered the question their gags forbid. "We are moving from Amphala. Our Leader is doing battle. You will be taken to a new home. Resistance will earn you a flogging. You are gagged to keep you quiet, we have no time for cackling pullets."
It sounded reasonable.
The truck ride was one of those dreams where you?ve been there before. To Corey Gibson it was poignantly reminiscent of that other jolting journey that had led her to the trek to Ben Sirah. This would simply move her to another brothel. It did not matter. She began to discern a pattern. Slaves were driftwood on a stream, used and passed around as their Masters wished. Looking at her mute and bound companions she guessed their thoughts the same. She wished her wrists had not been tied so tight.