That evening Achmed admired her innocent wounds and coupled with her twice in vigorous ardor before padlocking the long chain back upon her collar and leaving her to the dark.
The following day brought change. In response to Corey?s spuriously cheerful query: "Well, how are you going to tie me today, Achmed?" Her jailor produced a wide and portentous grin and one single length of rope. "You have very happy day." He promised genially.
The turning of her back and the crossing of her wrists was now an automatic reflex. Achmed?s cords deftly robbed the naked girl of arms and hands. She stood, in passive obedience, to be tied. But, within, she was a turmoil of apprehensions. When a black bandage was bound across her eyes, swathe after swathe to rob her of all sight, she cried out in desolation. "Please, Achmed, don?t… Oh, don?t put me in the dark, please. It?s horrible. I… I… Oh, please…!"
"Is nice change."
"But I hate it! Oh… Achmed!"
"You want gag too?"
"NO, I don?t! Oh, damn!"
Corey felt the padlock loosed from her collar and heard the chain fall. Then a handcuff was snapped on her right wrist above the rope.
"We go for walk. I lead."
"Achmed, I?m frightened. Please let me see?"
"Is best not see. Trust Achmed."
Upon her bare skin and within her lungs the air was different from the cell. Corey walked blindly where she was led. Perhaps in this change there might be hope. She wondered how many eyes beheld her shame. Soon there came sounds and voices and then, again, the confined atmosphere of walls. She was thrust sideways against stone, her tied wrists were raised behind her back, but not enough to hurt, she heard the clicks of a cuff. Then, surprisingly, her wrists were freed. Achmed?s pleased chuckle announced arrival.
"You got hand. You take off bandage." His steps receded.
Corey Gibson remembered the games of childhood. She would now take off the blindfold and be greeted by hilarity. But, strangely, now she was loath to part with it for fear of what she would see. The cuff on her wrist had been tightened before he left. Its mate was attached to hold her captive where she stood. It would be foolish to remain blind…! Fumbling with her free left hand, she tugged at the knots behind her neck.
It was a sizable square room, flooded with light from high barred windows. Corey discovered her handcuff was clipped to an iron ring set into the stone of the wall against which she stood. Except for the one loosely prisoned wrist she was free to move. Across from her, against the opposite wall, two other girls stood as she was standing. They were young, they were pretty, they were clothed in jeans and shirt, they were lightly colored. Their right wrist bore its handcuff in the familiarity of resignation. She sensed they had stood thus before.
They gazed at her white nudity with only a perfunctory curiosity. When she spoke, they only shrugged and exchanged a few words between themselves in a defeating dialect. Their apathy was unaffected by a new arrival, marched in by a pair of lithe negresses who cuffed her to a ring and departed without a word as though glad to dispose of a nuisance. The newcomer tested her handcuff, found it secure on her wrist, then leaned back against the wall with the same air of having walked a familiar path. But, seeing her, Corey gasped in joy.
The girl was white.
Corey was agog with curiosity. "Do you speak English?"
"I should, I?m from Wisconsin." The voice held little warmth.
"My name?s Corey. I?ve just been kidnapped."
"Good for you! Were you a whore before they picked you up?"
"Good heaven no!"
"You are now. Welcome to the club." "But I don?t know anything about anything." Corey wailed. "I?ve been locked in a cell. I don?t even know what country I?m in."
The girl from Wisconsin evinced a faint interest. "We?re somewhere in the Sudan. I don?t know just where. Doesn?t matter much, we can?t escape. I?ve been here eighteen months."
"What do you mean about… whores?"
The voice became a bitter sneer. "Ever heard of Abdul Nour?"
"The guerrilla? Of course! He?s always in trouble with someone. The Press calls him?The Desert Despot?."
"That?s who you belong to now. The bastard has an army. I think his troops have more standing cocks than artillery. We?re here to service?em. They don?t get paid much and we?re for free."
Another arrival made a diversion. A dark beauty who accepted her handcuff without concern. She grinned and winked at all present, then leant back and closed her eyes.
"My name?s Josie." The white girl continued. "I expect we?ll see each other around. What did you do to make?em mad?"
"I haven?t done a thing. Like I told you…!" Corey tensed in dismay. "What is this room… all us girls… handcuffed?"
"Hell, don?t you know that either?" Josie was amused. "We?re all here to be punished."
"All of us? What on earth for…?"
"To keep us in line." Josie shook her head in commiseration. "You sure are new! Anytime a girl fails to please a soldier he can complain and she?s brought down here and punished. Punishment day comes once a week. They keep a tally. I expect they?ll bring a few more poor little whores down as they get through the soldier they?re with right now. When they?ve got us all standing round the wall they start the show."
"But how many girls…?"
"?Bout twenty. Half of?em will likely show up here. It?s hard to go seven days without hurting some bastard?s feelings. I?m here because I bit a guy?s cock… I got so mad the way he rammed it down my throat."
Nine girls! All resigned. None fought. They accepted their handcuff and awaited their penalty. The big stone chamber took on the air of a dentist?s waiting room. But lassitude vanished when the negresses carried in the bench. Each girl tensed against her linkage to the ring.
It was the same as with the whipping post. Corey Gibson knew she could not close her eyes. This whole scene was beyond credulity, the passivity of the girls was an affront. Surely they should fight! In some way protest their femininity! Unhappily, the new recruit realized they were only being sensible, just as she was sensible with Achmed. This was a land where girls were property. She watched, breathless.
Josie was first. She made no fuss. When the head harness and the phallus was made ready she smiled in sardonic recognition and opened her mouth for the ugly male thing to be thrust deep inside. When all the buckles were tight there would be no expelling it. She was effectively gagged. The sinister straps compressing her features were oddly erotic. Catching Corey?s eyes, she winked. When her handcuff was unlocked she calmly stripped naked. Without prompting, she walked to the bench and lay upon it on her back.
The bench was versatile. Corey watched, cringing yet enthralled. At the back of Josie?s head a rod rose, at its top a hook. Next, the two wardresses briskly strapped her down. Arms down each side, legs spread, belly cinched tight. Then they produced the glass jar…!
Josie knew instantly. Corey, incredulously, guessed. In full view of the strapped-down delinquent each negress held the receptacle between her legs. When their bladders were empty the jar was nearly full. Josie eyed the yellow fluid bleakly as the stopper was screwed in place, from it trailed a rubber tube…! When the jar was hung on the waiting hook the loose end of the tube was inserted into the base of the phallus within Josie?s mouth. A tap was turned. Her eyes widened. She swallowed. Convulsively, she swallowed again…!
"When you drink our piss we stop whipping."
The English was unexpectedly clear. Each negro girl now had a short whip. Standing one on each side of the punished girl they began methodically to whip her breasts, one to each of the taut globes. Josie visibly writhed, her head tossing wildly. But she was helpless. Her punishment had begun.
Corey understood. The punishment fitted Josie?s crime. The leaking phallus in her mouth was exacting a frightful price for her moment of temper. The whips were not cutting the skin of her breasts, but they would hurt in a beastly horrible way no girl would want on two of the most secret places of her being. Josie gulped and gulped in an agonized race against the splatting thongs beating their measured tattoo upon her flesh. After what seemed to Corey Gibson far too long a time, the hateful bottle was empty. The whippers stopped. Josie?s breasts bore scarlet testimony of her penance. When she was freed she was too shamed to meet an eye. Downcast, she pulled on her clothes, said her?thank you? to those who had whipped her, and walked slowly from the room.