Author's Note: This is told from both sides of the relationship. Pure fantasy, enjoy !
Update (2012/05/10): It is over 2 years since I last added to this story, although I always liked it and wanted to finish it. I hope you feel it was worth it, please leave comments either way to let me know.
'Derek ?' I recognised that tone of voice – kind of wheedling, like she wanted something expensive or was going to own up to denting the car or something. We had just had sex so she must have been thinking I'd agree to anything.
'Yes, Jenny ?'
'I have a confession to make ...' She was even more hesitant than usual and I paid attention, maybe this was something big. I encouraged her to carry on.
'The thing is', she said eventually, 'I have this really kinky idea, its driving me mad, but I think you'll freak'.
As she was still naked, with her hands and arms bound tight behind her back, whip marks on her buttocks and my cum splashed across her face and chest, her 'kinky idea' would have to go some to freak me out.
My wife is a wonderful woman – flame red hair, alabaster-white skin, perfect petite body, very intelligent, great sense of humour. We have known each other for thirteen years and been married nearly ten and I am eternally grateful that she trusted me enough to tell me about her bondage fetish – something she'd never told anyone else. Luckily, being a cool analytical type, I had not freaked out or seen it as an opportunity to abuse her, but had asked all the right questions and taken my lead from her. I was a bit nervous and unsure when we first tried it, but I could see just how much it turned her on and that meant she was very keen to satisfy me so I would be happy to do it again, which I was and I did.
So, an idea more kinky than bondage, submission, humiliation, even masochism and torture, which we had got into it a big way ? This was going to be a key moment.
'Darling, if its something you feel you need to do to be fulfilled, we'll discuss it and if we can, we'll make it happen'.
'Okay, well ... the thing is ... the thing is, I want to be buried alive'.
I had to stop myself from saying 'What the FUCK ?!' – it certainly was an 'unusual' idea to say the least. Under my gentle prompting, she falteringly explained.
'I first saw a woman being tied up and buried in an old Ray Milland film when I was about fourteen and I was incredibly turned on. Its like, the ultimate Damsel in Distress scenario, and you know how much those turn me on'. I did indeed – we frequently played games of 'Girl kidnapped by collector', 'Wife held for ransom' or 'Resistance girl caught by the Gestapo' and they usually lasted a couple of days with multiple orgasms all the way – for her and for me.
'Since then its always been in my dreams but I was too scared to mention it. I've read various stories on the internet and they always turn me on massively. I just couldn't keep it a secret any longer. Do you think I'm just too sick ?'
'Darling, you're clearly not the first to think about this, as you say there are fantasy stories already out there. Let me do some research and work out how we can scratch this particularly ... interesting itch of yours. Meanwhile, I think you need to spend some time riding your pony'.
'Oh no, master, not the pony ! Jenny's been a good little girl !' She liked to do the protesting slavegirl talk, even though the pony was one of her favourites. I swiftly forced a ball gag into her mouth to stifle any more protests and led her by the chain between her nipple clamps into the play room.
The pony is a wooden saddle mounted on a post and it is rocked back and forward by a motor underneath. There is a hole in the middle of the saddle and two rather large rubber dildos protrude through, fixed to the post underneath. I made Jenny position herself over the centre of the saddle and lower herself onto the dildos, which she slid into her orifices with a little grunting and squirming. I fastened a cuff around her ankle and lifted her foot off the ground and pulled it up until the cuff could be clipped to a ring on the back of the saddle. I did the same with the other leg so that she was now forced to sit astride the saddle with the dildos thrust deep inside her. She whimpered in a mixture of pain and pleasure as she tried to get comfortable.
The motor was activated by sound – the louder the sound the faster it rocked the saddle. I put the iPod Shuffle next to the speaker and switched it on. 'Sex on Fire' by Kings of Leon blasted out, appropriately, and Jenny squealed as the saddle lurched forward like a bucking bronco. As she was pulled forward, the dildo in her vagina was driven deeper into her, while the clitoris teaser also came into operation. As the saddle shot back, the vagina dildo was withdrawn a little but the other dildo was driven up into her ass, making her grimace in pain. The torment was relentless until the song ended and, after a couple of seconds of rest, another started and the rocking continued. There were a few quieter tracks on there, but not many, and there were long, loud pieces like the 1812 Overture and Ravel's Bolero. She had already had one loud orgasm before I left her to it to go downstairs.
She would be happy to leave her little burial fantasy with me, to work out the details – she didn't want to hear much more about it until it – she hoped – happened.
I went on the internet and within a few minutes I had found a clip of the film she had mentioned on YouTube ('Premature Burial', 1962, if you're interested) but this had one slight drawback – the woman dies, which was what I (and hopefully Jenny) wanted to avoid. The stories on the internet were a mixture of 'snuff' stories and pre-arranged sessions where the participant – usually female – planned and controlled the session. I thought Jenny wanted something different - she would want to feel like it was all real, that she was really being buried alive and was not sure if she would get out of it (or could suspend her disbelief long enough to get off on the experience).
I was absorbed in my research until I heard Kings of Leon again, indicating the 3-hour shuffle had finished and was now repeating. I dashed up to find her covered in sweat and clearly exhausted, although she had not used our safe word – if she had had enough or felt in danger, she could say, sing, whistle or hum the Marseillaise and I would immediately free her. But a combination of stubbornness and insatiable appetite for sexual torment meant she rarely gave in. I switched off the motor and helped her into bed where, still tied and gagged, she fell asleep.
I started more wide-ranging research over the next few days and found a place which could help me. Rather anonymously named The Company, it was very expensive, but seemed professional and I felt this would make a great tenth wedding anniversary present. I went and checked out the operation and was amazed and impressed with their facilities and attention to detail as well as health and safety – a critical issue when they were going to be responsible for the safety of my wife.
When I explained what I wanted to do, they insisted that I provide a video of my wife, clearly not under duress, explaining how she wanted to do all this stuff, to cover them legally and prove they had not participated in kidnap and torture of an innocent victim. I managed to get Jenny to do this by explaining that, if we did manage to do this and, heaven forbid, it went wrong, I would need the video to convince the police I wasn't a wife murderer ! Jenny was more than happy to do it, seeing it as evidence that I was seriously considering the burial scenario.
There were various other procedures – AIDS and STD tests for both of us (getting a blood sample from Jenny without her noticing was interesting) – but eventually it was all booked, scheduled and paid for. I told Jenny that I was planning to take her for a wonderful meal on our anniversary and then whisk her off on holiday to a mystery destination the next day, for fun and games in the sun. Which was all true, but there was a little adventure before all that.
About a week before the anniversary, I told Jenny I had to be away in Liverpool for a meeting and would have to stay overnight, but would be back the next day. This was, of course, a white lie so that I could arrange her 'kidnap' and transportation to the facility at which her adventure was to take place. I watched the house and saw the lights go off at around 11pm, then waited until 3am before making my move. The Company had provided me with some clothes – a jacket and a mask which made the wearer look more like a faceless robot than an intruder – and some advice to make the initial kidnap both more convincing and also to play into the coming events.
So, suitably dressed, I sneaked into the house and went upstairs to watch Jenny sleeping. I was able to carefully put duct tape over her mouth without waking her up and, pulling back the duvet, I eased her naked body over onto her stomach and gently drew her hands together behind her back. She started to wake up as I wound tape around her wrists and then taped her hands together, palms facing, so she had no fingers free to unpick anything. She was struggling to look behind her and was mmphing at me, and I imagined she was trying to say 'Derek, is that you ?' but I was busy taping together her ankles and then her knees. As a final act, I put tape over her eyes, blindfolding her very effectively and I could tell her struggles and noises had become just a little more serious and genuine. The use of duct tape was a suggestion from The Company, as we had never used it, so it would seem foreign and sow a seed of doubt. I had a feeling it might be working.
I lifted her off the bed and put her over my shoulder to carry her downstairs, out into the (luckily but not surprisingly) deserted street and dumped her into the boot of the SUV I had hired for the occasion – another suggestion from The Company. Then we were off on our adventure.
The biggest problem I had was that The Company operates from an imposing chateau in northern France, which meant I was going to have to smuggle Jenny through the channel tunnel. The customs officers don't often search vehicles but it was always possible, so I was very nervous as I approached the barrier. But there was no problem and I got on the train, through the tunnel and out the other side without incident. It was a two hour journey to the chateau and I checked that Jenny was okay every hour – I didn't want her suffocating or choking on the way.
We eventually got there and I parked just inside the main gates by the guard house. One of the 'guards' greeted me and took me to the control room, where I could watch Jenny's 'processing' on the CCTV monitors which covered the entire complex – Jenny would never be out of my sight and there would also be independent surveillance to ensure there were no problems at any time, night or day. Later I was shown to my room in the chateau which was very 5 star elegant, plus it had intranet access to wherever Jenny was at any time of night or day. So I just kicked back and relaxed while watching the whole show.
I was obviously confused and disoriented when I woke up. But I was being tied up – it had to be Derek. As I struggled a little and twisted around, I caught a glimpse of him over me and was surprised by the weird helmet and sci-fi jacket affair, but still – it had to be Derek ? As he bound my legs together, I wondered what kind of sexual experience this was going to be with all my orifices unavailable, but when he picked me up and took me downstairs, I guessed it was some kind of kidnap game. I'd ridden in the boot of the car before, so it was not a total shock to be shut in there, but as time went by, I wondered where he could be taking me for this kidnap game. Hour after hour we travelled, and there were strange unexplained stops and noises. Every so often the boot would open and I would feel a hand on my face or breasts or buttocks, grabbing and pinching until I made some noise, then the boot would slam again and away we would go.
On the last of the occasions, the tape around my legs was cut and I was dragged out and stood on loose gravel, with a stiff but warm breeze playing over my skin. The tape was ripped from my eyes and, when I was able to open my eyes in the bright sunlight, I was totally shocked by what I saw. Not only was it not Derek standing before me, it was two men, dressed in police or guard uniforms, unsmiling. I took in the tight trousers tucked in to jackboots, then saw the belt adorned with a gun and holster, a knife and sheath, a leather flogger and what looked like a riding crop hanging down. Then they spoke. I didn't understand what they said, but the fact that it sounded French in very convincing French accents, startled me even more. I looked around frantically, saw the car I had arrived in and did not recognise it. I was stood in a courtyard surround by high walls with imposing iron gates through which I had presumably arrived and beyond that, a country road and rolling countryside. Oh my God, I thought, I must be in France ! The noises, delays, travel time, it all added up – I was now in a foreign country, in the hands of God knows who ! For the first time, I started to wonder if this really was staged or a genuine kidnap.
The guards took one elbow each and marched me through a door in one wall of the courtyard, into a whitewashed room with nothing in it but a table, on which was a mass of iron chains. One guard ripped the tape off my mouth while the other cut my hands free.
'What is this ? Where am I ?' I asked but they ignored me. A metal bit gag with an elongated tongue depressor was forced between my teeth and strapped in tight, the strap locking behind my head. A heavy iron collar, four inches wide and half an inch thick, was padlocked around my neck, then shackles locked on my wrists and ankles, each joined by heavy iron chains about two feet apart. One of them grabbed my hair and tied it back in a tight pony tail. Another door opened and a third guard came in carrying something, but at the same time the other two grabbed me and firmly held me down on my back across the table, legs spread. The new guard sprayed something on me and when I looked down, I could see my pubic hair was all covered in foam. I then saw the razor in his hand, but even though I protested and struggled, in a few swift swipes of the blade, I was completely smooth down there.
They let me up from the table and pushed me violently towards one of the walls. As I turned around, I was hit by a jet spray from a serious pressure hose, which pinned me back as the icy cold water hit my bare skin like knitting needles. When it was directed into my face, I had to fight for breath and gallons of it seemed to go in my mouth which I had to swallow. The guard holding it came right up to me and forced my legs apart, making the water shoot up my ass like an enema and flood my vagina too. A second guard started scrubbing at my skin with a yard brush, the bristles scraping painfully at my skin. I slid to the floor and could do nothing to prevent him forcing the brush into every intimate area of my body.
Eventually they shut the water off and dragged me to my feet. I was hustled towards another door and out into the bright sunlight, shivering and dripping. We were now on the other side of the walled courtyard and I could see the extent of the estate, an expanse of grass and trees in every direction except behind me, where an imposing wall twelve feet high and topped with vicious-looking metal spikes would ensure no escape.
Before me was a military-style flat bed truck and I was made to climb onto it. The chain between my wrists was attached to the bar overhead and the guards went back into the whitewashed room and I was left alone in the still, baking heat of the afternoon. Soon I had stopped shivering and dripping with water and was dripping with sweat instead. Suddenly I felt very tired and started to doze as best I could, standing as I was with my arms raised above my head. I realised I had no idea what was going on and had lost any conviction that this had all been arranged by Derek.
I must have been there for a couple of hours and was becoming delirious with the heat, when the door to the courtyard opened again. Two guards appeared and between them was another woman ! She was about six foot and black, with big breasts and wide hips, but she looked like she had been through the same process as me – stripped, chained, shaved and hosed. The guards pulled her up onto the truck and attached her chains as they had done mine, making us stand not just face to face but forcing our bodies together so that I could feel her damp coolness and she could probably feel my hot sweatiness. The truck engine roared into life and we lurched along the gravelled driveway in front of us. Our eyes met and I saw my own fears and uncertainties reflected in hers – neither of us thought this was a game.
As we rocked from side to side, I looked around. We were surrounded by rolling countryside, within and beyond the retaining wall, no houses or villages in sight. In front of us a house came into view and it looked magnificent – a cross between an ornate country house and a castle, I guessed it was either a French chateau or German schloss. As we approached, I saw something else which made me doubt that this was a set-up job – on the terrace I could see three or four figures all dressed as I had briefly seen my attacker, severely tailored jackets and helmet-like masks. My original theory, that I had been 'kidnapped' by Derek, seemed to be disproved by the fact that there were many 'Dereks' here, casually chatting, strolling and sitting watching our arrival.
In front of the house, the truck veered off and took us around to the rear entrance. It stopped and new guards met us and took us down. We were led into the house and down a wide stone staircase into what could only be described as the dungeons. The temperature dropped appreciably as we went down into the darkness. We were led along a corridor with many steel doors in the walls, all shut, until we came to one which was open. I was pushed into the darkness inside and, as my eyes adjusted, I could see that it was a cell, barely wider than the door and about ten feet deep. The walls and floor were bare stone and I could see in the light from the hall that they glistened and dripped with damp. Suddenly there was a loud clang and the light was cut off, leaving me in darkness. As my eyes adjusted again, I saw that high up on the end wall was a small barred window and in its light I could see the only thing in the room was a metal bucket in the far corner. I suddenly had an incontrollable need to use it and I shuffled over to it and squatted to relieve myself. As I looked back down the cell I could see the door and noticed there was no handle on this side; there was a slot at about head height – presumably so a guard could spy on the prisoner – and one just off the floor, the use of which I didn't understand until later, when a bowl of water and a bowl of porridge-like stew were tossed in. Feeling totally alone and abandoned, I sat down on the cold, wet floor and cried.
There were a bewildering array of options to be completed prior to arrival, specifying what could and could not be done to Jenny. I ticked most options to give her the full experience, but one I did not select was to allow the partners of other 'guests' to watch her torment or to allow them to participate either in her punishment or sexual encounters. As staff were strictly forbidden from having sex with clients, this meant I was the only one who could. I was allowed access to her at any time I wanted, and right now, I thought it would be a good time to pay a visit.
I don't know how long I lay there in the cold, damp and dark, but I think I dozed off. I was woken by the sound of the lock and the door opening, blinding me with the light from the hall. I felt hands grab me and rope put around my elbows, pulled tight, trapping my arms, which were still manacled at the wrists, to my sides. I looked up and saw one of the kidnappers over me, his frighteningly featureless mask staring down at me. I only saw him for a second because he tied a blindfold across my eyes. I was scared at what he would do to me, but he removed the bit gag from my mouth and I wondered if this was some sort of release.
'Please, you have to help me !' I begged, 'I have been kidnapped and –' My pleadings were cut short as he forced a ring gag into my mouth and strapped it in place. I was on my knees and I guessed what was coming next. Seconds later he was holding my head tight as he thrust his erection through the ring and deep into my mouth, making me choke as it touched the back of my throat. He rammed it back and forth, not caring about whether I gagged or could breathe. He said nothing, just let out a few grunts as he became more excited, his cock twitched and then my throat and mouth were full of his salty cum. He pulled it out of the gag and splashed his seed in my face and hair, before wiping his dripping member on my cheeks and chin. Satisfied, he pushed me to the floor and I heard the door slam shut with a reverberating clang. Tied and gagged as I still was, there was nothing I could do to prevent the cum sliding down my throat or dribbling out of my mouth and down my chin. Eventually I fell asleep again.
Some time later, the door opened again and this time I was roughly forced into a kneeling position with my face pressed against the floor, while my latest attacker forced his cock into my anus, without the benefit of lubricant. I grimaced in pain as he rode me hard, again saying nothing, just using me like a sex toy. Strangely, I found myself becoming sexually aroused, which never normally happened for me with anal sex, but before I could get near a climax, he had finished himself off by pulling out and splashing cum over my back and my buttocks. Once again, I was left alone to contemplate my abuse, unable to satisfy the excitement in my groin, until I fell into fitful sleep once again.
It happened a third time. This time I was laid on my back and my legs were tied, ankle to thigh, then I felt his body between my legs and his erection rammed into my cunt so hard I slid on the slimy floor and my head hit the wall. He banged away at me and this time I did come before him, then again and, incredibly, a third time before he climaxed. As before, he pulled out before spurting across my breasts and in my face again. I was left, tied and soiled once more.
When the door opened again, I was expecting further assault. But the blindfold and bonds were removed and I saw a guard standing over me. He removed the ring gag and replaced the bit gag, before shouting an order in French at me and pointing to the bucket. Interpreting his gestures, I picked up the stinking bucket and took it out of the door. The corridor was full of naked, chained women, all carrying buckets, and I followed the line up the stairs and into a bright courtyard. We each emptied our buckets into a slurry pit which stank disgustingly, then lined our buckets against a wall. We also lined up against the wall.
A guard came along the line and attached a heavy chain to each of our collars, chaining us all together like slaves, then we were marched out of the courtyard and down a dirt track. We shuffled along for ages in the hot sun, before coming to a quarry, where we were stopped and the chain removed. Each of us was handed a pickaxe and, with more shouted French, set to work breaking rocks from the quarry face. As we broke off a rock we had to pick it up and carry it to a wooden palette, a couple of yards from the face. Any slackening of pace or effort was punished by enthusiastic use of the flogger and barked, unintelligible orders.
I sneaked a look at my fellow inmates as we worked in the blazing sun. I counted ten other women and, at thirty two I reckoned I was one of the oldest there, although there was one woman clearly in her forties. Most were in their early twenties and one girl looked about sixteen, there were black, white and Asian women, some overweight but mainly skinny, but all bore the marks of their ordeal – bruises and whip marks as well as dried cum. I wondered what else they had suffered and how long they had been here.
There were four palettes and after a couple of hours they were well stacked with rocks. We were made to stop and gather by the palettes. A guard came up to me and tied a rope around my waist, then passed it between my legs and under the rope at the back, forming a crotch rope. The other end was tied to a palette and I saw we were all tied the same way, with three women to each palette except mine, where there were only two of us, me and the black woman I had arrived with. With much shouting and use of the floggers, the guards made us drag the palettes across the quarry towards a dumper truck about a hundred yards away.
The palette was incredibly heavy and it was almost impossible for the two of us to move it at all, despite the shouts and the whipping we received. The rope cut into my tender flesh like a knife and I was crying in agony as well as sweating profusely as we inched it forward. The others were doing slightly better and our being last attracted even more unwelcome attention. When I tried to pull the rope and take the pressure off my tortured pussy lips, I received a beating from one of the guards until I stopped.
Many times I fell in the dirt and had to pick myself up. Furtively glancing up, I could see others falling and being beaten, crying and wailing incoherently in their pain. It was like a scene from the Old Testament, the slaves of Egypt building the Pyramids.
At last we reached the truck and collapsed in the dirt. But the job was not complete – now we had to load the rocks into the truck and drag the empty palettes back across the quarry. And, unbelievably, they made us do it all over again !
By the time we had finished and were on our way back to the house, I was delirious with the heat and exhaustion, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Back in the courtyard, we were hosed down with icy water, which was a great relief although, as before, the pressure hose was so powerful as to be painful.
As we were led back inside, I was grabbed and led away from the others, to a different door and a stairway leading up into the house. I was taken into a room which was empty apart from a desk and chair and, in the middle of the room, something that looked like an electric chair. It was made of iron and had straps on the arms, legs and on a post extending upwards from the back of the chair. My chains and gag were removed and I was forced down onto the chair and the straps were tightened around my wrists, ankles, thighs and neck. A guard leant over me and attached a crocodile clip to each nipple, which made me grimace in pain, but when he parted my pussy lips and attached one to my clitoris, I let out a real scream. I squirmed on the seat but could do nothing to alleviate the pain, which gradually lessened to an uncomfortable ache. At that moment I suddenly got drenched by a guard throwing a bucket of water over me. The guards then stepped back and watched impassively as I coughed and spluttered.
The door opened and another guard came in. He was short and a bit fat, not well built like the other guards, wore a slightly different uniform, more black, and also round, steel-rimmed spectacles. He sat at the desk and, after staring at the papers he had brought in, looked up at me.
'Guten tag, Frau Mendel, wie gets Sie ?' he said. Confused, I said
'I'm sorry, I don't speak German. But my name is Manning, not Mendel ?'
He looked back down at his papers and continued to speak German to me. After a minute, he looked up and stopped talking, looking at me expectantly.
'I don't know what you want', I said rather nervously, 'I don't understand'.
The humourless smile on his face disappeared and his tone became sharper, harder, as he clearly asked me a question of some kind. I just shook my head dumbly.
He leaned forward and reached out to a switch on the desk. For the first time, I noticed that wires were attached to the crocodile clips and they led to a car battery under the desk. Before I could really take this on board and understand it, he flicked the switch and I was suddenly screaming in a world of pain as electricity shot through my body via the clips attached to my most sensitive places. It was excruciating and seemed to go on forever, although I guess it was maybe thirty seconds before he flicked the switch back again. I slumped forward, gasping for breath as every inch of my body twitched and tingled except for my nipples and clitoris, which hurt like hell. I heard him calmly asking me the question again.
'No, no, please ! I don't understand ! I am not Frau Mendel ! You've got the wrong – Aaaaah !' I screamed as the electricity coursed through me once more, longer this time, making me thrash in the chair and leaving me drained and weeping when it stopped.
The torture went on and on, each jolt being harder to endure and then, incredibly, in the middle of this hideous pain, I had the most explosive orgasm. It seemed more painful than pleasurable, but it washed over me in wave after wave of climax, until I was utterly spent and slumped unconscious in the straps. I was vaguely aware of being unstrapped and dragged away, back downstairs, back to my cold, damp cell. I lay on the floor as they put the chains and gag back on me and shut me away. I slept for I don't know how long.
The days became a blur. I was woken at all times of the night for sex in any position. The slopping out and hard labour became fixtures of the day. On the second day it rained continuously and, although it was cooler, it proved almost impossible to drag the palettes as we slipped and fell in the mud. Hard as the work was, I dreaded returning to the house and being taken to the torture room. As they took me away, I let out a howl of despair and fought against them but it was no use, they dragged me up the stairs and into the room.
The chair was still there but something new had been added, something looking like a dress mirror without the glass. I was made to stand against it and my wrists, ankles and neck were strapped to it so I was held upright and immobile. Suddenly everything went black as a bag was pulled over my head and tied around my throat.
Then I heard the interrogator next to me, still talking in German, still asking me questions I couldn't understand.
'Please ! You have to believe me ! You've got the wrong person !' By now I was convinced this was some kind of French Guantanamo Bay, an interrogation site for terrorists. Suddenly the board was rotated and I was lying on my back, my head below my feet. The questions kept coming and then the water – someone was pouring water onto the bag, making it stick to my face, making me breathe in the water through the material. I was coughing and choking and I was going to drown ! I heard the voice shouting in my ear but I couldn't get any air, I was straining against the straps to get free but it was no use, I was going to die ! as all these sensations came over me, I realised someone had stuck something large into my cunt which was rubbing vigorously against my G-spot. I felt like I was drowning but at the same time I was climaxing. There was a sudden biting pain in my nipples as clamps were applied but it just added to my stimulation and, seconds later, I came to another amazing orgasm. The questions, the water and the thrusts into my pussy continued on and on, making me scream, choke, gasp for air and climax time after time. Exhausted once again, I was dumped back in my cell.
Day three saw me strapped into the electric chair again. This time the hood was put over my head, so I could not anticipate when the clamps would be applied, when the water was splashed over me, or when the electric shock was coming. It just seemed to increase the intensity of the experience, and I realised I was actually dripping with sexual excitement before the first shock. When it hit me, I immediately climaxed, which shocked me as much as the jolt of electricity. I didn't seem to come down from the high either, so that when the next shock hit me, I came again, even more intensely this time, the climax lasting throughout the time the electricity was coursing through me, as I screamed at the top of my voice. A third and fourth jolt had the same effect and I was out of my mind with intense pain and extreme pleasure. I lost track of what was going on, seeming to be permanently at the point of orgasm or in the middle of it. At some point they stopped and dragged me away, but I had no recollection of it.
On day four, as I was brought into the room, I was terrified of being put back in the chair but somehow I also craved it. The pain was almost unbearable but the experience was so intense it was like a drug. However, on this occasion they didn't put me in the chair, but tied my wrists together in front of me and hoisted me up onto my toes, so I was stretched up towards the ceiling. A guard then attached a rope to my left ankle and pulled my leg up behind me, until it was virtually behind my head, and tied the rope to the ring just above my head that my wrists were tied to. He then tied a rope into my hair and attached that to the ring as well, so my head was pulled back. I was left balancing on the toes of my right foot like a naked ballerina for several minutes, until every muscle in my body seemed to be protesting, before the interrogator walked into the room. He took his time at the desk arranging his papers before he casually strolled over to me and started the inevitable questions I couldn't understand or answer. I just started to cry and shake my head, I knew there was nothing I could say.
After a while, he took the riding crop from his belt and started to flick it hard against my bare pussy, interjecting more questions. I cried out as each blow struck home with unerring accuracy, causing the maximum of pain as my tortured lips swelled due to the beating, but also due to the seemingly inevitable rise in my level of stimulation and the flow of juices, which were soon dribbling down the inside of my thigh. My leg was starting to tremble now with the stress of supporting my weight and I had to flex my knee to relieve the pain, even though that just transferred the stress to my shoulders and my other hip joint. I let out a full-blooded cry as without warning the interrogator swiped the crop down hard across my buttocks, before returning to torturing my cunt. After a couple of minutes of this, another unexpected blow, this time hard across my breasts, had me screaming again.
The interrogator barked an order and a guard responded by tying a rope around the ankle of my standing leg and pulling it until it left the ground and he could tie it up behind me with the other one. I was now hanging by my wrists, ankles and hair, with an unbearable strain on my shoulders and hips. The guard strapped a spreader bar between my knees to force my thighs apart, before the interrogator returned to his questioning. At the same time, another guard attached clamps to my nipples and started hanging lead weights from them, gradually dragging my breasts and nipples further towards the floor while making the clamps bite deeper and harder. I saw a guard with a pole, on the end of which was a large fat dildo. This was probably what had been used on me the other day and I soon felt it shoved into me with little care or attention and begin thrusting back and forth. As before, it seemed to be perfect at stimulating my G-spot and it was only seconds before I was screaming in orgasm. The torture went on, more weights on my nipples, more thrashing of the crop, more thrusting of the dildo, forcing me to come again and again and again. Eventually they lowered me to the floor and I lay there, crying in agony as the stress was relieved from my joints. I had to be carried back to my cell.
The next day, I was back in the chair, being electrocuted and forced to climax over and over, like some kind of animal responding to a stimulus. I felt so ashamed of myself, that I would respond in such a desperately nymphomaniac way to what was torture treatment. But I also knew I was hooked, like an addict needing my high, and what a high it was ! I was getting to the point where just strapping me down and hooding me was almost enough to make me cum ! I was almost disappointed when they released me.
The next time I was in the room – day 6 ? I had no idea – I was once again hung up by my wrists. But this time, they tied rope around the base of each of my breasts, then tied the other end to the corresponding ankle (left breast to left ankle, right breast to right ankle) with my legs raised to about the kneeling position. This meant I was hanging in mid-air trying to hold up my legs so they didn't pull on my breasts. They added nipple clamps so that every pull on my breasts intensified the pain felt through the clamps as well as on my breasts themselves. I was twisting and turning on the rope with the effort and, when they brought out the pole with the dildo, shoved it into my cunt and attached it to the floor beneath me, I found that every twist and turn was making the dildo drive up, pull out or twist around inside me. They brought out another pole and shoved this one into my ass, just intensifying all the stimulation. Now I was stimulating myself and I was soon bringing myself to a glorious climax. The questioning seemed almost perfunctory now and I paid little attention as I jiggled about on the rope, torturing myself to another orgasm and then another. I felt the flogger hitting me across the back, but it only made everything more intense as I drove myself onto the dildos heedless of the pain I was causing myself. Eventually they released me, but I felt only disappointment and resentment that they had stopped me.
The next day I was almost desperate to get to the torture room. But instead of taking us to the quarry to work, we stopped in the woods and everyone except me was handed a shovel. I was dragged away and suspended by my wrists from a nearby tree, so I could watch. The other inmates were ordered to dig a trench, which was eventually about seven foot long and four or five feet deep. It was only when I saw two guards carrying what was very obviously a coffin into the clearing that I realised what was going on – this was my grave and I was going to be buried alive ! By this time I was completely convinced this place was for real and that, through some terrible case of mistaken identity, I had become imprisoned in an official government-backed interrogation camp, so I was not thinking oh how lovely, its my fantasy, I was thinking oh my God, they've run out of patience with me and are going to kill me !
'Please !' I screamed, only vaguely understandable past the bit gag, 'I'll do anything ! Sign anything ! I did it, whatever you want me to say, I'll say it, just don't do this !'
The guards ignored my pleas but took me down from the tree and dragged me to the box. They forced me into it, locking the collar and manacles to the sides, so I could still move but not get out. I thrashed from side to side uselessly and screamed for mercy as they daubed something onto my face and body with a brush. I got a taste of it on my lips and it was incredibly sweet – I had no idea why they would do this, but it just added to my fear. I could see the frightened looks on the faces of the other women, but the guards were impassive as they put ropes on the sides of the box so it could be lowered into the hole.
Then they closed the lid. It was in two parts – bottom half wooden and top half, over my face, thick perspex so I could see out. I watched helplessly as they padlocked the lid shut and did some other preparations [they were attaching air lines to either end – Derek], whilst I was still screaming myself hoarse inside. I saw them making the women pick up the ropes and then the casket was lifted off the ground, manoeuvred over the hole and then jerkily lowered. As I looked up through the coffin, I could see the outline of the hole against the sky and the women gathered around it, looking down at me. I thought I could see some of them crying as the guards made them pick up the shovels again and, I guessed, ordered them to start shovelling earth back in. I saw one woman refuse and drop her shovel, but she was beaten by several of the guards until she picked it up again and started to work.
I screamed as the first grains of soil fell on the perspex window above me. I fought against the chains holding me and pushed at the coffin lid, but it was no use. I could hear the dirt landing on the coffin, building up all around it. Gradually, the window started to be covered and I could see less and less, until finally, everything went black and I was truly buried. I could hear the earth still being shovelled on top for a few minutes and then everything was silent.
So this is it, I thought, I am going to die ! The air quickly warmed up, making me think I was running out of oxygen, although it was probably more to do with me hyperventilating and sweating. I couldn't believe that I'd fantasised about this very thing and now, here I was, experiencing the full horror of the real thing ! I was weeping uncontrollably, huge sobs shaking my body, and trying to hug myself to give myself some illusion of comfort. I would never see Derek again, I thought, never hold him, hug him, kiss him, suck his cock, feel him tying me up, tighter and tighter until I can hardly breathe, then fucking me hard, harder, making me come over and over and OVER ! I realised my fingers had slid into my wet cunt and I was bringing myself off as I lay there, imprisoned, encased, ENTOMBED ! I climaxed long and hard as I succumbed to the fantasy of being buried alive and tried to ignore the reality.
As I lay there in the pitch black, another thought occurred to me – I wasn't dead yet. Surely I would have used up all the oxygen by now, especially with all the screaming and hyperventilating, plus that orgasm had lasted a while. I couldn't put my hands above my head, but I reached down with my toes to the end of the box and was sure I could feel cool air and a hole. I guessed they didn't actually want me to die, this was part of my torture ! They were trying to break me with this new terror !
Once I had realised that, I started to feel a lot less frightened and a lot more turned on. Here I was, finally, buried alive, my number one fantasy, with no idea why or by who or when they would let me out – the ultimate damsel in distress scenario I had imagined and described to Derek. That should maybe have rung some bells in my head, but I had been here a week, sleep deprived, starved, tortured – I wasn't going to be at my sharpest, was I ? All I had to do now, I reasoned, was to lie back and wait. Once I knew it was another attempt to torture me, I was, in a funny way, in control – I knew I could take it. I explored what I could of my prison with my fingers and toes, but my chains kept me from reaching very far. But I could reach my crotch, and I couldn't stop myself from touching myself, keeping myself near the edge of orgasm but not pushing myself over unit, until ... AAAAH ! I couldn't resist it !
The 'coffin' was wired with night-vision cameras and microphone so we could see and hear exactly what Jenny was up to. I was initially very concerned at her level of panic and fear, but it soon became obvious that she had overcome her initial terror and was now enjoying herself, in a very physical way ! I discussed it with the director of The Company and we agreed that we should inject a little danger and uncertainty back into her mind. As always, they had already thought ahead and were well prepared.
I don't know how long I had been down there – several hours I would guess – but I was now relaxed enough to doze off. I wondered idly how long they would keep me here before, presumably, digging me up and trying some other torture technique to break me.
I felt a tickle on my toe and reflexively shook my leg. Within seconds, I could feel something, hundreds of insects swarming up my leg ! I let out a scream – I hate any insects on me, I'll normally run a mile when a wasp or a spider is anywhere near me – and tried to shake or brush them off, but there were too many and I couldn't reach them, given my restricted movement in the chains. Suddenly there was something in my hair and swarming over my face ! I was screaming in terror once again as I shook my head frantically from side to side, unable to wipe them away and feeling them crawling over my tightly shut eyelids, at the edge of my nostrils, even onto my lips, clamped as tightly as possible over the bit gag to prevent them getting into my mouth.
Bastards, I suddenly thought, fucking bastards ! They had daubed sweet, sugary syrup on me to attract ants and now they were all over me. I realised they had concentrated on painting it over my face, breasts and cunt so that was where they were teeming now, driving me insane. It was another level of torture but recognising it as such didn't make it any less horrible ! I wondered if the ants had found their own way to me or had been tipped into the air tubes at either end of the box. I was startled to feel the odd nip of pincers as the ants greedily lapped up the sugar. I realised I would get no respite from this bizarre assault until they had exhausted the supply of food on me and did my best to ignore their little feet running all over my body, but I couldn't help squirming under their touch and letting out the odd yelp of discomfort.
Once they had 'cleaned' my face and stopped trying to get into my cunt, I was able to handle the reduced traffic across my skin with a little more equanimity. I was eventually able to relax enough to doze again, once more with my sticky little fingers playing with my sticky little cunt.
It must have been a few hours later, I had been asleep, it was feeling hot and a little stuffy, when I felt something cold on my foot. I jerked it back as a reflex, fearing another insect attack, or maybe even animal – worms, rats ? But I realised it was something different and tentatively poked my toe back towards the end of the box. With a rather sickening feeling, I realised I could feel a little water on the bottom, just a puddle, but I couldn't tell whether it was getting deeper or not. With a sense of shock, I realised my hair was now also wet – water was leaking in from the other end as well !
What did this mean, I wondered. Was someone pouring water into the air pipes above to torment me ? Or, worse, was it raining on the surface and the rain was falling into the pipes or leaking into the tubes ? I tried to tell myself it was just another attempt to unsettle me, but I couldn't get the thought out of the back of my mind that it was something unexpected, something out of their control and therefore out of anyone's control, which made it far more scary and, perversely, far more erotic.
I couldn't feel the water coming in or hear anything, but after maybe half an hour, there was a thin covering of water underneath me, from one end of the box to the other. Very gradually, almost imperceptibly, it was getting deeper. I could feel it cold against my back, between my buttocks. Maybe an hour later, when I moved around in the box, I could hear it splashing and feel it moving against me as little waves came back off the sides. I was shivering now, partly from the chilling effect of the water, partly from the fear that I was going to drown !
I lay perfectly still for what seemed like hours trying to detect any rise in the water level, but it seemed to have stopped at about three inches deep. Gradually I relaxed as the fear of imminent death receded and, despite the fact that I had been doing nothing other than alternately dozing and panicking for hours and that I was lying in freezing water (gradually warmed by my body heat), I fell asleep.
I remember dreaming that I was on Titanic and Leonardo Di Caprio was kissing me, I was posing naked, we were making love. Then the iceberg struck and we were in the water, but Leo was on the wreckage and I was in the icy water, slipping under, trying to get out ...
Imagine waking up in the pitch black, not remembering where you are, to feel yourself lying in water and coughing, choking and spluttering from water in your mouth and nostrils. You try to get up but your arms are chained down, you lift your head but bump it on the inside of a coffin lid ...
Not surprisingly, I panicked and screamed, thrashing about in the water, my heart pounding. After a few seconds I remembered where I was and calmed down enough to realise the water was deeper than when I had gone to sleep – if I lay my head down, it was in my ears and against my cheeks. As I steadied my nerves and stopped splashing, I could hear the sound of water running – not just dripping – out of the pipes at either end and into the main body of water. This time I really did freak out because I could feel the level rising, there were literally no more than nine inches between the surface and the lid of my coffin.
I started crying and shouting for help, to whom I did not know, I didn't expect to be rescued – how would they know I was drowning underground. For some reason, and I know it wasn't because I expected it to make any difference, I started humming and trying to sing the Marseillaise, my 'safe' word / song. Maybe it was a comfort thing, maybe I really thought magic would happen and Derek would appear to rescue me.
But I heard a faint noise somewhere above me and I shouted out the song at the top of my voice. I was sure I heard digging, my hopes rose, and then I heard a clang as something – a shovel – hit the lid above me. There was a scrabbling sound as earth was pushed away by hand, light suddenly started to flood into the box, blinding me. By the time I could open my eyes, there was a square of sky above me and a face, which was silhouetted against the sky, but somehow I knew it was Derek. I heard the locks on the side of the coffin and then the lid opened and I heard his voice, soothing, reassuring as he unlocked me from the sides of the box.
As soon as I could move, I threw my arms around him and held on tight, weeping tears of relief and exhaustion into his neck. He lifted me out of the water and up onto the grass, out in the fresh air and sunlight. I wouldn't let him go as he awkwardly tried to remove the gag and shackles from me and, once I was finally free, we lay on the ground, holding each other, him gently reassuring me, me telling him between sobs how much I loved him.
He had a bath robe which he wrapped me up in and, rather bizarrely, a golf buggy to ride in. I took a good look into my 'grave' to take in the details of the scene and I felt the excitement rise in my tired body – already I was rationalising it as the greatest turn-on rather than a life-threatening experience. Derek had to steer the buggy with one hand as I wouldn't let him go.
As we came around the corner, I saw we were heading for the chateau and had a panic attack.
'Oh God, Derek, we can't go back there ! They'll torture me again !' My befuddled and tired brain had still not worked out what was really going on here.
'It's okay, darling', Derek reassured me, 'I've sorted it all out. We have a beautiful room and a hot shower to look forward to, no more torture'.
I decided to just put my trust in him and stop thinking about it for myself for a while.
It was indeed a beautiful room and I spent hours under the shower, letting the fear and tension, aches and pains just leave my body under the hot water. I insisted Derek get in there with me, touch me, wash me, kiss me, fondle me and, after a while, lift me up and fuck me slowly and sensually up against the shower tiles as the water ran down our bodies. It was make-up sex of the highest order !
Eventually we got out and I sprawled out on the bed, totally relaxed for the first time in over a week. There was a knock at the door, which suddenly put me on edge again, but Derek calmed me and answered it. It was a waiter with a room service trolley, laden with fruit, champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
'Guten tag, Frau Manning, wie gets Sie ?' the waiter said and I suddenly realised it was my interrogator, the man who had given me such pain and such incredible orgasms ! I was flustered, but he and Derek were both smiling and I relaxed again, finally understanding that it had all been a very elaborate, very convincing role-play game.
On the trolley was a DVD and Derek put it in the player so we could watch it on the large screen TV. It was a full 2-hour movie of my stay at the chateau, from the moment when I was unloaded from the boot of the car to the moment Derek released me from the ground. They had all the incidents covered – slopping out, working in the quarry, my individual torture sessions, even the night-time assaults in the cell, using night-vision cameras. Then came the burial and the shock of seeing and hearing myself in the coffin ! I would have been embarrassed if I hadn't been such an exhibitionist. Watching the DVD really turned me on and I insisted Derek tie me to the bed and fuck me till he couldn't do it any more. I was impressed by how long he kept going, interspersing full-on sex with foreplay and cunnilingus to make it last and to drive me wild. After that, we had to have another shower.
We then dressed for dinner – I was shocked to find out there was a 5-star restaurant in the chateau ! Apparently the food I had been served may have been made to be vile-looking and tasting, but it was nutritionally designed to ensure I didn't starve, while feeling starved at all times. Derek had bought me new, sexy underwear and a wonderful strapless evening dress for the occasion.
'Happy anniversary, darling, you look ravishing !' he said as we went down.
'You can ravish me later' I smiled.
The was a single, large table in the restaurant and all the guests sat together. They were all men, the partners of the women currently locked away in the cells below. Just before we sat down, another couple came in and I saw, to my surprise, that the woman was none other than the black woman who had arrived with me ! We hugged and kissed like long lost sisters, then spent the entire meal chatting about our experiences. It was her third visit to the chateau and she had enjoyed her time immensely, although my burial had given her some ideas for the next visit.
Part 2 (added: 03/21/2010)
While Jenny was 'enjoying' herself at the chateau, I took the opportunity to get to know some of the other men there. They were an interesting mix, some like me were husbands or partners accompanying their submission-obsessed girlfriends, others were self-proclaimed dominants who had brought their women to be punished and humiliated with little regard for the feelings or motivations of the 'slaves'. One with whom I got on particularly well, let's call him Ahmed, was a Moroccan who had come to France and made his fortune as a banker, before returning home and building a palace-like mansion in the desert. He was there with his French wife Sophie, a stunning twenty-year old, whose own favourite bondage fantasy revolved around being a resistance fighter or spy, captured and interrogated by the Secret Police. Ahmed showed me some footage of her treatment over the past few days and, I had to admit, her fetishes were as weird as Jenny's.
I got on well with Ahmed and, over the week, we hatched a plan on how we could give both our women a pretty wild experience which they would be unlikely to forget. We kept in touch and, over the next couple of months, mapped out all the details. We agreed a date and I cleared my diary for a couple of weeks, to ensure there would be no interruptions to spoil the fun.
Casablanca was a wonderful surprise. Derek had been virtually camped in his office for a week and he said he had to finish off a big contract negotiation the following fortnight, so we had just a four-day weekend set aside. The flights were first class, the hotel was seven star and the city was gorgeous. We visited the mosque, saw the sights, dined well, walked on the beach at sunset, all so romantic ! On our last night, Derek presented me with the most beautiful eternity ring and we strolled, arm in arm, through the busy marketplace, looking at trinkets, bartering with the locals, just having a great time.
As we finally strolled back towards the hotel down the still-busy streets, we were approached by a pair of uniformed policemen. They seemed quite friendly and relaxed, and they apologised as they asked to see our papers, just a formality. We handed over our passports and Derek gave them a document from the hotel. The shorter of the two examined them carefully before passing Derek's passport and the paper back to him, then flicking through the pages of my passport. A frown came over the policeman's face as I saw him looking at the Israeli entry visa.
"I'm sorry madam", he said in heavily accented English, "You will have to come with us".
"What's the problem ?" Derek said, stepping next to me protectively and holding my hand.
"Nothing, a formality I am sure" he smiled, "We will return your wife to her hotel as soon as we have asked her a few questions". The other, burlier man took hold of my bare arm and started to pull me towards a waiting, unmarked car.
"She's not going anywhere without me" Derek said firmly and made to follow us. The first policeman blocked his way and I found myself being dragged away from him.
"What is the meaning of this ?" Derek shouted as the car door beside me opened and I was pushed towards it. I saw him barge into the policeman but the other man stood his ground and in an instant, had produced a night stick and Derek was suddenly on the floor. I got the fleeting impression of people all around staring at us, before I was unceremoniously shoved into the car and sent sprawling on the back seat. I felt the weight of the policeman on top of me, heard the car door slam and then the engine roared into life and the car barrelled off down the road. My arms were pulled together behind my back and I felt the cold steel of handcuffs click in place around my wrists. I was dragged up into a sitting position and was just starting to protest at this outrageous treatment, when a cloth was stuffed deep in my mouth, rendering all communication impossible. A second rag tied around my head ensured the gag could not be spat out, and although I continued to struggle and scream, I knew it was useless.
As I looked around desperately, I realised for the first time that the window glass was tinted, making it impossible for the people outside to see me, even when we had to crawl through the traffic or stop at traffic lights, and any sound I managed to make was drowned out by the blaring car radio. The driver of the car was not in uniform and, as I watched in confusion the man next to me removed the trappings of his uniform until he was just a man in a shirt and slacks, no longer an officer of the law. I started to panic at this point, wondering what was going on, then saw the leer of the face next to me as he leaned in towards me, squeezing me into the corner of the seat, his foul breath in my face. I felt his hand on my thigh and I pushed my knees together, but his grin became a little wider as he forced my legs apart and I felt his fingers pressing against the front of my panties. As he poked roughly at me, his nails scrabbling at the edges of the material until he could get inside and thrust into me, I struggled and squirmed vainly but my body was already betraying me. He knew I was already wet with desire by then, but I doubt he realised it was as much the kidnap and bondage which had got me excited as his inexpert fumblings. He grabbed the lapels of my blouse and ripped it open, sending buttons flying and exposing my bra, which he pulled up and off my breasts. I felt him squeeze them hard, and press my nipples between his thumb and forefinger until I cried out in pain. His head went down and he started to suck and bite my breasts, while his hands went back to pulling at my panties until they were halfway down my thighs and he could force his fingers deep inside me, driving me wild with guilty pleasure.
After maybe thirty minutes of this forced stimulation, driving me wild but never quite enough to make me come, the car stopped and the door I was leaning against was opened, making me fall out onto the dusty ground. The driver dragged me to my feet and away from the car. He also had a frightening look on his face, but his was suddenly accompanied by a knife brandished under my nose. As the thought of them killing me here on this desolate patch of scrub land outside the city was crossing my mind, the knife was expertly used to cut the blouse and skirt from my body, followed swiftly by my bra and pants, leaving me standing there in the warm night air naked. He forced me down onto my knees and pulled off my shoes, which he added to the pile of my ruined clothes just in front of me. The other man came around the car holding a can, which he opened and I caught the unmistakable whiff of gasoline, which he poured liberally over my clothes. The driver casually lit a cigarette and tossed the match onto the pile, which went up with a blinding and searing flash of orange flame. The man who had dressed as a policeman now had my clutch purse in his hand and was rifling through the contents. He picked out the cash and my credit cards, then tossed the purse onto the fire. After a moment's thought he also tossed the credit cards on the flames, presumably deciding they were traceable. My passport and all forms of identification were in there ! I watched helplessly as the inferno quickly engulfed everything, leaving me as just an unidentified, anonymous kidnap victim. What did they want ? Would they ransom me back to Derek, or did they have something else in mind ?
The driver was now in an animated conversation on his mobile phone and, while I couldn't understand a word, his gestures in my direction led me to believe he was discussing me. Meanwhile the other man went behind me a I felt him binding my wrists and then elbows tightly together, before unlocking and removing the now unnecessary handcuffs. He gave me a humourless smile as he pocketed the cuffs and said "For the next one". I realised right there that I was not a one-off, these guys had done this before, and successfully. My fear level just went up a notch.
After a few minutes, the driver seemed to reach some satisfactory conclusion, ended the phone call and both men went over to lean on the car, light a cigarette and carry on a relaxed conversation, completely ignoring me. All I could do was watch the flames as they gradually died down, leaving nothing of my belongings but a small pile of ash.
A while later I saw headlights coming towards us, which turned out to belong to a beat-up old Renault van. The two guys put out their cigarettes and strolled over to it, as two other men, dressed in traditional Arab robes, got out. The four of them struck up a conversation and walked over to where I was kneeling. They seemed to be discussing me and one of the new arrivals pulled out a roll of banknotes and handed it to the driver. He counted it and laughed, then handed it back. The conversation became more animated and I realised they were negotiating a price for me – I was being bought and sold ! The roll of notes was added to and eventually, with a look of mock disappointment, the driver pocketed the cash, sealing the deal. Without a backward glance, my original kidnappers got into their car and drove off at high speed, leaving me with my new 'owners'.
I don't know whether it was the robes, the heavy black beards or the facial features, but these guys seemed much more Arabic than the others, much more scary, especially as they didn't smile or joke at all, even to each other. One grabbed my hair and pulled me to my feet, then dragged me over to the van, where I was bundled in the back and forced to lie on my stomach. I felt my ankles being tied in a cross, spreading my knees, then the rope was tied around my neck, choking me in a cruel hogtie. The rear doors slammed shut and I was trapped in the windowless, airless tin box. The engine gunned and we rattled off to some new terror.
The 'policeman' helped me up off the pavement with a smile and the crowd, who had been staring at the scene played out before them, went back to their lives, assuming it had all been some kind of performance art.
Ahmed came out of the shadows and slapped me on the back.
"That all seemed to go very well" he said jovially, "Come, let us move on to the next stage".
We strolled through the market to a bar hidden away in a corner and went inside. The first impressions were of smoke, noise and a crowd. As my eyes adjusted to the lighting, I saw the clientele were exclusively men, some young, dressed in jeans or slacks and drinking coffee and shorts, others older, in traditional dress and smoking hookah pipes. In one corner was a small stage area, where a girl was belly dancing in a very skimpy costume to blaring Arabic music. Although she was very attractive, no-one was paying her much attention. We found a table and Ahmed ordered drinks.
"You know the costume she wears, the bedlah, the bikini with all the trimmings, it was invented by Hollywood ! You decadent westerners !" he bellowed over the noise.
The girl left the stage to be replaced by an older, more curvy woman. This seemed to meet general approval and there was much more clapping and whistling as she swung her ample hips.
"Are these all your guys ?" I asked, wondering just how staged this was.
"No, these are normal customers, the great and not-so-good of Casablanca. I only hired the stage for our little performance" he said. "You should go get changed now".
I went to the men's room and put on my disguise – Arab dress, fake tan and false beard, so Jenny wouldn't recognise me. As I went back out, the woman was leaving the stage to much applause and a large, rotund man took to the stage. As I sat down, Ahmed translated for me.
"He is announcing your wife. He says a western whore and adulteress has been caught defiling our country, our culture and our religion. The police can do nothing, he says [this got a lot of boos], but she has been brought here, tonight, to be publicly humiliated and punished [lot of cheers at this point]".
At that moment, two burly men burst onto the stage, dragging between them a kicking and screaming, and very naked, Jenny. The crowd erupted in cheers, boos, shouts and whistles as her wrists were manacled to chains hanging from the ceiling and her legs dragged apart and shackled, leaving her totally exposed, spread before the baying mob. Her pale skin glistened with sweat under the lights as she twisted and pulled at her bonds, to no effect. Gradually her face took on a look of shock and fear as she focused on the sea of faces before her, some twisted in anger, some laughing, others leering greedily, but all staring at her helpless, naked body.
The MC was shouting, pointing out her bare breasts, her shaved mound and slapping her firm buttocks, encouraging and enraging the crowd still further. One of the belly dancers came back on stage carrying a flogger, which she waved to the audience like a magician's assistant, before handing it to the MC. He waved it in Jenny's face, taunting her with it, as the crowd shouted their encouragement. He pulled back his arm and brought down the leather thongs hard across her back, eliciting a scream from Jenny we could hear over the cheers in the room. He lashed her again, this time across the breasts, and her cry of anguish was pitiful for me to hear, but I knew that somewhere, deep down, she was absolutely loving this. The whipping went on and on and, as each blow landed, a cheer went up. I could see Jenny's face was stained with tears as well as running with beads of sweat in the stifling heat of the bar. The MC, who was sweating profusely himself, took a breather and walked around her, pointing out the red wheals all over her body. Jenny's head lolled forward on her chest, her red hair covering her tortured face. It suddenly shot back and her face twisted in new agony as the MC flicked the thongs of the flogger expertly between her thighs, whipping her shaved pussy hard, to the delight and amusement of all around.
At last the flogging stopped, and the belly dancer / assistant returned, taking the flogger and handing the MC an empty beer bottle. He held it up to the crowd and explained something I didn't understand, and when I turned to Ahmed for a translation he merely raised his eyebrows and smiled. I turned back and watched as the MC pushed the neck of the bottle into Jenny's sore pussy, forcing it in until the shoulder of the bottle were pressing against her sex, then twisting and working it until she cried out in pain and even
more of it went inside her. Eventually there was just a few inches of the bottle protruding out of her grotesquely stuffed cunt and the look on her face was a mixture of pain, surprise, shame and arousal. The woman came back with a second bottle, and a roar of approval went up around me as they guessed where this was going. Jenny let out a cry of pain as the neck of the bottle was forced between her buttock and all the way up to the shoulders, which were never going to get past her tortured anus.
The MC started declaiming to the crowd again and Ahmed turned to me to explain.
"Now comes the fun part – the slave auction !"
Suddenly people all around me were on their feet, waving wads of notes at the MC, who pointed as he accepted higher and higher bids for the body in front of us. I wondered if Jenny understood that the winning bidder would be her new master and she the slave, but when I saw the look of fear and desperation on her face, I was pretty sure she got the idea.
The bidding was slowing down as the price rose and still Ahmed made no move. The MC seemed about to close the auction and accept the last bid, encouraging a small fat man at the front to start clambering onto the stage, when Ahmed held up a thick roll of notes and called out his bid. The fat man threw Ahmed a look of hatred and frustration, but backed down. The auction was over. Jenny was dragged off the stage and away to her new life as a slave. Another belly dancer appeared and the crowd went back to its conversation.
"So, Derek, we have sorted out your wife", Ahmed said. "Shall we now go and deal with mine ?"
Part 3 (added: 03/30/2010)
As I was dragged off that stage, I was in a state of shock. I couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that I had been displayed naked, whipped and abused in front of a huge crowd of men cheering and encouraging my torment. It may have been my imagination, but when that bottle was shoved into me, it seemed like they were calling for the man to make me come and, I am ashamed to admit it, I did – I climaxed, hard and loud, right there in front of them. Could they tell, amongst all the shouting and jeering ? I'm pretty sure they could.
In my dazed state, I was bundled into a back room with a bare light bulb and not much else. A large ball gag was forced into my mouth and a head harness strapped on and locked in place, then a large, muscled thug came into the room carrying what looked like anchor chain, it was so thick. There was an iron collar, about half an inch thick, which they closed around my neck and locked with the kind of padlock you normally see on the gates of an industrial plant. I was already weighed down and the big guy was still holding most of the chain, which rang from the collar to my waist, where it branched so two cuffs could be locked around my wrists, about two feet apart. It then went to my ankles, which were then also manacled about two feet apart. These were, I realised with a pounding heart, slave chains. Oh my God, I thought, I have been sold into slavery ! I felt physically sick at the thought, but at the same time there were butterflies of excitement in my stomach. Now that I had to carry the whole weight of the chains, my head was bowed, my back bent and it was difficult to keep my arms from dropping by my side. I was pushed in the back and a harsh command was barked at me, and I shuffled forward towards the door.
I was taken out of the back door into an alley, where a flatbed truck was waiting. Already loaded on the truck were several boxes, tins and drums, a couple of bails of hay and, bizarrely, a goat, tethered to the rail by the cab. The tailgate was lowered and I was forced to scramble on board and then tethered alongside the goat, which came over to check out his new travelling companion. The various guards and bar staff went back inside and left me alone.
Just as I was wondering if this was an opportunity to escape, the club door opened and an old man emerged, staggering unsteadily as he called his farewells to people inside and fumbled for his keys. Without a glance at me, he got into the truck and fired up the engine. The truck lurched forward and made its stop-start progress down the alley and into the brightly lit street. It must have been the early hours of the morning by now but there were still a couple of people around, either making their way home or possibly starting the new day. They didn't pay any attention as we drove past, despite the fact that I was in plain view. This brought home the fact to me that I was no longer the privileged western tourist with my attractive disposable income, but a chattel, bought in the market, no more important or noteworthy than the goat bleating alongside me.
As the truck reached the edge of the city, the truck speeded up and the road became more potholed, and I spent most of my time hanging on for dear life as I slid from side to side on the bed of the truck. The goat seemed to cope easily with the jerky, swaying motion while I slammed into the boxes and tins on either side of me. Mile after mile went by and soon the city was no more than a few lights on the horizon as we barrelled through the arid landscape. At last we turned off the main road onto a dirt track and, after a couple of miles, I could see we were approaching a set of buildings, lit up in the empty desert. The truck pulled up in a courtyard and two men came out of one of the buildings to unload. They left me till last, as if I didn't matter, even unloading the goat and making sure it was settled in its pen, making me feel like I was an afterthought. They untied me and dragged me roughly from the truck, letting me fall into the dirt, before forcing me to my feet and towards my own pen. I was shocked to see that it was already occupied, by a family of pigs, which woke up and started grunting in protest as they were woken up and shooed away from one corner. The two men made me sit on the ground in the pig shit while they put a chain on my collar and locked it to the fence, so I couldn't get up and try to get out. They unlocked and removed the head harness – clearly there would be no need to keep me silent out here, no-one would be coming to rescue me. They then walked off, leaving me in the dark, with the curious pigs for company. The lights went off, the truck drove away, and silence fell. With few other options, I lay down on the hard earth. I suddenly felt incredibly tired – it had been a long and stressful day – and almost instantly fell asleep under the stars.
I was awoken by being prodded with a stick, which is never a good start to the day. It gives surprisingly cold in the desert at night and I was chilled to the bone and shivering as I staggered to my feet. The sun had not yet risen above the mountains on the horizon and I guessed I hadn't had more than a couple of hours sleep, so I felt pretty bad as I shuffled along, steered and prompted by the stick being applied forcefully to my buttocks, like some dumb animal.
We approached what was clearly the stable block, given the horses wandering about in the yard and the stench. I was rather shocked when an Arab girl, about ten years old, dressed in riding britches and boots, walked out of the stables. I was suddenly embarrassed by my nakedness, but she was neither surprised or shocked, indeed she looked angrily at me and barked an order in Arabic. I looked around uncertainly and saw that the man who had brought me here had just wandered off, leaving me in the care of this child. My attention was brought back by a loud slap and a sharp pain on the back of the thighs. She had hit me with a riding crop and was raising her arm for another blow as she shouted at me again. I hurried into the stables, not wanting to be hit again and the girl pointed with her crop at a brush leaning against the wall. I took the hint and grabbed the brush and started sweeping up the straw and dung on the floor. The girl hit me anyway, as hard as she could right across the buttocks, making me squeal and glance around at her. There was a cold, hard smile on her face – she was enjoying this !
I swept the mess out into the yard and over to a trailer, every so often receiving sharp swipes from the riding crop. As the sun rose in the sky, the stench got worse and I was soon covered in prickly sweat. Once I had cleared the stable floor, the girl, through a series of incomprehensible shouts and liberal use of the crop, made me empty the old hay out of the stalls and carry it to the trailer. The straw pricked and rubbed against my bare, sweat-covered skin until I was scratched and sore. Once all that was done, I had to load all the sweepings into the trailer with my bare hands, which meant getting smeared in horse dung so that I now stank as badly as the stables had.
Next the girl handed me a scrubbing brush and order me down on my hands and knees. She got a hosepipe and started spraying it around the stable, encouraging me to scrub the concrete floor clean. She thought she was punishing me by soaking me with the hose, but it was a sweet relief, cooling me down and allowing me to suck in some much-needed water. Unsurprisingly, she couldn't resist whacking me repeatedly across my upturned, very sore ass.
I was still at it when the horses were walked in after their morning exercise and started dropping steaming, smelly dung on my nice clean floor, which I then had to clear up with my bare hands.
At last the girl decided I had done enough or she got bored, and she wandered off, leaving me kneeling there in the stables. No-one seemed to be bothered about me, so I crept off into a shady corner with the hosepipe and kept myself cool and fresh with it.
After about ten minutes, I saw the old man who had driven me the previous night, leading a donkey. He spotted me and shouted something at me and, not knowing what he wanted, I shuffled over to him. He led me over to another building and ordered me to load a series of baskets of bread, meat and fruit and cases of wine and beer onto the donkey. Once it was fully laden, he tied a rope to my collar and the other end to the saddle of the donkey. Then he mounted up and slowly walked it out of the yard and away from the buildings, with me shuffling along behind.
It was near the middle of the day and the desert sun beat down on my naked body. I was hot and sweaty again within minutes and, as I we trudged slowly but inexorably on, I started to get dizzy from the heat. Suddenly my legs buckled under me and I fell to the ground in a swoon, the dust choking me and coating my skin. But the old man didn't look around and the donkey kept plodding on, so I was dragged through the dust by the rope at my neck for a few yards before I could scramble to my feet and stagger along behind them.
At last we stopped at a terrace with a few chairs and a large table, covered by a corrugated iron roof and I slumped to the ground, grateful for the shade. But the old man kicked me, shouted and pointed at the donkey, and I unloaded the baskets and boxes on the table, before curling up once more on the floor.
After a few minutes, I heard the sound of voices, male voices, laughing and talking, and getting closer. When I looked up, I could see a group of about six men walking towards the terrace, wiping the sweat from their brows and looking eagerly at the food and drinks. Clearly the old man's job was to bring lunch and I guessed my job was to serve it. Oh how wrong I was !
The old man made me stand up and pointed to the beer. As the men came onto the terrace I handed them a bottle, while they appraised me with leering faces. As I passed amongst them, I felt my ass grabbed, then a hand in front between my legs, another squeezing a breast. They were laughing and passing comments between themselves, then suddenly I was pushed down across the table, on my back, and then someone was holding my legs up in the air and pulling my thighs apart, someone else holding me down and yet another grabbed my head and pushed it back over the edge of the table. Seconds later I could feel l bare flesh pressing against my thigh and buttocks and a stiff cock was thrust into me hard and deep. Then the light was blocked by someone standing in front of me, there was an overpowering smell of urine and BO, and then my mouth was full of foul-tasting cock. I was fucked unrelentingly until they shot their load, first into my pussy and then into my mouth, forcing me to swallow hard. I heard groans from these two and cheers from the others as they watched. The two spent forces were pulled away and quickly replaced by eager newcomers, keen to make their mark. I came at some point in this next assault, my body unable to resist the combination of forced sexual stimulation and strict bondage, before I found myself swallowing down more cum.
I was dragged off the table and onto all fours on the ground. As I was pushed around I could see more men arriving, coming in from wherever they had been working, and delighted to see the entertainment available this lunchtime ! My attention was grabbed by having another cock shoved into my mouth and, while I sucked on that, I could feel something cool and slimy being smeared between my buttocks and being pushed into my anus by exploring fingers. As the chorus of catcalls rose, I felt a hard cock pressing against my tight little hole and I cried out in pain whilst simultaneously choking on cock as I had to fight my gag reflex. It slid into me and I was ridden hard in the ass while my head was pulled back and warm, sticky cm was splashed in my eyes and across my face, to loud jeers from the crowd, now around a dozen guys.
The torment just went on and on. I was fucked more in that hour than I had ever been in my life, each of them taking me at least twice, maybe more. I was treated like a sex toy, tossed on the table, bent over a chair, ground into the dirt. I lost count of the number of times I climaxed and the whole thing became a blur as exhaustion set in. finally they seemed to be sated and I was allowed to lie in the dirt disregarded while they ate and drank and chatted. As I lay there, I suddenly retched and threw up a whole stomach-full of cum at their feet, which got another laugh. Now I realised how hungry I was and I was pathetically grateful when they threw the occasional scrap of food in my direction. I crawled around under the table, gnawing on discarded chicken bones and bits of bread dropped on the floor, receiving a swift kick if I got too close to their legs,
At last lunchtime came to an end, but the men had one more humiliation in store for me. As I lay on the ground, dozing and unsuspecting, they gathered around me in a circle and relieved themselves of the beer and wine they had drunk, all over me, from my feet up to my face and hair. It was disgusting, but my life seemed to consist solely of disgusting, painful and humiliating experiences at that moment. Somewhere deep inside, I was loving it.
The sun was not quite as strong on the way back, although I could feel my pale skin crisping up with sunburn already. When we got back to the stable yard, I was surprised and delighted that I was given the hose and a scrubbing brush and, by various signs, encouraged to clean myself up. I luxuriated in the cold water on my burning skin and used the brush to get rid of the dirt, grime and bodily fluids which had been ground in during the day.
When I was vaguely clean, another man led me away from the outbuildings and up to the main house, which I was now seeing close up for the first time. It was like an eastern palace, all white stone and marble, Greek columns and open spaces, hugely impressive but a little incongruous out here in this arid landscape. I was led through the hall, my slave chains scraping on the marble floor, and into the kitchens, which comprised a series of rooms bigger than my home. There were various maids scurrying around, all young Arab women, and, universally, they glanced over at me, gave me a look of contempt, then ignored me.
In one of the rooms was a long bench, stacked with dirty pots and pans. A large Arab woman waddled into the room and scowled at me, the look of disapproval on her face very obvious, and pointed first at the pans and then at the huge porcelain sinks. I didn't need to understand her harsh words to know what my job was here. I picked up one of the huge metal pots and staggered over to the sink with it and began scrubbing at the ground-in food. I actually found this rather soothing, even though it was hard work – no-one was hitting me, or raping me, and while no-one was looking, I could scrape off some of the baked-on food and eat it, which greatly assuaged my hunger.
The level of activity around me gradually increased as cooking of the evening meal began. I had finished washing and was now drying and putting away the pots, under the reluctant supervision of a woman who looked, and probably was, about seventeen. The smells of a herbs and spices were driving me mad, when the head cook screamed in my direction. I scurried over and she handed me a large dish of hors d'oeuvres which looked and smelled delicious. The cook said something to the girl next to me and I saw her roll her eyes before she led me out of the kitchens and through the house to a set of large doors. She opened one for me, ushering me impatiently through and I shuffled into the room.
First I noticed the high ceiling and chandeliers, the magnificent windows onto a totally out-of-place English lawn and the huge mahogany dining table laid out in the centre of the room. It was as if an English country house dining room had been transported out here into the desert. Then I noticed the group of people at the other end of the room, chatting and enjoying a drink. Clearly these were the people I was supposed to serve the hors d'oeuvres to.
As I shuffled towards them, my chains clinking on the floor, I saw what looked like two families – two older men, their wives, three younger men and two women, all in late teens or early twenties. They were all traditionally, and well, dressed. The older couples ignored my approach, but the younger men stared at me, nudging each other and whispering, as boys do. The young women looked at me with a mixture of contempt, disgust and hatred, while also glancing at the young men disapprovingly. I wasn't sure if they were wives, girlfriends or sisters, but I knew they hated me for wandering around naked and distracting their men from their proper focus, which was obviously them.
There were a couple of children running around and I recognised the little girl from this morning, now dressed in a pretty party dress. She was playing with a boy, I guessed her brother, who was a little younger, maybe eight. When he saw me, he pointed and ran over to me, running in circles around me and chanting something. One of the older women gave him a sharp word and he fell silent, walking alongside me as I approached the group.
When I stopped and held out the tray, the reactions I got were a picture to behold. The older men looked around for the first time, but looked only at the food rather than my naked body. The older women glanced at my face with a look of contempt before examining the food. The younger men couldn't take their eyes off my breasts, but probably only because the try was hiding my shaved pussy. As I turned, I could almost feel their eyes checking out my ass. The younger women did not disguise their hatred as they stared into my eyes, they wanted me to know they despised me and resented the effect I was having on their men.
As I stepped back, having offered to everyone, I felt something against my foot – the boy had stuck his foot behind mine – and I felt myself, slowly but unstoppably, topple backwards. As my ass hit the floor, I dropped the tray with a very loud crash, the remaining hors d'oeuvres flying off in every direction. I looked up into a sea of disapproving faces and scrabbled to pick up the spilt food and put it back on the tray. Flustered and red-faced, I got to my feet and shuffled back to the door, the laughter of the little boy ringing in my ears. The maid was waiting for me at the door, having seen the result of my fall but not the cause, and had a cruel smile on her face. She led me back to the kitchen and took great pleasure in telling the head cook what had happened. She gave an order to the girl, and she dragged me away triumphantly. Whatever punishment was coming my way, the girl was going to administer it and enjoy the process.
She pushed me into the main kitchen area, where there were about ten maids scurrying around, and they all looked up as I was dragged across the room and forced to bend over the bar of the spit roaster. The girl managed to fasten my chains to the frame so I couldn't straighten up, then called something out to the others. They raced over and I could just see they were all holding some kind of implement they had either been using or grabbed on the way – wooden spoon, spatula, metal fish slice, that kind of thing – and then they were laying about my upturned buttocks like there was no tomorrow. I squealed and squirmed but they really laid into me with enthusiasm ! Just when I felt like my ass was on fire and I couldn't take any more, the head cook came in and barked an order, and they all scurried back to work. All except for my personal minder. She had more punishment in mind. She waved something in front of my face, which I recognised as a stone pestle (as in mortar and pestle) – a bit oversized but ... then I realised what she was going to do with it.
"Please, don't, I beg you .." I whined, not expecting her to either understand or take any notice, and I wasn't disappointed. I felt her press the cold end against my already tortured anus and twist and push until she forced it into my ass, ignoring my cries and moans. As the huge bulbous head of it narrowed towards the handle, my sphincter closed around it and held it inside me. She released me from the frame and made me stand up, which just made it feel worse. She led me back to the cook, who handed me another tray of food for delivery and I waddled uncomfortably back through the house, conscious at every step of the thing inside me.
Everyone was now sitting at the table and as I served one person, I had to lean forward and present my ass, with its strange tail, to the person next to them. Everyone seemed to try to ignore this, and the red stripes and blotches on my recently spanked cheeks, but I could hear the sniggers of the young men. Then, as I was serving the young girl, the boy decided to hit the exposed handle as hard as he could. I let out an involuntary cry as the head was driven into me, and lurched forward, spilling rice onto the girl's dress. She jumped up with a cry and before I could react, one of the men stood up, leaned over and slapped me so hard I was sent spinning to the floor, and the food once again was everywhere. I spent the next ten minutes trying to pick up every grain of rice while being shouted at, and then that little shit of a boy kicked me in the ass, deliberately and successfully aiming to drive the pestle into me again. The maid hurried over and helped clean up, a look of murder on her face. I knew I was in big trouble.
The first thing she did when we got out of the room was slap me hard on the face and then repeatedly around the head, while directing a stream of what I guessed were Arabic swear words at me. She dragged me by the collar out of the house and down to the stables. I had to stand and watch as she grabbed a length of rope and made a noose in it, then put it around my neck. She threw the other end over a beam and then pulled on it until the rope was choking me and I was on tiptoe, dangling, unable to raise my hands to help myself because of the slave chains. She tied the end of the rope to a ring on the wall, leaving me literally hanging, while she went to the tack room and came back with an evil-looking bullwhip. She whirled it around expertly and cracked it across my back, bringing a strangled scream from me as an arc of pain cut across my shoulders. She struck me again, this time on the back of my legs, then again, in the small of my back. She switched to frontal assault and, despite the chain offering me some protection, managed to hit me across the breasts and tops of my thighs. I was screaming in agony now, tears running down my face and mingling with my sweat, but she showed no mercy, whipping me again and again, until it felt like the skin on my back was coming off. Eventually she tired and, dropping the whip, she stormed off, leaving me hanging there, half-strangulated and with every inch of my body screaming for relief.
I don't know how long I hung there for, desperately trying to keep my toes on the ground and stop the rope from actually strangling me, but it felt like hours. The last person I expected to see next was the little girl who had beaten me with the riding crop half a lifetime ago, that morning in these stables. She stood looking at me with the hands on hips, head to one side, as if assessing the situation.
"Please", I managed to say, "You have to help me. Let me down, I beg of you". I had no idea if she understood what I said, but she went over to the wall and untied the rope. I fell to my knees, gasping for air gratefully. She came over and loosened the noose, taking it off, which was a sweet relief.
"Thank you" I gasped, "Thank you so much. I was dying there".
"I think not", she said, astonishing me that she clearly spoke and understood English. "It takes a lot to kill a person". I looked at her in desperate hope.
"Please, tell your parents I should not be here, there's been some terrible mistake, I was kidnapped and –"
"And my father bought you" she said with a bright smile. "You are our slave. You're not the first, you know. Although they're not usually so stupid and clumsy. And white".
"Look, my name is Jennifer, I just came to your country to visit, my husband can pay whatever –"
"You don't have a name any more, you're just the slave" she said with an unnerving certainty. I tried to change tactic.
"What's your name ? I have a niece about your age, she loves horses too –"
"We got bored with the last slave" she said in a matter of fact tone, "She was an American, better looking than you. I think the men took her out into the hills and got rid of her". I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Slavery is illegal, you know, it's against the law, the police – a"
"My father says he owns the police. Anyway, they don't care about slaves, you people deserve all you get, he says".
"But I'm a person just like you, or your mother, you have to help me, please, help me get away, I won't say anything to anyone, I promise".
"Its my bedtime now" she said, and turned to go. I got to my feet and grabbed hold of her arm.
"Please ! You have to help !" She looked down calmly at where my hand lay on her sleeve and then let out the most piercing scream. Seconds later, two men ran into the stables.
"The slave touched me" she said, then something in Arabic. The men strode over and grabbed me, dragging me roughly away. I called out over my shoulder, begging her for help, but it was no use, she was gone. They pushed me face down in the pig slurry, and chained me to the fence.
Oh God, I thought, please let this be a sex game, set up by Derek for my amusement and arousal. But I couldn't believe it. How could a ten year old girl play that part ? It just felt too real. I finally pulled that disgusting intruder from my ass and threw it away, then tried to get comfortable on the hard ground. I thought back over the day I had just endured and, inevitably, my hands strayed between my legs and pretty soon, I was bringing myself to a desperate climax. I fell asleep, curled up like a foetus, on the ground, fearing what the new day would bring.
Part 4 (added: 03/31/2010)
Ahmed took me in his chauffeur-driven limousine to the outskirts of the city and we stopped at an imposing but seemingly abandoned building.
"This used to be the police headquarters for the district", he explained as we walked in. "There were always rumours of people being tortured in interrogations here, although nothing was proved. I bought it and closed it down, having generously built and donated a new building to the community – all as a charitable tax loss, you understand. I was going to bulldoze it and build a hotel, but decided to keep it for just such an occasion".
We walked down the echoing corridors of the building, which seemed like a combination of a prison and the image I had in my head of the Lubyanka. Heavy steel doors on either side could conceal anything, although Ahmed reassured me that most were empty. We turned a corner and there was a guard, in uniform, standing outside one of the doors.
"Let me introduce Benjamin, the head of my security". We shook hands and I must have shown my surprise as Ahmed laughed.
"You are surprised an Arab has a Jewish security chief? They are the most conscientious about security, they have to be". The chief of security smiled and showed me to the peephole in the door he was guarding. I looked in to see Ahmed's wife, Sophie. She was hanging by her wrists from a chain to the ceiling while standing precariously on two wooden blocks about three feet apart. She was wearing a smart black cocktail dress, but her eyes were covered by blacked out swimming goggles, her ears were under large headphones and there was metallic duct tape over her mouth.
"We abducted near her apartment in Paris yesterday" Benjamin told me.
"She has been in sensory deprivation since then. She was flown here by private jet and has been in this stress position for the last four hours".
"You like ?" Ahmed asked with a smile.
"As I told you before, I think your wife is incredibly beautiful. I still find it hard to believe she wants to be treated like this".
"Like your wife ?"
"Fair point. How far do you want me to go with her ?"
"As far as possible, without killing her, obviously. You have the full resources of my security team and I have fully stocked this facility with all the equipment you might need. Now I must leave you, to go and see how your wife is coping with her ordeal. I will be in touch when that little scenario has played itself out. In the meantime, I wish you bon chance !" We shook hands and Ahmed left. Benjamin opened the door and we went inside to get a closer look at the prisoner.
Standing just a couple of feet from her, I was even more struck by her beauty. I love my wife and think she is beautiful, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate model-girl looks and a perfect figure when I see one. Even though a lot of her face was covered, the high cheekbones, smooth skin, perfect nose and chin could not be hidden. Her breasts were round and presented an impressive cleavage, held as she was with her arms above her head. Her waist was slim, her hips flaring nicely and her legs just seemed to go on forever. I was certainly going to enjoy the next few days.
I stepped forward and tore the tape from her face. This was clearly this first she had known that anyone was with her and she gasped in surprise. Underneath the tape, her mouth was filled by a bright red ballgag, so there was no flood of questions or pleading, although she tried to talk around the ball, to little effect. Next I took off the goggles to give her a first sight of her surroundings and her tormentors. She looked around the room, then at her feet, then at Benjamin and finally, at me.
"Welcome, Mrs Benjani" I said, looking deep into her frightened eyes. "Let me explain where you are and why you are here. You may be familiar with the term extraordinary rendition – where terrorist suspects are taken to a third party country for interrogation. You have been rendered, to this facility in Pakistan. You may have heard that British Intelligence does not perform or condone torture during interrogation. This is absolutely true, but unfortunately for you we work in the private sector and merely sell our results to British Intelligence, who are careful to not ask too many questions. We do not have any such scruples and will use whatever torture techniques we see fit during interrogation to get what we want from you, you can be sure of that".
As I spoke, I went to a table and picked up a large pair of surgical scissors, used for cutting bandages, and returned to Sophie. I picked up the hem of her dress and slowly cut up the dress, until it was completely open. I then cut through the shoulder straps and pulled the material from her body. She was wearing the most sensation black lacy bra and panties with suspender belt and sheer black stockings, which suited her perfectly, she could have been a lingerie model. Her skin was smooth and tanned, her stomach washboard flat, her buttock firm and round. I had to fight for control of myself at this stage to stop myself just licking her all over, getting her on the floor and ...
"We are investigating your husband", I continued in as cool and level a tone as I could muster. "Ahmed Benjani is on our wanted list and all we need from you, Mrs Benjani, is a complete list of his movements over the last six months and a list of every friend, family member, acquaintance, business contact you can remember seeing with him since you two first met – three years ago ?" I unbuckled the gag and removed it, making her swallow and lick her lips lasciviously.
"Now we can do this one of two ways. You can sit down with my colleague here and recount everything you can remember, every name, every place, every little incident, in which case everything is nice and pleasant. Or you can hold out on us, and you enter a world of pain. Which is it to be ?"
As I said this, I started removing her underwear. I really didn't want to, because I'm a real sucker for lingerie and she looked so gorgeous, but I needed her to be naked to get that extra feeling of vulnerability. So I cut through the straps of her bra and between the cups, releasing her pert breasts with their large, dark areolae and hard nipples. Then I cut the sides of her thong panties and pulled them off her. I was surprised to see a tight knot of dark curls – I guess I had expected her to be clean-shaven, like she had been in the chateau. I ran my fingers along the line between the smooth silkiness of her stockings and the smooth silkiness of her thighs and felt her leg shudder.
"If I name people, what will happen to them ?" she said in a husky French accent, which was just so sexy it almost hurt.
"We'll be questioning them" I said as I cut her suspender belt and slowly rolled the stockings down her smooth, tanned legs. I lifted each foot to remove her shoe and stocking, leaving her naked.
"You mean you will be torturing them !" she spat. I admired her defiance.
"I think you need to focus on your own situation here, Sophie. Why put yourself through torment for someone else's sake ?"
"I will not betray my husband !" she said with feeling.
"I'd like to say I'm disappointed, but my colleague and I will take great pleasure in extracting the information we need. Don't be in any doubt – we will get the information eventually. We are in no rush – we have as long as it takes".
I saw her swallow hard and bite her lip. She looked scared, but I wonder if I detected a hint of arousal there as well. I glanced at her pubic hair and imagined I saw a slight glistening of juices oozing from her.
"Do you wish to reconsider ?" I tempted her. She shook her head, then closed her eyes as she contemplated what she had committed herself to.
I slowly and deliberately pushed the ball back into her mouth, forcing her jaws open, and strapped it in tight. I signalled to Benjamin, who went over to the table and picked up a flogger, while I pulled up a chair and sat down to watch. He took up position behind her and she twisted to try and see what he was doing. I waited until she turned back to look at me, then nodded to Benjamin. He brought back his arm and then the leather fronds of the flogger flew forwards onto her back with a loud thwack. He used the flogger with precision and professionalism, working his way up and down her body, from the backs of her calves up to her shoulders and upper arms. Sophie literally danced on the end of the chain, screaming into the gag, and flinging herself from side to side in a vain attempt to avoid the blows. She lost her footing on the wooden blocks and swung by her wrists from the chain, jerking as the flogger hit home like a puppet on a string, until she could get her feet back on the blocks. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and less attractively snot running from her nose and bubbles of saliva appearing around the ballgag as Benjamin went to work on her front. The muffled screams went up in tone as he lashed her breasts, then her stomach and then her thighs and pubic mound. Soon her body was covered in a thin film of sweat, despite the coolness of the air in this windowless cell, and I could see the red marks appearing beneath her tan.
I signalled to Benjamin and he stopped the beating, stepping back. Sophie hung limp as a rag on the chain, her legs having buckled beneath her, her breathing around the gag shallow and laboured. At another signal, Benjamin released the chain and she sank quickly to the floor and lay there, unmoving. Benjamin picked her up and put her on a straight-backed wooden chair, then removed the chain. He pulled her arms over the back of the chair and tied them tightly together at the wrists and elbows, thrusting her magnificent breasts out in front of her. He tied a rope around her ankle then pulled it back and tied the rope to the back leg of the chair, before repeating with her other ankle, leaving her legs splaying wide open to either side of the seat.
I lit a cigarette and strolled over to her. I don't normally smoke, but this was entirely for effect. I blew smoke into her face, making her cough and turn her head away. Then I applied the glowing tip of the cigarette to her nipple, bringing a muffled cry and a vain attempt to twist away from the pain. I kept the end their as she squirmed delightfully for me, mewing piteously and looking with pleading into my eyes. When I felt she had enough of that, I placed it on her other nipple and repeated the treatment. As a coup de grace, I took a drag to make sure it was good and hot, then ground it out in the middle of her pubic hair. She sat bolt upright and screamed, every muscle in her body tight as a drum, but the scream metamorphosed into a desperate panting moan and I felt her thrust her hips towards my hand, and I could tell she had come, just in that extreme of pain. There was no imagining a faint glistening, her thighs were slick with her juices. I had to work hard to not show my astonishment on my face. Her body convulsed like she was getting electric shocks, until at last the climax passed and she slumped in the chair, now just feeling her exhaustion and pain.
I reached underneath the chair and removed the false bottom. Benjamin moved behind the chair with the flogger and expertly flicked it underneath, whipping Sophie's now-exposed thighs, buttocks and pussy. She screamed and struggled against this new torture, but he was relentless, driving her to distraction.
"Do you wish to stop this by giving me names, Mrs Benjani ?" I asked as I leaned over her agonised face. Through her strangulated cries and gasps for breath, I picked out the phrase 'Fuck you !' escape past the gag. I smiled and grabbed her hard nipples, squeezing them as hard as I could as Benjamin intensified the beating, until she was screaming and arching her back in another explosive orgasm.
I looked at my watch and decided it was time for some sleep. However, we had to prepare Sophie for the night first. I swapped her ballgag for a ring gag head harness, then we dragged her to her feet and strapped a spreader bar between her ankles. I attached her wrists, still bound behind her back, to the chain and hoisted them up until her upper body was horizontal and her arms vertical. I took a steel hook and forced its fat, round end into her ass, tying it to the head harness so her head was pulled back sharply and the hook driven deeper into her. Finally, I applied a pair of vicious-looking clamps to her nipples and hung weights from them until her lovely breasts were dragged towards the floor, ruining their perfect shape.
Looking at her trussed up like that I could no longer resist. I dropped my trousers and thrust my aching erection into her hot, wet cunt. She felt really good and, even in her bondage, I could feel her trying to push back against me, to get me deeper inside her. I pulled out before I came and went around in front of her so I could try her invitingly open mouth. Her tongue seemed to wrap itself around me as I slid into though the gag and I felt her using every technique she had to bring me off. It didn't take very long before I came, shooting my cum into her mouth and down her throat, then I pulled out so I could get a last spurt into her face and leave her with cum dripping down her nose and dribbling out of her mouth and down her chin.
Benjamin called in a couple of his guards and I instructed them to keep her awake with occasional firm use of the cane and, if and when they felt like it, they were welcome to fuck any of her holes they fancied.
Leaving her in good hands, I went off to get a good night's sleep.
My second day as a slave started before dawn again. I was taken to the house where I was put under the supervision of another of the staff, a much older and more stern woman, who carried a big stick and used it liberally to 'encourage' me in my work. She took me to each of the bathrooms and toilets in the house, gave me a nailbrush and made me scrub every toilet, sink, bath and shower until it was sparkling. Once the house was done, she took me to do the same job in the servants' quarters and then the workmen's dormitory. The cleanliness of the toilets went rapidly downhill until I was having to hold my breath while scrubbing the stinking urinals and toilet bowls.
This took up the morning and then I was handed over to the old man, to provide lunch and entertainment to the estate workers, as I had done the previous day. The men were waiting eagerly for me as we approached, and didn't wait for me to unload the donkey before getting me on all fours so they could fuck me and I could suck them. Some of them couldn't even wait their turn and I found myself being sprayed with cum from all directions as they brought themselves off and squirted in my face, or hair, or over my body, whatever was nearest to hand at the time, as it were.
I was filthy, sore and exhausted by the time we set off back, but there was to be no rest for me when we reached the house. I was set to work scrubbing the tiles all around the swimming pool. This was not too bad, because at least the pool boy had to hose down the tiles as I scrubbed, cooling me down as I was caught in the spray. After I had been at this for an hour and the job was almost done, the glass doors to the house opened and the younger family members came out to sun themselves by the pool. Having seen them in traditional Arab dress the night before, it was a surprise to see the women in very skimpy bikinis, with thongs exposing their cheeks and tiny triangles of material covering their nipples. One of the young men was wearing a Speedo, which left nothing to the imagination, while the other two wore long baggy swimming shorts. The women ignored me as they made themselves comfortable on the sunloungers, but the three men came over and stood over me, clearly enjoying viewing my naked body. In fact, the one had to sit down to hide the erection stretching his Speedo, but he didn't stop staring at me.
The women called over to the men and, reluctantly, they went over to join them and rub suntan lotion into their backs, but I could see they were still staring at me. One of them called over the pool boy and whispered something to him, while still looking at me. The pool boy came over and hustled me to my feet, then pushed me away from the pool area to the shed where the pool equipment was kept. He shoved me inside and slammed the door, locking me in. the shed was windowless with a corrugated iron roof, so it was dark, airless and as hot as hell. I sat on the floor and started sweating profusely, wondering what was going to happen next.
I had been there maybe an hour, starting to get a little delirious, when I heard the lock turn and the door opened. The boy in the Speedo came in, shutting the door behind him. I could see his earlier erection had faded but was rapidly returning as he pulled down the Speedo and let his burgeoning cock spring towards me.
"Suck it, bitch" he breathed, and I was more surprised that he spoke English than at what he said. I got to my knees and took him in my mouth, running my tongue along the length of his stiffening member, then sliding it all the way in and sucking at it. He gasped with pleasure as I slowly moved my lips back and forth, tickling the head with the tip of my tongue. He grabbed my hair and started moaning loudly as he thrust into my mouth until his balls were pressed against my chin. With a cry, I felt his cock jerk and his hot semen shot into my mouth, and I swallowed it greedily. He took a couple of moments to recover his composure as he pulled up his Speedo.
"Please", I said quietly, "You have to –" He slapped me hard across the face, knocking me sideways.
"Don't talk to me, slave !" he spat with contempt in his voice, then turned and left, locking the door behind him. I felt a sense of despair rise up inside me but, as so often in these situations, I found myself overcome by the sexual arousal from my punishment and humiliation. My fingers went to my wet pussy and I brought myself to a sweaty climax.
It was another hour before the door opened again and the second man came in. I already knew what to expect, and I even found myself eagerly getting into position, kneeling humbly in front of him, like the slave I was. But as he pulled down his shorts, I was astonished as he revealed the longest cock I had ever seen, a good ten or eleven inches, and it wasn't even fully erect yet ! It was so fat too, it was frightening ! As I just stared at it, he grabbed it in one hand and a handful of my hair and brought the two together. My jaw was stretched wide and my whole mouth was full, and there was still a whole six inches of it in front of me. He pushed my head down and I got on my hands and knees so that my throat was in line. He pushed forward while holding my head, forcing the head of his cock to the back of my throat and, as I fought against my gag reflex and swallowed, I gradually took it inch by inch into my throat until I had it all and his belly was pressing against my face. Gradually he pulled back and I gulped down air. As he pulled right out of my mouth, his shaft was dripping with my saliva and long strings hung between the head and my lips, drooling down onto my chin. Then he came forward again and I took a deep breath before he slid it down my throat again. I tried to use my lips and tongue to increase his arousal, but the thing seemed so big I could hardly move them around it. His excitement gradually mounted and, after about a dozen strokes, I felt him ready to come. I felt and tasted nothing at first, as his cum was shot straight down my throat. But then he pulled back and suddenly my mouth was full of cum and it was spilling don my chin. When he pulled out of my mouth he suddenly shot another load of spunk in my hair and across my face. I'd never seen so much come out of a cock and I was covered in the sticky, salty mess. I watched as he packed away his lethal weapon and then I was alone again, wondering what such a monster would feel like inside me.
The third man came in almost immediately. He looked with distaste at the mess on my face and handed me an oily rag to clean myself up. He was nothing special in the trouser department and I quickly sucked him off and he left within a few minutes. I had to wait another two hours before the pool boy came and let me out.
It was dark now, and the terrace was attractively lit, with lights around the flower beds and in the water, lighting up the pool. There were a couple of dozen people on the terrace, chatting in groups, drinking and laughing. The women were in attractive evening gowns, the men in tuxedos. The pool boy led me to a bar area, where I was handed a tray of champagne flutes and pointed at the crowd. I shuffled over and started offering the drinks around.
The guests stared at me, laughed and pointed, until I went red in the face. The older family ignored me, the young men kept shooting glances at me, but the two young women looked at me with daggers in their eyes – if looks could kill, I'd be bleeding on the freshly scrubbed tiles already.
As I circulated, I had to go quite near the edge of the pool. As I looked up, my eyes met those of one of the women and it seemed to make her really angry. I looked down and tried to hurry past her, but as I did she stepped across me and gave me a hefty push. I let out a scream as the tray of drinks went flying and I tumbled into the pool with a loud splash.
I had got used to the weight of the slave chains as I walked around, but suddenly I was sinking like a stone and, when I tried to swim up to the surface, made no impression on my downward trajectory. I kicked off the bottom but I was a foot below the surface when I sank back down. My lungs were bursting and I could see no effort to rescue me taking place.
Frantically, I scrabbled and kicked across the bottom of the pool towards the shallow end. I was getting dizzy and felt like I was about to pass out when I was finally able to push myself up with one last huge effort and my head broke the surface. I gasped and took in as much air as I could before I sank again. I scrambled a little further and was able to get to the surface again, and then I was able to stand on tiptoes with my face above water. As I looked across at the people, all I saw was laughing faces or backs turned in my direction, totally uninterested in my fate. I dragged myself to the end of the pool and managed to crawl out and lie, exhausted, on the side. I felt something hit me across the back and looked up to see one of the servants standing over me with a stick. I staggered to my feet and let her lead me away. It was almost a relief when I was thrown into the pig sty and left for the night. I was asleep in minutes.
Final Part (added: 2012/05/10)
I decided to mark the passing of time by, each morning, scratching a line on the post to which I was chained overnight. It seemed like no time at all before a week had gone by, and my new life as a slave had taken on a predictable pattern.
Each morning was taken up with hard work - cleaning out the stables, the pig sty, the goats or the cowshed.
Lunchtimes were spent taking food and providing sex to the estate workers, and trying to steal any scraps to assuage the hunger I felt all the time. After our return to the house, I was allowed to spend some time recovering with the hose, which cooled me down, allowed me to hydrate, replacing what I had sweated out, and gave me the opportunity to clean up, although with no soap or hot water, and sleeping in pig slurry every night, there was only so much I could do. I used a stick to try and keep my teeth clean and gums healthy.
In the afternoon, I would be given more hard labour, usually doing housework, such as scrubbing floors, laundering sheets, cleaning toilets, or washing pots, before the evening shift of serving dinner to the family. I didn't see the children again after the first couple of days, and I guessed they had returned to boarding school, probably in England, which would be particularly ironic. I was surprised that such an obviously wealthy family would want to be served their food by a dirty, smelly, naked woman in chains, but I suppose it was a power thing - if you have bought yourself a slave, you want to ostentatiously show off your wealth.
God, that thought left my mind in a swirl! Only a few days ago, I'd been a wealthy tourist in a very civilised city. Now, I had become a non-person, a piece of property, with no such thing as human rights - my owners could do what they liked with me or to me. But why did that turn me on rather than scare me witless?
There was a new routine added to the others after a couple of days. Once dinner had been served and I had cleared up, one of the servant girls led me into an outside bathroom. She made me bend over a towel rail and tied my wrists to my ankles so that I was held, bent double, my ass and pussy available to whoever wanted them. The girl stuffed a cloth into my mouth, holding it in place with a rope, then a sack was pulled over my head and tied at the neck, so that I was blind and mute - just a faceless cunt to be fucked. I heard the door close and I was alone.
I had been there for about an hour before I heard the door open and felt someone's presence in the small room. Fingers opened me up, and then the head of a cock was rubbing against my sex. I very quickly became aroused enough for the shaft to slide into me, and as it did so, I realised it must be the boy with the big cock which I had sucked the other day in the pool shed, its length and girth stretching me painfully wide. He grabbed my hips and began thrusting into me, banging me hard and fast. It didn't take long for me to cum, his rough, impersonal treatment feeding my fantasies perfectly, and then he climaxed, pulling out and splashing his seed across my body, between my buttocks and up my back. Moments later, he was gone and I was alone again. It was maybe another couple of hours before I was finally untied and the girl hustled me back to the sty for the night.
I began to look forward to this late night session, sick, nymphomaniac pervert that I am. Sometimes, I would be used several times a night, others not at all. I didn't know who it was that was fucking me - it could be members of the family, it could be visitors, it could be servants, it could be workers, I had no idea. Maybe that added to my arousal, I was always very excited by the time I was tied down. Occasionally I would be fucked in the ass, other times I would be caned or flogged, I never knew what was coming, although it usually resulted in me cumming!
About two weeks into my enslavement I was discomfited, but relieved, to get my period. I had a contraceptive implant, but I had never had this much sex in my life, so I had wondered if it would still work. I was allowed to use the hose to clean myself up, and given a rag, which I wore as a kind of nappy or loincloth to contain the blood. But I was surprised to find this did not present any kind of discouragement to using me as they had before. I may have had to give a few more blowjobs, and there was more anal penetration, but I was also regularly fucked during even the heaviest days. Maybe some men got a kick from having a bleeding woman, I don't know.
As I lay in the dirt, looking up at the stars, I pondered my situation. It was now three weeks since my kidnapping, and any last vestiges of hope that this was all some setup job had long gone. I was now a slave and, unless something utterly unexpected happened, this was my fate for the rest of my life.
But the truth is, slavery suited me! I was always hungry, but I wasn't starving, and I had lost weight. My fair skin had burned at first, but now, somewhere under the layers of filth, I had a deep, all-over tan. The work was gruellingly hard, but my body had become toned by all the exercise, and I was in the best shape of my life. I was punished for every minor infraction or error, and even when I'd done nothing wrong, just for the entertainment of my owners. It was painful, sometimes excruciatingly painful, but I was a pain slut, I got off on the pain. And then there was the sex. The more I got, the more I wanted, there is no other way of looking at it. Call me what you want - whore, slut, nympho, whatever - the fact is that I enjoy sex, the rougher the better.
There was only one cloud on my horizon, but it was a huge thundercloud which loomed over me every moment of every day, and it was gradually driving me into a severe depression. It was the thought that my husband, Derek, was out there somewhere, frantic with worry, not knowing where I was or what was happening to me. And the thought that I would never see him again was tearing me apart.
I wished, with all my heart, for one thing - to see him again. Imagine my shock when my wish came true.
I spent a couple of very enjoyable days torturing Sophie, admiring her beauty and marvelling at her resilience to such rough treatment, but the fact is, my mind was on Jenny, and how she was getting on. I was grateful, and a little relieved, when Ahmed returned and told me that he was sending his wife back home, and that my job was done. I found it interesting that he didn't intend to reveal to her that this had all been an elaborate charade, he was merely going to ship her back in much the same way as she had arrived - blindfolded and disoriented - dump her in a back alley, and then let her wonder. The idea of leaving that uncertainty in her mind appealed to me, and I began to wonder if there was any way I could do the same thing with my wife.
The first thing to do was to check she was alright. I travelled out to the remote property where she was being held, and was greeted warmly by Ahmed's brother, Yousef, and his family, who had agreed to take Jenny into their home. I thanked them for their kindness in helping me out.
"Kindness?" Yousef said with a hint of surprise, "I think that's the last thing we've shown your poor woman. She has suffered horribly while she has been here, but only in accordance with the briefing we were given by Ahmed. I hope you will approve."
I was able to observe Jenny, from afar with binoculars, as she went about her daily tasks. Her treatment was certainly extreme, but when I looked at Jenny, she seemed to be thriving. She looked fit and healthy, if rather dirty, and I could tell from her demeanour, even from a distance, that she was enjoying being treated in such a harsh and demeaning way. At lunchtime, particularly, as she crawled around on the floor and had to deliver blowjobs, or she bent over and was fucked from behind, she appeared an eager and enthusiastic participant. If I'd been that type of guy, I could have been quite upset!
I was invited to stay for dinner and, when Jenny was about to serve, I was ushered behind the curtains to watch. She shuffled along in her heavy chains, carrying various plates and dishes. As she moved from serving one person to the next, I saw one of Yousef's daughters stick out a leg and trip her up, sending her tumbling, and the dish she was carrying crashing, spilling food across the tiles. There was a lot of shouting in Arabic, and the girl jumped to her feet, standing over the sprawled figure on the floor. She whipped out a riding crop she very conveniently had on her and started thrashing Jenny across the back and buttocks. As I listened to her pathetic whimpering, my wife scooped the ruined food back onto the silver platter and scurried out. Yousef came over to me and suggested I sit at the table with them.
"Don't worry about Jenny coming back," he reassured me, "she will be being punished by the staff for her apparent clumsiness." I looked over at his daughter, and saw she was breathing hard, with a deep flush on her face, but the smile told me it was more from the excitement of having delivered the corporal punishment than the physical exertion. Her brothers and sisters were also smiling, and I could see that treating Jenny with the contempt and cruelty she desired was no hardship!
"Would you like to get a little closer to your wife?" Yousef asked me when the meal was over and we had shared brandy and cigars. I followed as he led me to an outbuilding where he put his finger to his lips to indicate quiet, and opened a bathroom door. I saw Jenny bent double over a rail, her ass, still marked from the earlier beating, presented to me, while her head was covered by a sack, hiding me from her sight. With a sly smile, Yousef closed the door and left us alone.
I laid my hand on her body and experienced a rush of yearning as I felt her warmth. Her tanned, though grimy, body was firm and lithe, and I desperately wanted to hold her in my arms and just cuddle. As I let my hands gently roam over her, cupping her breasts and squeezing her ass cheeks, I heard a muffled moan come from her. This told me she was gagged but, more importantly, it reminded me that she might become suspicious of too gentle, too loving, a touch, and I needed to behave more like the people who usually visited her in this room. It was with a slight feeling of regret that I slapped her hard on the buttocks, then dropped my shorts and thrust my erect member into her. The feeling of regret quickly passed, however, to be replaced by the familiar feeling of lust and excitement, especially when I discovered how ready she already was. When I had finished fucking her, I continued to grope and pinch her breasts and ass, just to maintain the body contact between us for as long as possible. Eventually, I let her go and left the room.
Satisfied that Jenny was in 'safe' hands, I had to return to the UK for work for a few weeks. During that time, I pondered what I was going to do next and, by the time I returned to Morocco, I had a plan. I discussed and agreed it with Ahmed and Yousef, then put it into effect.
I had been working in the stables for a couple of hours one morning, when one of the stable boys came over and, with the casual use of his boot, indicated I should get up and follow him. He led me to one of the guest bungalows, and I assumed I was needed to clean it for a surprise arrival. He unlocked it and indicated I should go inside, although I didn't see the cleaning equipment I was expecting. As I went inside and heard someone moving around, I suddenly thought that perhaps I was to be used to entertain a guest, and a familiar feeling of excitement and fear swept through me as I wondered what 'special services' this guest might require.
I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw Derek standing by the bed, just staring in disbelief and wonder. He rushed to me and we hugged, both of us breaking down in tears. Despite my earlier conviction that this couldn't be a setup, as soon as I saw my husband, I had to assume it was all a game, otherwise how could he be here? The sudden rush of surprise and relief, combined with exhaustion, overcame me briefly and all I could do was sob into his chest.
"Oh God, Jenny, I was so worried about you!" he said as we clung to each other. I was too emotional to reply, or to register what he implied by what he'd said. We kissed and hugged for an age, before eventually we sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at each other. I was smiling broadly as the tears dried up, but he had a look of deep concern.
"How are you, Jen?" Derek asked. "Has it been terrible for you?"
"Darling," I replied, "you know what I'm like. This has been our best game ever!" He still looked very worried and upset.
"I hate to tell you this, Jen, but it isn't a game."
"Don't be silly!" I laughed, "you've played it really, really well, but it's over now."
"I'm sorry, darling," he said, his face deadly serious, "but you were really kidnapped, and you were really sold into slavery." I saw the frightened look on his face and felt a knot of doubt form in my stomach.
"B-but, we're in Morocco," I stammered, now totally confused, "it's a civilised country, slavery is illegal! Can't you just get the police?" As I said this I remembered what the little girl had told me - 'my father owns the police.' Could that be true?
"We're not in Morocco, Jenny, they took you over the border into Western Sahara. It's disputed territory, part occupied by Morocco, part under rebel control. There is no police force, just warring militia. Slavery isn't illegal here because there is no law."
I couldn't take this in, and just sat there whilst Derek kept talking.
"I tracked you to the slave market and managed to bribe someone to tell me who bought you. I've been to the police, I've been to the British consulate, I've retained a Moroccan lawyer. There's nothing they can do. You are beyond the rule of law."
"I don't understand," I said, bemused by what he was saying. I was bought? I'm really a slave? How could this be true? I was utterly confused - until ten minutes ago, I'd been convinced I was a slave. Five minutes ago, I was sure it was all a game. Now? I had no idea, but I was scared. The look on Derek's face terrified me.
"How come you're here, Derek?"
"I came here to try and persuade your owner, a guy called Yousef, to sell you to me." I felt sick inside, but there was something else - I had an 'Owner'. Just the use of that word in such a matter-of-fact way by my husband sent a shiver through me, a thrill of excitement as well as fear.
"Bizarre as it seems, I think he's a decent guy - he let me see you for a start, he didn't have to do that. I suppose it demonstrates how secure he feels here, that I offer no threat to him. The legal position is hopeless and this place is in the heart of rebel-held territory, so there's no chance of a rescue mission."
"Make love to me, Derek," I suddenly said. I couldn't take in all this information, and I needed to feel his touch on my body, to know that, whatever happened, I still had his love. He held me and kissed me tenderly, whispering his love into my ear. I felt his hands roaming my body, his lips on my nipples, sucking gently, his tongue flicking them erect, and I began to respond immediately, the tenderness of what he was doing such a contrast to everything I had experienced over the last three weeks.
He pushed me down on my back and I felt him moving across my stomach until his tongue was pressing urgently against my sex, forcing its way between my lips and seeking out my clitoris, already engorged with my desire for him. He continued to torture me in the most exquisite way, his fingers exploring my vagina and massaging my G-spot until I cried out in a quite explosive climax, which he made sure extended as long as possible, continuing to stimulate me until I could take no more. We lay together, just holding on to each other as if our lives depended on it.
The slave chains made it difficult to make love face to face, but we were not to be denied. Derek had to bend my legs up until my feet were around my ears, but I didn't mind, I needed to see him as he slid into me and slowly brought me back to the edge of orgasm and beyond, well beyond. He was tender, and gentle, yet masterful at the same time, finally working himself up and driving into me until we both climaxed together. As we lay together again, there were a few more tears.
"So, will he let you buy me?" I asked tentatively, not sure I wanted to know the answer. Once again, my perverted sense of sexual arousal was being exercised by the thought of being bought and sold, and of becoming slave to my beloved husband.
"Well, yes and no," Derek said, clearly struggling with some terrible new revelation he would have to pass on.
"Yousef has said that, when he sells you, he will give me 'first refusal'."
"'When he sells me'? When will that happen?" I asked. Derek could not meet my eye, managing to look shifty, uncomfortable, guilty and tortured all at the same time.
"He's told me he always keeps his slaves a minimum of..." He trailed off, unable to complete his sentence.
"Yes? What?" I urged, seeing the pain on his face. "Weeks? Months? Tell me darling, I can take it." He swallowed hard and looked me in the eyes.
I couldn't speak, my mind was numb.
"He's said I can visit every month, and spend time with you," he said desperately. "Oh God, Jenny, I'm so sorry!"
We held each other in silence for a long time. Eventually, I managed to get my brain unscrambled and say something.
"I can survive this, Derek, you know I can," I said, sensing that, despite everything, I was the one who needed to provide reassurance. "You know how weird I am - I'm such a massive pervert, I'll get a real kick out of this. And if you come to see me once a month, I can have the best of both worlds."
As we made love again, I realised it really would be okay. I had already been here nearly a month. All I had to do was just focus on monthly periods between Derek's visits, and I would keep my sanity. Two years! I realised that, before, I had been facing a lifetime of slavery, but that had never really sunken in - I had always subconsciously believed that something would turn up, I couldn't really be a slave for the rest of my life.
But two years was a very real, very concrete period of time. I would be held here, made to work, made to suffer, and with the unwilling but tacit connivance of the only other person who knew I was here. I wondered what he would tell our friends? 'Oh Jenny? She's having a sabbatical, working unpaid in Africa for two years. Yes, I know, she's such a saint, giving up her time to help others...' It seemed almost comical.
Parting from Derek was the hardest thing I had ever done. I knew I had to stay strong for him, as well as myself. I watched him drive away in his hired 4X4, keeping my eyes on the dust trail until it had entirely disappeared. When I turned around, there was the old man with the donkey, loaded with food and beer. He was holding the stick he used to 'encourage' both the animal and me to make our way out into the scrubby desert, on our way to servicing the needs of the workers. I trudged after him, resigned to, but secretly revelling in, my life as a slave.
As I drove away, I had mixed feelings. I felt bad about lying to Jenny, but then I knew that, deep down, this would satisfy her darkest desires - to be dominated, punished, demeaned, mistreated - but in a safe environment where I would be able to monitor her, as well as receive regular reports on her physical and mental health.
I had selected two years as a period which would seem to her immense but real. If she couldn't take it, I could always pull her out, but I didn't anticipate that happening - she was physically and mentally tough. I realised with a shock that I would be the one struggling here - I would have my freedom and all the comforts of home, but I already knew that no other woman could fill the place of my Jenny.
She has been there for nine months now, and I have seen no reason to pull her out so far. I love her deeply. It was the only reason I could do this to her. I hope one day I can explain all this, and she will understand.