Even though blonde, blue eyed Lisa Malling was the daughter of well-off parents and had benefited from all the many advantages their money could provide for her, she had grown up to despise what she considered to be their middle-class, bourgeois attitudes and values.
Halfway through the degree course her parents had funded at a prestigious University, she met Faisal, a final year student from Q’mResh, a small, oil-rich country in the Middle East.
Attracted by his good looks, urbane charm, expensive lifestyle, sexual expertise...and not least by the fact that it would anger and disappoint her parents...she dropped out of her studies and moved into his luxurious penthouse apartment where, less than a month later, he asked her to consider marrying him and returning with him to his country.
She was very flattered and although she considered marriage to be as bourgeois as her parents, said she’d think about his offer and let him know within a week.
Knowing her parents would be horrified and tell her not to be so stupid, she spoke to her friends instead, only to find that they, too, thought it was a bad idea and pointed out that he was from a totally different culture, with different values, customs and even language.
He might be comfortable and at ease in the West, but how would she adapt to life in a country where she wouldn’t know anyone other than him, couldn’t even communicate with anybody else or understand what was going on around her and have far fewer rights and freedoms than a man.
They were valid points and she knew it, but Lisa didn’t want to hear them, preferring to believe that it couldn’t be that difficult to fit in or make herself understood and that as Faisal’s wife, she would certainly not be expected to put up with any restrictions on what she might choose to do.
Q’mReshi women might have to, but not a Western woman like her.
Ignoring all advice to the contrary, she agreed to Faisal’s proposal and shortly afterwards, following a wedding ceremony of which she understood not a word and to which her parents were not invited, boarded a plane to fly to Q’mResh, keenly anticipating married life with her new husband.
Within hours of stepping out into the scorching desert heat of Q’mResh , Lisa began to realise just how far she was from her home and the life she knew and wonder if she had made a serious mistake.
At the airport, every official who dealt with her was a man.
In the streets, all the shop owners and street vendors were men.
As were all the customers of the many coffee shops and cafes.
The only women she saw were heavily robed and veiled and even these seemed to be escorted by at least one man who walked ahead while they followed a pace behind.
Odd though this was to her Western eyes, by far the most unsettling part of her arrival was that every man, without exception, turned to stare at her as she passed, openly ogling her body.
Whether it was that she was pale-skinned, or had long blonde hair and blue eyes, or was dressed in tight jeans, T-shirt and medium heels, the effect was quite intimidating and Lisa was very happy to reach Faisal’s family home and get away from the prying eyes.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t happy very long when she learned that Faisal’s grandmother, mother and several aunts also lived in the house and that, as the youngest and newest woman to join the family, she was considered to be the lowest and least important member of their hierarchy.
She did not take at all well to their expectations that she should clean and cook and wash for them and when Faisal sided with his female relatives, it led to a first bitter row between him and Lisa.
The first of many over the next weeks as he and they tried to get her to give in and accept her subordinate role in the household and she refused point-blank to conform to what she believed were their ridiculously outdated and unacceptable demands.
The harder they pushed her, the more Lisa rebelled, deliberately taking to wearing her shortest, tightest skirts and skimpiest tops around the house, knowing full well that her provocative outfits would cause outrage among the older women.
Trapped in the middle between his indignant relatives and stubbornly unrepentant wife, Faisal eventually lost his temper as yet another row erupted over who should serve a meal and who should have their meal served to them.
Culminating in him yelling at Lisa and ordering her to serve everybody and her responding by deliberately spilling the food over his mother and grandmother, slapping his face in front of them and then storming out of the house...
She did not get very far, her bare arms and shoulders, nylon-sheathed legs and uncovered face and hair attracting immediate attention, which rapidly turned into anger as it was realised that she was unaccompanied by a man.
Quickly surrounded by a jostling, shouting crowd, Lisa was immensely relieved to be rescued by what she assumed were Q’mReshi police, a pair of tall, hard-faced men dressed in dark blue robes, whose harsh, guttural orders soon dispersed the group around her.
She wanted to thank them, but before she could even begin to use the few words of Q’mReshi she had learned, they seized her by the arms and frogmarched her away, ignoring her protests and attempts to pull free of their iron grip.
Hustled through the streets and into a nondescript building, she was shocked to be pushed roughly into a large, bare, windowless room and the door locked behind her before she could recover her balance.
Angry and frightened, she banged on the door, but its heavy, dark wood seemed to absorb her blows and when no one came to answer her cries after what seemed like a long time, Lisa had no option but to sit down on the cool stone floor and wait.
Until, an unknown time later, the door opened and five men entered.
Two were the policemen who had saved her from the angry crowd, one seemed to be some sort of clerk carrying a thick, leather-bound ledger, the fourth, a much older, severe-looking man with an air of dignified authority...and the fifth was her husband, Faisal.
Lisa greeted him with a cry of joy and relief and tried to run towards him, but was instantly intercepted by the two policemen and pushed back against the wall.
She called out to Faisal to help her, only to gape at him in total disbelief when he ignored her and turned away to the older man, while one of the policemen clamped his hand over her mouth, his fingers digging into her cheeks so hard that she whimpered in pain.
Silenced, hurting and in growing alarm, Lisa stared anxiously at the older man as he addressed what were clearly a series of questions to her husband, each answered by Faisal and noted down in the ledger carried by the clerk.
Not understanding a single word of the proceedings, she had no idea what was happening when Faisal bowed to the older man, then came to stand directly in front of her and held his open palm towards her three times, each time uttering a short phrase in Q'mReshi that meant nothing to her.
Only after the clerk had made another entry in his ledger, then accompanied by the older man, left the room, did Faisal deign to tell Lisa what had just occurred.
Her actions had not only shamed him in his own home in front of his family, he said coldly, but had then affronted public dignity and the strict moral code of his country by flaunting her body with such total lack of proper modesty that she had had to be arrested for her own safety and to prevent a full-scale riot.
He had then been further humiliated to be confronted by the police and accused of permitting her to roam the streets unaccompanied and dressed in a lewd manner calculated to inflame men’s basest desires.
Such insults to his masculinity and status in his family were unforgivable and could only be erased in one way, so he had arranged to bring along an adjudicator of the Law and his clerk to assess his case against her, determine a just outcome and record the official decision.
Which decision was, he informed her with a cruel smile curving his lips, that he had now divorced her and thereby removed his protection from her.
He paused, knowing that Lisa was entirely ignorant of Q’mResh divorce law, then as she tried to protest through the hand sealing her lips, added that as the wronged party in the case, the adjudicator had agreed to his request to be compensated for his embarrassment and the loss of her domestic and marital services.
To which end, he told her brutally, she was to be sold as a slave to the highest bidder, with the resulting money going to him...
Lisa didn’t believe him, simply refusing to accept that she could be divorced so easily, without even the opportunity to state her case and rejecting out of hand the even more preposterous notion that she could be sold as if she was some sort of commodity or a piece of property, rather than a free and independent woman.
Until Faisal spoke to the men holding her and while the first kept her gagged with his hand, the second quickly twisted her arms behind her back and snapped handcuffs on her wrists.
Shocked by the ruthless speed and efficiency with which she had been bound, Lisa was slow to react when he took another set of restraints from beneath his robe, squatted before her and locked her ankles together with cuffs linked by a short steel chain.
Too late, she tried to kick out at him, squealing in fright when the chain between her cuffed ankles snapped taut to throw her off balance, only the hand gripping her jaw saving her from falling.
Unconcerned by her efforts to resist, he got to his feet and reached into his robe again, this time producing a large hard ball on a leather strap and lifting it towards her face.
The moment the hand over her lips was taken away, Lisa instinctively opened her mouth to scream a protest at what had been done to her...not realising that it was exactly what they wanted her to do.
Her mistake was instantly exploited, the hard ball forced between her teeth and deep into her mouth, her jaws stretching wide to accommodate its bulk as the strap was buckled tightly behind her neck.
Gagged and helpless, she could only watch in spiralling horror while the men shook hands with Faisal and walked out of the room, leaving her alone with him.
Impervious to her pleading gaze, he took a length of coarse rope from his robe and slowly, taking his time, made a slipknot loop in one end, then crooked his finger in a beckoning gesture and pointed to the floor directly in front of his feet.
Although it was clear to Lisa what he wanted, the rope loop terrified her and she didn’t move, the gag making her frantic pleas incomprehensible even to her.
His face darkened angrily at her refusal to comply and Lisa stumbled backwards away from him, the chain between her ankles jerking and rattling until her spine met the wall and she could retreat no further.
Faisal strode across the room and she tried in vain to twist away from his grasp, then screamed into the ball filling her mouth when he dropped the loop over head and tightened it until the rope drew taut on her throat.
Gripping the other end, he stared coldly into her wide, frightened eyes, then jerked hard and smiled cruelly as the slip-knot tightened to cut off her air supply.
For ten endless seconds, he let her suffocate, terror bulging her eyes as she fought to breathe, then let the rope loosen and laughed as she gasped and trembled in fear and her breasts heaved to suck in oxygen.
Giving her just a few seconds to recover, he shook the rope to get her attention, then told her again that she was going to be sold as a slave.
This time, Lisa did believe him and whimpered in anguished misery when he added that he was going to deliver her to the slave-trader personally and that if she gave him any trouble on the way there, he would have her whipped as soon as they arrived.
She shuddered at the dreadful prospect, then froze into immobility, too afraid to even tremble when he drew a long, curved knife from his robe and used the gleaming, razor-sharp blade to slice through the thin fabric of her top and skirt, stripping her down to just her panties, garter-belt, stockings and heels.
Her face flushed as Faisal gazed boldly at her revealed breasts, for in her rebellion against his family and their unreasonable expectations, she had deliberately chosen not to wear a bra.
A decision she already bitterly regretted, then regretted even more as he sneered that her breasts would bring him a great deal of money when she was sold, then put away his knife, tugged commandingly at the rope around her neck and forced her to follow him out of the door.
Unable to resist, she tottered down the hallway in dozens of tiny, chain-hobbled paces, her mind quailing to the appalling realisation that Faisal meant to take her outside the building, into the street where her gagged, steel-bound, half-naked body would be exposed to anyone who cared to look.
Exposed and horrifyingly vulnerable, with no way to conceal her nudity or defend herself from anyone who wanted to take advantage of her helplessness...
It was not far to the slave-trader’s facility, but before Lisa had covered even a fraction of the distance, the rattling of her chains and her semi-nudity attracted unwanted attention and she was soon surrounded and followed by a large crowd of men and boys.
Shuffling along under the blazing sun, sweat rolling down her gagged face and swaying breasts, she couldn’t hide from their leering gaze or blot out their sneering voices and derisive laughter as they mocked her shameful plight, their contempt encouraged by Faisal’s cheerful invitations, in both Q’mReshi and English, for them to come to the slave-trader’s auction and make a bid for her at the next sale, where she was to be sold as a slave.
His offer caused more laughter and mockery from most of the crowd, but to Lisa’s horrified alarm, several men nodded in confirmation of their interest and as their gaze swept over her body, she shuddered and thrust her head down to avoid the unmistakable greed and lust glittering in the depths of their cold, cruel eyes.
Terrified by what she had recognised in their faces and by the dreadful possibility that she might be sold to one of them, she dared not look up again, keeping her eyes fixed on the dusty earth at her feet as she stumbled onwards for what felt like an eternity.
Eventually brought to a halt, she slowly raised her head and was relieved to find that the crowd had mostly dispersed, leaving only a few small boys still watching.
To left and right, tall mud-brick walls rose high above her, while directly in front, a pair of massive wooden gates blocked off the alleyway and as Faisal lifted a heavy brass ring and hammered it several times against the door, Lisa realised that it must be the entrance to the slave-trader’s premises.
As the echoes of Faisal’s knocking died away, a small hatch set into the door slid back, a shadowy face looked out at them and the hatch closed again.
A few seconds later, one half of the huge gates opened just far enough to permit entry and Faisal strode in quickly, tugging hard at the rope leash around Lisa’s throat so that she had no chance to resist and stumbled through the gate with her hobble-chain clinking at every short, hurried step.
Struggling to keep up and not fall, she had no time to look around until Faisal led her to the wall bordering the alley and knotted her leash to a head-high iron ring, then laughingly warned her not to wander off and walked away through an arch and out of her sight.
Frightened and demoralised though she was, Lisa recognised an opportunity and immediately tugged at the rope, jerking her head back as far as she could to see if she could loosen the knot, or break the rope or even pull the ring out of the wall.
Her efforts made no impression on anything, but she refused to give up, twisting her cuffed arms to left and right, bending over and raising her arms behind her back, trying everything she could think of to get her clawing fingers on the rope.
Even rubbing her gagged mouth against it in the faint hope of her teeth cutting through the tough fibres.
Nothing worked and still securely tethered, she finally had to admit defeat and to try to take her mind off what her failure meant for her future, looked around at her surroundings.
In different circumstances, they would have been delightful, for she was in a large, square courtyard, totally private behind the high walls, dotted with numerous palm trees to provide shade for comfortably-cushioned seating and with two ornate fountains whose tinkling waters added welcome coolness and tranquillity.
It was a bizarre contrast to the dire situation Lisa was in, but when she looked a little closer, there were some jarring notes that gave the lie to the otherwise idyllic scene.
Set into the walls, all the way around and at regular intervals, were duplicates of the iron ring to which she was tethered and at the far end of the courtyard was a raised stage with a thick curtain behind, flanked by two tall, square posts studded with more of the rings.
It was all too easy for Lisa to work out what they were for and as she imagined herself chained to one of the posts, or up on the stage, being sold as a slave, panicked and jerked madly at her tether, desperate to escape before it was too late.
Despite her frantic efforts, the strong rope held firm and when Faisal came back through the archway minutes later, accompanied by a tall, powerfully-built, heavily-bearded man who she realised had to be the slave-trader, Lisa moaned in despair, her brain quailing to the awful realisation that it was already too late...
They strode over to her and Lisa shrank back against the wall, her blue eyes wide with horror as Faisal grinned down at her and confirmed that his companion was indeed the slave-trader and had come to inspect the merchandise he would soon be selling.
The trader raised his right arm and gestured for Lisa to stand up straight, his face creasing into a frown when she failed to obey.
Faisal’s grin widened even more at her disobedience and as he told her that she had just made a foolish mistake, Lisa saw the trader reach to his belt and pull out a braided leather whip.
Staring at the long, thin lash in appalled fascination, Lisa saw the trader’s arm rise, then snap downwards and as a vivid red line appeared on the pale flesh of her left thigh, followed a millisecond later by searing heat, she screamed in pain and anguish at the callous brutality of what he had done to her.
Shocked to her very core, she shook her head in terrified denial as his arm rose again, but could not prevent his whip branding a second stripe of burning fire into her flesh and wringing renewed screams from her behind her gagged lips.
With no trace of emotion on his hard face, the trader lowered his whip, then repeated his gesture for her to stand up...and this time, Lisa shot to her feet and stood naked and exposed before him, trembling in fear.
For twenty long seconds, he inspected her body impassively, then reversed the whip in his hand and used the handle to lift each of her breasts in turn and then let them fall, as if checking their weight and firmness.
Lisa’s face flushed a deep pink, but she dared not move and when he held up his right hand and made a circle with his finger, she was only too happy to turn around and escape his scrutiny and the mocking grin on Faisal’s face, despite knowing that they must be looking at the rounded curves of her buttocks.
From behind her, she heard the two men speak in Q’mReshi, but had no idea of what was being said until Faisal switched to English and told her to turn around, spread her legs, arch her spine and stick out her breasts.
His arrogance was breathtaking and her eyes glittered with anger, but when he added casually that the trader was not known for his patience with slaves, Lisa fought down her desire to refuse his demands, feeling the still-painful stinging of her thigh and remembering how casually she had been whipped...and how easily she could be again...
Turning to face the trader, she reluctantly positioned her body exactly as Faisal had instructed, parting her ankles as far as the hobble-chain would allow, hollowing her spine and pushing her breasts forward, as if offering herself to the two men.
Shamefully presented by the pose, she shuddered as Faisal informed her that it was how a slave was required to display her body when in the presence of her Masters and that if she did not, would earn herself a whipping.
As she would for any failure to obey commands perfectly and without hesitation.
His explanation was simple, clear and horrifying, for Lisa understood immediately that if she was to comply, not only would her physical freedom be gone forever, but her ability to make her own decisions and determine the path of her of her future life would no longer be in her control and her Fate would be decreed by whoever bought her.
If she complied, she would become a slave...but if she refused, she was horribly certain that the trader would whip her without mercy until she was forced to submit as a slave anyway.
Having felt the whip, Lisa definitely did not want to be whipped again.
Dropping her eyes from Faisal’s amused gaze, she tried to keep perfectly still as the trader slid the handle of his whip between her parted thighs, but when he pressed the leather upwards and rubbed back and forth against her labia and clitoris, her flimsy panties were no protection and she could not hold back a gasp or prevent the instinctive squeezing together of her thighs and bending forward of her torso as unwanted arousal ignited in her belly.
The trader's reaction was immediate and ruthless, his free hand seizing her left nipple and twisting viciously, ignoring her squeals of anguish and pain until Lisa realised her mistake and corrected it, jerking erect and spreading her legs apart to display her body exactly as before.
As a slave before Masters.
Calmly, as if nothing had happened, the trader released her tortured nipple and resumed his arousal of her until her panties glistened wetly with the juices of her enforced need, then took his whip away and after a brief conversation with Faisal, strode away and back through the archway.
In pain and helplessly aroused, Lisa wept bitterly as Faisal chuckled that he had warned her not to disobey the trader, but that he had thoroughly enjoyed seeing and hearing her receive the punishment she had brought on herself.
Perhaps now she was regretting her revolt against the traditions of his family and especially her disrespectful attitude towards him, but that was just too bad for her because as a slave, she’d soon learn to treat men...all men...as her Masters and beg, on her knees, to serve them however they desired.
On her back, on her belly, on all fours, with her sex or her anus or her mouth, anything, in any way they commanded.
No matter what, she’d do it to the very best of her ability, but it still wouldn’t save her from the whip.
All slaves were whipped and he sincerely hoped she would be whipped often and whipped hard.
In fact, his only regret was that he hadn’t done it himself, but in nine days’ time he would have the satisfaction of seeing her sold and using the money she would fetch to buy his own slave to take her place in his bed.
One who would bring him far more pleasure than she ever had...
With a sneer, he turned to leave, then turned back and before she could move, his fingers captured her right nipple and twisted just as hard as the trader had with her left, then let go and walked away laughing.
The heavy gate to the street banged shut behind him and Lisa moaned to the pain of her abused nipples, her eyes turning to the archway through which the trader had disappeared.
Knowing that when he returned, it would be to prepare her to be sold as a slave to whoever bid the highest for her.
In just nine days...
Nine days and nights in the hands of the trader had taught Lisa many things, all with her arms securely cuffed behind her back, for apart from brief periods required for her hygiene, she had been restrained at all times.
To stand, walk, kneel, bend, turn, lie down and get up in the sensual and erotic ways required of a slave,
To follow a Master, one step behind his right shoulder, in easy reach should he wish to access her body, the leash to her throat in his hand and her head bowed to reserve her beauty for his eyes alone.
To remain silent even when her gag was removed, until given permission to speak, no matter what the provocation.
To take food from his hand and lick his fingers clean when given the privilege of not having to eat and drink from bowls placed on the floor.
To understand the one-word commands in Q’mReshi that a Master would use to direct a slave.
To offer every part of her body, without exception, for the pleasure and use of her Master...or to his whip if so ordered...whenever and wherever he desired.
To hold her ordered position even when her nipples ached and her belly seethed with the ferocious heat of arousal that his hands and whip-handle created as she was built towards orgasms she was never permitted to reach, her unsatisfied needs undermining her ability to resist his touch and reinforcing his total power over her.
Above all, she had learned to obey without question and try as hard as she possibly could to meet any demand made of her, for the slave-trader was a harsh, unforgiving trainer, quick to use his whip on her for any errors or failings on her part.
After just nine days, Lisa's submission was absolute and the slave-trader was satisfied that she was sufficiently trained to make her first...and last...appearance on his stage as an un-owned, free in name only, female.
When she left it, it would be as a slave and the property of her purchaser, to be used and treated as any other of his possessions...
Lisa’s wrists and ankles were no longer cuffed, but she stood totally still with her body beautifully displayed as the trader walked around her, checking to see that all was ready.
Wearing the same revealing underwear as on her arrival, with her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, a narrow leather collar with a disk showing her sale number, a red ball-gag stretching her lips and her interlaced fingers clasped behind her head to lift and tauten her full breasts, only her eyes betrayed her fears as she waited behind the curtain to be ordered onto the stage in the courtyard.
She hadn’t known that she was not the only female to be offered for sale that day and it had come as a complete surprise to her to find that several other women had already been sold on behalf of other slave-traders and two more were still ahead of her, waiting their turn.
Both were robed in black from head to foot with only their eyes visible and as she was led in and they turned to stare at her almost-naked body, Lisa blushed, sure she could feel their cold disapproval even though they were about to be sold as slaves themselves.
She could only assume that their robes would be removed when they reached the stage, for it was quite impossible for her to tell whether they were young or old, thin or fat, even ugly or pretty and surely no man would buy a female slave they had never seen.
The first woman was taken through and after a few minutes Lisa heard men’s voices begin to call out their bids, the voices gradually falling away until only one was left and the deal was done.
The sold woman never re-appeared and shortly afterwards, the second woman was taken and the same thing happened.
Then, suddenly, shockingly, it was her turn and as she was ordered through the curtain, Lisa was appalled to see fifty or sixty men watching her as she made her way to the centre of the stage, one of them Faisal with a wide smile on his face.
Knowing that the slave-trader and his whip were behind her, ready to strike at the first hint of disobedience or hesitation, Lisa halted and arched her body into the display position she knew she must assume when in the presence of any man, gulping in shame and fear as a throaty growl came from the audience and dozens of eyes focused on her out-thrust breasts, flat belly and firm buttocks.
On command, she turned around and bent forward from the waist until her hair met the floor, holding the position until ordered to turn to face the crowd and then go to her knees with her thighs spread wide, every position specifically designed to inflame the desire of the watching men to possess her.
Finally instructed to rise and walk on the spot, she stepped from foot to foot, lifting her knees high and as her buttocks flexed and naked breasts jiggled rhythmically, several men in the crowd shouted out what Lisa knew must be bids and counter-bids.
With no instructions to the contrary, she continued high-stepping, her eyes widening in alarm and despair as even more men joined in the bidding war, their voices becoming louder and angrier as the battle to secure her as their slave grew fiercer and her price ever higher.
She had no way of knowing how high her price had risen, but Faisal’s beaming smile and the frustration and disappointment on the faces of those forced to drop out of the bidding, told her that it had already reached a sum that was beyond the means of all but the wealthiest...and she feared that such men would expect and demand full value for their money.
Value that her body would have to provide...
Above the din of bids and counter-bids, a new voice called out from the back and to Lisa’s astonishment, the courtyard fell silent, every face turning to see who had spoken.
It was a tall, slim man in a white robe trimmed with gold and as he walked forward, the crowd parted respectfully before him.
Reaching the stage, he addressed the slave-trader and when she was ordered to cease high-stepping, Lisa automatically returned to display position as she had been trained.
Her obedience seemed to please the man and as he reached into his robe and produced a thick bundle of Q’mReshi currency which he handed over to the slave-trader, Lisa realised that she had been sold and now belonged to him.
In some ways, she was almost pleased, for he was at least younger and better-looking than many in the crowd who had bid for her...but when he turned to her and spoke in excellent English, her brief moment of pleasure turned to swiftly-growing horror.
He had not, as she had assumed, bought her for himself, but on behalf of the Sheikh of Ras-al-Khoum, who wished to add a blonde European female to his harem of slaves.
Soon, she would be taken to his palace to begin her sexual service, but first, she would be fitted with her permanent slave-chains and pierced for the rings that the Sheikh required all of his harem-slaves to wear.
That would be done at the slave-traders where she would remain to continue her training until the piercings healed, after which she would be collected and brought to the Sheikh.
If she was wise, he cautioned her seriously, she would train very hard to become fully pleasing, for the Sheikh was not an easy or soft Master to serve and would not hesitate to punish her if he was disappointed with any aspect of her performance.
Especially as he had paid such a very high price for her...
The message was unmistakable and when he turned away to talk to the slave-trader, Lisa stared numbly at his back, her mind in turmoil as she struggled to come to terms with the shocking implications of what he had told her.
Sold as a slave against her will, she now belonged to a Sheikh she had never even heard of, let alone met, but who had paid a fortune to buy her.
A man rich and powerful enough to own and maintain a harem of chained, pierced, ringed female slaves in his palace to serve his every desire...and had bought her to join them...
Ice-cold shivers of fear raced up her naked spine and she shuddered, her eyes scanning the slowly-dispersing crowd, seeking a sympathetic face, or anything that might give her some small hope of escaping the future planned for her, but finding only cold, stony indifference to her plight.
In the middle of the front row, still seated, still smiling, she saw Faisal and gazed pleadingly at him, her eyes filled with a final, desperate appeal for him to save her.
He stood up and for a brief moment, Lisa thought he might be going to intervene on her behalf, but instead, he chuckled that her sale had brought him more than enough to buy himself several slaves if he wanted, then sneeringly told her to enjoy her chains and serve her new Master well if she wanted to avoid being whipped, then gave her a mocking wave goodbye, turned and walked away without a backward glance, out of the courtyard and out of her life forever.
Her last link with her former life was gone and when the Sheikh’s man departed and the slave-trader replaced her cuffs and ankle-hobble, Lisa wept bitterly as she made her slow, laborious way back across the courtyard, through the archway and down into the cells beneath his premises, knowing that her fate was sealed...
Following the instructions given to him by the Sheikh’s emissary, the slave-trader had summoned a specialist and as the squat, bald, muscular blacksmith set out his travelling anvil, tools and several set of manacles of varying sizes, one of which would soon restrain her limbs and remove her freedom, Lisa could not hide the tremors of fear that rippled through her kneeling body.
The steel bands were much wider and thicker than she had ever imagined and when the blacksmith told her to hold out her right hand, then placed one around her wrist to check for size, she was shocked by how heavy the cuff was.
Taking it back, he selected another, slightly smaller and tested it the same way, nodding in satisfaction when it closed to a snug fit around her wrist.
Pairing it with its twin, he put it carefully aside, then carried out the same, thorough checking procedure above her elbows, at her ankles and finally at her throat, ending with seven steel bands of the correct sizes to fit her perfectly.
The care he took did nothing to allay Lisa’s worries, for it only confirmed that once they were fitted, there would be not the smallest possibility of her escaping their grip on her limbs and when he took the first cuff, placed it on his anvil and gestured for her to lay her right wrist in the open ring, she gave a low whimper and obeyed as slowly as she dared.
After a slight adjustment to the position of her wrist the blacksmith flicked the cuff shut, then positioned rivets above the twin locking rings and picked up his hammer, warning Lisa to turn her head away, shut her eyes and keep perfectly still.
The hammer descended, propelled by his brawny arm and with loud “clangs” drove the rivets through the locking rings, then descended four more times on each, burring the ends of the rivets over both rings to prevent their removal.
Two minutes later and her left wrist was cuffed, then the cuffs above her elbows and the ones on her ankles followed, each rivet carefully burred over and checked to ensure its complete security.
For the final band, Lisa had to kneel beside the anvil, her right cheek pressed against its cold metal while the blacksmith hammered home the rivets and when the echoes died away, she lifted her head and gasped as she felt the weight of the collar at her throat.
The blacksmith gazed down at her, then told her to get up and when she rose to her feet and displayed her body, he carefully inspected each of the seven bands and pronounced himself satisfied with their fit, then invited the slave-trader to do the same.
Lisa already knew what his verdict would be, for the blacksmith had shown himself to be a craftsman and a perfectionist and it was no surprise when the slave-trader shook his hand and paid the agreed fee before showing him out.
In the minutes before the trader returned, Lisa dared to risked his anger by breaking her pose to tug and twist at the cuffs on her wrists, trying unsuccessfully to slip her hands through the steel restraints, then lifted her fingers to the collar around her throat, exploring the ring dangling from its front and the domed rivets locking it in place until a sound from outside the cell forced her to return to her display pose.
The slave-trader walked in and Lisa went instantly to her belly at his terse command, clenching her jaw not to cry out when his strong hand pinned her wrists together roughly at the small of her back.
There was a sharp, metallic click and when his hand released her wrists, Lisa immediately attempted to separate her arms, discovering, as she had suspected and feared, that her cuffs were locked together.
Face down and without the use of her arms, there was little she could do when her ankle cuffs were secured, but when he gripped her elbows and forced them to meet, the strain on her shoulders as they were pulled backwards brought a squeal of protest and frantic wriggles of her body as she tried to stop him from completing her bondage.
Her resistance proved to be both futile and painful, for his strength easily overpowered her and as soon as the lock snapped shut, he applied a dozen cruelly hard smacks to her squirming buttocks, turning the taut, rounded flesh a fiery red as she wailed in anguish.
Then snapped the order for her to be silent...and applied six more before lifting her to her feet, carrying her to the side wall and shackling the ring on her collar to an iron ring set into the wall at a height that forced her almost onto her tiptoes.
Already commanded to silence, the ball-gag buckled into Lisa's mouth was certainly not needed, but the slave-trader gagged her anyway, then strode out of the cellar, leaving her facing the blank stone only inches away, unable to move away or ease the relentlessly growing strain on her calves and thighs.
She had no way to keep track, so could not know how long she remained at the wall, but by the time the slave-trader returned, the muscles of her feet and legs and back and shoulders were burning like fire and tears were running down her gagged cheeks and over her breasts.
Released, she fell into his arms and was so happy to be off her feet that she almost didn’t care when he ordered her to kneel and connected her ankle cuffs to her wrist cuffs with a short chain.
With her belly arched into a curve and her thighs parted, she was utterly exposed and vulnerable and when he took his whip from his belt and let the thong trail across the soft curves of her breasts, Lisa gulped and dared not move or make a sound, even when a second man entered the cell.
Of average height and build, in dark clothes and wearing glasses that made him look rather earnest and serious, he could have been a doctor or lawyer.
Until he opened the case he was carrying and took out a shiny piercing-gun, already loaded with a large-bore needle, then laid out a selection of steel rings and shackles.
Lisa’s muscles tensed for fight or flight, but in her chains she was powerless to do either and as the slave-trader’s whip flicked lightly over her breasts, she shuddered and was forced to submit to his will.
The piercer was obviously well-used to naked slaves and set to work after barely a glance at her body, crouching before her with his piercing-gun in his right hand and using his left to roll her right nipple between his fingers.
Lisa tried not to let her body respond, telling herself that she must not give in to the fierce arousal he imposed on her, but the orders of her mind were no match for his skilful, knowing fingers and her nipple quickly stiffened to aching hardness, jutting boldly from her firm, helplessly-presented breast.
She whimpered when the jaws of his piercing-gun encircled the rigid bud, then squealed in pain and misery as the needle drove through the base of her nipple and retracted, leaving a neat hole through her flesh.
Impervious to her distress, he chose a large ring from his selection and fitted it through the hole, then closed the ring with a small, heavy ball screwed onto the threaded ends, a bead of powerful glue making the bond permanent.
Her right nipple then received the same treatment and the same barbaric adornment and as Lisa whimpered to the throbbing ache of her pierced flesh, he pierced her a third time, adding and bonding a much smaller, lighter ring to her belly-button.
Fervently hoping that it had been the last, Lisa was appalled when the slave-trader took a firm grip of her head and held her still while the piercer changed the needle for a curved version, calmly inserted his gun into her nostrils and punched a hole clean through the septum of her nose, then fitted her with a fourth ring and bonded it in the same permanent way as the others.
Blinking away the tears caused by the sharp, stinging pain, she was horrified to see him pick up a large steel shackle, instantly guessing where it was to go.
She really, really wanted to be wrong, but her guess was totally accurate and when the gun fired for the last time, drilling a hole through the thicker folds of her outer labia that was then filled by the shackle, Lisa knew that the massively-strong anchorage point mounted in her living flesh could easily be used for a leash, or to chain her wherever her Master desired.
Any of her rings could be used for the same purpose, but the shackle promised ultimate security and as she visualised the many awful uses to which it might be put, Lisa could only wonder how long it would be before it was...
Covered from head to toes in all-enveloping black robes and with her blue eyes hidden behind a thick veil, Lisa appeared no different from any other Q’mReshi woman.
Beneath her robes, though, her situation...and her status...were very much at odds with even the extremely-limited freedoms and privileges permitted those women.
Apart from her heavy collar, steel manacles confining her wrists and elbows behind her back, nine inches of strong chain linking her ankles, thoroughly gagged and with rings transfixing her nose, nipples and belly-button and the heavy steel shackle dangling from her labia, Lisa was otherwise totally naked, for she was an owned slave and was permitted nothing but the restraints of her slavery.
Even her name would only be hers for as long as her Master chose and at his whim, even that could be taken from her.
Her only purpose was to serve him and bring him pleasure in whatever way he desired and to that end, Lisa had spent the weeks while her piercings healed, repeating and practising everything the slave-trader had taught her.
Including, to her intense frustration and bitter disappointment, frequent extended arousal of her tightly chained and helplessly-available nudity, but never leading to orgasm.
As a result, her belly constantly smouldered with unsatisfied need, her body needing only a casual caress to send her desire zooming, her longing to relieve her sexual tension colouring her every thought and action as she sank deeper and deeper into an enforced acceptance of her subjugation.
So much so, that when the time came for her to be taken to the Sheikh and the same man who had purchased her at the auction arrived to escort her, Lisa stood before him with her chained nudity beautifully presented, her body radiating sexual heat and the promise of exquisite please for any man bold enough to take her and use her as the hot, needy slave she clearly was.
When she was robed, the touch of his hands when she was leashed and the feel of material on her flesh, excited her even more and as she followed him from the slave-trader’s house, across the courtyard, through the gate and along the alley to where his vehicle waited, the sliding of coarse cloth her across her erect nipples at every short, chain-hobbled step, set her belly fluttering and trembling.
Seated in the rear of his four-by-four with her hobble-chain locked to a floor-ring, she shivered as he drove her away, fear, excitement, anxiety, desire, anticipation and shame all swirling through her brain to the awesome certainty that when she exited the vehicle, it would be to meet her Master and begin her life-long sexual service as his slave.
The trip took several hours, almost all of it on barely-discernible tracks through the desert and long before her destination was reached, Lisa was totally lost.
Her first view of the Sheikh’s home was from the top of a sand ridge some two miles away and she was astonished to find that the high wall surrounding it enclosed not only his magnificent white palace, but an entire oasis of flourishing tropical trees and plants interspersed with shady green spaces scattered around a large pool and several meandering streams.
It was an extraordinary thing to see in the middle of a desert and when she was driven in through the main gate, Lisa was again amazed by the incredible contrast between the lush, green vista inside the walls and the barren, inhospitable wasteland just a short distance outside.
For a moment, the lack of any guard at the gate sent wild thoughts of escape rushing into her brain...until she realised that there was no need for the gates to be guarded.
The desert beyond the walls was the guard, for nobody trying to flee the palace on foot would ever be able to cross the vast expanse of sand and live to tell the tale.
Escape was simply not a feasible option and as Lisa had to accept the fact, the four-by-four braked to a halt and her escort got out and opened the rear door to unlock her hobble-chain and help her down.
With casual authority, he pulled back her robes and as her face and the front of her body from her collared throat to the shackle at her belly were revealed to his eyes, Lisa instinctively hollowed her spine and spread her legs as wide as she could, a glow of heat in her belly as she offered herself in the submissive display of a slave before any man.
Taking for granted her actions as nothing more than the natural order of things, he removed her gag, then reached into his vehicle and pulled out a wicked-looking flogger with a polished wooden handle and four knotted leather thongs.
Holding it up in front of her wide, frightened eyes, he told her that it was the Sheikh’s favourite way of disciplining his slaves, then ordered her to open her mouth and placed the handle between her parted jaws, warning her not to drop it or let her teeth mark the wood.
All Lisa could do was to purse her lips around the shaft when he added that the Sheikh liked to have his new slaves brought to him carrying the means of their own punishment in their mouths and considered it a highly-effective way of emphasising and reinforcing their lowly station within his palace.
It certainly had that effect on Lisa, her mind quailing at the thought of the menacing whip being used on her and she knew she would do anything to avoid that, but also understood that if the Sheikh wanted to whip her, he would, simply because she was a slave and he could do whatever he wished to her.
Her escort then took a large steel disk from his robe and showed it to her, making sure she saw the number seventeen etched into the metal, then clipped it to the ring on the front of her collar and informed her that the number indicated the order that slaves had been added to the Sheikh’s harem.
She needed to remember it, because it was how she would be known and what she would answer to while she served in the palace.
Lisa shuddered at his words, appalled by the loss of her name and at being reduced to a mere number, as if she was no longer a person, but could do nothing about it and when he ordered “Number 17” to walk ahead of him into the palace, she had no choice and obeyed with tears in her eyes.
Directed through a maze of corridors in the huge building, she shuffled along with her hobble-chain clinking, horribly embarrassed to encounter a number of men going about their business, some of them slowing to gaze boldly at her naked breasts and belly, others striding past with barely a glance, but all clearly familiar with the sight of a female slave carrying a leather flogger between her teeth.
None showed any concern at all for her plight, for she was obviously just a slave and it was clearly neither unusual, nor of more than mild passing interest, to see a slave, even a blonde, blue-eyed Westerner, in the Sheikh’s palace.
When Lisa...”Number 17”...was ordered to halt outside a set of wide double-doors painted a dazzling white and inlaid with gold leaf, she gulped and took a deep breath, feeling the glow of heat in her belly turn to a bright flame as her escort whispered that these were the quarters of the Sheikh and explained what she was to do when they entered.
He knocked, waited five seconds, then opened the doors and as she shuffled forward across the wide expanse of marble floor inside, with his hand on her shoulder, “Number 17” saw her owner and Master for the first time.
Seated at a large desk in front of an ornately-carved screen, the Sheikh wore all white and as she approached, saw that he was a man in his early forties, of medium build, with dark eyes, a hooked nose and a neat, well-trimmed beard.
When she was six feet from the desk, he raised a hand and when she halted before him with her body perfectly displayed, he sat back in his chair and let his eyes roam over her breasts and belly, then stood up, opened a drawer to his left and took out a short length of chain with a spring-clip at one end.
Walking to stand directly in front of her, he addressed her escort in Q’mReshi, the man bowing low and responding deferentially, then translated his words for her, explaining that the Sheikh, her Master, was satisfied that “Number 17” was a very suitable addition to his harem and considered that she would be worth the high price he had paid for her.
It would be his pleasure to teach her how to serve him and an equal pleasure to administer the discipline she would certainly require.
Unfortunately, such delights would have to wait, for he had a meeting with two of his loyal subjects to deal with first and he would certainly not inconvenience them to amuse himself with a mere slave.
Even one whose body promised much delight.
As his words were translated, he stared deep into his new slave’s eyes and “Number 17” instantly lowered her head in submission, feeling her Master’s power over her as an almost physical presence.
Realising that at a word from him, she could be whipped, or sold, or given to any of his men...or worse...for in his palace, he was an absolute ruler and there was no-one to limit his authority or overrule his commands
With her head lowered, she saw the spring-clip move to her belly and could not hold back a gasp when it was hooked to the shackle transfixing her labia, leashing her to his hand.
The weight of the chain alone was enough to send a ripple of dread up her spine as it dragged at her intimately-pierced flesh and when he turned to walk back to his desk, “Number 17” broke position and shuffled forward, more afraid of the chain tightening and the pain it would cause her, than of a whipping for her disobedience.
Two short steps and she was stripped naked, her robe still clutched in her escort’s hand, but she could not care, her whole attention focused on the chain and the absolute necessity to keep it slack as she was led around the desk, to a point beside his chair.
At a one-word command from her Master, “Number 17” sank to her knees, thighs parted and spine hollowed, then keeping perfectly still as he clipped the chain to a ring set into the floor, tethering her within easy reach as her escort slipped silently from the room.
With the chain taut between ring and shackle, she could neither close her legs, nor move from the spot and when her Master took his seat and swivelled it to face her, she felt her nipples stiffen and sex moisten at her utter helplessness and vulnerability.
His hands reached out, capturing her firm breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers and tugging her rings to add tiny flashes of pain to the arousal he imposed on her until she whimpered and gasped and her belly fluttered wildly to the strength of her blazing need.
Then he took his hands from her and swivelled back to his desk, pressing the intercom button and issuing a string of instructions to whoever answered.
Temporarily ignored, “Number 17” whined in despair and frustration, her body beaded with sweat, quivering from passions she couldn’t satisfy, eyes wide with longing and horrified realisation of the ease with which she could be brought to such a state and then denied the release she craved, all at the whim of her Master.
Then was utterly still and silent when he took the whip from between her jaws and slapped the four cruel thongs lightly across the upper curve of her breasts, then thrust it back into her mouth.
She was unhurt, but understood the warning only too well and when two unknown men filed into the room, bowed to her Master and sat down at his desk to begin their meeting, the slave who had once been Lisa Malling, but was now only “Number 17” knelt in mute, obedient submission, her nude body beautifully displayed and confined in the steel restraints and rings of her slavery, clearly highly aroused and in need, a visible and unmistakable symbol of her Master’s wealth and power...
To “Number 17” kneeling beside her Master’s chair, the meeting seemed interminable, but at last she saw the two men rise to their feet and took a deep breath in preparation for what she assumed would be her renewed arousal and then her first full sexual submission to her Master.
Unclipping her leash from the floor ring, he stood up and “Number 17” rose instantly to her feet and followed one step behind as she had been trained, when he walked from behind his desk towards the two men who stood waiting for him.
Like every other man she had encountered since her divorce and enslavement, both gazed openly at her naked body, their dark eyes drinking in the swaying of her full breasts and curves of her thighs and belly as she approached, then smiled coldly as she immediately arched into the display position when her Master came to a halt.
Presented before them as the slave she was, “Number17” winced and gasped as the chain-leash jerked sharply at her shackled labia when her Master dropped it to the floor, but made herself hold her pose, knowing that she would be punished for any unordered movement.
The taller of the men addressed her Master in a tone that was plainly a question and her eyes widened in dismay when instead of replying in words, he extended his hand towards her, his palm uppermost and open, in a gesture that she realised instantly, was an invitation.
One that was immediately accepted and as the hands of both men roamed freely across her breasts and belly and buttocks, tweaking the rings transfixing her flesh and probing the shadowed wet-slick recesses of her sex and anus, “Number 17” panted and whimpered in ferocious arousal, fighting not to break her position and her belly aflame with sexual heat.
For long, seemingly-endless minutes the men plundered her offered nudity, until she teetered on the brink of a huge, longed-for orgasm, then took their hands from her trembling, sweat-streaked body, laughing in cruel amusement as she moaned in anguish and despair past the whip still held between her lips.
Turning away from her, they bowed deeply and presumably thanked the Sheikh for her use, then all three strode from the room, leaving “Number17” alone and helplessly aroused, her breasts swollen, nipples achingly hard and belly swirling with heat from their casual pillaging of her body, their callous unconcern for her needs and desires emphasising their absolute power over and her own knowledge of the total subjugation and slavery into which she had been sold.
For the second time, thoughts of escape entered her head, but as she recognised that even if she was able to make her way, undetected, through the palace’s many corridors and back to the main gate, the miles of unforgiving desert outside the walls would be an impassable barrier.
Naked, in chains, without water and on foot, she would die long before reaching the only town she knew...and even if, by some miracle, she did make it there, she was collared, chained and ringed as a slave and could expect only immediate capture and return to the Sheik by the first man to meet her.
Her punishment for such an attempt would certainly be cruel, merciless and painful and as “Number17” imagined the whip between her lips in the strong hands of her Master, rising and falling to brand lines of burning agony into her flesh, she shuddered in fear and crushed down forever the dangerous and foolish idea of any form of resistance to his will.
She was a slave and while she wore the collar and chains of her slavery to her Master, there was nothing she could not be commanded to do and no man she could not be ordered to serve.
Every man given her use would hold the same absolute power over her as her Master and as “Number 17” envisaged the months and years of ruthlessly-enforced sexual servitude that loomed before her, her blue eyes glistened with tears for the life of freedom and privilege she had once known, but had never truly valued until it was taken from her.
The life she would never know again...