The Desert

 

sweda1.jpg

I don’t know how I came to be here, I had awoken in a small tent with other girls, all different nationalities, and none of them seemed to know any more than I did on their whereabouts. We were all made to remove our clothes and re-dressed in various and, to my mind, revealing outfits. I was then taken outside to another tent, much larger, given a serving tray filled with drinks and pushed inside.

The larger tent had a sitting area as well as smaller, more private, areas off to the side, some of which were occupied by men and women in various states of repose. In the main area, where I was serving, there were richly woven carpets on the floor, in deep red with intricate swirling patterns on them in cream and dark blue and at the centre of the tent there had been erected a wooden post, though I was unsure of its purpose. There were men everywhere, talking loudly and laughing, reclining on cushions or low divans. Their flowing robes were of many colours and I found them oddly beautiful. I couldn’t understand a word that was spoken, so I had no idea what was being said to me or what they said to one another.

It was clear I was to serve these men the drinks on my tray, which were filled with some type of amber liquid.  I was on my knees scurrying around in clothes I would never normally wear and some of the men laughed and pinched or slapped me as I passed by. I cowered back from those that tried and realised the clothing I wore left little to the imagination and seem to give them the idea fondling me in such a way was acceptable. My red hair was loosely pinned up on my head though tendrils had come undone as I struggled away from the grasping hands. I wore a small peach coloured top covered with sequins, which sat like a small sleeveless bolero clasped together between my breasts, the pantaloons had similar sequined material at the waist and cuffs but the rest was of material so sheer as that I may as well have been naked and my feet were bare as I had not been given anything to cover them with.

Just then, another girl was brought into the tent and quickly tied to the wooden post. Her tanned skin glistened as if oiled and her honey-blonde hair hung to her waste in a thick plait, which was pushed over her shoulder so her back was bared. She wore what appeared to be little more than an ornate bikini top in deep green and instead of pantaloons, like I wore, she had a skirt that looked to be made up of many light green sheer scarves tied to the deep green belt around her waist. The man who had tied her to the post was slapping her bottom and pinching her breasts. She was crying out and telling him to stop, the only English I had heard spoken in this tent. I glanced at her and then quickly away as I felt sorry for her, and had seen the man that had been touching her was now tearing off her clothes, or what little she had on.

I scampered to the next man, who took a glass from my tray and reached out and caressed my breast with his left hand, I pulled back quickly and heard a deep chuckle from my right. I glanced up and saw a large man with hazel eyes that danced with merriment and a dark beard who reclined lazily on a mound of cushions, watching the interaction between me and the man I had just served with great amusement.

“You are a delight for us little one,” he spoke in accented English, “you should be nice when we touch you or you won’t be touched nicely.”

“This is a mistake, I shouldn’t be here, I don’t know why I am here.” I said.

The next man I was to serve said something to me, it was guttural and angry, so I quickly moved closer and he slipped his hand between my legs as he took a glass from my tray. “Don’t!” I yelped and tried to move away but he grabbed my thigh with a bruising grip. I yelped again and the other man, the one that had spoken English, let out a long laugh. “I tried to help you, but you won’t be helped, will you, little one.”

The whole time I could hear the girl tied to the post whimpering and pleading, then a great quiet fell over the men. I moved to the next man, holding my tray steady, and spared another quick glance to the girl at the post. I almost dropped my tray from what I saw. The man who had been slapping the girl stood behind her with a whip and the men broke out in applause when they saw this. He uncoiled the wicked looking thing and it shone a little, as if it had been oiled recently or perhaps it was wet, I couldn’t tell. I watched in horror as he raised it and flicked it out at the poor girl before him. The whip seemed to bite into her skin and I saw a red line instantly appear across her back from shoulder to hip. She screamed and I jumped and whimpered for her, at the same time spilling a glass on my tray. The man I was before wasn’t pleased and gave me a quick slap across my face, even though I hadn’t spilled anything on him, so a young boy quickly came up and took my tray replacing it with another glass filled one.

The man who had slapped me watched me carefully as I moved on to serve the next man, he said something aloud to the others in the tent and many nodded their heads and laughed. “They think to put you in place of this other girl, little one. Your red hair is like a beacon and all that fair skin… they are wondering how pretty that delicate skin would look covered with bite marks from the whip.” I looked at the speaker horrified, the same one as before, and noticed he was smiling while he spoke to me.

“Can you help me get out of here?” I asked.

“Now, why would I do that?” he said as his smile became wider.

An argument broke out between some of the men and they were pointing and looking at me. “Looks like your time is up, little one.”

The girl at the post was still conscious but sobbing uncontrollably her torso and bottom covered with red welts. She was untied and removed from the tent just as strong arms grabbed me and pulled me to my feet. Rough hands tore off my top and pantaloons and I managed, through sheer desperation, to break free and make a run for it. Before even a couple of steps I was caught around the waist after and unceremoniously dragged over a man’s lap. My hair had come completely loose during this struggle and the man fisted my thick red hair and began smacking my backside with his broad palm, covering my bottom as well as the tops of my thighs.

The man who spanked me had a heavy hand and it stung as I cried out with each sharp slap, but he did not relent. The argument continued around us unabated, back and forth until the man smacking me roared out something that silenced them all. I was pushed to my knees, though the man kept a firm grip on my hair, so I couldn’t get away, and I looked straight into the face of the one who had been speaking English to me, only now there was no smile on his face.

He glanced at me and then looked me over thoroughly from head to toe. He pulled a purse from his belt, hefted it as if weighing the contents, and threw it to the man who had slapped my face earlier. The man who caught it seemed surprised and stood to make a deep bow to my captor, it seemed the sum was a goodly one. My captor spoke directly to me. “Now you belong to me, only to me, so they,” he nodded his head indicating the others, “will have to ask me for permission to touch you.”

A cry arose around the tent that turned into a chant. “Ah, it seems some are disappointed and feel cheated at not seeing your pretty skin marked. I admit to being eager for that pleasure myself so we shall give them a show after all.” As he reached to the side, for what I could not see, he smiled so sweetly at me, I could have believed him an angel sent to save me. I smiled back, affected, until my eyes fell to what he had reached for, the coiled whip, lay under his hand whilst I, lay under his other.

“No, no, please don’t do this! I will do anything,” I cried in desperation.

“You will do that anyway.” he laughed.

I couldn’t compete with his strength as he grabbed both of my wrists and dragged me to the pole. He managed to rip my flimsy clothes off me as I fought him terribly, even tried to scratch and bite but all to no avail and before long I was secured to the post completely naked. The rope that tied my wrists over my head and wrapped around my ankles, prickled and itched my skin. I had little room to move, no hope of escaping or moving out of the path of what was to come. My bottom and thighs still burned from the sting of his hand and I knew they could all see it and I wanted to cry from the shame.

The man who now owned me showed me his forearm where I had managed to scratch a nasty gash with my nails. It bled and he leaned in and kissed my forehead and whispered, “The last lash I give you will be to pay for that scratch, now you have to learn that I own you, I am your Master and that obeying me is what is best for you. The rest is for their amusement so sing sweet and loud my little bird, we do not want to disappoint our crowd.”

He moved away and I heard the others settling in to watch; a quiet fell over the tent once again. I whimpered softly but knew there was no use in begging to be released, as that simply would not happen. If I could manage to stay quiet it would be a small victory, for me at least, though I doubted my strength in this.

The first strike I heard before I felt and as I bit my lip trying to keep the noise in I tasted blood in my mouth. The line of fire I felt across my skin from it was very real.  The next and the next landed on different parts of my back and I screamed louder as each one struck. He took his time, not lashing out blindly or too fast, but with a slow and awful precision that meant I never knew when or where they would land. It was terrible and painful yet somehow… somehow, I don’t know, it was like he was taking me over. Each lash placed on a fresh area for maximum affect, yet still I knew he held his hand and was not treating me as harshly as he could have, indeed as he had the right to do. The right? Where were these thoughts coming from, how could I even think that? Yet I did, he was my owner, he could do with me as he pleased.

I started to find a strange joy in what was happening to me, yes, even as the tears came and my cries got louder, I did it seemingly out of pleasure for him, to show the others what they had missed out on. “One more.” he announced finally and I knew what was coming. “One more what little one?” he asked me. “One more lash.” I managed to squeak out between my harsh breathing and tears. “Try that again, girl,” He was nearer now speaking harshly pressing his hand along the welts on my back and bottom. I thought madly wondering what I had said wrong, “One more lash, Master.”

“Good. But now you have to beg me for it or perhaps I should get another to finish here?”

“No!” I swallowed loudly and in a trembling voice said, “Please Master, please, give me one more lash.” Then the tears came easily and I cried as if a part of me had just been lost or altered irretrievably, yet at the same time liberated to allow me to be something more than I had been.

That last lash will stay with me forever, this time the crack came at the same time as I felt it on my skin and I couldn’t, nor did I try to, contain the scream that came from me. I was exhausted and I slumped down in my bonds.

I was untied and my Master picked me up and carried me out of the tent to take me to where my new life awaited me. With my arms around his neck I snuggled into his chest and for the first time in my life felt completely safe. “Rest well, little one,” he chuckled, “this night is not over for you yet.”