Chapter 6

Occasionally there were genuine shipwrecked people who turned up in the little kingdom - the sandy domain famously described by Thomas A Fassbiner (Assistant Secretary of State) as ‘the sand that gets into the arse end of civilisation’. The Jones family were exactly such – genuinely shipwrecked.

The Jones family from La Russe, Illinois. What were they doing on a sailing ship off the west coast of Africa? Amazingly, Mister Arthur Sandhurst Jones was appointed as United States Ambassador to the Royal Thai Court. His brother in law was Governor of Illinois and a supporter of the President. Nepotism was alive and well. They were sailing to Thailand ‘the wrong way’ to use expenses to visit London and Paris on the way. On the west coast of Africa, his vaulting ambition was brought to an end as the ship foundered and sank with all hands. The three passengers – Arthur, his wife Sarah Hayes Jones and Tiffany Eloise their daughter of fifteen years – got into the ship’s pinnace and ignored the cries of others as they drifted away.

Solomon has seen them begging in the street and had taken them in. He had regretted it quickly. They quickly recovered their balance; Arthur was just bearable, Sarah was demanding and arrogant, her daughter took her lead from her mother. Their gratitude was rapidly eroded.

They were that annoying combination of personalities that found its apex in late Victorian western attitudes. Teetotal, a member of the Church of the Holy Redeemer (a Lutheran offshoot), at the same time they managed to decry the strict and overly prescriptive attitude to alcohol of the muslim world. It was probably just as well that they were going to Thailand; though when asked what religion the people were, the reply “Non-Christian.” said a lot. Nothing good was to be found in other (non-white) cultures, whilst the flaws and hypocrisy of their native land could be condemned to fellow countrymen but denied to all others (including Solomon Degas – they were sure he was probably still a member of the ‘tainted race of Christ killers’ whilst still accepting his hospitality). In short, they rapidly became annoying.

There was no Consular representation in the small state from the United States. In fact few countries felt the need to even recognise it existed, which suited the Sultan quite well. If he didn’t exist, he couldn’t be condemned so easily. So they were trying to raise the money themselves to ship out. Solomon was starting to think he would happily pay them to go.

“Suleiman get me tea. No GET ME TEA!” Mrs Jones was of the opinion that failure to understand was solved by raising ones voice. Actually Suleiman understood perfectly well. He had been with Solomon long enough to now expect a ‘please’ to arrive with requests. Suleiman was very tolerant of people. He tolerated the slaves who tried to steal from his master – he only beat them rather than removing a hand; he was tolerant of Charles Smythe who could be a little high-handed in his attitudes to Degas’ slaves. But even he was finding the ‘Merican Jones’ wearing on his patience. Solomon could see something had to be done.

“They’ve been here a long time.” Madeline said after he had satisfied his urge to plunge his cock into her vagina with her legs tightly together. As usual, her comfort in these matters was not the priority; she was getting used to being a slave. As she told her two companions, if she had married, she would be in the same situation being legally something of a slave to her husband’s desires. “They should pay rent.”

“They have no money.” Degas replied as he lay sweatily on her equally perspiring body. “If I charged them rent then it would take even longer to raise the ship money. I’m tempted to lend them it myself.”

“I am a good judge of character I think. You would never hear from them again. Your loan would be a gift from God and they would regard you as too mired in sin to have to keep any promise to you. You are more honourable. Even Sashille is still untouched, and she has developed in just the ways you like, I know.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan. It’s true. Her hairless slit is becoming more and more tempting. Caroline’s is such fun that another would be good to try...” It was as if the flash of a magnesium camera flash powder had gone off in both their heads together. Miss Jones was fifteen, quite pretty, she was probably still in that smooth skinned state that he was describing. But how could he get access to her?

“As to that, simply demand her in payment. That is the rent we pay.”

“She is free ... but her mother might be the key...” He liked Madeline Alsop, she adapted admirably to her new surroundings. The other two still had some of their social superiority about them, though he admitted to himself that the degradations they accepted from him and yet stayed superior was a sign of the steel backbone that Victorian ladies had. Madeline, on the other hand; yes, he could see her paddling up the Orinoco in a canoe and being accepted as a goddess by some tribe; or climbing Mount Tangiarican in those stupidly impractical skirts such ladies wear, just to get the view at the top. Or swimming naked in Tenby. She just adapted.

It was wonderful fun to be able to demand the two sisters entertain him by satisfying each other whilst Madeline sucked him off; or to be able (as he had recently done as a punishment for some minor offence) to nearly suspend Drusilla by her wrists and feed her lots of water, and tie her sister under her facing up to Drusilla’s groin and await the inevitable shower to be delivered (his perversions were, he realised finding full rein since they were slaves). But there was the lack of the excitement of the chase. Now he had exactly that. He would have both mother and daughter, then he might give them the money.

The campaign opened with a suggestion that Sheikh Raman – a fictitious gentleman whom Solomon had used in a few transactions (‘Sheikh Raman has offered more for the jewels, I regret I cannot accept less’) - had offered to buy Tiffany Eloise. “Mr Degas! We could not contemplate such a thing, as you know.”

“I do, and I shall attempt to keep him at bay. He has a penchant for ... untouched white women. I had to ... well, you know ... to keep them safe.” He maintained the fiction that he had serviced the three English ladies to keep them safe from such demands. It wasn’t entirely fiction, he had had plenty of offers. The Jones parents were unaware of the level of degradation that the three had been brought to, in fact they thought that the three bathing together was the worst of it. To see each other in such a state was shocking. If they had known what else the three were doing – were told to do – that might have actually made them leave in disgust. But no, it was surprising how much a moral family could condemn whilst still enjoying the luxury of a bed and food. “Mrs Jones, how goes the money raising? Has the letter to the Lutheran American Church of Great Britain born fruit?”

“I fear they are currently unable to help, they tell me their funds are extremely thin at present. They have just had to pay for a new altar piece.” Of course, a piece of church decoration in London was more important than some indigent fellow travellers many miles away.

The days went by, and Solomon managed to imply that he was struggling to hold the forces of Islam at bay. It appeared that some wanted Mr Jones’ head for some assumed slight. “He did not damage their book, he discarded it. It is worthless.”

“But it is a holy book, to them I mean. He should have been more polite in putting it down, rather than dropping it on the table. They are a proud people.”

He implied that Sheikh Raman had upped the price for Miss Jones. “He will take offence, I fear. Miss Jones. If only you were not as pure as you are, he would be uninterested. I heard a story of this once that I cannot repeat.”

He wondered how he could protect Mr Jones. “If they come for him, I fear I might have to hand him over for a hearing, unless...”

“Unless?” Mrs Jones asked.

“Well if there was a prior claim to a hearing or law ... I cannot think what.”

He left her to mull over that.

Charles Smythe joined them for dinner. The Jones family, Sashille, Madeline, Drusilla and Caroline. In the privacy of his house, Solomon was happy to have wine, and getting tired of the lectures. “Wine Arthur? Sarah? Tiffany? No, sorry, it is force of habit to invite all to drink.”

“I wish you would not, Mr. Degas. As you know, wine is the drink of the Devil.” Not, you’ll notice, ‘in my opinion’, it just was. “I would really rather you did not offer Tiffany Eloise intoxicating liquor. I do not blame you for drinking it, I understand that you do not have the joy of the Lord in you and alcohol is a substitute.” Sarah Hayes Jones said. “I will pray harder for you, in this den of iniquity.”

“And yet.” Smythe responded taking the bait, despite being kicked gently under the table by Madeline. “If he was not here, you would have been very much up shit creek, n’est ce pas?”

“Mr Smythe! Language please! If Mr Degas was not here, the Lord would have helped us in another way, but Mr Degas was here at the Lord’s behest.”

“Sooo, God put Degas into this – what was it you called it? - this den of iniquity just to save you?”

“Ahh, who can predict the ways of the Lord?”

So it continued. Tiffany and Caroline went away to have a quiet conversation after dinner, Tiffany recognised the beauty of the garden with its fountain and date tree and the dark sky slowly lit by stars. She was starting to see the attraction of the place. “Caroline, forgive me if I am forward, may I ask?”

“Of course.”

“I suspect, from your body language, you are not chaste? Is this not correct.” Caroline lowered her eyes, expecting a sermon. “I thought so.

Do you, I mean, is it, I mean.”

“Ask, just ask.”

“Is it good? Mother has said it is her duty to present children to the world to be converted. Oh, hooho. I once suggested this was a similar argument to the Catholics. I was given the strap by father for that.”

“Tiffany, it is sometimes good. Sometimes not so. Solomon is ... oh, you did not realise it was him?”

“Go on, I shall not tell. I promise. I cannot swear, as you know.” Their church forbade them to swear, but only to tell the truth and keep their promises.

“Well, yes, it is Mr Degas. He can be very demanding. I am a slave you know.”

Tiffany: “A slave? No, I do not understand.” Caroline told the story. “Noooo, really? So did he buy you for, congruence? Or...”

“Oh no. I think he genuinely bought us as he rescued you, for good reasons. But father did not send the money, and I am not sure he will. He can be ... do not think I am being unfair ... a little mean with money.”

“Oh, but...”

“Well, As Solomon pointed out, he owns us in this country. Until we are redeemed, he possesses us.”

“And ... owns me, but has not sought any access yet. He has promised to wait.” Unseen, Sashille had moved to join them, bored with the more adult discussion amongst the women about fashion (‘very decadent’ according to Sarah Jones) and cooking (‘I dooo hanker after a good pork chop’: Sarah Jones, in a Muslim country). The two older girls weren’t sure whether to continue, but Sashille continued regardless. “He is a good man, I think. I know he has asked you to do odd things, Caroline. But I would do anything he asked.” She had fallen for him.

“Will he ... will he expect me?”

Caroline could not help herself. “You or your mother. After all you are unpaying guests, you should show your appreciation, should you not?”

“Yes, perhaps. I am older than Sashille. But I have not the ... attractive assets that you have.”

“You have, I promise, Solomon enjoys variety.”

Tiffany asked “How would you know? Does he have other ... oh! Your sister and Miss Alsop too?”

Sashille answered before Caroline could deny it “Of course, and he does all sorts with them. I am looking forward to it. He will not break my cherry.” Tiffany looked shocked. “Is that the right word?”

“Yes.” Caroline agreed.

“Yes, he will not break my cherry until I am old enough. But I have heard the other three in his bedroom and they have such fun. I want to join.”

“Your English has come along very well, Sashille. You might not realise, not all the fun is Solomon and us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes it is Caroline and Madeline, or Drusilla and Madeline ... Caroline and Drusilla.

Or all three of us. He ... he likes to watch too.”

Sashille should have been shocked, instead she smiled. “I could do that without losing my cherry ... only. I don’t understand what you do.”

Tiffany was shaking her head. “No, no. I ... and you say he will want me OR my mother? I ... oh dear, I cannot expect her to do that, she would be too ashamed. We must not tell her.”

“Well, I suspect he will not ask. But he always open to offers I believe. And he has helped you has he not?”

Mr Jones had decided to stay with his wife rather than be tempted by joining the men. Having their port (illegal and secret) and cigar (entirely legal apparently), Charles Smythe was complaining. “Those bloody Americans! How do you stand it. They are the most annoying, stuckup, priggish - ... I hate fucking Americans!”

“Now, now, Charles. Let’s be fair. They are not annoying because they are American, they are annoying because they are fucking annoying. Nothing more, nothing less. Did you ever meet Daphne Myers? No? An English Rose. She had clear skin, pretty. Totally moral, but in addition to that she had the most irritating voice, like finger nails on a black board. She would lecture for hour over the smallest crime. It was so annoying. I actually cheered when she married. But the man she married was even worse – Reverend Wildred H Thomas. Not only willing to sermonise all night, but willing to rescue young women of the night and get them to show him the error of their ways. Now they were an annoying couple. It didn’t matter what you said, they wouldn’t take offence, they took it as a compliment because it meant they were being vilified for being right.

They are English.”

“True, true. Then there is that Scot, what’s her name? Lady Virginia...”

Solomon was laughing too much to say anymore. He’d never met her, he had heard that she could bore a whole room to sleep. “ ... Yes, okay. You’re a good man, Degas, you are far too fair. I understand you even distribute your favours evenly amongst those three. And – hahah – evenly amongst their various holes.”

“Charles, you are disgusting.” He didn’t answer that last point, but then he didn’t deny it.

Later, Caroline stopped and lifted off Degas’ prick. “I think Tiffany is open to ... opening her legs, if you are interested.” He pushed her rosy lips back onto his erection with a grunt; she carried on sucking him off.

Later, he quizzed her as he idly felt inside both holes. She began to be less coherent as his fingers stimulated her own erotic potential. As she had told Miss Jones, he was surprisingly fair in the way he dispensed pleasure as well as received it.

“Mr Degas, a word!” Mrs Sarah Jones had been thinking. Was her responsibility to straightforward morality when she was amongst the heathen, or was it to protecting her husband. She was sliding towards protecting her husband. After all, anyway, if husband was lost, who would protect her and their daughter then? She might be auctioned as the unfortunate three women they shared the house with were. She had heard some of that story. She wasn’t quite as dim as she sometimes appeared. “I have a suggestion of, ahem, of a delicate nature.” She had thought on what he had said. A prior claim to compensation might trump any other. Suppose, she said, suppose a husband could claim compensation for the cuckolding by his wife, by another man (obviously, thought Degas. But he was impressed that she had thought of this. This had been his intention, but he thought he would have to introduce the idea). Yes, Degas admitted, that might work. Provided it was recent.

“Well, then, would you, could you see your way to ... that is to lay with me.” She hoped that like some divorces were performed (which she did not approve of) by the man being seen leaving a room with another woman, she and he might lay together and be assumed to have had ‘relations’.

“Well yes ... and no. I’m afraid I do not think I should lie about such an event. And to be honest, I’m not sure I could resist telling the truth with red hot needles likely to be applied.” Sarah was not aware that torture to obtain the truth was still accepted in the Sultanate. This part, at least, was true. Whether some white man fucked another white man’s wife was of far less interest to the Sultan or Sultana. They cared about local laws, not stupid white men and women. That was why they tolerated wine in moderation, in private (mostly). She nodded, it would have to be the real thing, and every two weeks so it was a recent unfaithfulness – historic ones were both more insulting and less illegal. More insulting because it suggested the woman and the man had been cuckolding the husband for longer, less illegal because it was old news.

“Please, you must not let my daughter find out.” That would prove difficult, but perhaps father and daughter could be sent to see people who might lend money.

Caroline acted as go-between for Tiffany. “Solomon, she is willing to give herself to you to help her parents. She is foolish, but her heart is right. Please be nice to her.”

“I shall do better than that. She can remain a virgin but you three have to lick her pretty body to many delights. Oh yes, Sashille should watch.”

“She already does. She wants you to break her soon, I fear you must.” Her brother the Count Guilleme Ancho-vie had made no attempt to get her back; he apparently assumed she had lost her value in Degas’ bedroom; Ancho-vie assumed Degas was as much of an unprincipled cad as he himself was.

“Yes, I shall.”

That Monday, the father and daughter went, as arranged, to see Charles, he was bribed to keep them out of the way. The bribery does not matter, but it consisted of a bottle of very acceptable brandy finding its way to the man. “Now madam, shall we?” She made to lie on the bed and lift her skirt. “Oh, no, naked I think. Yes. I actually insist.”

Having a daughter of fifteen meant that she had a few years on Madeline, but not as many as one might imagine. She had married young as the church suggested it was right, the actual result was an early pregnancy, a damaged young womb and no more children. The church naturally assumed this as the will of God, not the stupidity of man. She was still young, she was still firm, and she was still attractive when she smiled, which was rarely.