Chapter 31: A Telephone Call

Over the days after Derek's trip to Leicester, Sharon often stared at the visiting card in her hand and wondered. It was difficult to tell if this was a flirtation, or a half serious offer in an attempt to bed her, or a real offer of escape from the sordid home she hated. Almost anything would be preferable to the status quo, and there were no such things as the slave auctions he had mentioned nowadays, were there?

After three weeks and another rape attempt, this time by a man who brought her mother home and then was very disappointed when the drunken woman passed out, the last one only fought off because she had the guts to kick him in his most vulnerable spot, she had decided. During her coffee break she slipped into an empty hotel room and lifted the telephone...

Helen had settled down well to her new life as Derek's resident hostess for visiting Arab businessmen and friends. Most evenings she just served at table, naked, and many of the visitors would stroke her appreciatively. Some took it further and pushed exploratory fingers into her openings and enjoyed her reaction of pleasure to finger fucking, or distaste to her arse hole being invaded. A few took it a lot further and made full use of her, either in an alcove off the dining room or in her bedroom. Derek himself had not touched her sexually since her return from Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov's harem.

When the 'phone rang one morning, Derek answered it and there was a woman on the other end whose voice he did not recognise.

"He-hello? Is that Mr. D-Derek Pullman?" asked the voice.

"Speaking," he replied.

"This is S-Samantha Smith, from the Leicester Albany Hotel. Do you remember, we spoke three weeks ago? Just before you left with that woman?"

"Yes, I remember you, Samantha; I offered to bring you here and then sell you in the slave market," Derek said, wondering where this was leading.

"Well," there was a long pause.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Well ... I wondered if you meant it, about me coming out to visit you?"

"Perhaps, but I meant it about you being my property while you are here. I could sell you to a fat old Arab if I wanted. Do you really want to put yourself in that position?" Derek asked, mentally crossing his fingers.

He tried desperately to remember what she looked like, but couldn't. Still she wasn't ugly; if she had been he would have remembered.

"Y-Yes, I think I do," she said, "I hate it here and I'm always having rows with my mam, and I hate her boyfriend, he wants to ... to..." she sounded tearful.

"Calm down, calm down. I don't think you should just dive in to something you don't understand because you don't like your mother's boyfriend," cautioned Derek.

"I can't afford a ticket to Kobekistan, and I can't find out how to get a visa. There aren't any tourist trips there, according to the travel agents, but if you could lend me the fare and meet me at the airport I could..."

Derek interrupted her, "No, it isn't that easy. I'm in London on Thursday; why don't you meet me there and we can talk about it? I'm staying at the Strand Palace. Come for dinner Thursday evening."

"I'll definitely be there," she said and rang off.

Thursday, he was just about to go in to dinner when she arrived.

Taking her up to his room, he said, "You'll want to freshen up. Dinner can wait a few minutes."

"Thanks," she said.

He took her coat and overnight bag, realising she was quite reasonably pretty, with a trim figure.

'Too thin for the fat old Arab I promised her, ' he thought, 'but tasty enough for me.'

She vanished into the bathroom and he heard the shower running. Then the bathroom door opened and she walked into the bedroom stark naked.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I thought ... I thought I ought to show you what I have to offer, then perhaps you'll want me enough to take me with you."

"And what happens if I tell you to lie on the bed and open your legs?"

By way of reply she did as he had indicated, blushing all over as she did it.

Deciding to see how far she would go, Derek said, "Turn over and stick your arse in the air, high."

Again she did as he said, but more slowly this time.

"Spread your arse cheeks with your hands; I want to see your rosebud," he pressed her further.

Again she complied. Stepping close to the bed he slapped her smartly one-two on the two buttocks, one with each hand.

'There isn't really enough flesh on them to be spankable, ' he thought ruefully as he rubbed his hands which could feel exactly where her bones were.

Samantha was lying crumpled on the bed, crying and through the sobs her heard, "What was that for? I did what you wanted."

"That was for delaying my dinner. Now dry your eyes and get dressed. We are going down to eat."

Over dinner he got the whole sordid story from her. She told him about her drunken slut of a mother, her father leaving them after coming home from work to find her screwing the milkman on the kitchen table, and her lonely frightened childhood. Samantha was just fourteen then and her father obviously didn't want to take her with him. Her mother had had a succession of lovers, with each one lasting a shorter time than the last. Now she had one sort-of-regular boyfriend, but often brought home strange men she had met in bars for one-night stands. The regular boyfriend had found her with one of them one night and had tried to get Samantha to sleep with him because her mother was busy.

"I can understand you wanting to leave, but is there nobody you can go to live with? Relatives, boyfriend, anybody?"

"You are my best hope. I don't have any relatives I could land on out of the blue, and I don't have boyfriends; working in a hotel makes that difficult, so I have never had a steady boyfriend. You are rich, and you picked that girl up and just took her with you. Why shouldn't I go with you?"

"Hold on a minute. I had known Helen for years; she wasn't just a pick-up as you put it," Derek said.

"Hah," Samantha replied, "I saw how much luggage she had. Then I asked one or two people I know and they said you spoke to her once in the office and she hadn't seen you for yonks; next morning she's off to the airport with you, still in the same clothes she was wearing the evening before when she came into the hotel."

Upstairs in his room again, he sat her down in the armchair and said, "Tell me again, exactly what you expect to happen now."

"I expect you'll throw me out," said Samantha disconsolately.

"So, if that's what you expect, what did you hope would happen?"

"I hoped you would like me enough to let me stay with you. I'll do anything you want, well I tried to show you that before dinner. Then I hoped you would take me to Kobekistan with you to live. I know you already have that other girl, but I would share you. I'd even work as a housekeeper for you if you want."

"You have no idea, do you? Kobekistan isn't like Leicester. We have eunuchs to do the housework; the women just amuse themselves all day, waiting to find out which one I'm going to sleep with that night. Some men have sixty or more women in their harems. The women wear no clothes, they never go out, and only a hostess ever sees anyone from outside the harem. A hostess sleeps with whoever her master tells her to; she works as a sort of resident prostitute. The others are my private bed warmers; I keep them and they obey me. Is that the life you want?"

"I don't know," she wailed, "I don't want to go on the streets, but I don't know what else to do if I stay here. If I live with mum one of her blokes will get me, then more of them, then I'll get knocked up and..." she trailed off into sobs.

Derek considered for a moment and decided that, from her point of view, living with him was a better option than the prospect she described, even if she did have to share him. He would try her in bed for the next couple of days and then take her to Kobekistan if she was any good. If she really couldn't take harem life, he would send her back and let her put it down to experience.

Moving to her side he took one hand and lifted her up to standing. Very gently he kissed her on the lips and stroked one breast through her clothing as he did so. Her arms went round his neck and she started to kiss him wildly.

When the kissing ended she said, "I knew you would."

"It's only ten o'clock," Derek said, "Do you want to go down to the bar for another drink before we retire?"

"Whatever you want," she said.

Derek took off his coat and started to undress.

"You can undress in the bathroom if you'd rather. Did you bring any night clothes with you?"

Samantha nodded and in a tiny timid voice asked, "Don't you want me nude? Mum's blokes always do her nude."

"No," said Derek, suddenly wondering how many men had really fucked her, and what they might have given her by way of diseases.

Samantha disappeared into the bathroom, only to reappear a few moments later wearing a pair of pyjamas that made her look very young and vulnerable. When they were in bed, she lay on her back, and Derek rolled on to his side and traced the line of her chin with one finger. Then he pulled the covers gently down and toyed with one nipple through the material of the pyjamas.

"You..." she started, and then broke off.

"Yes?"

"You will be gentle won't you? Will it hurt a lot?"

Derek's thoughts were on various sophisticated games, so he was confused for a moment.

"Will what hurt?" he asked.

"When you ... you know ... when you put it in me?" she asked, blushing furiously.

"You mean you are a virgin?" he asked, incredulously.

She nodded and blushed so deeply that he wondered if she might burst blood vessel or two.

"But you said that your mother's... ?"

"I said they tried to get me. Some got their hands on me but nobody ever..." she tailed off, then added, "Don't you want a virgin?"

"It's a lot to give," he said.

"A home is a lot to give me," she answered.

He gently slid his hand onto the smooth skin of her belly and stroked upwards under the pyjama jacket on to her breast. Reassured she kissed him hard.

"Whoa, whoa, not so hard," he cautioned, "you'll split my lip."

They tried again, much more gently, and when he pushed his tongue against her lips, she responded and soon their tongues were entwining as if they had practised for years. His hand moved down again and slid gently under the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and she tensed as his fingers wandered into the fur over her mons. He kept them there toying with her pubic hair until she relaxed again. Then he moved lower again, cupping her whole sex; his fingers discovered the slit below her clitoris was wet and smooth and hot. Deeper his middle finger went until it found her entrance and played from there up to her clitoris and back until her hips were arching up involuntarily to his hand.