Chapter 35: Samantha's Fate

"I have news for you," Derek told Samantha the next afternoon.

"Oh, are you going to sell me?" she asked lightly, still unable wholly to believe that the slave market was real.

"No. I'm giving you to one of the local dignitaries. Don't look so worried, he's only about fifty and isn't fat or unhealthy. He's very rich, so in his harem you will want for nothing, and there are some English women there as well."

"Is this the Hajji somebody that you lent Helen to? She said he was very old and disgusting," Samantha remarked.

"No, nobody like that. Your new master was educated in England, so he himself often seems more English than Kobekistani," Derek reassured her.

Later that day he made a telephone call and then sent for Helen.

"So you think that Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov is very old and disgusting?" he asked, "At least, that's what you said to Samantha."

"Well he is very old. He must be ninety at least. His thing even has wrinkles on it, and his face has wrinkles on the wrinkles," she said.

"For your information he is in his mid-seventies and much respected in this country."

"Well it isn't for his personal hygiene; I don't think he's had a bath for twenty years," she snapped back.

"You forget yourself," said Derek quietly, as he took the dog whip from its accustomed place on the dresser, "And you have forgotten your place for the last time. When I've reminded you of your exact status, you can go and pack your make-up. You're leaving. I'm selling you to anyone who wants to buy you."

Helen stared at him, and then burst out crying.

Between the sobs she mumbled, "You are getting your revenge for Bob aren't you? Making me fuck all those stinking horrible Arabs, and I expect I'll go to another one now?"

"I neither know nor care where you will end up. You let Bob pimp you out to his friends, and you knew that was the deal he was offering before you left me," Derek pointed out, "What's the difference between whoring in Bob's house, and the same life in mine, here in Kobekistan? Now lie on the whipping bench."

"You bastard," she cried and flew at him.

The eunuch and Derek quickly had her on her back, strapped in place at the wrists and ankles. Derek surveyed the body he had almost worshipped three years earlier, before the girl who lived in it had dumped him for a man she mistakenly thought would help her career.

'Now the stupid girl is about to be whipped again, and all she has to look forward to is life as a brothel prostitute and then as a field slave, ' he thought, 'It's all her own fault for trying to get to a station in life she couldn't begin to understand.'

Whish ... THWACK!

The first blow was diagonally across one breast and her belly, and drew a short shout of pain from the pinioned young woman.

Whish ... THWACK!

The second made her scream even louder as it fell across the outer curve of the same breast, her belly, and the tip of the whip curled into the crack below her mons, catching her clitoris and making her think she had been touched on that most sensitive part with a red hot poker. It was as well for her that Derek did not hear that thought or he might have considered it a more imaginative punishment than merely whipping her ... again. He nodded to the eunuch, who quickly gagged the victim.

Whish ... THWACK!

'Why do I bother?' he thought, 'She isn't worth it. I should just sell her.'

With that he passed the whip to the eunuch with a curt, "Three more strokes."

The eunuch waited until his master was out of the room and then bent close to the girl's ear to whisper, "Three choices. This person, whom you called an ignorant nigger the other day has three choices of where to strike you. Being ignorant, I may take some time to decide where to strike. Shall I take both nipples with one blow, or take them separately? Shall I whip from behind your head, straight down between the legs to catch the anus with the tip while the cunt takes the main blow? If I stand between your feet and just flick the tip into your vagina, would that count as a stroke? I do not think so, though it would hurt almost as much."

It was only after much deliberation that he delivered the next stroke. By that time the woman was a quivering bag of nerves almost out of her mind with fear because of the lurid descriptions he had given. It took fifty-five minutes from Derek leaving the room to the third stroke, the promised straight one delivered from above the head of the victim, to land agonisingly along her cunt furrow, with the tip just curling in to catch her anal rosebud.

It was well over twelve hours before Helen could walk upright and steadily enough to be sent to the slave auction. She went there almost gladly, because although she was afraid of the unknown future, she feared Derek's temper and use of the whip more.