Chapter 39: Helen For Sale

When the closed, darkened car carrying Helen away from Derek's house arrived some half an hour later at its destination, she was taken out and hustled by guards along a dreary corridor with a bare concrete floor and the paint peeling off walls into a small room, where a number was tattooed into her upper arm, just below her right shoulder.

Still smarting from the clumsiness of the man wielding the needle and the bruises he had left where he had gripped her shoulder, she was led into a huge room full of what looked like the sort of cages used for circus animals. The smell added to that impression with a gentle miasma of stale urine and faeces. Helen was hustled in to the nearest cage and her abaya hastily removed. She made no attempt to move as a shackle on a chain within the cage was fastened to her leg and the door closed.

Then the guard stood up and dragged her to her feet again. Saying something in a language she did not understand, he ran his hands over her breasts and between her legs. Her attempt to fend him off earned her an open-handed slap across the side of one breast, which not only hurt abominably and knocked some of the breath out of her, but also served to send her to her knees again.

The guard took out his prick and waved it in her face. Helen bowed to the inevitable and opened her mouth, but the guard only laughed when he saw her movement, and left her in the cage.

Looking round, she saw that her fellow prisoners were of a variety of ages and skin hue, ranging from the blue black of Nubia to a very tired and old looking blonde.

Raising her voice, she asked, "Does anyone speak English?"

The women looked at each other in blank incomprehension, until one small, very dark skinned negress three cages away said, "Not shout. Shout bring guards. Guards whip."

"But I'm not a slave. I am a free British citizen," she tried to explain.

The negress looked at her with contempt, tapped the number on her own right shoulder, and replied, "Slave now," turning her back and effectively ending the conversation.

For two days the women waited; from time to time some small snatches of desultory conversation came to Helen's ears, but it was all in Arabic. Each evening then the guards came round with bread, cheese, over-cooked and unidentifiable meat, and water to feed the prisoners.

The first evening, it was only after Helen had eaten all she could stomach of the food available and drunk copiously from the water bottle provided that it occurred to her that she would need to eliminate some of these things during the coming night. Frantically she signalled to the guards.

"Where is the lavatory?" she asked.

The guard shrugged his shoulders, clearly having no idea what she was talking about.

«Toilette?» she tried in French.

The guard laughed and pointed to a hole in the corner of her cage. To her horror, Helen realised that that was the only toilet available to her while she was held prisoner in these cages. It also explained the smell.

On the third day, a guard came for her. The cage door was opened and she was released from her chain and led to a small room off one side of the cage area. Helen had already guessed what was to come, for there had been jeers and catcalls from some of the other women as they passed the cages. She had not understood any of the words, but the tone made their meaning clear.

In the small room the floor was partly covered by a few rugs, otherwise there were no furnishings. Pushing Helen roughly before him, the guard made her bend at the waist and lost no time in entering her dry arse forcefully. This entrance, he expected, would be hotter and tighter than her cunt. He pressed on regardless of her screams as he forced the helmet of his prick into her arse; indeed the screams only served to increase his pleasure. She was so dry, however, that he was forced to withdraw and to lubricate his prick with spit on his left hand. She felt the difference and concentrated on relaxing enough to let him in. She had no wish to be beaten which she was sure would happen if she resisted him.

Soon he emptied his balls into her rectum and withdrew with a faint popping noise. Standing up, Helen thought he was finished with her, but he pushed her down on to her knees and gestured for her to suck him clean. The smell and stains on his weapon were worse, even than Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov. She was utterly disgusted that he should transfer his prick directly from her anus to her mouth.