Chapter 5: The Girl Pelt Shop

The fierce sun of the day mellowed and eased towards the horizon, its demeanor softening and ameliorating into a weak orangey glow. Here, it sat lazily, indolently, observing the slow, sleepy town of Scala, its people and harbor. Young, carefree tourists ambled arm-in-arm along the cobbled pavements between traditional Turkish Ottoman houses absorbing Korpian atmosphere and culture. Berthed yachts rocked imperceptibly in the water hinting at heated sexual passions within. Waiters scurried from table to table in their crisp white shirts and pressed black trousers, nodding and smiling with elegant ease; while back in the hot, claustrophobic kitchens, naked Mudawana sweated over thinly rolled pastry casings for Korpian Meat Pies and peeled onions with razor sharp knives, thankful that it wouldn't be their meat filling the pies that evening. On the beach, scrawny children kicked footballs and pretended to replicate the heroics of their idols and hadn't a care in the world, while in the bleak dingy kafeneons, aged agomphious men counted their worry beads and gazed with moist, bloodshot eyes at Madonna-like images of wives and girlfriends lost to the Hunt.

Hidden in the tangled, colorful tapestry of this slow, sleepy town Richard stood studying Donna's figure through the clingy fabric of a powder blue dress, his eyes mechanically undressing her garment by garment as he imagined her performing a Greek Striptease for a packed ecstatic audience at the Aphrodite.

He was engrossed in pleasing, satisfying, titillating thoughts. He wondered what underwear she was wearing beneath the dress. What kind of bra? What type of panties? What had she picked from her wardrobe to wear?

His eyes dropped obsessively to the elegant tan sandals with their thin two inch heels and then to her pastel lemon stockings and the double circle of pearls that wrapped her wrists and the counterpoint of solid titanium that collared her neck. He admired the twin globes of her posterior and wondered how she'd feel when these were completely exposed and quivering in full public view. He wondered whether her stockings were held up with fancy, lace garters or sexy suspenders. He wondered: had Donna the nerve and bottle to return to the Aphrodite restaurant and perform her striptease or would she blow cold?

He shivered as he mulled these various threads and reflected that the most delectable thought of all was that Derek and Elizabeth knew nothing about this plan, because Donna had been confined to his apartment and had remained out of sight. He'd even crossed to the other apartment himself and had collected an assortment of clothes for her to select from.

Donna had been resting, he'd claimed, although in fact, Richard had given her a brochure to study describing the cultural attractions of Korpius. The highlights were three-fold. Firstly, there was Mount Pevelli where in ancient times young maidens had thrown themselves naked into a bottomless gorge as a act of worship to Hades. Second, there was Lake Tomdinika where Mudawana were raped on a twice daily basis in modern-day reenactments of ancient Greek myths; and finally there was the concentration camp-like gyno-abattoir at Kreopolis and its grey concrete buildings, barbed wire and black, smoky chimney. Mudawana were driven here from the docks in large, open cattle trucks, herded inside and culled.

Donna read the brochure feeling alternately sickened and excited as she read the cruel pornographic descriptions and imagined herself in each of the various situations.

So having maneuvered the element of surprise, it was only as they left to go out that evening that Derek and Elizabeth saw Donna's collar for the first time.

"What have you got around your neck?" Elizabeth asked in mild bewilderment, examining each of the tiny titanium amulets.

"It's a Mudawana's collar," Richard returned swiftly, his soft, glinting eyes sparkling with mischievous intent. "Would you like one?"

"Of course not. That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth grimaced. She felt jealous, because Richard was her man. Donna was an interloper. "I can see she's wearing a collar. That's obvious," Elizabeth scowled, before pausing and then adding: "But why is Donna wearing it? What does it mean?"

"Isn't that also obvious?" he drawled, examining Elizabeth more closely as it dawned on him that she was walking slowly and painfully, from which he deduced based on his intimate knowledge of his brother that there must be a large heavy object in one of her holes. "For tonight," he mused breathlessly, watching Elizabeth's painful walk along the High Street and attempting to work out which of her holes had been chosen. "Donna is Mudawana, and so she must be treated accordingly."

"Fuck, brother. What are we talking about?" Derek pondered, glancing from Donna to Richard. "What have you done to her?"

"And what have you done to Lizzy?" Richard answered easily. "The girl looks like she's about to shit herself."

Derek face broke into a grin. "So it does. She's got six big round stones buried in her asshole and I've told her to keep them there until we get home, and then she has to let me count them as she removes them. She's not wearing knickers so if any of them drop out, they fall to the ground. I reckoned she'd be so desperate to get the weight from her ass that she'd do whatever I asked her, but just look at the bitch! She loves it!"

"Of course. Lizzy's a Dolcett Girl. She'll do whatever she's told."

Elizabeth threw Richard a dark, dagger-like stare because this was betraying her secrets, but what could she do? The way this was heading, both brothers would fuck her with the stones stuck up her ass, and the worst bit: Derek was right, the knowledge wasn't entirely unpleasant. The fact that her discomfort, pain and humiliation was exciting these men was turning her on.

"So what about Donna?" Derek frowned, dropping back several paces to talk privately with his brother. "What's she been up to? What's with the collar?"

"Ask her!" Richard returned. "Go on. See what she says."

"Yeah, the girl's costing me a fortune. She has a duty to tell me. I wanted a Dolcett girl to run in the Hunt, but it's the day after tomorrow. I'm running out of time."

"Then talk to her. Remember that girls don't get Dolcett naturally. It's an acquired taste and takes time and effort, but eventually they get it. You've got to get working inside their heads."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

Richard preened himself and assumed a conceited, arrogant air. "With my help."

He then hurried forward and caught up with Donna, reached forward, grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Despite her worried protests, he unfastened the top two buttons of her dress: first one, then the other. Then he opened her cleavage and flicked the underside of her breasts with the tips of his fingers. "You have to demand your rights, bruv. Show her who's boss, because Donna has a duty to obey you."

Donna's mouth fell open and she lifted her hands protectively to her breasts. "Richard! Stop it!"

"Tell Derek about the strip that you're planning for this evening," he growled, staring deep into her eyes and sucking her strength with his heavy, menacing presence.

"No!"

"Tell him! I'm not joking!"

She squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. "Richard! Please! This is embarrassing."

"Precisely, so what have you got to say to my brother about your plans for tonight at the Aphrodite?"

She blushed, conscious that a middle-aged man with skin the color of green virgin olives had materialized alongside them. He was a waiter at a nearby taverna called The Olive Tree, and it seemed to Donna that this man was staring at her and the top two buttons that Richard had unfastened with such lewd concentration that his tongue was hanging out. "Nothing, Richard. I have nothing to tell. Please. Not now. Later!"

"Not later. Now!" Richard hissed, and his fingers moved to the next button of Donna's dress. "Derek has paid handsomely for you to be here on Korpius so it's your duty to be truthful and straightforward." He caressed the button, threatening to undo it.

Donna bit back her tears. "I'm doing a turn."

"A turn?"

"Yes."

"What kind of turn? What are you going to do, Donna?"

"I'm going to take off my clothes." Donna blurted.

Richard smirked at her. "You bet you are, baby. We're going to a place called the Aphrodite, and you're not just going to strip there, but you're going to follow that up with a lesbian joust with the owner's wife. Isn't this right?"

Donna looked away wretchedly. "Look. It isn't something I agreed to..."

"Of course not," Derek interrupted excitedly. "But even so, tell us more. What kind of wife are we talking about here?"

"A hot one," Richard declared, brushing Donna's hair and cheek with his hand. "Most definitely. Donna, tell my brother how badly you're wanting to please him. Tell him that as you strip, you'll concentrate on him and you'll do whatever it takes to get him hard, hot and steamed up. Anything. Isn't that right?"

He tugged threateningly at the small next button of her dress, warning her what would happen if she refused, but the Greek waiter had something on his mind too.

The man coughed politely. "I have Lamb Kleftico, Souvlaki, Mousakas, Veal Stifado," he interrupted, leering at Donna's chest and praying that Richard would reward him by unfastening the button he was toying with. "You like Stifado?"

"That's beef with baby onions," Richard explained, still playing gently with the button. "Donna? What do you have to say to my brother?"

"Or if you like fishes, I have lots of fishes," the Greek man plowed on, and Donna gestured desperately to him, trying to ignore Richard and at the same time hoping that she could use the stranger's presence to escape having to answer. "You mean like cod?" she rushed.

"No, he means squid and I'm losing my patience, Donna," Richard insisted impatiently, finally sliding the button through its hole, and then flicking the underside of her tits, making them shiver and bounce. "I can stand here in the street undressing you button by button until you're naked if that's what it takes, Donna. You're the one that it hurts and embarrasses. I don't care. Is that what you want? Do you want to walk to the Aphrodite butt naked and have everyone jeering and applauding? I guess it means you won't have to strip when you get there."

She shook her head.

"Then say something. Answer my questions. Derek is waiting."

"I can't. I don't know what to say! What do I say? What do you want to know?"

"Say something sexy."

"Sexy? What's that supposed to mean? What do you want me to say?"

"Talk dirty, Donna. Tell us how badly you want to run in the Hunt. That's what Derek most wants to hear."

"But I don't want to run ... please ... you know that!"

"Wrong answer." Richard declared, shaking his head and unfastening a fourth button on Donna's dress. "That's another one gone, Donna. I'm going to keep unfastening buttons and removing your clothes until you answer my questions. That's how this works. A whore does what she needs to do to please her punter, and you're a whore. Derek would like you to run, and so that means you want to run too. In fact, you want to run more than you want to do anything else in the world. Do you get it?"

"We also have pizza," the waiter began again, his eyes turning to swollen tadpoles.

"Look – I'm sorry," Richard said, turning irritably to the man. "But if you don't mind – but can you stop interrupting? We're working. This lady's name is Donna Mitchell and if you want to look at her, then feel free, but do it quietly and without sticking your cock where it doesn't belong." Then to Donna, he added, "Are you ready to say something sexy? Or shall I continue to undress you?"

"No! Oh my God, please!" Donna cried, still trying blindly to think, and much too late. He'd done it. Another button. Her dress had now been unfastened to her waist. "Please! Not in the street!" she begged, but then inspiration struck. "I know! What if I tell you about the brochure?"

Richard opened the top, unbuttoned part of Donna's dress and displayed her bra and cleavage to its fullest extent for everyone to see. It was a full white lace bra, opening at the rear. The Greek waiter was agog.

"Oh my God," Donna cried, wishing she could cover herself. "Please! Stop it!"

"But you've not said anything interesting. What is it in the brochure that's meant to be sexy?"

"Listen to me! The brochure you showed me described the lake near Mount Athos. It's called Lake Tomdinika and you go down underneath the mountain, into a cave because it's not a normal lake. It's underground."

"This doesn't sound sexy, Donna. You'll have to do better than that. There goes your belt. Next, it'll be your dress. It'll come off completely. Are you ready to lose it?"

He whipped the belt through the hoops, pulling it off while she tried to remember what it was at Lake Tomdinika that had excited her. She summoned up the energy and emotion from her deepest bowels, recalling the lust she'd felt back in Richard's apartment.

"The brochure said that they take guests down into a watery cavern where there's a theatre," she shivered, conscious that she had to control the conversation before Richard removed her dress and any more of her clothes. "They perform fuck plays there. That's what they call them – on a small island in the middle of the lake."

"I wouldn't want to go there," Elizabeth grumbled, feeling a terrible heaviness dragging upon her rectum. It was the stones, and because of them, she wished she could go back to the apartment and lie down on a bed and read Dolcett novels and be punished in more agreeable ways; and yet there was something dangerous and nasty about having no knickers and hearing those stones grinding against each other and feeling them pressing against her sphincter, knowing that if any of them escaped they'd drop to the ground and she'd be wickedly punished.

"It sounds like a tourist trap," Derek said, sauntering across to a shop and peering through the window. "I reckon you should take off her dress. I'll hold her for you while you do it. This isn't sexy!"

"No! Please! I thought you might like to see one of their plays," Donna stammered hurriedly, as she tried to stop thinking about her dress being pulled from her body, and Richard and Derek holding it, and owning it. "They're performing one of their classics. It's called 'Xenia's Choice'. It's a play about forbidden love between a nymph and a soldier - a Greek tragedy. The nymph gets raped and sacrificed, but that's the part I thought you guys might like because it's sexy." She cleared her throat, imagining herself as the nymph in the story. She was on a small stage with Kelly and Kelly's mum who were tying her to a bed and opening her legs and preparing her to face her father's ire. He was drunk and he was snarling and cursing and staring at her open pussy and her tiny tits. "You see," she stuttered anxiously. "The thing is: the soldier is watching as the girl is strapped to an altar. They're on an island in the middle of the lake, and once she's strapped down she's stripped by the temple priestesses. Hot incense oil is poured over her naked body and rubbed into every pore and once the priestesses are done with her, she's left. She's unable to move. She's alone. Her legs have been tied to the altar and they're stretched apart. Her hands are above her head, and as she waits, she and the soldier declare their eternal love, but it's a doomed love because the God Zeus appears at the altar and she screams and struggles as he rapes her and cuts out her heart."

She hesitated, remembering her father's boozy breath and his sharp nails clawing at her adolescent breasts and inexperienced nipples, scratching and drawing blood there, even as he climbed on her and thrust his cock into her hole. "The wicked thing is," she stammered, her voice wavering and quaking with anguish. "They do it for real at Lake Tomdinika – the rape – I mean, not the heart cutting! No pretence! A real rape! They take a girl down into the caverns and they rape her. Where else would you see that but on Korpius?"

"Nowhere," Richard decided softly, closing up the front of Donna's dress and refastening the buttons. "Well done, Donna," he added contentedly. "You did well. That was sexy." Then as an aside to the Greek man, he said, "The show's over for now. Donna will be stripping to the buff at the Aphrodite and you're invited. Bring the family. Bring everyone. But that's all for now."

The Greek man wiped his brow and glanced nervously over his shoulder. "I can't. You see, I have to work, and my wife, she'll object." He shrugged, gawping greedily at Donna's modestly contained breasts and implying that Richard should give him a taster, but Richard was resolute.

"That's too bad," Richard sighed, commiserating with the waiter. "But you only have yourself to blame. This is Korpius. You should assert some authority. A man should be free to enjoy another woman if that's what he chooses, and not have to answer to his wife."

"I know that," the Greek man agreed wretchedly, wringing his hands, and then he again glanced furtively behind at his restaurant. "But it's complicated. She's my wife on Korpius, but also in my real life. You understand? I can't take advantage of her here in the game, because if I do she'll get her revenge and I'll have to pay in our real life."

"But that's illegal."

"Tell me about it! I know. It's against the rules, but what can I do?"

"What's her name?" Derek asked.

The man frowned. "It's Katharina. Why?"

"Maybe my brother and I should give her a call."

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. That depends how she behaves. Maybe we'll strip her naked; or whip her butt. Maybe we'll rape her. Tell her. Tell her to expect some visitors."

"You're joking! She'd kill me!"

"Maybe, would she treat you better if you didn't tell her and we arrived unannounced? Most women appreciate some advance notice before guys turn at their house and being publically humiliate, strip, whip and rape them, if only to prepare their appearance and look their best."

"You are joking? You are, aren't you? You're ... not going to do those things... ?"

Derek smiled. "At the moment I'm tempted. Why not? Why shouldn't we do it? Make sure you tell her to expect us!"

He paused and left the man to retreat to the shadows and the company of a lonely cigarette, there to reflect on what Derek had threatened and how he might convey this news to his wife. Meanwhile, Richard and Derek looked at each other as they walked on, and laughed.

Donna, however, was unimpressed. She was in a more somber, reflective mood as they turned from the High Street onto the steep narrow steps that led down to the square. She could feel that the Aphrodite was getting closer, which was unwelcome, while around her, the buildings huddled and clung to each other as tightly as they hugged the hillside.

It felt claustrophobic, oppressive, and then, almost at once they came to a skin shop and the oppression got worse. She saw a tit-and-butt pelt bikini in front of her, prominently displayed in a narrow window. Nipples had been sewn onto the bra cups and a woman's pussy had been sewn onto the bikini bottom.

A gaudy sign pronounced that it was a Weep Girl bikini.

Donna gazed at the two separate halves of the bikini costume, the sight battering her senses in a way that wouldn't have happened if she hadn't witnessed the harsh, brutal treatment of a Weep girl at the ferry.

What now?

She'd seen these garish garments before, but this one resonated in a way the others hadn't.

Might this garment even have been cut from the girl she'd seen at the ferry? Had she now been killed, murdered and skinned?

"It's fake," Derek interjected somberly, standing with his hands in his pockets and peering myopically through the window and studying the lingerie and swimwear displayed there. He turned irritably to his brother. "The tits aren't real and neither is that pussy! Anyone can see that. Human skin is like paper: fragile. You can't cut it into clothes. Those clothes may look good, but this shop is a swindle!"

And to prove his point, he marched into the skin shop and over to a prominently displayed delicate waisted bed jacket. According to the advertizing above it, the jacket had been stitched from dozens of women's tits from the Spring 2007 Girl Hunt. These had then been cured, aged naturally in the warmth of the Greek sun and had been sewn together using tiny cross-stitches. This would create a random Dalmatian effect, a tapestry of nipples, the promotional sign blared.

There was also a twenty per cent discount, one month only.

Derek lifted the jacket from its hanger and searched amongst the silk lining for a label that he finally found stitched into a seam. "Made in China", it read.

"There you go," he grimaced, stubbing his finger at the label! I told you! It's fake! It all is. Everything in this shop!"

The proprietor disagreed. The man was small, stout and in his fifties, and he approached from behind his till and began remonstrating with Derek for according to him, the label referred to the lining, not the jacket which was manufactured at a local family-run factory at Platani, seven kilometers from Scala.

Derek pooh-poohed this nonsense. "You think this is natural skin?" he argued loudly, holding the jacket for them all to examine. It was see-through, transparent. "Look at it! This isn't skin! This is man-made. It's polyester or nylon!"

The man denied it.

"Derek, you miss the point," Richard intervened, tapping his brother's shoulder. "This is a lingerie shop and it's aimed at women, not men. You have to understand this shop through the female mind. It's for them, not us; don't you see? The shop is in the business of fulfilling female fantasies, and so it doesn't matter whether it's real or not. They're selling fantasy, not the clothes."

He turned to Elizabeth. "Tell him. How does a woman react to a shop like this!"

"What?"

Richard nodded. "You heard me. Not with words, with actions. Show him. How does this shop make you feel."

After a moment's thought, Elizabeth slipped Derek's hand under her top and then under her bra. She pressed it against her big, heavy breast so he could feel her flesh, her hard nipple and her heartbeat. "They use Mudawana fresh off the boat," she whispered, once he had hold of her tit, and she looked him directly in the eye. "If they can, they use Muslims and Christians because in Africa, those girls are virgins; and that will mean that the screaming's for real! They strip them naked, kick them, rape them, and afterwards they take them in big open trucks to one of the abattoirs, and it's from those places that the skin shops buy their hides!" She pressed Derek's hand more firmly against her breast. "Feel how my heart is pumping, Derek. How fast it beats! The imagery of a woman being taken to an abattoir excites me. I don't care whether the skin is genuine or fake, just that it might be real, because I'm a real, living, breathing Dolcett girl, and one day those clothes might be me: my tits, my pussy, my stomach, my legs. Every time I wear skin underwear, that's what I'm thinking. Me. In an abattoir. One day a girl will be wearing my skin next to her flesh. All that'll be left of me is a bra, a pair of panties, a pair of stockings perhaps, and I get myself in a right little stir."

Richard regarded her inexpressively. "Tell us more, Elizabeth. For instance, how do you feel about the fact that one day you'll be a Dolcett Girl."

Elizabeth fidgeted awkwardly. "I've never hidden that it turns me on. It excites me. It makes me happy. I haven't always been a Dolcett Girl but now I am, I'm a convert. I know what I am. I'm a follower, a pious disciple of Dolcett. I'll do whatever he asks, however far, however deep. Any scene. Any way."