Lady and the Pirate of the Sands, The · Part 2 (2/2)
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As Ivy was lead from the tent she was interviewed in, she saw Melissa and the other two maids, who had been in the column, being lead to the far end of camp. They had no husband to pay their ransom. Although Ivy had offered to let Bradford pay Melissa's too, she had been told that such arrangements were not allowed. What this really meant, was that the band of ruffians needed a few women to keep as slaves. At least they had the common sense not to chose an English lady. No proper woman of the realm would ever stop struggling against being imprisoned as a harem girl.
Ivy was lead to a tent where several of the other women sat huddled together on the floor. Several of them wept openly. These where the ones whose dresses had been torn open in the back. Each had several lash marks across her back. They had not told the truth about their husband's financial status and had tasted the whip.
Later that night, they all gathered in a large tent. The women where told that they where going to be allowed to partake in the victory feast. All the men lay around a low table being waited on by numerous slave girls. The newly captured females, minus three, where tucked away in corner, suitably out of the way. They were quiet during the meal all too ashamed to speak. Being whipped and held for ransom took the spirit out of most of the women.
Both of the other maids were included amongst the scantily clad slaves serving the meal. Melissa was no where to be seen. The two maids were also wearing the same revealing silks accompanied by bangles on their ankles as the slave girls. Their ears had also been pieced and from them dangled large brass hoops. Ivy wondered what it felt like to have a man control your body. Control it so must that he violated it by piecing your ears with a needle, forcing you to wear earring as a constant reminder of you servitude. It must of been horrible for them. Still, to Ivy's surprise, the former maids seemed to smile contentedly as they went about their work.
Ivy was getting worried about her former maid, Melissa. Having just gotten up the courage to ask where her servant was, a small gong was sounded by the English speaking pirate. The entire tent quieted down. Turning to the men, he spoke to them briefly in Arabic and afterwards they all cheered loudly. He then looked over at the English captives and said in their language, “Tonight you will be entertained in the fashion of the desert. The dance will be performed by someone who should look very familiar to you."
It was just then that Ivy noticed he carried in one hand, a thin silver chain. He reeled in the chain which stretched out of the tent's entranceway. To the English ladies surprise and dismay attached to the other end was Melissa Ivy's former maid. She was dressed in a flowing veiled outfit. In her hands she held small cymbals and about her neck ran a thin collar attached to the silver chain. She was no longer the domestic servant who had so faithfully served Ivy in London. From the way she held her body, she was with out a doubt an animal, a slave.
Several of the men picked up instruments and began to play. Melissa accompanied them with her hand chimes and the the natural rhythm of her body. Dancing playfully around her chain and in circles about the man who held it she seemed to be trying to seduce him. Slowly, she began to remove each veil, letting it slide slowly down her shapely body. The music sped up as each layer was removed. Her body became frenzied, as she dance around the beaming English speaking Arab, pelvis thrusting in a depraved manner. With the last veil, she seemed to climax. Standing in front of the man who held her chain, she mouthed the word master and then fell to her knees. She crossed her hands in front of her, an obvious sign of submission. Exhausted she lay at his feet.
All the men let out a cheer, as the Arab who had arranged the entertainment swept Melissa into his arms and triumphantly left the tent. What was to happen next could only be assumed. Following this the music started again. This time three women entered and began to dance. Their movements were more refined than Melissa's had been. They had probably been properly trained to perform this vile ritual. Despite their lack of Melissa's raw animal enthusiasm, their bodies still conveyed the same vile message.
Ivy could stand no more. This was an insult, something no citizen of the realm should stand for. Rising slowly to her feet she yelled, in as lady like a voice as possible, “This must stop!". The entire tent became silent and deadly still.
Motioning to several of his men the pirate leader said something, which although in a foreign language, whose intent was clear. Running for the entranceway Ivy was tripped up by none other than Lady Wadstone's former maid, now a slave girl. Staring at her fellow English woman in disbelief, she was grabbed and carried away by four men.
Taken to an ornate tent at the other side of the compound, a scimitar was used to cut her clothes from her body. Following this indignity, she was forced to stand naked in the center of the tent while her hands were shackled. A chain was attached to the shackles which ran up through a pulley in the ceiling. The chain was then pulled taunt, forcing her hands up over her head. Completely exposed in the middle of the room, she could not even fall to the ground and cover herself. “If only Bradford would come." She could only pray.
The four men left her. She waited and waited. This was almost as tortuous as the indignity of being bound and left completely exposed. Finally the leader of the sand pirates entered the tent. At dinner he had sat at the other side of the tent from her. Even from that distance she was able to make out that he was probably not an Arab. When he walked into the tent, without the benefit of his mask, there was a definitely Aryan look about him. Blonde and blue eyes, he was definitely not one of them. Maybe he could be reasoned with.
“Please," she said trying to bring tears to her eyes, “Don't hurt me." She had been unsuccessfully in her attempt at using her proud English citizen act in order to show the band of ruffians how to treat behave. Left with no alternative, she was resorting to her last line of defense, behaving like a helpless woman, which she was.
He smiled and laughed cruelly. “If you dance for me. I will no kill you." As he spoke he fingered the whip which lay coiled in his belt. It was ready to strike.
From his accent he was obviously an Englishman. Why wouldn't he listen to reason? How could someone from the Mother Country, be such a barbarian? Ivy could not bring herself to dance for him. She would rather die first. “No." she replied holding her head high, waiting for the blow to fall across her exposed back.
“Have it your way.", he gloated. “You entertained me numerous times as we rode, I can't see why you won't do it again. Dancing is even less personal than that."
Closing her eyes she tried to imagine he just was not there and that this was all just a bad dream. He had noticed how much she enjoyed the harness, how humiliating.
With the first sting of the whip on her ankles, she was forced to acknowledge his presence. He brought the whip down again and she tried to move her feet out of the way. By careful concentrating on where the whip would fall she could avoid it. Suddenly, she realized that he had her moving to a certain beat and her feet following a set pattern.
Never before had a man controlled her so. First on the horse, the fierce warrior had subtly taken over the most private act her body could experience. That was something her husband had never taken the time to do. Now, he made her body move to a natural rhythm, a slave rhythm. It was stirring, causing the same arousment she felt with the harness gentling massaging her between the legs. She was his instrument and he played her masterfully or more fittingly put, like a master.
He stopped nipping at her ankles with the whip and she kept dancing. Soon her upper body was moving to the rhythm he had established. After staring a her, what seemed to be desirously, he turned and walked towards the entrance way of the tent.
Without thinking what she was really saying, Ivy sobbed, “Master, what did I do wrong?" She was shocked by what she had just said, but she was also torn up inside because she had tried to dance seductively and he had just walked away. Wasn't her dancing good enough to please him?
Instead of leaving the tent, he stopped near the entrance to take the end of the chain which attached to her shackles from where it was fastened to the wall. Keeping it taunt he approached her. Wrapping his arms about her, he kissed her savagely. It was tortuous. She couldn't throw her arms about him and return his embrace. She couldn't even fall at his feet and prove her obedience, prove her love for him.
The chain was still in his hands. It pressed against her back. It cut her but she didn't care. She just wanted to be held by him. She just wanted to please him.
“Since I have allowed you pleasure so many times, don't you feel it is about time you reciprocated, my pretty lady?"
“Yes," she begged, squirming with desire.
After raising her several inches off the floor with the chain, he lifted his robe. Dangling above the ground, he lowered her. As her body slid along his she could feel him enter her. She had no choice. He had penetrated her; he owned her.
Wrapping her legs around him she clung to him. He released the chain and held her. With her shackled hands clinging about his neck, she could feel his powerful shoulder muscles ripple with each trust into her body. He had to be an incredibly strong man to lift her off the floor with one hand, but then again he had to be an incredibly strong man to so easily subdue an English lady. Something in her eyes had known this ever since she first caught sight of him charging head long into battle against the Barbers.
As he thrust deeper into Ivy than she ever imagined possible, she was driven into a frenzy. Tearing at the back of his neck with her nails and biting at his shoulder, he was forced to throw her to the ground. Dodging her multitude of female weaponry he rolled her on her stomach and took her from behind. This allowed him to easily avoid her nails and teeth. Ivy was left to claw at the soft carpet on which she was pinned. He pounded her, properly introducing her to an English lance like her husband would never wield.
Her assault on him only increased the intensity of his love making. He counter attack against her lasted so much longer than all time her husband has used her combined. Finally his whole body went rigid and he stifled a scream. After filing her completely, his body seemed drained of strength as he lay down next to her. Ivy rolled over and tenderly licked at the scratches she left on the back of his neck and kissed the teeth marks she had left in his shoulder. Gently rubbing her back with just the tips of his fingers, he asked, “Will you dance for the men tonight, my sweet?"
“Yes, please master.", she said wanting to show them what a strong man her master was. He had tamed her so easily.
With a smile he asked, “What is your name, your rank if any and your husbands name?" So he had been the one to phrased the questions asked of her earlier.
Not hesitating for an instance she responded, “Ivy, if the name pleases you, I am but a slave, and I have no husband for as I said before, I am but a slave."
Holding her closely he kissed her, first on her eyes, then her nose and finally on the lips. Maintaining the embrace she could feel his body fill once again with desire. Lying on fully on her back, she spread her legs welcoming him. Not hesitating for an instant, he took the invitation.
Later that evening Ivy danced for the men. She danced for the other English ladies, who were completely appalled. What did she care? She was never going to return to their “civilized'' world. Here she would be happy and receive something they could only dream of, true love.
At the end of her dance she fell at her master's feet with her hands crossed in submission. She could tell from the applause that she had performed better than Melissa. As she started kissing her master's feet, he picked her up and carried her back to his own tent. What happened next could only be assumed by all the horrified English ladies. As the ladies lay down to sleep, they where kept awake by the throaty sounds of a woman being pleased. The slave girls' cries of pleasure filled the night air. Was it Ivy, was it Martha or one of the other maids? The English ladies could only grit their teeth in dismay at the sorry state the former English women had fallen prey to. Then again, they could have gritted their teeth in envy.
After the ransom was collected, the English ladies were escorted to a designated meeting point where they were to be picked up by a British cavalry unit. During the journey they all agreed to say that Duchess of Kensingworth had died in the initial attack on the caravan. This was far from the truth. She had died the night she married Bradford and was reborn when she was first fastened to her master's saddle.
Several months later a rumor circulated from Khartoum to London to Bombay, that the Sand Pirate had been killed in a mutiny lead by his own men. At roughly the same time a long deserted castle on an island halfway between Italy and Africa was being restored by a strange band of men. Some wealthy English man had bought the castle from the King of Naples. It came with the royal title of count. Here on the serene island, the count and his wife lived out there days ruling the pleasant natives of the island and taking an occasional trip to any country in Europe, save one where the countess's face was too well known.
The countess was renown for her radiant personality and for throwing the most entertaining dinner and parties. Any noble noble who was lucky enough to be invited for a visit was pleased to partake in the many beautiful serving women provided by the noble host and hostess. Women of a caliber never before seen so close to Europe. There was a certain Arabian flavor to each such occasion. In private the countess was secretly known for her ability to dance and to please her one master.
Lady and the Pirate of the Sands, The · Part 2 (2/2)
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