Lady and the Pirate of the Sands, The · Part 1 (1/2)
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The column was finished, about to be overrun. Queen Victoria's finest were meeting defeat at the hands of a horde of desert tribesman, the Barbers. Looking out from under the wagon under which she lay for protection, Ivy could not believe this was happening to her. Just last month, she had left London on a passenger ship bound for Cairo. When the ship experienced engine problems, she, the Duchess of Kensingworth, was transferred to a coal scow. Although she was given the captain's cabin, the journey to Rome was wretched. Once in the famous Italian city, the conditions went from bad to worse.
Aside from having to wait a week for a ship bound for Cairo, Ivy was forced to stay in inferior lodgings. The hotel had no sweets and did not even provide servants quarters. Her maid, Melissa, was staying in exactly the same caliber room as she. On top of this indignity, the weather was abysmally hot. Every day she would spend the hours of eleven to three lounging around her hotel room wearing only her bodice. There was really nothing else to be done to combat the heat.
Dressed only in a minimum of undergarments, she knew full well why Colonel Bradford Stanley had been so intent on marrying her. Her breasts were quite shapely and her skin, with its natural paleness, was soft and satiny to the touch. Running her fingers across her own stomach, she thought of her few romantic encounters with her husband before he had left for the frontier. They had been rushed affairs, with all the formality of his military training. They had all the pleasure of his military training, too; at least for her they did. Ivy found it much more pleasurable pleasing herself sexually. On such occasions, she could fantasize about a man who gave her the proper amount of attention. The saving grace of her husband's attempts at "lovemaking" was having the security of sleeping next to him afterwards. A man lying next to you at night was very reassuring.
If you excluded his lack-of-ability in bed, Bradford was a fine husband. He was the only one of Ivy's suitors who was considered to be of the proper stature. Having come from a moderately wealthy family, with a social status well above their financial means, she had found it hard to find a man she liked and whom her father approved. Her looks assured that there were ample courters, while her lack of a sufficient dowry gave few of them the proper titles. In fact, there was only one: Lord Bradford Stanley, colonel in the expeditionary force to the Sudan.
From Rome, she caught a ship to Cairo and, from this city she referred to as the cesspool of the empire, Ivy made plans to meet her husband at Khartoum. A well-guarded caravan including two companies of British regulars, was heading out towards the famous city, where Gordon had made his final stand. With all the protection there would be no problem with being attacked by the natives. They would never dare move on a column of the size Ivy travelled in.
This is what Captain Piper had told Ivy, her maid, and several other wives of officers who were venturing out to meet their husbands. It was rather ironic when a Barber marksman had signalled the attack on the column by shooting the overconfident captain between the eyes.
Without its leader, the column was easily crushed. The men fought bravely but were outmatched by the overwhelming numbers of desert tribesmen. Now Ivy stood tied up in a line of women, formerly English citizens, now pronounced slaves by the leader of the barbarous Barbers. At least he thought that. She was an English woman and would teach him a thing or to.
Having given up all hope of ever seeing her husband again, Ivy was overjoyed to hear a bugle playing the cavalry charge. From the east, a horde of riders was descending on the disorganized Barbers. Spread out looting the caravan, they were caught off-guard. The group of riders smashed through the meager resistance at the edge of the caravan and was soon engaged in a ferocious melee.
The rescue force consisted of men riding camels with the exception of their leader, who rode a huge white stallion. With his face masked to keep out the desert sand, he made a fierce looking warrior. Dodging swords, spears, and bullets, he moved through the Barbers, introducing them to his English-style lance, topped by fine English steel. From the way the entire rescue party fought, they had to be English. Although they were dressed in desert garb, they used English weapons and tactics. Soon the Barbers where routed.
Ivy's rescuers secured the area and then turned to appraising what was left of the column. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that the relief force was partaking in looting, just in a more organized fashion than the Barbers. No, they were just collecting the rifles and ammunition so they did not fall into the hands of the tribesmen.
Several riders stood guard over the only survivors from the caravan, the women. In all the excitement they had forgotten to untie them. Knowing that they were a military unit, Ivy realized that this oversight would be dealt with once the area was considered to be safe.
After making sure all was in order, the leader of the column rode over to the women. He was still wearing the mask, which covered all of his face save his eyes. Saying something in Arabic, he motioned to one of the men standing guard over them. The designated man jumped from his camel and walked over to the women. He was going to untie them. Their extremely brief stint as slaves would be over. This would be a story that would shock the tea club back in London.
Instead of untying them, he checked their bonds and made sure they were tight. All of the women, including Ivy, let out a gasp. "What are you doing?" Ivy demanded. "We are citizens of the Empire."
Once again the leader spoke in Arabic. The man who had just checked their bonds walked over to his camel and got his riding crop. Walking back to the now terrified Ivy, he grabbed her by the hair and forced her down to her knees, pressing her face into the host sand. She could feel him using the hand which held the crop to lift up her dress and petticoats. To her dismay, he did not stop at her bloomers. He pulled them down too.
With her face pressed into the sand, she could not even scream. Her bare backside was exposed to all the marauding band of supposed rescuers, and, even more degrading than this, all of the ladies who accompanied the column were witness to this shame. Pain filled her entire body as the crop was laid across her buttocks three times. Pulled to her feet by her hair, she gasped for air as she was returned to the line of female captives. Her face was covered with a mixture of the dessert's fine white sand and shame.
While the column and the Barbers who initially attacked it, were being picked clean by the pseudo-rescue party, Ivy stood with her head hung low. She managed to wipe her face off on the shoulder of her dress but did not look up. She did not want to make eye contact with the other English women. Having experienced a disgrace worse than she could have ever imagined, she did not want their pity or looks of horror. She was now a tainted woman.
Feeling like she was being constantly stared at, she looked up for a moment and caught the leader looking down at her. He quickly looked away and directed a group of his men to check one of the wagons. It had to be her imagination. After a few more minutes of waiting, she glanced up again. He was definitely staring at her. With this, Ivy's predicament went from bad to worse. On top of all the other degradations and misfortunes which had befallen her, she was now the object of some barbarian's attention. As an English lady, she would rather die than become his play thing.
As the would be rescuers prepared to leave, one of them rode over to the party of women and reined his camel. Addressing them, he said, in English, “Captive English citizens, when we get to our base you shall be held and ransom arrangements shall be made for all of you whose loved ones can afford to pay. All others will be made slaves of the Raj Shomire also know as the Pirate of the Sands." With this remark he gestured towards the band's leader, still a top his white stallion. This was none other than the Pirate of the Sands, whom Ivy had heard stories of even back in England. Staring at the ground, she could feel the other woman's eyes turn to her. What did she care? At least she had spoken up like a good citizen of the realm.
The English speaking man rode over to Melissa, her maid, took out his sword and cut the ropes which attached her to the line of female captives. Since the terrified servants hands were still tied, she had no way to protest when he hoisted her up and threw her over the front of his saddle. It was some recompense to think that at least they would not have to walk.
One by one, other riders came over and took the woman of there choice to carry. With Melissa hoisted up first and the some what dowdy, Mrs. Wadstone last, it seemed to Ivy that it was a kind of beauty contest, with the highest ranking man taking the prettiest woman. What surprised her was that, no one had chosen her. Melissa was a red haired beauty, in a common sort of way. Still, Ivy felt that with her blonde hair and pretty face, she should have been either the first or second woman carried away.
To her dismay she realized that she had been deliberately excluded from the competition. The pirate leader, the highest ranking member of the band, road over to her and dismounted. Ivy stood up straight, holding her head high. She was going to show him that it took more than a simple beating to break her spirit. Something in his eyes said he already knew this.
First, he lifted up her dress and removed her numerous layers of under-clothes. He then took a leather harness and fastened it so that it wrapped around her waist while a second strap slid between her legs. Standing there riggedly, she refused to look down and give him the satisfaction of even being remotely curious. She would take what ever humiliation he decided to rein on her and he would pay dearly at the hands of her husband. Colonel Bradford would track him to the far ends of the Earth and see that he payed for his barbarous behavior.
Ivy was not quite sure, but the harness felt like some kind of chastity belt. When she was lead over to the horse and thrown across the saddle, its purpose became clear. Taking a strap from the saddle, he fastened it to the contraption which ran between her legs and about her waist. She was securely attaching to the saddle. Lying there on her belly, legs on one side of the horse, head and torso on the other, Ivy could feel the piece of harness which ran between her legs rub gently over the most private areas of her body.
Whipping his horse with the reins, getting it to follow the others, he also playfully slapped Ivy on the rump. As they road the purpose of the strap which ran between her legs became all too clear. With each step the horse took the strap between her legs massaged her. No matter how hard she tried, her body could not ignore it. She could tell she was lubricating and was actually worried that there was so much liquid that it would seep through her dress. Never before had she been this excited.
Further along in the ride, she still resisted the pleasure she felt between her legs. After all, she was an English lady. The impetuous pirate grew weary of holding the reins and with one hand forced Ivy's mouth open, while placing them between her teeth with the other. After being whipped once, she knew enough not to let them drop. So with the taste of leather in her mouth, they travelled on getting farther away from the routes commonly taken by English columns.
The trip was long, and her captor grew restless. Removing the bun in which she usually kept her hair, the rakish pirate, started running his fingers through her silky curls. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he lightly rub her scalp. His hands wandered from her hair to her back and began to gently massage here too. He was touching her just as she wished her husband would. This, combined with the the rubbing of the harness between her legs, was too much for Ivy to bare. She could no longer hold back.
Biting as hard as she could on the reins while forcing her body to become ridged, she let the orgasm run through her body. She tried to display as little movement as possible. To him, she wanted it to look like a cramp or a momentary tightening of her muscles. Somehow the adverse conditions made it that much more powerful, causing to forget what she was doing and drop the reins. Realizing what she had done, she could only pray that he did not notice what had really happened.
Picking up the reins he gave her a sharp slap on the rump and forced them back into her mouth. By night fall and a dozen orgasms latter, they reached the camp. During her latest climaxes, she'd held on to the reins and she thought that she had better control of her body this time. As before it was extremely powerful, if not the most powerful she had ever had.
Once in the camp the English speaking Arab interviewed all the women separately. He asked Ivy, “What is your name, your rank if any and your husbands name?"
Knowing he could always beat the truth out of her, she replied, “My name is Lady Ivy Stanley, wife of Lord Bradford Stanley, Colonel in a regiment stationed at Khartoum." She was wily enough not to tell him the military unit her husband belonged to, since this could have given away the cities strength.
With a wry smile he asked, “What do you think you are worth to your husband."
“What?" Ivy demanded.
“You heard me. What would he be willing to pay for your safe return?" This was the cruelest thing to do to an English woman. They are such a proud race and not likely to under-value themselves greatly in order to save there husband some money. She begrudgingly told him what she considered to be a reasonable amount.
He also inquired what she knew of the other women she travelled with. By doing this he could potentially catch any of them if they lied about there husbands rank or what he could pay for his loved one's ransom. The Pirate of the Sand was a sly character. The questions he had his henchman ask where most revealing. Ivy was glad she had initially told the truth.
Lady and the Pirate of the Sands, The · Part 1 (1/2)
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