create its twin.
She felt the pain. Orgasm could not protect her forever. Corey knew she should scream in agony, but did no more than flail her legs and thrust her cheek hard against one raised bare arm. A firely burn was etching itself across her back, but all she could think of was to hope it left a satisfying mark for the other girls to see. The third stroke found her more sentinent to its cut. In shock at a new dimension of agony she lifted herself by her bound wrists, contorting to proclaim her hurt, to tell her owner not to hit so hard. She had forgotten her gag and wondered why she could not hear her voice. There came a pause. Hot breath was on her neck, a male hand was between her thighs. She was ashamed that it would become wet from her secretions.
Corey Gibson shook her head in a futile effort to rid her mouth of the hampering flavor of male. In compensation she spread wide her thighs. It hurt her wrists more but she did not care.
'Anaesthesia, Corey.' Seth?s whisper was close to her ear. 'I?m going to whip you good. But nod if this helps.'
The nude and suspended girl nodded vigorously, delivering herself to the wise fingers and their oblivion of sensation. It seemed a very little while before the whip sang again… But this time it was better. No less hard, but across the twin curves of her buttocks. A girl?s bottom was the proper place for her to be whipped. She comforted herself with this assurance as the pain spread. Corey let her feet do as they pleased. Corey would be amused by their gyrations.
'Three more, slavegirl, before you have to open wide and ask me to whip up inside your crotch.'
It was not possible! It could not be! What girl had ever been whipped there… in that place? Corey absorbed three brands of agony while she thought of what was required of her. Then, as she opened wide the softness of her thighs, she laughed into the gag that denied her whipper the pleasure of her voice. The thong sped up into the inviting cleft, splatted across her wet vulva, and bit viciously at her belly. Miss Corey Gibson amazed herself by the violence of her writhings. Even her taut breasts…!
'Dammit, girl, you?re beautiful!' Seth?s voice was reverent. 'Here?s recess.'
Corey?s thighs leaped apart. She moaned in gratitude. When the next whipstroke etched a circle of scarlet round her waist she climaxed once again. The slave Trader whipped her with twenty strokes, each clearly defined as proof of punishment. Corey?s back and bottom became a frid of puffed scarlet lines. He was content. Thoughtfully, he drew her sweat bedewed and panting nakedness against his thrusting flesh and impaled her as she hung suspended from the tree. Her legs encircled him as would a pair of loving arms. They clung and clung long after their loins had given and received. When she was lowered from the branch Corey protested against the untying of her wrists. 'Leave them tied, Master. Lead me back in style. Are my marks vivid on my skin?'
'More scarlet than an oil painting, love.' 'Good! It?s crazy but I?m proud.'
'And so you should be!' Seth took the rope from her wrist bindings and tugged. He was dressed again, even to his shorts. His slavegirl followed in sweet docility.
Corey?s head was high.
'I?ve been whipped, so I know what it?s like.' Audrey Cotswold?s one free hand reached awkwardly to trace its fingers softly across Corey?s ridged back. 'You poor darling, the bastard really let you have it.'
'He?s not a poor bastard. He?s nice.'
'That mean he fuck you good.' It was Amrah?s wisdom from the other side. 'You sure get whipped pretty. You most lucky girl.'
Back on the coffle! Chained at neck and wrist. Her wounded skin the only evidence of being, for a little while, free of its weight of metal. Corey Gibson soaked up comiseration gratefully and wished herself back hanging from the tree. She could not help it, that?s the way it was. 'He only did what he thought was right.' She explained lamely. 'Don?t try and understand. I?m back here on the coffle with you, that?s what counts.'
'I helped put you here, Corey. I?ll never forgive myself.' The English girl?s self condemnation was infinitely forlorn. 'It doesn?t matter so much about me. I was a slave anyway. I expect this is my just desserts.'
'Don?t fret, darling. I?m alright.'
'She better than alright.' Amrah opined. 'She been fucked and whipped and loved. Amrah knows.'
It was nice to be chained once more to girls. Corey knew she would long for something that was now past and done. But Audrey and Amrah were known quantities. When she had stood to have her neck and wrist once more chained there had been an element of coming home. It had been Mustafa who had, approvingly, examined her back and bottom and returned her securely to stock.
'Assef will get us out of this, Corey. I know he will.' Audrey?s assurance was vehement. 'We?ll have a bad time first… this trek isn?t exactly fun. But he?ll find us… and there?s your dad…'
'You not ever get free. You two wear chains always. Have fine life. Get whip. Good food. Plenty fuck.' Amrah sighed happily at the end of the chain and reproved their discontent. 'You not know when well off.'
Talking was not encouraged. Too many whispers or too long a converse was likely to bring Mustafa and his whip. If it was in sleeping time the guilty girls were already flat on the ground and had only to turn on their tummies to present their bare back for the stripe or two it might please him to inflict. They could then cry themselves to sleep. At night, as they trudged steadily along the tiny path behind Seth Burdett?s donkey it was not easy to talk at all. They hissed their whispers sparingly. The double chain defeated everything except their plodding feet.
Corey told the English girl of Seth?s promise. She herself found hope in it. As her toughening feet traversed the miles she lived over and over again her painful but ecstatic hour with the most masculine male she had ever known. Seth Burdett was a force. Corey felt guilty of a girlish teen-age excitement in the knowledge of his ownership. She belonged to him by right of conquest. He could do as he pleased with her. Perhaps it was a silly romantic fantasy born of the coffle, but she wished he would take her for his own. The sensible part of Miss Corey Gibson clearly saw the handicaps in such an enslavement, but the passion in her loins swept them aside. As he rode at the head of the cavalcade his broad back was in constant view. But when they camped he paid her scant attention, and that usually to reprimand. But at such times their eyes would lock in a communion all their own which the slavegirl found deeply satisfying. But, if it held a message, it was one she could not decipher. As the days passed Corey?s whip weals healed and faded in a manner she and Audrey found miraculous.
None of the nine slaves was a virgin. Thus they could be used by their temporary owners without loss of marketability. Mustafa possessed one of the other of them daily, working his way through the coffle from back to front as though keeping the three white girls for dessert with an impatient Amrah as the liqueur. When he unlocked them, each girl reacted in her own way. They returned from their sojourn in the trees with skins variously marked. For Mustafa, the whip was an essential part of dalliance. When he came to Josie she yielded herself without complaint. After her enforced whoredom at Amphala he was just another wog.
Audrey was different. She had been a slave long time, but never to such as this redolent bristly lecher of the trade. Mustafa had early detected her distaste and cherished it. For him, the English girl would have a flavour all her own, a spicy combination of the patina of wealth and power plus her membership in a race whose Empire had so recently crumbled before his eyes. To humble the pride of such a girl was obviously the duty of any burnoosed bandit. Surveying his naked prey he opened his conversational gambit.
'You are white English sow.'
'Yes, Master.'
Audrey Cotswold had played the game before, and was determined to minimise her losses. But her previous conquerors had possessed finesse. She was quakingly unsure of her ability to cope with Mustafa. Hoping for the best, she embraced humility. 'I am an obedient slave, Master.'
'Yet your eyes sneer at me?'
'I will make them smile for you, Master.'
'You have the English cunning.'
'If I had it, Master, it would be powerless against your chain.'
'And when I unlock you?'
'I will follow you into the trees and do your bidding.'
Mustafa was piqued. Compliance was insipid. He suspected guile. 'Kneel!' He flung the order as a challenge.
Audrey twisted in frustration. 'I cannot, Master, I am chained.'
'On your knees!'
Girls on either side moved close, donating slack chain. Without enthusiasm, Audrey sank to her knees, chains taut to her neck, her right arm awkwardly fettered. He avowal lacked warmth. 'I kneel, Master. I am yours.'
