throbbed with pride.
'Is now in. Is much safe to lower.'
The failing legs became still. Instinctively, they opened wide. For the moment the unhappy delinquent was as anxious to avoid torn membranes as were her owners. All four participants shared concern for a successful adjustment. Seth and Mustafa lowered their petrified prize slowly and with infinite care upon her punishment. The girl herself was wide eyed and stiff with apprehension. Amrah was busy with rope on captive ankles. Obviously she had done this job before. When she and the men stepped away, a sad but shapely feminine figure sat astride the crossbar, impaled deeply within both orifices of her loins, her feet roped out to either side by taut tethers to the stakes. Her weight rested on her indented crotch. Hands bound behind her back left her helpless to sit and hurt, hurt, hurt. Any motion would increase her pain. She sat very still and quietly wept.
Corey was given the honor of being the replacement to help Amrah with the chores. It was Seth Burdett who unlocked her chains. Reading his unspoken thought as he turned the key to her collar, she wrinkled her nose at him and said, flatly: 'No. I refuse to run. I?m not going to sit on that damn thing to amuse Mustafa.'
'It hurts a bit too, love.'
'It?s a rotten way to treat a girl. Why dont you whip her and be done with it?'
'saving that for you, Corey.'
Seth had led her away from the coffle. Out of earshot, Corey asked: 'Mustafa didn?t take me after Audrey, he took Amrah?'
'?sright, love. Gentleman?s agreement.'
'That means I belong to you, Seth?' She could not keep the excitement from her voice.
He twinkled down at her. 'In a manner of speaking. And drop the Seth, I?m your Master.'
Corey twinkled back. 'Why don?t you take me every day, Master?'
'You?d like that, wouldn?t you?'
'Yes, I would! More than anything.'
'And a whipping along with it?'
'Yes, that too!'
He smiled at her vehemence. Seth Burdett supposed himself half in love with Corey. But he was a Slaver, and it was all too easy to fall for some pitiful maiden on a coffle. They looked so damn sweet and helpless in their chains it was easy to become romantic. In a slvegirl?s anxiety for freedom he was always a prime target for wide beseeching eyes. Laughing, he shook his head. 'Protocol, Miss Gibson. Bad for morale.'
'Damn morale! I want you to want me. You do want me, I know you do.'
'Hell, yes! But you don?t notice Mustafa taking one girl only. It?s our code. It works.'
'If I do something unforgivable you?ll have to whip me. You can take me out in the trees like last time…? Master, please…!'
Seth placed an admonitory finger on pouting lips. 'You?re bored with the coffle, love.'
'Of course I?m tired of it. We must have walked over half Africa.' Corey Gibson looked up at her Master defiantly. 'I want to be your slavegirl. I?ll pay whatever the price is.'
He could not forbear to tease. 'How about sitting out there like that girl?s doing?'
Corey?s pause was momentary. From it, her voice sprang eagerly: 'Yes! Of course! Is that a deal?'
Seth Burdett patted her bottom and pushed her toward the fire.
'You come help gather wood…?bout time!' Amrah greeted indignantly.
'See what I mean?' The slave trader laughed as he left them to their chores.
'You two want to fuck so bad it hurts.' Amrah complained wisely. 'Wish it was me.'
It was good to bee free of restraints. Chores might demean, but Corey revelled in the unhindered movement of her limbs and neck. She was pleasantly excited about Seth Burdett. She knew herself wanton but refused to compare herself today to the girl she once had been. From time to time she spared a commiserating glance for the impaled runaway, asking herself if she would truly change places with the girl for a price! If Seth Burdett was the price she would do so gladly. Miss Corey Gibson was irritated by such self abnegation… But there it was!
In the sleeptime of the following day Corey was awakened by a knowledge of something wrong. She lay tense, listening, but heard nothing. The girls had made their own code. None would start up or attempt to rise so that the chain attaching her to the others would spring taut. They needed their sleep, and could achieve it only by a constant consideration for those to whom they were linked. Corey twisted cautiously.
She was free!
It was not a dream. Her slight motion caused her collar to fall open, as did the shackle on her wrist. In shock she pushed herself up to rest on one hip and look down stupidly at the metal circlets that no longer held her captive. She surveyed the coffle. The girls were all asleep, their chain neat between collared necks, their shackled hands resting carelessly above their heads. They were perfectly adjusted to the coffle, and slept peacefully. Strangely, she felt no exhilaration. Instead, she was conscious of fear. Mustafa might be trying to trap her into delinquency justifying some hateful punishment. But he seemed deep in slumber, his back turned upon his female inventory. Of Seth she could not be sure. If he was watching her from one sardonic eye he gave no sign. Cautiously, she got to her feet. The eight shackled beauties looked pitiful in their nakedness. Without keys she could not aid them. Silently, she stepped away from where the soil was still warm from her flesh, and tip-toed to the centre of the camp.
The free, but naked, Miss Corey Gibson had never felt at such a loss. In this eerie freedom she was a pale ghost without purpose. Whatever she did seemed likely to land her in some terrifying restriction. To steal a donkey seemed the most practical course. But she had never handled one, there would be noise. Besides, she knew not which direction she should take. She was restricted to the path. To leave it for the tangled wilderness would be folly. Naked! Unarmed! Unskilled! Corey Gibson had never been so lonely. She saw herself alone on a sterile planet for which there were no maps. Suddenly, the coffle beckoned enticingly. In its slavery lay the only comfort or safety of which she could be sure. Corey wished she had clasped the metal bands back upon herself and clicked their locks. Was it possible to do so now without discovery? Was it?
In swift decision she sped to where her Master slept. Deliberately she slid down and snuggled close, a bare arm across his shoulders. Without surprise, she heard his chuckle. 'Congratulations, love. You?ve made your point.' Lazily, he turned and gathered her close, her head gratefully buried against his cheek. Corey Gibson had never been so happy.
The town of Ben Sirah lay between desert and scrub, an ancient ghost of a place progress had ignored. For Slavers it was ideal. If the powers above knew its function they closed a blind eye. No matter how enlightened an official might be, it was comforting to know where a slavegirl could still be purchased. It was one of Africa?s surviving institutions of which most men, black or white or in between, secretly approved. From its auction block the wealthy of the world had gathered to itself some of the most desirable female flesh extant.
As the current consignment of feminine pulch tritute from the stable of Mustafa and Burdett clinked its coffle through empty moonlit streets and shuffled its female feet in sand still warm from daylight sun, Corey Gibson could believe herself transported back a thousand years. No sign of modernity was to be seen. For she and those like her it offered no hope. For slavegirls it would be a place of sadness and last good-byes. As they filed through its central square the sight of stocks and whipping post, stark and empty in the pale light, was far from welcome. Conscious of the metal she bore upon her nudity, she wondered how many other white girls had marched as she marched now!
'Soon we all be fucked real good.' Whispered Amrah ecstatically. 'This fine place to be sold. Much best.' Her stride was confident.
It may have been a warehouse. Or perhaps it had known no other function than the housing of slaves. A huge square place of stone and thatch, it?s roof supported by pillars. Within each quarter of its dimension there was a cage of metal bars and sandy floor, large enough to tell of a considerable trade in times past. Ventilation was adequate from unglazed apertures high in the stone. The whole place spelt Slavery with a capital?S?. Corey shivered. They were well received by the Management. The partners were treated with much respect. The nine naked girls were examined with voluble approval. Help was provided in their placement within a chosen cage. Amrah was first in line. Freed from the coffle, her wrists were crossed behind her back and tied with a strip of supple hide. An authorative hand thrust her within the confines of the bars. Corey was next. The tying of her hands at the small of her back was competent. She wpuld not get loose. In dismal distaste for what was happening she joined Amrah in the cage. Soon all nine girls stood nakedly with hands bound behind their backs and surveyed their
