GEETWO STORIES - PAGE 073

- THE STRAY -

INSPIRED BY THE ART OF BOB BISHOP

By

Geetwo

writergeetwo@googlemail.com

The bearded Arab slaver had years of experience in handling captive females and had no difficulty at all in controlling and directing his latest acquisition. His task was made even easier by the simple, well-tried and extremely effective way that the small Westerner was bound; her wrists handcuffed behind her back and linked by a strong chain to the rear of the steel collar locked around her neck. With his hand gripping the chain, a sharp tug was all it took to compel her obedience as her arms were forced upwards and her collar tightened on her throat.

Since he had ruthlessly crushed her first, easily-anticipated attempt to resist, she hadn’t tried again and he knew she wouldn’t dare to. The still-vivid red stripe that his whip had left across her belly had been more than enough to teach her not to defy him and he had enjoyed seeing the fear in her eyes when she felt the pain of that single lash. Like almost every Western woman, she had clearly never learned her rightful place at the feet of men, or been whipped for failing to show due respect to her natural Masters. That would soon change, for she was to be sold as a slave and if foolish enough to still imagine that she was the equal of her owner, she would be punished without mercy until she reached the standards of instant, unhesitating obedience and perfect service that would be demanded of her.

Ridiculous though such ideas were, he was quite sure she still clung to the hope of being rescued and didn’t yet truly believe that she was to become a life-long slave whose only purpose would be the sexual pleasure of her owner and whose servitude would be enforced by any means necessary. Not that her hopes and beliefs were of the slightest importance any more.

From the moment of her capture, her body had no longer been hers to control, and, to drive home that fact, his first action had been to have her nipples and nose pierced and fitted with welded steel rings to both mark her as a slave and to provide attachment points for leashes or other restraints that an owner might care to add to the normal, permanent cuffs and chains that she would wear as a slave. He had not yet used them for that purpose himself, but had ensured that she had seen others of his female slave-stock secured by their rings and been told that she would share the same humiliating indignity whenever it pleased her owner to tether her or leash her like a pet animal.

No doubt she bitterly regretted her foolishness in straying away from the escorted sight-seeing party that she had been with, in order to explore the labyrinth of narrow streets of the Casbah on her own, thinking that her wealth, white skin and the passport in her expensive handbag would protect her. Had she known, or even imagined that her blonde hair, blue eyes and pale, creamy flesh were hugely-prized by wealthy men of his race and that the moment she became separated from the group, her every movement was watched and reported back to him by a network of spotters in his employ, she would have run back to her friends as fast as her legs could carry her and never set foot in the Casbah again.

Instead, she had wandered deeper into the maze of alleys and it had been child’s play for him to organise her capture and have her brought to his place of business where she had been stripped, collared, bound and ringed, then locked in one of the iron cages in the slave-pen beneath the building. There she had remained until the search instigated by her disappearance petered out and was quietly abandoned. It would never be admitted publicly, of course, but she was by no means the first young, attractive Western female to vanish in such a manner and the authorities had no wish to advertise their failings by prolonging their futile investigations. Cases like hers were quickly shelved and her disappearance would simply be put down, unofficially, as her own fault for not staying where she could be protected.

As long as she remained a captive, invisible and forgotten, no-one would look for her or concern themselves over her fate ... and he knew that she would remain invisible and a captive for the rest of her life. Her wealthy buyer ... and her buyer would have to be wealthy, for pretty, white-skinned slaves were rare and hugely expensive ... would be careful to keep her out of sight and away from any wagging tongues that might betray her fate to the authorities. Her life would be spent inside high walls, behind locked doors and steel bars, with her limbs chained and her throat bearing the collar of her owner, fulfilling every demand made of her as a total and permanent sex-slave.

It was highly unlikely that she would enjoy her new life as much as he would enjoy driving the top-of-the-range Ferrari her sale would buy him ...