Originally published in Hogtie vol 5 no 10
Story codes: MF/f+, bdsm, harem, slaves, trained, chains, shackles, whip, cane, dungeon, pierced, X
Our story so far: Paris, 1961. Major Victor Linley, an American officer in the French Foreign Legion, accepts a risky assignment from his old friend and comrade-in-arms, Maurice, now a high-ranking intelligence operative. Victor is sent to rebellion-wracked Algeria to spy on a group of fellow officers suspected of plotting a coup against the French government. As a cover, Victor will be placed in charge of security at a special, militarily-controlled bordello catering to the "specialized" tastes of the suspect officers, tastes which Victor is known to share. Complicating matters further, Victor's presence has been requested by the woman who manages the bordello, his ex-wife Claudine. Read on.
The journey from Paris to Algiers was remarkably swift, all red tape slashed out of the way with Maurice's usual lethal efficiency. A first-class compartment on the train to Marseille, a smooth ride over the Mediterranean in the passenger compartment of a lumbering NATO Hercules, an early-morning arrival at the cordoned-off military section of the Algiers airport. The reception committee was waiting. Victor had never met them before, but he had seen their respective types more than once in his colorful career. Colonel Randon was the picture of the ambitious, young staff officer, straight off a recruiting poster. Sharp and squared away as only a headquarters commando can be, he had endearingly welcomed Victor, with a patently insincere embrace, as "the new whoremaster we've been waiting for." His aide Captain Mannheim, a great, granite slab of a man, had said little during the short, fast ride through the city in the black Citroen Traction Avante sedan favored by the Special Services.
Algiers itself seemed much as Victor remembered, a surprisingly modern French city grafted onto an ancient North African one. Steel and glass office buildings and wide avenues of shops with windows full of the latest Parisian fashions gave way to the winding alleys of bazaars and the domes of Mosques. Cars and buses shared the streets with ox-carts and bicycles. There were men in suits and men in Bedouin robes. There were women in Chanel dresses and women in black chadors. And everywhere, there was fear. It was palpable at every heavily-guarded security checkpoint and in the sullen, hostile glances of the citizenry as the black sedan, so like those used to take suspected F.L.N. sympathizers away in the night, slid right past the wary, machine-gun toting gendarmes. The papers back home still referred to Algiers as "The most French city in the empire, the Paris of the East." The papers had said the same thing about Saigon, before Dien Bien Phu.Victor had not bothered to remind General Leclerc of this fact as the aging martinet had rambled on, safely within the gilded office of the Governor General in the former Palace of the Dey of Algiers, about the absolute permanence of the imperial presence on this sandy soil, bought with so much Legion blood over the last century. Listening to the old man's grandiose rantings about how the metro commanders were all a bunch of fairies and bolshies and how the people would have to be saved from their own corruption and weakness, Victor was struck by how much he had changed since Indochina. In the old days, Leclerc had been arrogant but formidable. Now he seemed all bluster and bluff, just another old soldier who didn't know the parade was over. Victor was glad to present his credentials and be gone. Though he'd been billeted in some unusual facilities on his various tours of duty, Victor's new post, in a green, hilly suburb thick with date palms freshly watered by the first storms of the rainy season, was certainly unique. Mostly hidden behind the characteristic red, sandstone walls, it first appeared as a small cluster of domes and spires of black marble and tile, glinting dully in the late afternoon sun. In pre-colonial days, Randon explained, it had been one of the Dey's possessions, before the hapless potentate had unwisely swatted at the French ambassador with a horsehair fly-whisk.
The immense, iron-bound oak gates had swung open at the car's approach, a pair of heavily-armed sergeants saluting the sedan as it rolled into the terrazzo-flagged courtyard."They call it the Black Palace," Mannheim explained as they disembarked before the marble steps leading up to the building. The name was apt. It was like a miniature version of the grander residence where the occupiers had set up shop, all gilded and mosaiced in the typical Ottoman style, though distinguished from most of the local architecture by its black stonework.
"It was meant as a warning," Mannheim added somewhat ominously.Once through the characteristic arched doorway, Victor was ushered into a wide, high-ceilinged receiving hall, featuring further expanses of ornately-carved black marble, imported from who knew where at unimaginable cost, lit by high, arched windows whose protective lattices admitted the sun grudgingly. The pleasant susurration of a small fountain in the middle of the room was the only sound they heard upon entering. The place appeared deserted. Nonetheless, Victor turned, feeling a familiar presence behind him.
Claudine's ability to move silently, even in the highest of heels on the hardest of floors, was but one of her many amazing gifts. She had slipped into the room through one of the archways leading off to the depths of the palace as quietly as a desert zephyr."You're early," she said brightly as she approached them with open arms. "We haven't had time to prepare a proper welcome."
She glided up to Victor and embraced him, her strong, sinuous body wrapping around him like a big boa constrictor. The scent of Je Reviens washed over him as she kissed his cheek."I'm so glad Maurice was able to talk you into coming down," she said to Victor, pushing him out to arm's length. "Let me look at you."
He let her look at him while he did some looking of his own. Claudine had changed strikingly little. Half-Vietnamese, Half-French, she was as exotically beautiful as ever. Her features were mainly oriental--dark, up-tilted eyes, thick, black hair sweeping back off her face to cascade down past her shoulders, but her body was definitely western, full-breasted and long-legged, her charms only suggested by her impeccably tailored suit, cut daringly low at the neck."Let's see," she said appraisingly, "Jump wings. Sharpshooter's badge. Unusual trophies for an officer."
"It gets so dull between wars," Victor apologized."Being Vietnamese, I wouldn't know."
After going on to greet Randon and Mannheim, she suggested they go and refresh themselves at the bar while she conducted Victor on a tour of his new garrison. They seemed to know their way around, heading off to the far end of the reception hall while Claudine led Victor back into the passage from which she had emerged. He couldn't help noticing the particular sway of her hips that had been so influential in his decision to marry her in the first place. He had been so young then."You're looking very well," he remarked with genuine admiration.
"You mean my ass still looks good," she laughed."How do you like our new post? Pretty deluxe, no?"
"I've slept in worse places.""Don't be fooled. It's as dangerous as any foxhole. That's why I wanted you here. I don't trust them."
"Who?""Any of them. Leclerc, Randon, the lot."
"Leclerc is a fossil and Randon is a tin soldier. Mannheim looks like he could be rough business.""Tell me about it. Last week he put one of my girls out of commission for three days."
"So, what makes you think you can trust me?" Claudine stopped, came close to Victor, taking his face in her hands."But I don't trust you. I simply know you better than the others. You're the most reliably amoral man I've ever known."
Victor was unable to suppress a grin."I'll take that as a compliment. Shall we get on with the reconnaissance?"
"Business first as always," she said with a sigh, turning back down the passageway, which was hung with heavy silks and lit by brass oil lamps that had been converted to electricity."The dey originally had this place built to house all his concubines, of which he was said to have over a hundred. He was insanely jealous, so he had it fortified like a prison, which is very convenient for our purposes. No one gets in or out unnoticed. At the moment, we've got about thirty girls here. I'm sure you'll approve when you meet them. I chose them all myself."
"From where?""Oh, here and there. Some were regular working girls arrested on other criminal charges. Others are politicals, picked up by the Specials and questioned, then dropped off here. A few I bought outright from traders. It's quaint, the way they preserve the old desert ways down here. The slave trade is still quite active."
"So, I take it that none of them are here voluntarily.""Not initially. After I've had them for a time, most learn to accept, or even enjoy, some aspects of their situation."
"I know how persuasive you can be.""That's why I'm here. The officers who patronize this establishment all share an appreciation for obedience and the methods used to enforce it. As you know, I'm quite familiar with those methods. And here we have the ideal setting for the kind of work I do best. I'll show you what I mean."
At the end of the corridor, they came to another heavy door, which swung easily on counterweighted hinges at a touch of Claudine's slender hand. It opened onto a long row of cells with barred fronts. Luxurious cells to be sure, with thickly carpeted floors. piles of silk cushions, gilded mirrors and other amenities, but cells nonetheless.There was a young woman in each one, and quite an assortment they were. Some were distinctly European, with fair hair and skin, made fairer by their isolation from the merciless Algerian sun. Others were Levantine, with the darkly sensual allure of the Houri. All were dressed, if that was the word, in the same fashion--a short chemise of white silk so skimpy and sheer as to conceal almost nothing that anyone might wish to see, locking leather collars and cuffs with double steel rings for convenience of restraint, and high-heeled pumps with locking ankle straps, so they couldn't be kicked off. Victor commented on this last touch.
"It discourages attempts at flight," Claudine pointed out as they made their way down the row of cells. "And if the girls are bad, we make them sleep in them."Victor doubted that escape was much of a problem. Not only were the barred doors of the cells securely locked, each girl was further inhibited by long chains running from their collars to ring bolts set in the walls. They could move about their cells, but even with the door open, they didn't have enough slack to get far. Their sullen eyes followed Victor and Claudine as she made her introductions.
"This one is called Gina. And this one is Odette. Here we have Alana. And this one is new. What's your name, girl?""Moira, Madame," the Arab girl replied, lowering her heavy-lashed eyes respectfully. She was quite lovely, with the typical voluptuous that the local men tried so hard to keep hidden under all those robes and veils. Nothing much was hidden now, including her shame and humiliation as they looked her over.
"Her family was in the resistance, poor thing. If I hadn't intervened, she'd have been shot along with the rest."Claudine reached between the bars to take a firm grip on the girl's face, raising it so they could look into her eyes.
"Wasn't that kind of me?" Claudine asked coolly."Yes, Madame. I'm very grateful."
Claudine smiled her chilly smile."See how much they love me?"
Victor made no comment. When he had first met her, Claudine's situation had been little better than that of this luckless girl. How easily one went from prisoner to jailer in this world.At the end of the row of cells they passed through another doorway into a large, round chamber the character and purpose of which were instantaneously obvious. Thoughtfully provided with everything from a tilting rack to a double pillory to an upright post fitted with heavy ring bolts, it was as cozy of a dungeon as Victor had seen. Along one wall stood a row of narrow, upright cages, barely large enough to hold a single, standing prisoner. Two of the cages were occupied by girls who, stripped of their chemises, wore only stripes, bruises and frightened looks. The chamber smelled of fear, sweat and sex.
In the center of the room, an auburn-haired girl with pomegranate colored skin had been bent over a whipping horse and locked down to the floor at the wrist and ankle, her firm little rump turned upward, making a ready target for the lithe, rattan cane wielded by the colorfully dressed Arab woman Claudine identified as Zoltana, her chief assistant. With her harem silks, facial tattoos and navel ring, she was a figure from one of the thousand and one nights, but quite real, Claudine assured him. One of the last of a line of professional harem keepers stretching back many centuries."She knows things about the female anatomy that would impress a professor of medicine at the Sorbonne," Claudine observed, watching Zoltana step back for another measured stroke. The cane whistled through the air to thump down onto the captive girl's already-welted backside, sending a shudder through her naked body that rattled the chains holding her to the horse. A high, thin wail reverberated off the tiled walls. A fresh, vermillion stripe appeared across both of the girl's ass-cheeks, just above the crease of her upper thighs. Claudine bent down to take a handful of the girl's thick hair, pulling her head back to reveal her very pretty, very flushed, tear-streaked face.
"You won't be late getting ready again, will you, Shana?" Claudine asked in a pleasant tone."Oh no, Madame!" the girl cried. "I'll be right on time from now on! Please let me go now."
Claudine smiled and patted her cheek, then turned to Zoltana."Give her five more and then send her back to her cell," she commanded coldly. The girl whimpered as Zoltana steadied herself for her next stroke. Claudine conducted Victor over to the slanting vertical rack, where a slender, dark-haired girl with brown eyes, perfect little cupcake tits and extra-long legs was stretched out spread-eagled, her limbs pulled tight as the strings of a mandolin. Her whole body was glazed with sweat and her nipples stood out, hard and erect, in the tight jaws of a pair of steel clamps that had been dropped on a light chain from above. The chain had been pulled taut so the clamps tugged at her nipples, the effect of which Claudine demonstrated by plucking at the chain, wringing a pitiful whimper from the girl on the rack.
"It's just marvelous how all the equipment here was built to the scale of feminine bodies. Ever so thoughtful. I understand the Dey himself used to come down here and watch the proceedings from time to time.""I notice you keep all the girls shaved," Victor observed.
"It's the local custom. Besides, I like the vulnerable way it makes them look and feel."She casually reached down to part the lips of the stretched girl's pussy. Wetting a fingertip, she touched it to the girl's clit. The girl moaned as her eyelids fluttered down and her head lolled back.
"I can see we're making great progress with this one. Of course, some are more difficult."A short distance away, a blond, Scandinavian girl, impressively endowed, stood rigidly over a low post planted in the floor, to which her ankles were shackled wide apart. Her arms were folded in the small of her back and cuffed there to another upright behind her. Her collar was also attached so that she couldn't lower her head. A thick cylinder of black rubber had been strapped into her mouth, stretching her lips open, little rivulets of saliva dripping down from the corners of her mouth. Her blue eyes glared at them icily.
"This one here is a real hard case," Claudine said, giving her breasts a casual squeeze. "The boys find her cold and uncooperative, but I still have hopes for her. This particular treatment is usually most effective."Claudine pointed out to Victor how the short post over which the blond girl stood terminated in a Y-shaped fitting to which two long, fat, black rubber dildos, heavily greased, had been mounted. The dildos penetrated the girl deeply, fore and aft.
"For as long as she stands up straight, it’s pretty much bearable. But if she starts to slump... "To illustrate, Claudine put her hands on the girl's shoulders and pressed down. Instantly, the blonde’s whole body went rigid. Her eyes widened, her nostrils flared and a stifled gasp escaped from behind the rubber plug.
"Another hour or two in this position and she'll be happy to be on her back."Claudine stroked the girl's hair and kissed her eyelids soothingly, whispering something in her ear that made her groan, before moving on.
"Your methods appear as effective as always, Claudine," Victor said.Claudine laughed, patting the front of his trousers.
"So, I see. Good old Victor. That's why I wanted you here. I know just what you like, and that makes me sure of you. Come, I have a present I've been saving for you."With a few backward glances at the girls in the cages still waiting their turns, Victor followed Claudine out through the doorway at the far end of the chamber. Now they were in a different wing of the palace, where the atmosphere was more like that of a typical seraglio. They passed through a maze of small cubicles and alcoves from which laughter and the sounds of pleasure could be heard, Claudine explaining that some of the officers on night duty came in to take their recreation during daylight hours. She drew aside a heavy, damask curtain, admitting them to a dimly-lit room more luxuriously appointed then any they had visited thus far. The air was close and heavy with the smell of incense.
In the middle of the room, on a low, lushly upholstered couch, reclined the most beautiful girl Victor had ever seen. She was young, though exactly how young he wasn't sure, but her body was definitely that of a woman, ripe and curvaceous, with skin the color of old ivory, all of which was on display, given her near-total state of nakedness. Like the others, she wore a locking collar and wrist bands, only hers were of ornately-worked gold. In place of the standard working-girl uniform pumps, she wore shiny, patent ballet slippers with outrageous heels that made the very idea of walking, or even standing up, a laughable impossibility. The chemise had been dispensed with here.A spectacular mane of golden hair that would have fallen to her waist if she were standing fanned out over the cushions upon which she rested her head. Her pert pink nipples and the neatly symmetrical lips of her pussy had been slightly rouged for emphasis, as if these parts wouldn't have merited enough attention on their own, having been pierced with heavy gold rings in the local style. More rings adorned her navel, ear lobes and nasal septum, but despite her exotic decorations, she was clearly of European origins. Her green eyes and full, red lips gave her face a slightly feline aspect. There was something troubling about those green eyes, too knowing for the young face they were in, a decadent sensuality that knew no shame. She looked up at Victor with a total lack of self-consciousness, her nakedness completely unimportant, at least as far as she was concerned.
"Her name is Irina," Claudine said. "Her mother was Romanian, a nurse or something, taken by Turkish partisans during the war and sold south. This was one born in the harem."Her voice dropped to a confidential whisper.
"Think of it, Victor! Born into slavery. Bred and reared for a single purpose, just like a race horse. Only her purpose is to serve as the sexual slave of a man. You're that man, Victor. I've been preparing her for months, teaching her all your likes and dislikes."Victor's startled gaze swung to his ex-wife.
"Really, Claudine!"She shrugged. "Who knows you better? I've always thought if I could find the perfect girl, it would be fun to train her for you, especially since I turned out to be such a disappointment."
"That's hardly the word I would use."In fact, Claudine had come closer to killing Victor than anyone who had ever lived to remember the effort.
"Accept this gift as token of my apology, if you will."Claudine clapped her hands. Slowly, taking her sweet time about it so as to show off every luscious angle possible, Irina rolled over and tucked her knees under her, turning her perfect, heart-shaped bottom up for display. The smooth, rosy flesh of one cheek had been exquisitely tattooed with a single, boldly-rendered letter three inches high. It was a V. Her other cheek had been marked by three long, perfectly spaced welts from a dressage whip.
"I'm serious, Victor," Claudine said. "She really is for you. I've never had a more trainable girl.""And by these means you intend to assure my loyalty."
Claudine's voice grew husky."Let's forget about business for now. I've waited a long time for this moment."
Going around to the far end of the couch, Claudine reached underneath to release a latch. She swung up a hinged bar with a ring on either end to which she quickly attached Irina's golden cuffs. The bar provided a convenient brace for Irina as she set her knees carefully apart, then smartly lifted her heels. She held the position rigidly as Claudine slithered out of her clothes, revealing her own not inconsiderable treasures, the tawny silk of her own skin a delightful contrast to Irina’s alabaster perfection. Even in the presence of such formidable competition, the sight of Claudine's seamed nylons and lace garters never failed to catch Victor's attention.Settling onto the couch next to Irina, Claudine caressed the girl's inner thigh, her insinuating touch seeking out the clean-shaven surfaces of Irina's pussy, which pouted open, wet and glistening when Claudine tugged teasingly at the gold rings.
"Yours for the taking," Claudine whispered, laying her face gently alongside Irina's whip-striped backside.Victor began to unbutton his jacket. Clearly, he was meant to stay awhile.